Author's Note: The song used in this chapter is "Never Let Go" by Matt Redman. I didn't write it, nor do I own it! :O)

The last few miles toward Londeglai had been difficult to cover. The terrain was rocky, with trees and branches down in many places from the raging storm they had ridden through. The only good that it had brought was fresh grass that the horses were thrilled to be able to grab a bite of as they moved onward. The sun would not be up for several hours yet, and so as they loped up a small rise, Aragorn and Arwen drew to a halt. The sight of Londeglai, even in such a state, was a welcome sight.

"Praise Ilúvatar," she murmured, staring down at the miserable place. "This is the place Soronar spoke to you about?"

Aragorn nodded. "Not much of a sight, but we should be able to easily find out more information here. We do not have long to spare, but it will have to do." His eyes fixed on each building, but there were no people that could be seen at this distance. This was an evil place, and though he had not spoken his fears to Arwen, he truly did not want her to get anywhere near it. A man was less inconspicuous to ride into town, particularly since he was used to wandering in the Wilds…looking as filthy as any stained traveler who had been wandering for days. But Arwen…she was an elf with regal bearing. A woman who spoke softly and carefully no matter what role she played. What she needed was to either remain behind, or be so disguised that none would recognize her. Though news traveled fast in Middle Earth, he knew that they would not recognize them so much as to think they were the King and Queen of Gondor. However, it would be too strange for a man and an elven woman to travel to a town such as this in the middle of nowhere…especially when that woman looked like Arwen. Of course…there was one possibility for that scenario…

She finally saw him eyeing her and turned to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow at him. "I see that look on your face…and I cannot imagine what is going through your mind. Tell me what you are thinking."

He laughed suddenly. "That you need a disguise," he replied. Indicating his own clothing, he said, "No one shall look at me twice, Arwen, but you? No matter how muddy your boots or how filthy your clothes, you would still be a beautiful elvish woman…and every man in this village is going to be looking at you." He gave another laugh. "Perhaps you should stay here."

She nudged Asfaloth closer to Brego and rested a hand on his leg. "Do women never travel with men in Middle Earth?"

"Well…" he said, and then he gave her a funny look, one that she could not discern, "they do if they…well…" He gave a sigh at the amused look on her face. "What I mean to say is that a woman like you would never be found with a ruffian like me unless you were my lover…or my slave."

She made a face. "Sometimes the world disgusts me. What if I draw my hood and stay near the horses? I am not allowing you to go down there alone."

"Arwen…have you ever been in a town of men before?"

"Bree," she stated, and met his eyes evenly, "and Minas Tirith, Osgiliath, Edoras, and many towns in the Westfold. I am versed well-enough in the world, Aragorn." She ended dryly, "One only needs to walk into a few dank places in Minas Tirith to know how the lives of men can become…indecent."

"Yet you have never been to a town as this one, have you?"

She shook her head and sighed. "No, Aragorn, but I am willing to follow where you lead me, and do whatever you ask."

"Whatever—?"

She raised a hand. "Except that I will not remain on this hill to wait for you." She poked him in the chest. "That you can wipe from your mind altogether." He sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that he was not going to win there at all.

He drew up his own hood and watched her do the same. "Come down, and we will see what remains to be seen." He looked a bit tense, and her hand made its way to Hadhafang's sheath. He nodded. "Good. You should be ready to use it at any moment."

At a trot, they had arrived inside the town in minutes and began making their way through it. There were few establishments that looked like anything other than temporary housing, but it was quick work and keen eyes that rapidly found the Warg's Prey on the edge of the murky well at the center of 'town.' Aragorn assumed that if there would be a place with information for them, it would be this inn. Soronar had mentioned it briefly as a place where many of the men would gather, but they had seen no one thus far; all shutters were closed and there were no sounds. No other living souls were present aside from several tied horses, so obviously Bragolaur and his men were gone. Aragorn dismounted in front of the establishment, followed shortly by Arwen.

Handing her Brego's rein, he nodded to her. "I am going inside to get a drink," he said casually. "Water the horses, lissa quen."

She raised an eyebrow at the endearment she had never heard him use, but she figured that if anyone was watching, at least they would think that was all she was to him. She hated the idea of waiting for him outside, knowing that anything could happen in there…or out here for that matter. But she was not about to argue with him, and she knew he had certain skills that she knew nothing about…and she would be severely out of place in a tavern.

