From their horses atop of the Misty Mountains, twins Elrohir and Elladan could see the storm clouds rolling over the southern skies of Middle Earth.

"We travel into this rain, brother." Elladan had maintained his resistance to roving the mountains waiting for their human brother to arrive. They had just broken camp and were tidying up their campsite – or what passed for one. Neither twin believed in the fusses that some Elves and most humans required while in the wilds, and they had only to gather their blankets and tie their bags back on their horses before continuing their journey.

From the moment he had opened his eyes, Elladan had begun his tireless opposition to Elrohir's insistence on travel, had not stopped while they packed, and now that they were leaving, only seemed to protest more. It seemed clear to them both that they would never find the Ranger without divine intervention, but Elrohir remained steadfast in trying. "And we don't expect Estel for at least two weeks," Elladan continued as if his brother had spoken against his last argument. "You know he will take his time in returning. If he even comes at all. He may have found some distraction along the way."

"That is only because he fears our retribution. I tell you, Elladan, we will find him, or else he will find us." Elrohir remained obdurate that they would run into Estel, an adamantine resolve that Elladan, despite his constant questioning of it, could never have broken.

"Elrohir, what if he took the southern pass? Or what if he ..."

Elrohir interrupted, climbing onto his mount with a huff of frustration, "Or what if he shrunk, grew a beard, and digs in the mines of Moria? Or perhaps he ..."

"Enough, Elrohir. Fine. Let us at least track some Orc. I cannot wait around for Estel with only your company," the elder twin teased, swinging himself into sitting on his own horse as well.

Although worried for his human brother, the younger twin smiled at Elladan's snide insult, asking, "You mean you would prefer the company of Orcs to my company?"

"Right now, brother, I would prefer the company of the Dark One to your incessant banter."

Pulling his horse around to face his brother's, Elrohir exclaimed, "Elladan! You are the one who will not quiet!"

Elladan only laughed but sobered to ask again the question Elrohir could not answer. "What makes you so sure that we will run into Estel?"

"I don't know. He will need us." With this cryptic remark, Elrohir spurred his horse on, as sure as he was of the ground beneath him that Elladan would follow, while keeping his eyes open for signs of Orc.

Please let us run into a cave Troll or something.

Aragorn had not slept the night, preferring instead to keep watch over the Elf. He lay on his side, feigning sleep next to the Elda, while watching the creature's chest rise and fall with the deep, steady breaths of Elven healing slumber. In the morning's light, he appears even fairer. The Ranger shook his head imperceptibly against where it lay on his folded arm. He is still far too pale, and I doubt the luingalas has yet left his system. He will be unable to aid me in our escape.

The human sighed lightly, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but unable to keep his melancholy silent. The night had been spent engineering one plan after another, yet somehow all led him to the same conclusion: he was stuck where he was and therefore so was the injured Wood-Elf. Aragorn was certain that the captive would still be immobile when he woke, though his body would recuperate soon enough. I would need to aid him escape if we left right now... but then I would be unable to follow Ament to the goblet. The paradox left him in dire circumstances. He reasoned that should he escape with the Elf, either Ament would follow him to exact vengeance or recapture the Elda, else he would carry on to get the goblet, leaving many more Elves in possible danger, including whatever poor Elf they eventually managed to capture for their evil plan. Whatever plans that may be.

Aragorn rubbed his aching temples surreptitiously. He had been through this so many times he could have recited it on command, if any had been there to listen to his odd tale. I can't find the goblet on my own, with or without the Elf. He knew that even should he return to Fulton, it could take him hours, if not days, to find the farmer to determine the location of the goblet. By then, they could have the goblet, and if I don't take the Elf with me, there is no telling what they may do to him.

