A.N: Hello, dearest readers, sorry for the delay, holidays and work kept me away from Middle-earth for a while, but at least this chapter is a bit longer, I hope it compensates.

Thanks for the continued support, notedly to pallysd'Artagnan – Tilda will be too busy to be angry, probably; Mizz Alec Volturi – yep, the same orcs who captured Legolas on chapter Mists and Darkness; Nenithiel – I wouldn't expect Kíli to be so lucky… Celebrisilweth – you can surely expect an angry dwarf! The Other Writer Girl – Broda will be even smarter than going to find Kíli, he is breed of Rohan after all; Mustard Lady – Kíli will do his best, be sure!

And welcome to the Traditional Track the Tracker Tournament to Lumiere D'Amour, ke7drd and .7, hop on and enjoy the ride!

=^.^=

Kíli's heart hammered inside his chest. He knew their camp was close, and tried to rehearse what he would say to Tilda once he got there. No approach seemed good enough, but he was determined to have this conversation as soon as he was back, as soon as he could lay his eyes on Tilda again.

"Princess Tilda, I kneel before you to beg for your forgiveness on my discourteous behaviour this morning. No, too formal. Princess Tilda, I was an idiot this morning, please forgive me. True, yet too forward. And cut the princess part, I never call her that."

He walked briskly, to clear his thoughts on the way back. To run would make him reach her faster, but his mind needed balance prior to face the woman. The woman he loved, of all things.

"Tilda, I don't know how to make amends for kissing you this morning, but I hope you believe it was not what you think. How can I say this if I don't know what she thinks? Tilda, I took a walk this beautiful morning and found out I love you, will you marry me? Nah. Tilda, I don't know how it happened, but I'm in love. No, not before asking her for forgiveness. I must have been out of my mind when I thought she was reciprocating the kiss."

As he got closer to their small camp his warrior training told him something was wrong. There was no sound. No shuffle of grazing horses, no swish of Tilda's clothes, no nothing. He walked as silent as a dwarf could be, steel tipped boots included, moving from tree to tree wishing for once he were an elf. Or a hobbit. What he saw when the camp finally came into view froze his blood.

There was no Tilda. Worse yet, it was not as if she simply gave him up, gathered her things and left, which would be bad enough. It was wreckage. The kind of wreckage left behind by ugly fight, the kind of ugly only orcs were capable of.

"Tilda?"

He called out, hoping against hope she hid somewhere before the bedlam began. No answer. His worry skyrocketed when he saw blood where their sleeping furs had been spread. Running to the site, he breathed in relief when he noticed the blood was splattered mostly on firewood and the tarpaulin they used to carry it. And it was too much blood to belong to just one person, a human of her tiny frame moreover.

The death of any of their horses was bad enough, he bought Tripsy when the pony was a foal and would miss the mare dearly if it were her blood on the ground, and even Broda, if it were the proud beast of Rohan the victim; but if he lost Tilda the moment he spelled out his feeling for her, it would be a blow he wasn't sure he could weather.

Broda was part of how he met Tilda, and it made the horse dear to him, but if he could choose, he hoped the blood was anything but Tilda's. Broda, Tripsy, all were little sacrifice if his accountancy.

One sight made his findings happier: black blood. Whatever happened, at least one orc had been hurt. By the lack of pattern of the black blotches, it could even be more than one. Tilda was taken, but not without a fight. That meant she was alive. Or had been, for a while. Or was, for the time being. He had to work fast if it were to remain so.

So, now, what resources did he have?

"My bow!"

Part of the tarpaulin with the hacked firewood was covering his sleeping furs, and he dug into it with greedy hands. A small prayer to Mahal and Oromë parted his lips in gratefulness as his weapon of choice came to light. His sword followed swift, as well as his quiver. Some arrows had been damaged, but there were plenty for a good hunt. And to hunt he would, until Mordor if need be.

"None steals what a son of Durin loves and gets away with it, I swear by Mahal's hammer!"

=^.^=

The elf felt like sand was ingrained into his eyes, but he forced himself to open them a slit all the same. The drowsiness was slowly fading as the most recent spider sting wore off, and he hopped this time he would be able to feign being drugged long enough. If he could be alert while the orcs deemed him poisoned, there was a chance of escape.