"If that would please you," was her reply, and he nodded to her.

"It would indeed. Wait here; I shall only be a moment." As he turned, his demeanor changed; no more the King of Gondor, his steps were as they had been when she remembered him as a wanderer, a Ranger. It was as though he had immediately become Strider once more; it pleased her to see him so at ease. Telling herself not to worry as Aragorn opened the door of Warg's Prey, she turned Brego and Asfaloth towards the trough.

As Aragorn moved through the front door of the dilapidated Warg's Prey, he wondered himself if it had been such a good idea to leave Arwen outside alone. As soon as he saw the inside of this place, however, his entire attitude on that changed. It was as filthy of a mess as it had been the day Legolas had seen the inside of it, though Aragorn knew nothing of that. He had a vague flash of the memory of sitting in Butterbur's Prancing Pony, and thought briefly that the man would be insulted to see an inn treated so poorly. Even if he was a wayward traveler, he knew he would never purchase anything from an establishment that looked like this…unless of course, one wanted to speak with the bartender for some information…or dying of thirst.

So naturally, Aragorn made his way toward the bar. There were three men other than the bartender and himself inside the inn, and one rather scarlet-looking woman. One man sat in the far back corner as Aragorn would have at one time when he wanted to be invisible and undisturbed, watching for others entering the inn. However, this man was not looking for anyone, considering he was drunk and half asleep. The other two men were sitting in chairs at a round table, laughing rather raucously and they were flirting with the woman in a rather coarse and vulgar manner. She, though, obviously at work, was enjoying herself…his glance about the room read all of this as he continued to walk toward the bar. He even noticed the look she gave him: one of calculating interest. Her eyebrows raised; he had certainly sparked her curiosity.

Aragorn ignored that, of course; he had seen one too many men ensnared by these cunning women, and he had no intention of acknowledging her look to gain her favor. He left his hood up as he approached the bar, laying a hand on its alcohol stained surface and leaning casually against it. The bartender, the innkeeper, turned to him and eyed him up. Naturally, he could not see the stranger's face, but Aragorn could certainly see his. I almost do not believe it. He was surprised to notice that he knew this man; his name was in fact Léodfast, a shepherd of Rohan, or at least he had been at one time. Aragorn remembered him very well, for he had met him as he wandered. He was not a pleasant man, more so he was afraid to do anything that was against the will of whoever was with him at the time. Aragorn had wondered why such a man had been tending sheep, but he had found out only too well how dangerous the man had been for he had killed his wife and children, and then later escaped. What he was doing here, Aragorn did not know, nor did he care. What he wanted was information, and if he remembered the man well enough, he should have no trouble in acquiring it.

"Well, what can I get for you?" Léodfast asked with a little clearing of his hoarse throat. The man sounded as though he had breathed in far too much smoke for the last thirty years of his life, and Aragorn was pretty sure that was fairly accurate.

"Ale," he said in a casual voice, and he could tell that Léodfast was trying to place him. Instead, he seemed to shrug off the thought that he knew him from somewhere and reached to grab a flagon for some ale. The man set it on the bar and Aragorn picked up the mug. As foul as it looked, nothing could have been more revolting than its flavor. The stranger had never had worse ale in his entire life, and he set it down on the bar immediately. "Where do you get this scum?" he asked incredulously, tossing his head gently towards the door. "I could get better from that muck you call a pond out back."

Léodfast raised his eyebrows at him. "Oh yeah? You used to better stuff, stranger?" He narrowed his eyes at him. "What brings you out here anyway; how'd you find this place?"

Aragorn leaned over the bar towards him. "Information," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "and you do not wish to know how I found you." He did not care if those in the tavern heard him or not; he had nothing to hide from them. Léodfast looked into Aragorn's face and did not recognize it. Many years had changed it, weathering it from such wandering and battles…but those eyes he would never forget. Those were the eyes of the man who screamed after him as he ran from his house, telling him that one day he would find him, that they would meet again. He saw his entire life flash before his eyes.

Aragorn watched and could barely keep the smile off his face as the man went from a questioning red to a pale and sickly white. The man was completely terrified, and Aragorn remembered his own promise quite well. He suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Léodfast's shirt, dragging the hefty man half over the bar.

"You!" the Rohirric man breathed, staring into his eyes as the hood fell back. "Thorongil!"