Such thoughts led him back to his foremost problem: how to keep the Elf from further harm. I could certainly remain with the group if I knew the Elf would be safe. However, I would risk giving myself away if I was too concerned with his welfare, and then neither of us would be safe. The Ranger closed his eyes and wished that Lord Elrond were here to sort this out for him. If Ada were here I wouldn't be in this situation, Aragorn thought dejectedly. The mercenaries would be on their knees, begging Ada for mercy at the mere lifting of one of his eyebrows. Snorting without sound or true mirth, the Ranger again shook his head only barely, and then watched the Elf as his breathing changed. He will wake soon.

Aragorn had seen the caresses Ramlin had given their captive the night before, when the mercenary had retied the creature. The Ranger had battled himself not to relieve the giant of his roaming hands, for he would not stand idly by while the Wood-Elf was molested, but luckily for them all, Ramlin had ceased his attentions before Strider's anger had overwhelmed his better sense. If he tries it again, I do not know what I will do. Killing Ramlin would not leave me in good standing with Ament, Estel told himself facetiously.

In the end, it came down to a simple decision that Aragorn did not feel was his to make. He could flee with the Elf, save their lives but endanger many more Elves, or he could put into danger this one immortal life in hopes of saving countless others. That he wasn't assured of what the goblet could do, much less that it was where the farmer claimed, made his deliberation that much more tricky. I would risk this Elf's life on nothing more than chance and hearsay from a drunken fool.

The sounds of the others moving about the cave drew the Ranger from his reverie. He contemplated continuing his charade of sleeping when he heard the nearing footsteps; however, he decided to rise, for this moment was inevitable. Rolling over, Aragorn stretched himself out and rubbed his eyes as if he were just waking.

"Strider... the Elf, will he be able to ride today?" Ament crouched down next to the Ranger's prone form, peering over him to check the Elf's condition for himself. As the Ranger moved, Ament stood up, giving Aragorn room to sit.

Here it is, the moment of decision and I've not thought of anything yet. He made a show of rubbing his head, his arms, anything to stall answering.

"Strider, man, have you gone deaf in the night?" Ament's usual scowl decorated the man's face but his words were lilting in cheerfulness.

I am obviously on his good side for saving his cargo.

"No, no. Just tired," he tried to jest in return, his mind working to find a way to stall answering Ament's questions.

"And the Elf? I would not have him dying before he is meant to," the mercenary joked with a loud bray of laughter.

Ament's prodding forced Aragorn into a decision, and he finally admitted, "I think he is able to ride."

"Good, then. Eat and prepare quickly – we've much distance to cover this day. More rain comes."

Why did you do that, Estel? What now?

As pleased as he was that the Elf was well, that they would be moving on this morning, and that overall his plans were coming to fruition, Ament was discontented nonetheless. Ramlin will not spoil my efforts. I will succeed.

He had left Strider to his breakfast with the others and walked outside for fresh air. The night's rain glistened on the foliage of the surrounding forest. The river's tempo had increased from the torrential rainfall; the sound carried over a gentle breeze that stirred the leaves of the trees, the shimmering water dropping from them seemed to be bits of mithril falling from the heavens.

Ament noticed none of this beauty because his thoughts were focused instead on last night's conversation around the fire. Ramlin had been insistent on having his way with the Elf, something that though Ament found disgusting, he would not normally mind allowing his brother. Personally, I could mind less what happens to the Elf, as long as he still breathes when I have the goblet. After that, I can obtain Elves aplenty, and Ramlin could have a new one each day for his fun for all that I care.

It was not his brother's perversity that bothered Ament; it was as Ramlin said, the pleasure in others' pain that the younger brother enjoyed had suited his elder brother's purposes on many occasions, and Ament was more than satisfied with the results. However, his brother had come dangerously close to mutiny the night before, as far as Ament was concerned. How dare he question my judgment? The fool knows naught but how to kill and torture. He has no ambition for our future. Ament smirked as he walked to the horses, correcting himself, He has no ambition for my future. Ramlin may not live long enough to enjoy tomorrow if he does not keep his hands, and his thoughts, to himself.

