Final

Darkness, shadows, heat, he could hear his own breath as he fled down the secret corridors. His feet he had left bare so that the tell tale flop of his soft slippers would not announce his presence. Fear and a tentative boldness burgeoned in his breast. His breath rushed from his mouth due to the unaccustomed exertion. A right, a left and then another right and he was there. Squeezing the small object clutched in his hand, he paused. What madness had buoyed him thus far deserted him then.

Silently he stood in the shadows, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. And there amid a bed of rugs, the object of his quest.

The elf was asleep, sprawled uncomfortably, limbs glistening in the darkness. The man watched him for a moment seeing the rise and fall of his chest, the restlessness of his dreams as his fingers twitched. But even in sleep the elf seemed to sense his presence for his eyes which were mostly closed opened fully. And with that the man knew there was no changing his mind.

Startled, Elladan gasped as a shadow detached itself from the darkness.

"No," he cried, but the shadow stumbled forward, hands outstretched. Cold fingers covered his lips,

"Quiet child, It is me Ah'med." Ah'med shushed him with trembling fingers. He knew that Ak'tun had visited the elf mere hours before and was now deep in satiated slumber, yet they could waste no time. He fumbled at the collar around Elladan's neck. There was a scratch and an almost inaudible snap and then the shining band fell away. It dropped heavily yet without a sound onto the thick rugs underfoot. Paralysed for a moment they stared at each other and then Elladan's fingers crept up to his neck.

"Come," whispered Ah'med grasping the seeking digits. "Time is against us."

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The power of the bear thing was tremendous. She ripped the head off the massive reptile in one swift swipe. The blood gushed hot and thick from its body to bathe Elrohir in its rich redness. He opened his mouth and drank deeply. The liquid quickly filled the gnawing hunger that had begun to assail him. Replete he watched with longing as Tariq tore into the reptile's body, the sweet juices spilling onto her jaws, chin and chest. But he could not eat the poisonous meat. It had made him violently ill the one time he had tried. Two precious days had been lost while he had sweated, turning cold then hot as the poison of the lizard's carcass had worked itself out of his body. Since then fresh blood had become his food and drink, for in this part of the desert there was no plant life and no water for many leagues. He turned to watch the way they had come unable to endure the sight of Tariq at her feast. It seemed to him just for a moment that black dots moved upon the surface of the waste lands. But then he blinked and they were gone.

Elrohir was no longer recognisable as an elf, a son of an elven Lord, a noble warrior. He was losing himself to the wild. Grown leaner he wore only the blood stained and stinking hide that Tariq had won for him. His hair had reached almost down to his ankles in length and was matted with dirt, sweat and blood. His skin had become bronzed from the sun. His brows were always knitted, his eyes constantly searching, his chiselled face lacked any hint of civility. He operated on instinct alone and over the last weeks his instinct had been driving him ever southward. He had seen in Tariq's mind images of a desert realm filled with men, men armed with swords and spears, men dressed as those who had killed his companions and taken his brother. His only goal was to destroy them all and find Elladan. He kept the image of his brother foremost in his mind, he saw him laughing, smiling and looking at him with that funny tilt of the head that spoke of his annoyance.

"I come muindor." He whispered to the wind.

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He swayed to the left as his horse stepped briskly over a coiled reptile that was hunting for its dinner. The thief Ah'lief reached out and steadied him. Aragorn turned to him with tired eyes and nodded his thanks. Veren who had noticed the incident reigned in his horse. The over bright eyes of Aragorn turned to him curiously.

"Why do we tarry?" questioned the ranger.

Turning his mount completely around Veren said,

"You are unable to ride and the day is almost spent, we will rest here till moonrise."

Aragorn sighed but did not argue for Veren was right. A tiredness had taken hold of him and would not let go. He would be of no use to anyone if he did not have the strength to fight at the end of the journey. And fight they would have to, for the Kingdom of Ak'tun was well guarded and the men, according to the thief, were fiercely loyal to their king.

As Aragorn began to dismount Ah'lief was there to lend a hand. Gratefully Aragorn leaned on him and slid gracelessly from his mount.

"Here sit, I will get thee water," said Ah'lief turning away.

But Aragorn caught hold of his arm and stopped him. He did not understand the thief's willingness to help them. He suspected that the man was leading them into a trap, but Ah'lief's brown eyes were clear and they held his probing gaze comfortably. Suddenly weary Aragorn dropped his eyes and mumbled an apology, smiling the thief said nothing but fetched one of the smaller skins of water they carried. He helped Aragorn to drink and then adjusting the folds of his robes sat cross legged on the hot sand.

As he watched the elves put their small camp together he began to speak,

"I know that you think me faithless man-elf, but I have no reason to be loyal to those of the south-most sands."

As Aragorn watched Ah'lief unwound the layers of cloth that made up his head piece. Aragorn gasped as the last fell away, for the thief 's head was so badly scarred that his thick black hair grew in ragged patches. So deep were some of the furrows across his scalp that white bone glistened from them. Shrugging the thief caused his robes to fall away from his shoulders revealing deep brands across his back and chest. Horrified Aragorn stared wordlessly, even the elves had gone still.

"I was once a favourite of the king, until the day nature made me seem unlovely to his eyes." Ah'lief explained quietly.
"I barely escaped with my life. In fact I was placed outside the walls and left for dead." Ah'lief continued softly, his eyes gone distant with remembrance. "It rained that day in fact it poured as it does at odd times and I suppose it was this that saved me, for no animals came close to the walls to scavenge for food that day." he looked at Aragorn with glistening eyes.

"If I can spare your friend this I will. Too many have suffered at the king's hands already."

But Aragorn was robbed of speech and could do little but stare at the man.

Suddenly self conscious Ah'lief abruptly excused himself and went a short distance away to arrange his clothing. Aragorn continued to stare after him hearing his quiet sobs and wondered if his brother had already lost favour with the king.

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It is said that fate favours the strong and this seemed to be true, for Ak'tun awoke without reason to a darkened and silent room. He shook his head and breathed in deeply, his senses already reaching out, trying to understand the reason for his disturbed slumber. But he heard naught but the usual hushed night sounds of the palace. He turned his gaze to the open entrance way a feeling nagging at his mind, but then as the silence continued he relaxed. And as he did his thoughts drifted and an image filled his memory and he smiled. Waking completely now, he left the warmth of his bed and proceeded down the long corridors to the room where his sha'abla slept. He could taste his silken skin still, he wanted to look at him in his slumber, drink in the smell and touch of him...

It lay there, obscene somehow, its jaw gaping wide open and abandoned. Ak'tun knelt slowly and took up the Mithril collar, his fingers caressed its cold countenance. To have been betrayed so blatantly. Ak'tun felt the heat of rage begin to rise in him.

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They stayed frozen as the echoes of the fallen lantern died away. Elladan's eyes were huge in his thin and sallow face, his lower lip trembled in anxious denial. Ah'med shivered foreseeing an end to his boldness in each reverberating sound. As silence descended he accepted his doom,

"Quickly ahead of me now, keep your hand on the right wall and run, run child, run as you never have, we may yet see the light of the wastelands."