"Frightened?" he asked softly, his eyes suddenly blazing. He wished that he could deal out judgment on this man, but he was not here for that. The man lived a solitary life, a cursed life nowhere near the happiness he had known when he had his wife and children. That made Aragorn angry, but his punishment had been dealt with by Eru. If this was his fate, let him be. Still, Aragorn could use his fear to his advantage.

"Please…please don't kill me!" he whimpered softly, their talk still not drawing any looks from the other patrons in the bar.

Aragorn glared at him. "I might spare you," he said quite nastily, his tone low and cold, "if you give me answers to everything I ask you about the elf, Bragolaur."

A terrified look came over Léodfast's face. "I don't know anything, honest!"

Aragorn swiftly yanked the man against the bar, knocking over the mug of putrid ale on him, staining the bar and the man's shirt. "You know a great deal," he hissed, "and you will tell me all of it…right now."

The man began to shake. "He'll kill me if I tell you!"

"What pledge do you hold to him?" he asked, lowering the man's feet a little towards the floor. "Trust me when I say this, you stinking rat, you will never see him again. As soon as I find him, he will not be coming back."

"B-b-bbut his men—"

"You will never see them again either," he stated, his eyes like daggers as he dragged him close to him again. "Now tell me what I want to know," he snapped. "Has the elf been here?"

Léodfast whimpered, but answered, "He'd been here two days before his horde arrived; from somewhere near Gondor, I thought I heard 'em say. It's not even been a day yet since he's been gone; he left late yesterday morning."

"How many were with him?"

He shrugged, still shaking. "I don't know. He always had an elvish woman with him, and there were at least ten in the company that arrived with her."

"Was there anyone else that you saw?" Aragorn found it hard to believe that Bragolaur traveled with only ten men.

"N-no, Thorongil," he said quickly, "those were his men. There was a captive they brought…an elf in bad shape. I know they'd been beatin' him, and they beat him more when they arrived." Legolas…

"Where did they take him?"

"Bragolaur was meetin' up with some of his men at a camp about four days ride from Mirkwood—"

"What did he say they were going to do there?"

"Meet before they sent out messengers to Thranduil that they had his son and wanted his land. They only said that they'd regroup there. They were in a pretty big hurry."

Aragorn lowered him a little towards the floor so that the man's toes were touching; still the grip on his tunic was like the black stone of Isengard, a grip that would not be shattered until the truth was heard. "You know an awful lot for someone who said they did not know a thing." As Aragorn spoke the man tried to reach behind the bar. "Put your hands where I can see them," he barked and the man bring them up immediately. "Now, which direction."

"S—"

"Do not lie!" Aragorn snapped, shaking the man as though he was a leaf of hay as he cried out in terror. "You ought to remember that I know when you lie."

"West, west," the man began to sob, "they went west!"

"Good," Aragorn said stiffly, and he hardened his heart against feeling any sort of pity for this sniveling man. In any case, he was only using empty threats, for he had no intention of taking the man's life. "Did he speak to the elf when they arrived?"

"Y-yes!"

"What did they say?" he asked, trying to be patient.

"Th-th-they sa-said—"

"Control yourself and speak quickly!"

The Rohirric man seemed to pull it together. "They talked about their journey, and then they had a fight upstairs. A big man was killed, thrown out the second story window! They left that morning, yesterday…they're gone! Go after them! Leave me alone!"

"I have one last question," he said quietly, and Léodfast looked at him, sweat running down his face. "Does he know that he is being followed…tracked?"

The man shuddered and began to shake his head, but as Aragorn's eyes blazed he cried out again and started to sob anew. "He knew that a man was dead; the man they killed when catching the elf! The elf said that his friends would come and that he shouldn't underestimate them, but Bragolaur wouldn't listen. The elf said that he'd understand when they arrived. They talked about a warg attack that had happened a few days before…and the elf said that he didn't believe they were dead, that they couldn't be." It must be Enguina and Gimli; they sent wargs after them?

"But they did not know at the time? They were not sure?"

"No, no!" Léodfast cried. "They didn't know if they were alive or dead, but no one can withstand Girith…" he shuddered again. "None can survive."

"You would be surprised what men can survive with their will," Aragorn mumbled, and brought Léodfast's face forward toward his. The man cringed, shrinking back from him and closing his eyes tightly. "Why are you so frightened? I always keep my word, and my word was that I would not harm you. You are free to go; you have been most helpful." He set the man on his own two feet, but as soon as he released him, Léodfast dropped straight to his knees, his legs shaking too badly to hold him.