Ament had seen the glimmer of lust in Doran and Jalian's eyes when Ramlin had voiced his desires, though for these two, their prurient thoughts had been for the money obtained in selling the Elf, and not in the Elf's destruction, which was Ramlin's goal. It had upset the mercenary leader to see that if he tried hard enough, Ramlin could force Ament's hand and turn the others against him. Mayhap I will let them play with the Elf. It is nothing to me, only a means to an end. The others could have their fun, and I can keep them satisfied long enough to fulfill my own desires. Ament saddled his horse, preparing it for the long journey. No, Ramlin would likely kill the Elf. He doesn't know when to quit, and Doran and Jalian would still wish to sell it.

It hadn't been but over a year earlier that Ament had made the mistake of not supervising his brother's 'fun,' which had cost the brothers what would have been a handsome bounty from their robbery. When Ament had returned from ransacking an inn they had attacked while the inn was vacant of guests, the imprisoned innkeeper had been nothing more than a bloody, unrecognizable body lying behind his counter. Ramlin, of course, in his haste, had forgotten to question the innkeeper about where he hid his coins, and the brothers had only managed to procure a few pieces of jewelry and some silver from their pillage.

Meika had shown no emotion last night during Ramlin's argument to break the Elf and sell it, as Ament had expected from the elder man, for Meika had not been influenced into joining their cause by any hatred towards the Elves, though he also seemed not to care for them. No, Meika stays for the promise of wealth. He has no desire for bloodshed. He has the love of riches, but lacks the taste for inflicting pain – he would make an ill replacement for Ramlin. Ament's own thoughts surprised him, and he paused in readying his horse as he realized the depths of conviction behind his thoughts. Often the mercenary had considered leaving his brother's company and had threatened to rid himself of Ramlin by slitting his throat; never, though, had he considered replacing him, and never so sincerely. Never has there been so much at stake. Ramlin is replaceable. Mindless thugs who can follow orders are plentiful.

He walked back to the cave, listening to Jalian telling the others a wild story about some exploit the disfigured man was sure never to have experienced, and pondering once again why he accepted Strider into the fold. He has proved the most capable of them all thus far. He kept the Elf alive, and for that, I would welcome him even were he an enemy. Ament smirked again at his own inconsistency, though his face slipped back into its usual scowl when entering the cavern. Perhaps I will let Strider use the Elf. He has earned it.

Rambunctious laughter woke Legolas from his deep sleep. Blinking his eyes repeatedly, he looked above him at the curved ceiling of the cave, which was ragged with lichen-covered stalactites. The last several days the Elf had spent in confusion, but this time he knew exactly where he was and found his mental faculties in working order. The Wood-Elf hesitated before turning his head to view his surroundings more clearly. I've no wish to attract their attentions. He failed in this regard, as his movement attracted the notice of Ramlin immediately, whose delight at seeing the archer awake was evident in the leer he sported. The colossal mercenary made as though to rise but Strider moved more quickly, picking up his pack along his way to the Elf. Ramlin reseated himself, content that the healer was preparing their cargo for the journey.

The gray eyes of the Adan searched the Elf's body. At first, Legolas felt the man's eyes as he had felt Ramlin's hands; that is, until the man knelt down next to him with water skin in hand, an evaluating and somewhat aloof expression on his face. He must truly be a healer.

Legolas watched taciturnly as Strider took from his pack a small leaf-wrapped packet of Elven waybread, which he hid in the folds of tunic over his lap. Where did he obtain this? The Elves are not wont to trade with just any human. The man moved in front of Legolas' head, blocking his view of the men who were moving out of the cave with saddles and gear in hand, and broke the bread into small pieces where it lay.

"Here, you need to eat," Strider offered, a piece of the waybread between his fingers. He moved to place the bread in the Elf's mouth but Legolas turned his head.

"I would feed myself."

"And we would both die if I cut your bonds for you to do so. Eat, please."

