A/N I am so, so, sorry for the delay. But for once I wasn't my fault. My internet just went completely out last night, just out of the blue, and we only got them up and working again this evening. So, wihtout further delay, read on. :)

Disclaimer: not mine.

Chapter Six

Aragorn, tired, sweaty, and dust covered, walked into the cool, damp entrance of Minas Tirith's dungeons. Almost five hours ago he had started the journey that had led him here, and he was not in the mood to be messed with.

Carefully, painstakingly carefully, he had followed the two horses tracks (and the miscue droplets of blood that fell every few yards) until to his utter surprise they had lead him back to the city he now called home. The tracks had followed many unused roads, though he had almost lost them when they come upon heavier traffic. At last they had lead through the back gate of the city.

This had first proved a problem as dust turned to cobble stone and the horse's tracks had been lost, but for once in his life, Aragorn was glad to see Legolas' blood. The life preserving substance was the only clue that Aragorn now had of the elf prince's whereabouts.

Needless to say, the scruffy king received many strange looks as he practically belly crawled up the street, following the trail of droplets. Once a guard had tried to arrest him, believing he was either drunk or crazy, and Aragorn had been forced to declare himself and show proof of who he really was.

But that was all in the past.

Taking his first step into the cool interior, he felt his heart began to speed. This could be it! This could be the end of his search.

The door banged shut behind Aragorn and he jumped, his hand subconsciously flying down to rest on the sun-warmed hilt of his sword. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm his racing nerves and blinked rapidly to adjust to the darkness within the prison.

The guard's center, just to the right of this door but before the locked second door, stood empty. Aragorn felt as if a bag of stones had fallen into his stomach as realization hit him, perhaps later than it might have if Legolas hadn't been on his mind.

Dirhéal! That was Dirhéal's voice he had heard and sworn he recognized. Dirhéal was the only one who could have done this, it all made sense now! He had never liked the man much anyway…

Anger coursed hotly through his body and Aragorn swung around, his face terrifying to behold. He was going to rip that man limb from limb when he found him for what he had done! Forcefully, the king yanked open the hidden slot in the wall to revel the spare keys to the dungeon and wrenched the key ring free.

"Hey! What do you think you are doing!?" A guard had appeared from behind the door that led directly into the dungeon. He looked relatively young and his hand shook lightly as he drew forth his sword, pointing it at Aragorn. "You are not allowed to have those!"

Aragorn slowly held up his hands, dropping the keys as he did so. It would do little good for himself, Legolas, or this guard if he got himself skewed. Slowly he stared walking forward, his face calming, "I have permission to be here," he explained softly.

"Dirhéal or a higher ranking official has to give it. Where are your papers?!" the guard ordered, holding the sword steadier now and motioning for Aragorn to stay where he was at. Aragorn sighed. He did not have time for this!

"Relax, solider, I'm the king," he stated softly, pointing at the ring of Bararhir that adorned his finger. The youth gaped, and then horror spread across his features and he dropped to the ground.

"My lord –forgive me!" he cried, but Aragorn was already moving forward, touching his shoulder gently as he picked up the keys.

"It is not the first time I have been mistaken for a thug and I doubt it will be the last," he said kindly, before suddenly hauling the youth and holding his shirt collar tightly, his voice growing fierce. "Are you in on it with Dirhéal!" he cried, swinging him forcefully around and slamming him up against the opposite wall.

The younger man's eyes grew wide with fear and he shook his head wildly in confusion and fear. "Your highness, I don't understand?" he pleaded, "I –I mean, this is only my second week back! My wife needed taken care of and Dirhéal allowed me several weeks off…"Aragorn searched his gaze for a long minute and then let go of him, reading truthfulness in his eyes.

"Forgive me," he sincerely stated, "but Dirhéal has chosen to act as a traitor to the crown."

"Dirhéal!" the soldier gaped, his mouth falling open, but Aragorn overrode him.

"I need to know if he is keeping an elf here, or where Dirhéal is. Do you know either?" he bracing his hands on the young man's shoulders, urgency coming off him in waves.