Aragorn could not help but think he was pathetic as he tossed a coin on the bar. "For the rancid scum you gave me to drink," he muttered, and turned his back on the man, hoping he would never have to set eyes on him again. Shaking his head in disgust, he made for the door, and then suddenly found himself running, hearing the clash of metal on metal from outside.

It took him half a second to reach the doorframe and nearly tear the door from its hinges to open it. The door flung open, revealing a rearing and screaming Brego directly in front of the door. His feet struck out at a man grabbing at his reins; initially, Aragorn thought the man might have been laughing, but in another second, Brego's hooves clubbed down and he was on the ground screaming. The horse was snorting and stomping, his body covered with lather, but Aragorn was not worried. He knew the animal could defend himself. Instead, he ran around him to find her, his eyes scanning faster than he believed they could…Arwen!

There were three bodies on the ground on the other side of Brego, and Aragorn followed them there to the well and the trough, and then behind another building. There, down by the muddy pond, stood Arwen, Hadhafang drawn and glistening in the moonlight, facing off against four men who attacked from all sides. He drew Andúril, running down the hill towards them.

Arwen slashed out at the man before her, hewing his side and knocking him dead to the ground. The one behind her she smashed effectively in the face with her elbow, drawing her arm back and squashing his nose to a bloody pulp. He fell backwards into the water and remained there in the shallows, face-up and unmoving. She turned just as the third nearly sliced her shoulder from her body, but Aragorn was right there to meet him, Andúril tearing off his arm. The fourth man converged on Arwen, but she was ready, even from the close call she had just had. She knocked the sword from the drunken soldier's hand and kicked him back from her; he landed on his butt on the ground, and there he stayed, unconscious at their feet. Arwen turned to find Aragorn looking at her, both of them breathing hard, their swords still at the ready.

"Finally! How kind of you to make it," her voice sounded indignant, though her eyes betrayed none of the relief at seeing him there well and alive…not to mention for saving her life. He looked back at her and his face grew cross, though there was something in his eyes as well.

"I swear," he complained, wiping Andúril and then sheathing it, "I cannot leave you alone for one moment! What is this problem with Elvish women and swords and fighting? Ilúvatar, save me from the headaches you bring me!"

"Me?" she questioned, taking a step closer to him. "You should not have gone on your own into the inn! What were you thinking?"

"That I could trust you with one simple task: 'water the horses,' but no," he protested, "out from the inn I come and there is my horse," he said, waving back over his shoulder as Brego came down the hill, Asfaloth beside him, "stomping some stranger into the ground."

"He was defending himself!" she said just as defensive, wiping Hadhafang. "And what were you doing? Having a drink while I was out here fighting for our lives?" She slammed the sword into its sheath as well, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at him with a gleam in her eye.

"A simple task! An ordinary task," he ranted in his soft way, as he gave a shuddering laugh and shook his head. "But nay, you must become all noble and begin to pick fights—"

"Pick fights?" she snapped, her face two inches from his. "How dare you insult—"

"—that I must come and save you from!" he rolled his eyes. "What has evil turned you into?"

"See here, Thorongil, Rider of the Rohirrim—"

"I was having a simple drink with an old friend!"

"You should have been out here with me!"

"Please! You should have been watering the horses as I had instructed you—"

"Instructed?!" she snapped. "You…you!"

"You cannot deny that I am right! If you had been where you were supposed to have been this would not have happened. You would not be out here fighting—"

"If you had taken me in there with you as I had wanted—"

"I thought you had wanted to please me?" he asked indignantly, his hands going to his hips as well. His eyebrows rose at the look of fury and something else that crossed her face, and he gave a frustrated sigh. "Truly, I cannot even begin to understand the way your mind works. Honestly, inya, you call yourself my wife—"

And then her arms were around his neck and his around her waist and she had pressed her lips to his, cutting off his words and he was lifting her from the ground and holding her close and kissing her back. Then he just held her, her face pressed to his neck, her fingers wound tightly into his hair. "Ilúvatar save you if you ever frighten me like that again," he whispered softly, his voice hoarse and his throat tight. She could not help but give a laugh with the same tight-throated sound that he had.

"Or you me," she said, and he kissed the nape of her neck, the only part of her he could reach with his lips, her face so buried in his neck. "What happened in there?" she asked him when she could finally speak again.

He laughed. "I met a friend who gladly told me all that he knew."