Grudgingly, Legolas opened his lips to accept the bit of bread. The Adan fed him several pieces, glancing to the cave's opening occasionally as if on watch for the other men. When the last piece had been eaten, Strider offered the Elf a drink of water. Again, Legolas turned his head to avoid the proffered sustenance, asking, "What is in it, human?"

"Nothing. It is just water. Hurry. We do not need them to find out I am helping you."

The archer drank heavily from the bladder, his thirst winning out over any objections he might have had to accepting the man's aid. He speaks as if though we were captives together. Legolas tried to remember the conversation he had with Strider the night before. He asked me to trust him. That I remember. The Elf attempted to move his legs and his arms, which were still tied behind his back: he could not feel his appendages but assumed they were just numb from lack of circulation. He realized with joy that his legs would obey him despite their numbness, though whether he could walk he did not know.

Strider checked the bandages on his leg, replacing the linen with a fresh wrapping. Only a healer carries around that much bandage, the Prince noted, seeing the many rolls of clean cloth in the human's satchel. "Why do you help me, human? Surely your fellow mercenaries do not need me to be healthy for what they plan for me."

The human tightened the bandaging and then laid Legolas' leg back to the ground gently. "The name is Strider."

"Forgive me... Strider. Why do you help me?" Legolas was surprised that he had apologized to the human, as it had slipped out without his meaning to do so. Mayhap, even if I cannot trust him, I can use him to escape.

"I help you because I cannot bear to watch another suffer," the healer told him, capping the flask of water and replacing his items once more into his bag.

"Even if it is an Elf that suffers?" There was no sarcasm in Legolas' voice, for he only felt astounded that the human would be moved by his suffering.

"Even if it is an Elf, yes." The man looked up from checking the temperature of the Elda's leg, the corners of his mouth turned up into a slight smile. "What is your name?"

Legolas was sure the human would not know him but did not want anyone to discover his royal status. I will not be priced. I will not be ransomed. Aloud he replied the first name that came to him, "Tauron."

Strider's lips curled up further until he was nearly grinning. "Forester is a fitting name for a Silvan Elf." He tied off the bandage and stood. "I imagine they are waiting for us." Legolas watched as the man sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose distractedly.

"Last night when we talked you said you would help me escape."

A pained look crossed the human's face. "I did. You are not well enough yet. We must bide our time, until you are better."

"It is complicated, right?"

The pained look returned to the human's face to stay. "It is, my friend. I am sorry that I cannot explain it now. Trust me, please. I will let no harm come to you if I can help it."

Legolas realized his skepticism must have shown clearly in his expression for the man only sighed again. Strider made as if to speak but Ramlin and Doran appeared in the cave entrance. Ramlin ordered, "Strider, saddle your mount. We will take the Elf." Strider only looked down uncertainly at the Prince before taking his bag in hand, collecting his saddle, and exiting the cave.

Suddenly, Legolas was left alone with the object of his newfound hatred, a loathing that filled his normally mirthful soul with black thoughts. Inside himself, the Elf feared the man's touch again: outside, his calm façade did not betray his fears. "Have you ever seen a fairer being, Doran?" Ramlin sneered at Legolas.

"Nay, Ramlin, those two idiots brought back the finest Elf flesh I have ever seen. Jalian says he could fetch a high price."

Ramlin rolled his eyes at his companion. "Ament will not see reason." Unable to evade the man, Legolas did not challenge the mercenary when he bent down to scoop up the Elf in his massively muscled arms. Bouncing the Elf slightly in his embrace, Ramlin laughed derisively, "He weighs nothing. He is lighter than air."

It was Doran's turn to roll his eyes. "He is the same size as me, Ramlin. It is only that your size is so great that you think him light."

Legolas tried futilely to hold his bound body away from the mercenary's chest, but Ramlin leant down so that his face was inches from the Elf's face. Not wanting the man to see his panic, Legolas glared scathingly at Ramlin, realizing that in his position he was not very intimidating, bound and at the mercenary's mercy as he was. "I bet he taste like berries, Doran, what do you think?"

