Aragorn needs us. He needs us now. Elrohir's entire being was flooded with these thoughts. We need to find him. He needs us. Now. His step faltered as his mind gave way to an overwhelming sense of urgency.

Elladan caught his twin before the dark haired Elf had hit the ground. The two had been standing at the mouth of a cave they oft sequestered themselves in when it snowed or rained, as the case would soon be, while traveling across the Misty Mountains. When Elrohir had finished his scouting and been about to declare the cave safe for their occupancy, he had collapsed into a bemused Elladan's arms, though the elder Noldo's confusion had soon turned to fear.

"Elrohir! Brother, please, wake. What has happened?" The now serious Elladan heard nothing from the cave to indicate that his twin had incurred injury or trouble. "Elrohir, please, answer me." His twin was not unconscious; Elrohir seemed to be looking through Elladan, and he mumbled incoherently under his breath, though what was said the elder brother could not tell.

Legolas is there. And Aragorn needs us. Our Estel needs us.

Forthwith, Elrohir's glazed eyes cleared, and he became aware that his brother loomed over him whilst he lay on the ground, Elladan's cloak beneath his head.

"What has happened, Elrohir? You scared me half to Valinor!"

Elrohir only shook his head. "I do not know, muindor." The Elf tried to raise himself but his twin's hand pushed him tenderly back down to the ground.

"Are you hurt?"

"Nay." The recollection of his powerful premonition washed over the prone Elf, who immediately sat up again, this time paying no attention to the hand that tried to stay his movement. "Elladan! We have to make haste to Eryn Galen. Aragorn and Legolas are in terrible danger."

"What are you saying? We've not seen Prince Legolas for centuries, and Aragorn should be coming this way." Elladan's confusion at his twin's behavior was increasing. "They do not even know each other. We do not even know the Prince... not well, anyway." The son of Lord Elrond was abruptly taken aback by a sudden insight into Elrohir's outburst. "You have had a vision, have you not?"

Their mother had been plagued with visions, and from her, Elrohir had gained this often horrible trait. Elladan did not need convincing any longer from his twin that they needed to travel and quickly. Elrohir tried to stand only to find his legs quavering beneath him. "I believe so. We need to find them."

"But where are they? Estel was to be headed home – how came he to meet Legolas? Are they in Mirkwood? Are they...?"

Interrupting impatiently, Elrohir exclaimed, standing and pulling his brother up with him, "I know not, Elladan! Let us just go. The way will become known to us."

Disregarding the contradiction of traveling to a place Elrohir had not bothered to specify, the twins forsook the comfort of the cave by mounting their horses and venturing further towards the clouds blackened with their heavy burden of rain; off the mountains did they go, and towards the unknown peril in which Elrohir believed their adopted brother and the Prince Legolas to be submerged.

Aragorn had been ill prepared for that sight that had woken him from the darkness obscuring his thinking. Although he had heard Ramlin and Tauron speaking, only one word had permeated the murk: his own name. "Strider!" the Elf had shouted.

Tauron's voice had been filled with terror and desperation. It had goaded him into opening his eyes, and then he had realized the extent to which Ramlin was taking his good time, his sickening idea of fun. The Ranger had fought back a wave of nausea that stemmed from his inability to draw in enough air to clear the black daze over his mind. He knew that the Elf had stopped the mercenary from breaking his neck or choking the life out of him; he would not let the Elf suffer any longer. Goblet be damned; it is not worth this, he had thought, glad that he had awoken before serious harm had come to the Wood-Elf.

Giving Tauron the chance to flee had been the only way to ensure Ramlin could not further injure the fair creature, even if it meant facing Ramlin's wrath. Ament's wrath will be more fearful to behold, the Ranger brooded distractedly, if I live long enough to see it.

For now, as Ramlin barreled towards him, the Elf ran, and Aragorn seemed to be the focus of the mercenary's attention. He squared his shoulders, ready for the assault. The mercenary carried no sword or dagger in hand and the Ranger would not escalate the altercation into further violence unless Ramlin initiated it. To Aragorn's consternation, the mercenary ran through the lapse between the trees beside the Ranger and in the direction the Elf had taken – not towards him.

Estel stood only a second, mouth agape, peering after Ramlin, before sprinting after the mercenary, intending to impede the man from recapturing the Elf.