Legolas was becoming used to the orc pack routine, or so he believed, based on what he could recall when alert enough. Trampling the forest the whole night and the shadowy hours of dusk and down; throwing him a crust of moldy bread and a gulp of stale water; hiding from the sparse sun that filtered through Mirkwood leaves; handling a caged spider to sting him again if he seemed too alert for their tastes; repeat.

He was learning to feign the torpidity the venom caused. If he was too numb to walk, the orcs had to carry him, and they hated even the touch of his clothes; if they deemed him too aware, they would use the spider to control him, and he hated to be stunned.

He had been stunned time enough to lose count of how long he was captive already. A sennight? A fortnight? He was almost sure it was not yet a whole moon. Emphasis on almost.

His father wouldn't miss him for a whole moon at least, knowing how long it took to reach Erebor and be back. And maybe more, if his temper at their parting was to be taken into notice. The only person who would miss him sooner parted from Middle-earth ten years prior, and he sent a silent to her fae(1) in Mandos every time he found himself awake, knowing her soul yet lived, even if now only in the Undying Lands. If someone could cross the bridge between where he was and anybody able to save him, it was her.

Whilst help didn't come, he would try to find a way out, obviously. None in Arda would say Legolas son of Thranduil was one to be idle wiggling his thumbs waiting for rescue.

If he could stay alert without notice for time enough, he could try to picklock the shackles at his wrists and ankles. It would be easier if he were to handle ropes, but orcs never chose easier for him, it seemed.

His morning musings were cut short by some ruckus in the makeshift camp. Part of the orc pack had left earlier, between cries in their dark language and what passed for laughter. It never bode well, when they laughed. It was a sign that the spider was to be used on him, for instance. Yet, he would rather face a dozen stings than what he was about to see.

Right, half a dozen would be fine, he had had enough spider stinging for a lifelong, and this is a lot when you're an elf.

A limp body was thrown beside him. A nasty bump on her forehead explained the limpness, and several scrapes and gashes were witnesses to how much she fought before being defeated. Legolas held back the urge to shout at their captors, swallowing his anger on behalf of keeping her safe. At least, as safe as she could be without anyone arguing for her safety, if it ever made sense. Also, he could not show too much wakefulness if his plan of deceit was to work.

Even so, he waited until their captors were far enough and nudged the woman. She turned somewhat, allowing him to take a better look at her face. It was disturbingly familiar, even if Legolas didn't travel out of Mirkwood as much as he would like. Human, unmistakable human. Thin frame, dark blonde hair plaited in a neat braid, defined eyebrows; part of her face was covered by a dirty cloth, preventing him from viewing her lips. A brown coat concealed her shoulders, held by…

The sigil of Dale?

Oh, so. That explained why she looked so familiar to him.

Explained not, by Ilúvatar, what one of Bard's daughters was doing in the middle of this forest.

Although, his own presence, in the current circumstances, was in terms far from the usual.

"Great. Now I must work my escape plan to consider a human too." Thought a tiny selfish part of him. "So, let's try to assess the damage."

Shackled hands made it more difficult to ungag her, but her breathing became easier after the dirty rag was removed. Her hands were bound with rope instead of iron, but he would leave these be for the time being. No need to draw attention until a feasible plan was in course.

The tips of his fingers touched the bump on her forehead, and he drew what little healing power he held to restore her, chanting in a low murmur so not to draw unwanted attention. Legolas couldn't do much, healing was not his art, but a warrior worth his salt was bound to have a trick or two up his sleeve to aid a companion in need.

The woman stirred.

"Wha…"

"Shh." Legolas warned, putting a finger to her lips.

To open her eyes to see that elf when her last memory was that of an orc raid was confusing, but his shackled wrists made everything clear. Tilda nodded quietly, letting the elf know she understood the severity of the situation.

"How much are you hurt?" He asked in a whisper.

She tried her limbs, testing what worked and what didn't and how much pain was there. Fortunately, it was more of the superficial kind, nothing that prevented her to move. Some gashes could do better with cleansing and bandaging (specially cleansing), but her life was in no immediate danger. From the wounds, at least.

"Not my better day. Nothing broken or sprained, though." She kept her voice low as her companion in captivity did. "I could run a mile but for these shackles. And you?"

It surprised Legolas that Bard's daughter (which one was beyond him) worried about his health when she was the one just brought to choky.

"Drugged by spider venom most of the time. I'm trying to make them believe I'm more drugged than I really am to attempt an escape."

"I'll help you, Highness. If you escape, you can get help easier than me."