"What did this 'friend' have to say?"

"Bragolaur left not even a day ago, late in the morning of yesterday."

"We may catch them by dawn if we ride fast!" she said, her eyes widening. He released her immediately and kissed her forehead swiftly.

"Come," he said, and in another moment, they had swung up into their saddles. Brego and Asfaloth were ready, and they took off at a lope, leaving Londeglai behind.

Enguina woke as if from a fog; her head and shoulder were aching, but she remembered where she was and why she was here. Looking up, she immediately began looking for Gimli and Legolas; she found the dwarf first, tied up not far from her to a tree and clearly still unconscious. Legolas was also not far, about twenty feet to her right. His head still hung down, but he was breathing. She wondered a bit desperately if he was awake. She wanted to comfort him, to hold him in her arms. Having been so close to freeing him, the pain of failure was acute. And then she remembered why she had failed…and her heart froze within her.

Desperation and terror filled her as she began to glance about the camp. It was only a few hours later not yet dawn, so the thump to her head must not have been too harsh. She looked about everywhere for a sign of Bragolaur; her biggest fear was that he was going to come to her. Feeling her hands begin to tremble, she tried to focus herself. Ilúvatar, help me stop this. I need to rescue Legolas. Help me overcome my fear. She had to begin herself; no one was coming to free her. She wrestled the pain in her shoulder and won as she tested the ropes on her wrists—they were old rope! Immediately, seeing an extremely fortunate gift, she began scraping them along the tree she had been propped up against. Not a soul in the camp was looking at her, especially as most of them were sound asleep again. She could not believe her good fortune and their foolishness! Ilúvatar, you are good!

A bit worried that someone might wake to her scratching noises, she wanted to hide the sound, but then, over that noise, she heard a soothing voice begin to sing quietly. The voice was Legolas's, and she was amazed that even though he was ill, he sang softly. She did not know if he knew she was awake and trying to escape, but the song began to give her peace; her worrying ceased, and her movements became more precise as the ropes began to tear.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

Your perfect love is casting out fear

Even when I am caught in the middle of the storms of this life

I will not turn, I know you are near

And I will fear no evil, for my god is with me

And if Eru is with me, whom than shall I fear?

You never let go, through the calm and through the storm

You never let go through every high and every low

You never let go, Lord, you never let go of me

I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on

There will be an end to these troubles, but until that day comes

I will praise you; I will praise you.

Legolas's song of hope touched her heart. Things were at their worst at the moment: Bragolaur here, Gimli prisoner, Legolas wounded, but Ilúvatar was god in everything…and within him one could not be shaken. Had she not said the same words to Arwen a few months ago? She knew who was at her side, who went before and behind…he was with her. No matter what, she would trust him; He had gotten her this far.

Rip! The last bit of rope tore free. Her hands released with pain in her upper body, but she forced it aside so that she could throw herself to her feet, heading towards Legolas in the next instant. Unfortunately, there had been one man, Listwith, who had eyes on her, completely startled as she came to her feet directly in front of him. They stared at one another in shock for one complete second.

"What the—" he began, and then rushed her. She brought up both hands and slammed them into his chest, knocking him backward. As he backpedaled, he could not catch his balance and his arms pin wheeled as he fell, butt-first into the campfire. Screaming, he rolled off, trying to put out his backside in the dust. Enguina, however, did not even look back; she had his sword, and she made right for Legolas. Realizing that they had never checked the ropes she had been untying, she easily undid what she had begun hours before.

The sudden release in pressure was both a major form of relief and a serious form of pain. Gasping for breath, Legolas fell forward, unable to catch himself; instead, she caught him in her arms, and then placed her hands on his face, her eyes searching for his.

"Oh my love, forgive me," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "I am so late."

He laughed softly though his chest ached. "Let us save Gimli and get—look out!"

She was on her feet and swinging the sword in a moment, and it caught the man in hip, slicing through him. He fell over, and she kicked him away, the pain in her ribs slicing deep. In seconds, she knew that the group would be all over her. Quickly, she ran to the nearest horse, a friendly-looking grey, and untied it. But what she had not thought of suddenly came to the forefront of her mind. How was she to get Legolas on the horse? She dragged the steed over and hurriedly reached down to grab Legolas underneath the arms. There was no time to be careful and she steeled herself against the cry of pain that he had no choice but to release.