Ament was rapping his fingers against his thigh in irritation. How long can it take them to take an Elf to piss? He and the others were mounted and ready to leave, and his already thin patience was running out.

"Ament!"

Locating the source of his brother's roaring voice, Ament kicked his horse frantically into motion, heading towards the grove of birches where Ramlin and Strider had taken the Elf. What has that fool done now? It took only moments for the mercenary to reach Ramlin racing on foot after their captive, with Strider not far behind the two. The Elf bolted across the wide plain that they were traveling on, running towards the remote, shadowy green forest several hundred yards to the northeast. If he makes it to the trees, we will never catch him. Spurring his horse on faster, Ament made a beeline for the escaping Elf.

The mercenary could hear the screams of his brother behind him, advising him to catch the Elf. Idiot, what do you think I am doing? If we lose the Elf, you are dead, brother. An unexpected complication occurred to him: The Elf knows too much. I cannot risk him confessing our plans to his kind. The mercenary took the time to sigh in relief that he had worn his bow and quiver – he would rather the Elf be dead and find a new one than to risk his plan becoming exposed.

Yet, he never needed to use it, for as he rode abreast of his captive, he noticed the Elf's bleeding leg and bound wrists, and realizing these as disadvantages, Ament leapt from the horse and onto the creature, who grunted loudly as they hit the ground. The two rolled in the tall grasses, Ament's hold on the Elf never loosing, while the riderless horse slowed to a trot near the edge of the forest that was now only yards away. When the pair ceased their tumble, Ament sprang onto the injured Elf, pummeling the captive with his fists repeatedly in the face and torso to stun him. The creature struggled, half trying to evade the blows and half trying to squirm his way from underneath the man's weight. As the mercenary straightened, the captive managed to free his legs, aiming to kick the man off and away from him, but Ament anticipated the action and grabbed the Elf's injured leg between his hands. He wrung the bleeding wound with all his might, wrenching the already torn flesh in his twisting hands. Instantaneously, the Elf bellowed in pain, his back arching in a convulsive reflex to reach the leg that tortured him.

He sat on the captive, pinning his heaving chest to the grassy plain. Ament smiled maliciously down at the Elf, whose fair features had been bloodied during the resistance. The mercenary noted the creature's disheveled, bruised appearance, his torn and tattered tunic, and the partially unlaced leggings. Damn it, Ramlin... the mercenary began, but his attention wavered from his internal rant to the small, gold threaded crest on the inside pocket of the Elf's tunic. Ament ran his fingers over the aureate insignia, knowing its origins and awed by its implications. This Elf is Mirkwood royalty. Ament stared at the creature intently, his recognition coming slowly.

The captive still gasped for air, his eyes fast shut, and his body wracked with tremors of agony and exhaustion: this did not halt Ament from venting his pent up hatred. He pelted the Elf across the face, trouncing the helpless body beneath him with a few blows to the chest as his ire overcame his plans. Thranduilion. This is the son of Thranduil. Our revenge will come much sooner than I hoped.

Ament recomposed himself. He leant in over the Elf's prone and unmoving body. "I know who you are," the mercenary whispered in the Elf's ear. "Thranduilion. Prince Legolas." The captive's eyes fluttered open. Ament harrumphed, his triumph glimmering in the incandescent sparkle of his dark eyes. "Long have I desired to see your father suffer for his greed, and you shall help me succeed."

The Elf did not deny his royalty, his own eyes glinting proudly though his voice was broken from fatigue and abuse, countering, "My father's greed? You have taken me from my home for your own greed. King Thranduil may enjoy his wealth but he has not stooped so low as this to obtain it."

Ament drew his dagger from its scabbard and buried it hilt deep in the Elf's right upper arm. "You know nothing of it! Do not be so quick to defend the murderer you call King and father." The mercenary ripped the dagger from the creature's limb savagely, extracting a low moan from the beaten Elf beneath him. Wondrous at his windfall, he regarded the captive, adding darkly, "I should give you to Ramlin for his pleasure, Elfling. If he knew who you were, he wouldn't be as kind as even he was today." The mercenary chortled in perverse amusement as the Elf's proud defiance became tinged with trepidation.

As much as I desire to, I will have to wait to kill the whelp. He is too valuable. Ament wiped his dagger clean in the soft grass beside him. If Ramlin knows the Elf's identity, there will be no stopping him from killing it. The mercenary watched as the beaten Elf finally slid into unconsciousness and was immensely satisfied with his expenditure of vengeful passion. Sheathing his blade, Ament stood from his seat on the Prince's chest, confident the creature would not try to flee in his condition.