"You just missed Dirhéal. As for an elf, I have never seen one," the guard replied, something hardening in his eyes as he did so. Aragorn understood what it was; it was the pain of betrayal.

"When will he be back?" the king asked, now striding over to the door and unlocking it with a loud creak. The guard shook his head and sheathed his sword, leading the king further into the interior of the prison.

It was a dim, gloomy place, but enough flickering torches lined the wall that it was easy to see.

"We search every cell." Aragorn insisted, striding off one way and motioning for the guard to go down the opposite way. "I am looking for an elf. He has blonde hair and blue eyes. He is more than likely unconscious."

The hunt for Legolas proved to yield nothing as the last cell was checked and still no Legolas. Heart-burning with terror and fear, Aragorn sank down to sit on the hard, cold, stone floor at the end of the hallway that indicated the end of the dungeon itself and buried his face in his hands. His fingers dug painfully into his skin, but he only pressed all the harder. The young guard shifted uncomfortably and the king felt a smile tug at his lips despite everything.

He could almost hear what Legolas would say, seeing him covered in sweat and filth, in his most common and dirty clothes, while sitting on the floor of his own dungeon. The thought hurt more than the king thought it could and he let out choked laugh, torn between amusement at what the elf would have said and the pain in his heart.

"Are you sure that your friend is here?" the guard asked tentatively.

Aragorn heaved a dejected sigh, "No", he finally admitted. The weight of the burden he bore suddenly seemed to heavy to carry around and with a low breath, he slumped over onto the ground, flinging a hand over his face as he did so in utter despair.

The lead had failed.

Opening his eyes, the king stared out across his floor, his eyes unseeing. That was until his mind registered what he was seeing. Another minuscule drop of blood lay only inches away from his eyes and he scrambled to his knees.

"Move back, move back against the wall!" he ordered the guard as he bent over the blood, his grey eyes flickering over the ground. For several minutes he shuffled back and forth on his knees, trying to read what they were telling him.

"I think…" he muttered at last as he lay on his stomach once again, looking around, "It it could be possible, this city is so old no one knows all her secrets."

"What is possible, sir?" the guard asked, glancing around with bemusement written clearly on his face.

"Wait and see," the king said slowly. Getting to his feet, his pressed his hands up against the solid looking wall. Carefully he pushed and tapped, one ear pressed against the cold stone wall until, "Ha," Aragorn breathed out. Leaning all his weight against the wall he pushed, hard.

For a moment nothing happened, but then the wall began to move inward with soft grinding sound. It swung inward to reveal a dark chamber.

"Amazing!" the young guard behind him murmured, awe clear in the one word.

"Dirhéal obviously knew," Aragorn said stiffly, becoming more and more convinced that Legolas had been taken captive by the man. Taking a torch from the wall, he ducked through the door and into the unknown.

The large open hallway that he stepped into was dark and cobwebs clung to the walls, shinning eerily off the light. The place had clearly been forgotten long ago and Aragorn would have thought it had gone ages without seeing a single live soul for years if it hadn't been for the floor. Dust should have covered it thickly, muffling their footsteps, but most of the dust had been wiped clear by the passage of many feet, or a few pair of feet passing through many times.

"Come, and keep your weapon at the ready," Aragorn mouthed over his shoulder, holding his torch higher above his head so that its flickering light bounced off the walls. Leading the way, the king crept through the passage way.

"Wow…" the youth whispered loudly as he followed his liege and Aragorn shot him a hard glare as his voice echoed. The former ranger couldn't help but keep the same words for repeating themselves in his mind, however, as he also gazed around him. It was truly amazing that all this had been forgotten for so long.

Soon the path they were following came to a long flight of narrow, rundown stairs. They seemed to be faintly swaying with an imaginary wind and Aragorn paused, turning back to face his one soldier. "I'm going down, but I won't have you do so if you don't want too."The guard swallowed nervously, glancing back up at the way they had come and then back at the stairs. His shoulders stiffened and he tightened his grip on his sword.