Just as suddenly her attempt had begun, there was not one in the camp who had not heard Listwith screaming. Arrows sliced through the air, dropping the horses just before she had been able to get Legolas onto it. Horror coursed through her at the death of the innocent animal, but she had to recover quickly, releasing Legolas and whirling with the sword she had stolen.

She knew something was wrong immediately. Her arms were weak and the sword was far too heavy for her to swing as she just had. She caught his blade, but he began to bring her sword back toward her, as there was no way she could hold him.

It was, instead, Legolas who saved them both. He dropped to his knees by the tree, grimacing in pain, and reached out, his hands finding the rope that had bound him. He hastily tossed it around the elf's legs and pulled hard, yanking his feet out from underneath him. Enguina plunged the sword down through his chest, and then threw herself to the ground to avoid the arrows, crawling after Legolas who had hidden behind the tree. Her back pressed against it as he gasped for breath, coughing.

"No, no…I want them alive you fools!" came Bragolaur's voice from across the camp as more arrows flew. "Alive! Vilyath, right; Omarom, left. Bring her to me, and tie him back up—and make sure he stays there!"

She wrapped her hand in his, breathing hard, and then she laughed softly. "We make quite a pair, do we not? You who cannot breathe and I who cannot fight."

He gave her a smile that was filled with his enchantment of her, and had she not known him well, she might have thought it brought on by the fever. "We are together," he said, his voice soft but intense, "and this is all that matters. I have never been more thankful to see anyone." He coughed, and it did not sound good.

"I prayed just to see your eyes again…" she murmured, tears stinging her eyes.

Legolas' voice dropped to a passionate whisper. "There is nothing else on this earth that I desire more than to share the rest of my days with you…even if they are numbered."

Her eyes fluttered closed; even in the midst of this battle, in the midst of all their fear and pain and worry, there was bliss and peace in this moment. "How I have longed to hear you say thatagain."

And then suddenly, Legolas was thrashing out with his fist, his knuckles smashing the elf full in the groin. The elf dropped to his knees, and Legolas' fist caught him in the face. As the elf fell to the ground for certain, unconscious, Legolas turned back to Enguina, giving her a sheepish smile. "Sorry… minor distraction."

"Minor?" questioned Enguina, and she gave a laugh that had never sounded more sweetly on his ears than it did at that moment. There was a lull in the battle; they could hear Bragolaur shouting to his men, and she used that time to meet his eyes once again. "Legolas, there is nothing I want more than to say to you that I love you…with all my heart." She took both of his hands. "I want to spend my life with you, too."

He grinned at her even though it felt as though his entire body had been given over to flames. "Good, because when we get out of here that will be very important." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her ring.

She laughed again, tears in her eyes. "I am beginning to worry if you are speaking, or if that is the fever responding to me." She gave him a worried look. "How are we going to get out of this one, love?"

Legolas sighed; even with his diminished hearing, he knew Omarom and Vilyath were very near. "Ah, moina quén, that is the question, is it not?" He looked back at her and shook his head. "We do not. They are coming near; we cannot escape this tonight…not in our conditions…" he gave her a gentle smile that brought tears to her eyes even as he made fun, "I who cannot breathe and you who cannot fight."

Her heart sank, stopped, fluttered, and she slipped her arms around his neck so quickly that both of them gasped in pain at what she had done. "I know you are right," she whispered, her voice strained, "but I am so afraid." He held onto her, resting his head against her shoulder, exhausted, weak, ill. If he was going to die, he prayed that this would be his last moment.

Vilyath and Omarom were bursting through the brush then, bows drawn, yet neither one of them moved from the other's embrace. "We have them!" called Omarom.

Legolas did not even open his eyes as he whispered, "Ilúvatar has brought us to the valley of the shadow of death…now we must trust in Him to get us through it."

"What if we are all we have?" she whispered, her hands beginning to tremble.

"He will send us a help…Aragorn, Arwen," Legolas stated, his heart swelling with confidence.

She did not want to tell him that they were on their own, that there was no way Aragorn and Arwen would catch up to them and rescue them. But he spoke with such fervor, such passionate faith, that she could not deny him. "I believe in Ilúvatar's will, and I believe that what He binds together no one shall tear asunder. I know that He has a plan…and I know that He is with us now, giving us hope and strength to make it through this together. No matter what happens, Enguina. He will send his servant, Aragorn…the man will come, and we will be together forever."