"Try him," the archer retorted huskily, clearing his throat as he watched on with curiosity.

It was all the encouragement that Ramlin needed. He pressed his lips against the Elf's lips, licking them delicately. Had the two been lovers, the act would have been tender, but the Elf and man both knew what the act was: domination and the love of inflicting suffering. Legolas drew his head back as far as he could with no success, for he could not flee the man's mouth. Ramlin's tongue pried at the archer's lips, seeking entrance. Legolas allowed the man's tongue in, but as the mercenary sought entrance past the Elf's parted teeth, Legolas promptly closed them over the thick tongue invading his mouth.

Ramlin let loose a strangled cry of pain and rage, dropping Legolas to the stone and hardened soil floor of the cave. The mercenary held his tongue, small droplets of blood falling between his fingers, while glowering over the Elf. Doran looked on in humor and anticipation, glancing between Ramlin and the Elf as if waiting for one to explode into a fit of rage. Legolas only lay as he had fallen, for he was still bound. He knew he had hit his head hard enough to draw blood. A trickle of blood ran from his mouth, as well, and the coppery taste gave the Elf satisfaction. It was not his essence that stained his lips.

"Ramlin, Doran, get out here!" Ament's furious demand snapped Doran and Ramlin back to the present. Unwilling to let his injury go without retaliation, Ament spat the blood from his mouth out onto the ground. Powerless to defend himself, Legolas could only observe as Ramlin's immense fist rammed into his unprotected midsection. The Elf curled in on himself with the pain of the blow but made no sound, giving Ramlin no chance for satisfaction in returning the painful favor. A hand in his flaxen hair yanked the archer to his knees.

Ramlin glared down at the Elf maliciously. "You will pay dearly for that." The hand in his hair loosed itself unexpectedly, causing Legolas to fall once again to the firm dirt and stone floor. "Get him outside, Doran. If I touch him again, it will be to rip his pretty head from his shoulders." Doran complied quickly, his humor falling at the ire with which his friend spoke, and grabbed the Elf. The human pair and their captive went out into the sunlight.

A servant entered the throne room in Mirkwood's palace bearing a plate of food. The King's advisor promptly took the plate to the King, hoping that this time the sovereign would see sense and partake of the nourishment. The King had not eaten or slept since he had learned of Legolas' disappearance, having refused to leave his throne room lest Legolas be returned and Thranduil not be at hand to witness it. He was in no danger of starvation or exhaustion; however, his advisor feared the worst for the young Prince of Eryn Galen, and if the King neither ate nor slept now when hope remained, the King would fade quickly should the worst come to pass.

After the report had arrived that blood had been found close to the scouting troupe's campsite, King Thranduil had immediately ordered all the searchers to focus on that area. The delay between the King's orders and the movement of concentration was short; yet, the rain had poured from the sky, the blood had washed away or soaked into the ground, and the prints around the site had been scattered and destroyed by the softening soil and disrupted grass and leaves. Had not the sentry Tirn took it upon himself to track the prints after sending out a runner to inform King Thranduil, the direction the Prince and his captors had traveled would have been lost.

Tirn stood before the King now, silently waiting for any more questions. The advisor placed the plate before Thranduil, who did not even acknowledge its presence.

"That is it, then. They took to the river. They did not cross it?" the King asked, shaking his head in disbelief or denial.

Tirn bowed his head before his King. Although it was not his fault that the captors had taken boats down the Anduin, he felt responsible anyway. "They did not cross, sire. I swam across myself to check. At that time, the rain had yet to wash away the tracks on the eastern side and the western side had no tracks. The ground was marred as though a boat had been pushed into the river, your Majesty."

An uncomfortable silence overtook the three Elves ere the King spoke softly, his golden hair falling over his face as he lowered his head to stare at the plate on his table. "Thank you, Tirn. Your service to me and dedication to Legolas is commendable. You are excused."

The sentry left, his shoulders slumped in defeat, much like the two Elves he left behind.