"Ament, egad, man. Good catch!" Jalian interrupted, breaking Ament's thoughts as he, Doran, and Meika's horses finally caught up to their leader. Ramlin and Strider were not far behind, panting as they raced to the scene.

"What happened?" Ament queried, moving treacherously closer to his wayward brother when Ramlin finally approached.

Although Ament's voice was quiet, Ramlin responded immediately to the false tone, which he well knew meant the leader was incensed, and drew himself up to his full height. Strider divided his anxious gaze between the Elf and two brothers, upset, it seemed to Ament, that their captive had nearly escaped. The mercenary answered his brother's question innocently, "Strider tried to cut his hands free for the Elf to relieve himself. I told him you would disapprove. I stopped him. The Elf ran while I was talking to Strider."

Ament stepped nearer to his brother, grinning murderously as he spoke, "Somehow, I doubt that is the whole story. I am sure Strider can tell us what happened. However, from the look of the Elf, his shirt torn off and his leggings barely around his hips, I can easily guess Strider's answer." Ament paused, his ire tainting his scowl with a fierceness that did not often accompany his usual display of displeasure. "I will not let you ruin this for me, Ramlin. This is too big, it is too important. Do you not see this, idiot?"

"I see it," Ramlin ground out in indignation, crossing his large arms over his broad chest, but pouting like a child, "I see that you would trust this stranger Strider over your own flesh and blood. I see that this Elf means more to you than your brother."

"I trust Strider because he has yet to muddle my plans with buffoonery, unlike you, who have been the bane of my existence since your birth. Too many times in the past I have let you get away with your idiocy, but not this time, Ramlin. If you interfere again I will cleave your fool head from your shoulders, understood?"

"But..." his brother began.

In a flash of motion, Ament pulled his dagger again from its sheath, throwing the small blade expertly at his brother's booted feet and nearly removing the man's toes. "Enough! I wish to hear your excuses no more. Do you understand me, Ramlin?" Ament's appearance was degenerately sinister. Ramlin nodded in obedience, his eyes shining with alarm. "Leave now, all of you. I will join you shortly."

None dared to contradict their fuming leader, who retrieved his dagger silently after Ramlin had walked away. The Elf's slack body was rebound and hefted onto Doran's waiting lap. Ramlin mounted behind Jalian and Strider behind Meika, and the entourage galloped back to the campsite to collect the other horses, leaving their leader behind as he went for his own horse.

Ament's mind raced with his newly acquired information. This changes things. My idiot brother cannot be allowed near the Elf again, lest he find out its identity. I suppose I should be thankful the fool disobeyed; else, I might not know that the means to the goblet's power is also the end to our quest for revenge.

The young Ranger clung lightly to the older man riding in front of him, dumbfounded by the outcome of the quick events that had just taken place. He had fully expected Ramlin's version of the story to be more accusatory, leading to a battle of words, or swords, which would end badly for all involved. Ramlin had to have heard me speak to Tauron... and he knows the Elf tried to help me. How would I explain that? Strider's aid to the Elf could be easily clarified, and truly, it seemed that Ament would be thankful to the healer for maintaining the Wood-Elf's health. Elves often died from the trauma of torment and abuse, and despite that Tauron was a warrior, Aragorn believed that the Elf would likely have released his faer willingly from its earthly confines rather than to face a captivity that only promised more misery. The stars shine on us this day, Tauron, brighter than Anor's light. Despite my failings. Nevertheless, Ament did not find out the truth about what happened. That does not mean he will not, or that Ramlin will not seek his own revenge.

In his peripheral vision, the Ranger noticed Ramlin scowled unabashedly at him and the captive in turns, each visiting stare becoming more acidulous. Aragorn vacillated between his desire to behead the would-be rapist Ramlin, regardless of the consequences, or to conquer his animosity so that he and the Elf could escape. The Elf is in no condition for flight, even more so now than before, and yet it is even more imperative that we flee.