"I will follow you, my king," he said bravely. Aragorn nodded once and began to descend the stairs, carefully placing his feet. The old wood creaked, protesting their weight, and he winced, "I've changed my mind, I need you stay up here," he said quickly, turning back his face his solider. "Go find more soldiers, tell them that I sent you. If they don't believe you, then tell Lord Faramir that I succeeded in what I set out to do. Bring blankets and stretcher along with you, please."

The youth nodded hurriedly and turned running back towards the door.

Aragorn held his torch higher and swiftly began to move, holding his breath. He didn't trust theses stairs to hold up much longer and planned on reaching the bottom before the stairs could send him there of their own accord.

He jumped the last few steps with a great amount of relief in his thudding heart as the stairs quivered, and landed in a foot of ice cold water. Gasping with initial shock, he quickly gritted his teeth against the cold and splashed forward. The walls were just as damp and broken down as they had been above, but down here the all consuming darkness seem to press all the heavier down on the king, surrounding him. The light of the torch seemed to falter, be he pressed forward, squinting as he looked around within his five-foot radius of light.

"Legolas?!" he called as loudly as he dared, sloshing through the water. To his left he came upon a wall of cells and felt his pulse quicken. The shadows at the edge of the circle of light danced ominously and he moved forward, peering hopefully into the first cell.

There, chained to a wall, was the shadowy from of someone who could only be the missing elf.

Ramming up against the bars, Aragorn felt as if the air had been knocked out of him, "Legolas!" he cried again joyfully. The elf didn't respond and some of the man's elation faded as he thrust the torch higher, illuminating the former prince of Mirkwood.

He was deathly pale in the firelight, except for the bruises with adorned his upper body and face. He was slumped sideways against the wall and the only thing keeping him from being fully submerged in the cold water was his chained wrist. His eyes were closed and sunken into their sockets. It looked as if death was hovering near and counting down the minutes until it could pounce and claim what it thought was its.

Aragorn felt his own blood began to freeze. "Legolas! Answer me!" he called out in fear. The prince didn't appear to be breathing, he couldn't see his chest rising and falling. "Legolas!" he pleaded.

Still, the elf did not stir.

Fumbling with the torch, Aragorn stuck it in an old, crumbling torch holder on the wall and began to attack the lock that held the cell closed. Key after key he tried, but to no avail. It wasn't going to open without some effort on the king's part. Glancing up, he again searched he elf's face for some sign of life.

Jamming his arm through the bars, Aragorn stretched, trying desperately to touch the prince. His finger tips were inches too short, though, and he smashed himself up against the cold stone, twisting to give his arm further reach. Straining, he just managed to touch the elf's cold fingers.

"Just hold on, Legolas," he grunted, his veins popping with the effort of maintaining the grip. "Just hold on." At last, he was forced to withdraw his arm, now panting heavily. There was nothing for it, he was going to have to get into that cell with or without the key. Backing up, the king rushed the old and crumbling door with all the strength he could muster and slammed into it with his left shoulder.

Plain flared through the limb, but he ignored it, setting his teeth and crashing into it once more. He would never be able to break a brand new padlock this way, but Aragorn was crossing his fingers that the frailty of the cell its self would cave. The side that did not hold the lock looked rusted through from long exposure to water and wouldn't hold up against much force He might just have a chance.

Crying out a war cry half filled with pain, Aragorn rammed it again. This time, the bars groaned under his weight and the man grinned. Another hit, and another ominous wrenching sound. His shoulder was now burning with pain, but he didn't pause and ran into the metal like a mad bull faced with a red cape once again. The door gave a jarring lurch forward and Aragorn stumbled against it, the move unexpected. He was making progress. The door was moving slowly, but surely, past the frame.

Backing up, he slammed into it again and again it moved a little.

One more… Aragorn thought, and he began to run, putting all the strength he posses into hitting that door. He hit it hard and heard his shoulder make a popping noise, but the door swung wildly forward.