A second later, what was left of the Gondorian men converged on them, yanking them to their feet and dragging them back out into the open view of the camp. Gimli was awake now, his eyes wide and watching them, and Bragolaur moved forward, looking at them with fierce anger. Vilyath and Omarom lowered their bows as the two captives were held. Enguina glanced about, fifteen of his men remained…the numbers were lessening each time.

"How must I tie the two of you? How close to death must you be, Prince, before you no longer try to escape?" he snapped. Nodding to Omarom, he pointed at Legolas, "Bind him back to the tree, but let her stand a moment." The elf moved, along with two other men, and bound Legolas tightly to the tree. They coiled the rope around his chest three or four times and then tied it tight…too tight.

"He can hardly breathe," Vilyath said softly to Omarom. "He will suffocate before the morning if you do not—"

"Leave him for a few hours," Bragolaur said. "Perhaps it will teach him a lesson…though I have a better one in mind." He looked back to Enguina, up and down once again…and she was struck with that same fear. Chilled to her very marrow, she prayed fervently for Ilúvatar's protection. He took a few slow steps to close the distance between them, and then suddenly swung his arm up to connect his hand to her face.

Crack! "No!" A spasm of pain ricocheted through her head and neck as her head snapped toward her right shoulder; she had forgotten how hard he could strike, her cheek split from the pressure. She heard Legolas yell again, and then—

Crack! "Stop it! Stop it, you bastard!"

Crack! Crack! Crack! Consecutive, hard…her eye, her lips, her temple throbbed with pain. Legolas was hollering at the top of his lungs, choking, screaming vicious things that she had never thought could ever come out of such a gentlemanly mouth.

CRACK! The last was the hardest, a backhand to the right side of her face as her head snapped left, blood spraying on the nearest man's tunic from a split lip. She gasped in pain, but she made no other sound; Legolas's cries were enough. He was ignored.

"Now…how shall I punish you?" he asked her softly, catching her face in his hand and turning her head to look full in her face. Enguina did not open her eyes; she did not want him to see her tears. "Tying you up is not good enough, and…I have a few ideas on what I think would really punish you." She smothered the whimper that nearly came through her gritted teeth. He released her and looked to the two men who were holding her.

"Hrigow, Stetlan, Mifer, you will take her to the river as we discussed. You know what to do; I want her back…unspoiled."

Legolas wrenched back and forth, ignoring his own pain. No, no! If Enguina left his sight, he would not know if she was safe, all right! Bragolaur could not take her out of the camp! For the first time since his capture, true fear coursed through Legolas, and he lunged once again against the ropes, trying to break free.

"Stop, Bragolaur!" cried Legolas. "Have mercy, please!" Enguina was being dragged away, and Bragolaur closed in on Legolas, slamming his hand into the tree bark beside the elf's head and bringing his face so close Legolas could smell his breath.

"Mercy? There is no such thing as mercy, Legolas!" he hissed. "Mercy is for the weak, the pitiful, not the strong and powerful! Mercy is what dying men ask for so that they might seek a quicker reward. Mercy is nowhere to be found in this camp! You keep seeking it, you pathetic fool, but you will not find it. She deserves to be punished; just as you did."

"Please," Legolas whispered, his eyes closed now, "I am begging you…do not hurt her. I am all you want. I will do whatever you want, just…please…"

"Oh, I am sure you will. I will not hurt her…much," he sneered. "A lesson in obedience, Legolas, needs to be taught here. Do you not want your woman obedient? When you speak, she should respond; when you say, she should kneel; when you take, she should give…and that is all. A more perfect woman there could not be."

"Women are not to be slaves," he said, his head still bowed. "You should not treat them so, especially her."

"I will do as I choose, as I will do with you," Bragolaur snapped, giving him a wicked grin. "Prince, you have no idea how much worse your life can get…so much worse. I suggest that you do not waste your time praying to your god for salvation. No one is coming for you, and the escape attempts stop here, or next time…I will run a sword through her throat."

Legolas's head came up at that and he stared the elf down. "If you touch her again, I swear—"

"Are you threatening to kill me, Legolas?" he said with a smirk.

"Yes," he replied menacingly, "and I will make you suffer." Bragolaur shoved himself from the tree and turned his back on the elf.

"I am so worried, Prince. You do not have the character to be vengeful. I will be back later; in the meantime, take a little sleep…you will need it."

"You are kind to give me the warning," Legolas snapped, but Bragolaur ignored him, leaving Omarom to stand guard.