What have I done? I am no better than these thugs are. I have kept Tauron in this situation against his will by my complicity. Estel had not forgotten the reason for his decision to retain the Elf but he was no longer certain that his preference for the greater common good was the moral act. I held him here by my own desire to see the world rid of any threat to my family and friends. My own selfish reasons have taken precedence. Unable to reconcile the discrepancy between his fear for Tauron's safety and the nagging desire to thwart Ament's plans, Aragorn decided he would have to explain everything to the Elf. I've no doubt he will choose his own safety, especially with the threat of Ramlin's continued violence. The Ranger was certain that the mercenary would molest the Elf again, but he did not wish Tauron to be around to discover the authenticity of his belief.

Upon their arrival at the campsite, Aragorn and Ramlin moved noiselessly to their own mounts. No word was uttered amongst the group of mercenaries except Aragorn's gentle commands to his steed. They took to the plain, heading for southernmost borders of Mirkwood. Moments later, Ament joined them, his scowl in place.

Aragorn glanced worriedly at the insentient Elf that lay across Doran's lap, his healer side coming through as he thought, He has not yet regained consciousness, and he bleeds too freely. I need to see to him before too long; else, he will lose too much blood. The wound from Ament's dagger will no doubt become infected without proper treatment. Not all these bruises could have occurred during the time I was unconscious. Surely, Ament vented his own fury on the Elf.

The concept of escape again crossed Estel's mind. We've no hope now. If only I had planned for this last night or this morning, we well could have met a border patrol in Eryn Galen and left the difficulties up to someone else.

The heir to the throne of Gondor balked at his own appraisal of his and Tauron's situation, for there was much to consider other than his and the Elf's lives. He was not sure of the Elf's disposition, since he did not know him, but Tauron was obviously a warrior, and with that came the responsibility that Aragorn himself felt; that is, the responsibility to put the lives of others before one's own. I will need to talk to him tonight, if he lasts that long.

The first drops of the oncoming storm hit the riders. Aragorn merely turned his weary face to the sky, hoping to find some comfort in the familiarity of the black thunderheads that crackled overhead. The electrifying lightning had yet to come.

When Tirn had reached the part of the river where he had reported Prince Legolas had departed from, the sentry sat on the sandy bank and wept piteously. The gray storm clouds that had been threatening the morning had erupted in a gush of cold droplets that left the fair Elf sodden with their offering to Arda. If any signs were left, they have washed away now.

Tirn had never doubted King Thranduil's love for the Prince; however, he had doubted that the King still held hope for his son's return. Now, the sentry could see the true funereal circumstances into which he had entered: there was little that inspired hope along the swelling shores of the Anduin. Not much thought had been given afore nor during his journey to the river, but now that he was confronted with what to do next, a disconsolate Tirn flipped the medallion he usually wore about his neck to decide which way to turn.

Nothing had been discovered about the origins of the men who had abducted the Prince. The footsteps to the river were the only tracks that had been sought. A few more traps had been found, luckily without injury to anyone, but they could not discern from the traps any knowledge about their owners. Those tracks that had led to the site of the Elfnapping had washed away, forgotten in the bustle to find where the Prince had been taken, not from where the takers had come. Moreover, at least two days and several inches of rain had obscured even the furrow on the ground that Tirn had concluded implied the men had vanished via river.

Which way to turn? They could have paddled north, or rode the current south. They could have beached on the eastern shore, or grounded on the western bank. The sentry nearly mewled in frustration before he reined in his despairing thoughts. Despair will not find the Prince. I made an oath to the King and to Legolas. I will find him or I will not return.

Tirn ceased flipping his medallion, instead looking at it intently. The trinket shone in the midafternoon, overcast sunlight, reflecting its meaning, if not its worth, with the golden hued shadow it cast upon the flaxen haired Elda's face. The medallion was a gift from his father, a sentry himself before the War of Five Armies called him to service where he met his end. On the medal was naught but a carved leaf, a symbol to remind Tirn that his place was as the trusted guard of the Prince.

Sighing, the Elf flipped the coin once – leaf up south, leaf down north. It landed leaf up on his hand. South, good. I don't think they took him north. Again, the trinket somersaulted through the air, and Tirn decided leaf up eastern, leaf down western shore. Again, the coin landed leaf side up. Eastern. I doubt they took to the river only to stay close to Eryn Galen. But he would follow the chance instruction of the coin, for he had nothing else to look to for guidance.

Picking himself from the now muddy bank with a leaden wretchedness, Tirn shook the rainwater from his hair and cloak and mounted his horse, steering the beast towards the southern Mirkwood borders.