Staggering forward with surprise, he tripped and fell to all fours, soaking his sleeves and breeches. "Legolas!'' he called out, clambering back up and moving to his friend's side, worry making his heart throb painfully along with his shoulder which was now screaming at him He would have to take care of that later.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called softly, bending over his far to still friend, his hand coming down and cupping the prince's cheek. His skin was as cold as the ice on top of Caradras and Aragorn felt fear grip him tightly. "Oh, Legolas," he murmured, dropping to his knees despite the water.

Legolas was in bad shape, that much would be obvious to a blind man. Blood and bruises marred his far to white skin and his shallow intake of air could hardly be seen. The skin on his face was swollen with abuse and the area beneath his eyes was a dark purple. Barely healed over cuts adorned his chest and belly, though their ends where swallowed up by the water. Faint scars, that appeared to be burn marks, followed suit. Open, raw, wounds were littered across his body.

"Oh, Legolas," Aragorn whispered again, unable to think of anything else to say. Laying his palm flat against the prince's bare chest he waited anxiously for a heartbeat. It was there, thready, uneven and erratic, but there. "'Wake for me, mellon-nin, you are safe," he conveyed, inching closer so that he could cradle the elf's head in his hands, slipping unconsciously into elvish as he did so.

The prince still made no movement and Aragorn let him go, reaching up instead to feel the chains that where holding the prince upright. They were worse condition then the door and the man smiled, though this quickly faded from his face as he shifted the manacles up and caught sight of the state of Legolas' wrist. They where lactated, the skin all but gone from the chaffing, and a thick puss was leaking form the injury.

"Dirhéal will pay, Legolas," Aragorn vowed aloud as he took the peg that the chain was nailed too and freed it with one good wrench. He suspected that Dirhéal never thought that elf would be able to pull free in such a weak state, and therefore hadn't cared enough to replace the tool with something that would actually do the job. Not that he was complaining.

The prince began to slide rapidly down the wall now that his balance was thrown off and Aragorn only just caught him before he clasped into the water.

"Shh, I've got you," he soothed, more out of habit then anything, as he hoisted the frail elf up against his chest and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady. He desperately hoped his guards where on the way, Legolas needed attention and fast. He could not treat the elf down here in the cold water, but he dared not try and caring him up those stairs by himself.

Legolas' body protested the change in position, and he began to wheeze loudly, his lungs freezing when they were most needed.

Aragorn caught his breath, "Don't you dare, don't you dare do this to me, elf!" he whispered as his guts began to crawl with internal panic. He pulled the elf up higher, trying to get his body into a more relaxed position so that no additional strain would be put on the lungs. As he did so, he noticed for the first time the definite pink tinge to the water and frowned.

Bending over his friend's shoulder, he cringed. Legolas' back had been whipped harshly and recently, leaving the skin a mass of red, bleeding welts. In some spots, the whip had torn the skin right off and he couldn't be sure in the dark, but he thought the white flash of bone was visibly. Feeling a little ill, he gathered Legolas close to him. Struggling out of his own cloak, he threw it around the prince like a blanket, hoping against hope that the damp material would help his friend retain any body heat that he could.

Legolas took a shuddering, weak breath and Aragorn felt it brush his cheek. Sighing, he laid his chin atop the prince's head and whispered a soft pray in elvish for his horribly weakened friend. He could tell just from being near him that Legolas' window of getting the help that he so desperately needed was closing rapidly.

TBC...

There was the cliffie that you were all just dying for. :)

Reivew Replies:

LOTCR: Haha! We fangirls always, always, when in the end. No matter what we are doing. And especially if it concern's whateveritmightbe that we are fangirling over. :) Thanks!

ElvenPrincess: Well, it appears as if it managed it...at least for now. Who knows what else could happen? Thanks!

Guest: My prayers go out to his family. :( Poor Legolas! He had to wait even longer than expected... but on the other hand I enjoyed my vacation very much, it did so much good for me. Thanks!