Hard-headed Tilda surprised Legolas with her reasoning. She was visibly beaten and hurt, yet retained a self-control that could help them to win.

"None of this highness stuff, princess, please. And I won't escape without you, no way."

"No highness stuff, yet you call me princess. How coherent." She humphed, trying to take a better view of the camp.

She stressed around fifty orcs, maybe more. More than went to capture her, undoubtedly. It was no disappointment to be deemed a lesser threat, an easy target. Not when she was traveling with…

"How shall I call you then?"

"Huh?" She had momentarily forgotten Legolas' presence on behalf of scrutinizing the camp. Elf healing magic was more powerful than she acknowledged it, by what she just experienced. "Tilda, what else?"

"Shut!"

Legolas whispered and shut his eyes, to what Tilda followed swift. A rough hand grabbed her face and turned it here and there.

"Harh!" The harsh voice was accompanied by an awful breath. "Little birdie wants to sing? I know what you pulled away and I know you're awake!"

To confirm his suspicions, the orc struck a punch to her stomach. Tilda cried, doubling over with pain.

"Now sing, birdie: where is the dwarf scum?" A slap in the face was the reward for ignoring the question. Burzurg enjoyed her pain and noticed his fellows coming closer to see the show, making him bolder. "Again: where is the dwarf scum?"

"He ran away!" The woman cried at last.

"D'ye hear, lads? The dwarf filth ran away! Cowards, all of them!"

The audience roared with laughter and shouts of agreement. Tilda only shrunk into herself, trying to protect her face and internal organs from further damage.

"Where did the rat run to, hmm? Some hole in the ground?"

"I don't know." And it was true. She hoped he were very far away by now, alive and free.

"Oh, but he'll be back, soon enough… That kind can't hear a female cry properly without running back, can they?" Burzurg's hideous laughter was followed by the sting of a whip to her legs and the roar of the other orcs cherishing their leader. "Too soon for this game yet, birdie. We'll wait until that scum comes closer, and then we'll play it good…"

Tilda shut her eyes, avoiding contact with the yellowish ones of the orc. They knew about Kíli, they'd use her as bait, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

After a short while she felt a tug to her sleeve and pried behind her eyelashes. It was Legolas, and the orc pack had left them to do whatever orcs do when they're not pestering their captives.

"Hey. What dwarf were they talking about?"

The elf asked quietly, the seed of hope whirling his head.

"It's Kíli."

"The prince?"

"Aye. We were… traveling together." If Legolas noticed her hesitation, didn't react to it. "We had a…disagreement this morning. He left our camp to…clear his mind, I think. Then the orcs came. They killed his pony. My horse fled. I fought as much as I could, but they were many and I…"

A sob interrupted her tale, and the elf tried to comfort her.

"Hey. There was nothing you could do, Tilda. It's alright."

"What will they do to us?" She whimpered. "How will we escape?"

"They don't have Kíli yet, and he is a fierce warrior. We must keep watchful and act when he comes. I may untie the rope in your wrists, but we must take care so they don't notice it."

Hearing his plan helped Tilda to calm down, yet a thought gave her chills.

"And if he doesn't come? And if they kill him?"

"Then…" Legolas breathed deep. "We find another way and escape all the same. Although I doubt he won't come. I learned the hard way to what extremes the loyalty of that dwarf does reach."

Her body was hurt, her mind was confused by Kíli's behaviour that morning, but the words of that elf mended a hole in hear heart. Yet, how should she consider Kíli's loyalty after he fled his duty as an heir to Thorin? And who was she to judge his loyalty if she herself left Dale as she did? Argh, it was too much to consider. Yet, he promised to help her cross the forest, didn't he? Was rescue of the paws of orcs included in the deal?

On the other hand, Legolas was glad the woman focused on the 'how will we escape' part instead of the 'what will they do to us'. If he could keep her unaware of what the orcs expected form them, he would be glad. Because he heard enough of their plans while he was supposedly poisoned to know what expected them would not be pleasant, to say the least, and he feared Tilda knowing it would freeze her courage and keep her from acting.

Yet, it was unwise to keep her blind to what they were about to face, if everything went wrong. She had to be aware.

"Tilda…" The elf whispered, and a silent nod let him know she was paying attention to him without alarming the orcs. "We must escape before we reach their final destination, if we are to escape at all. So, we wait; if Kíli tries to rescue us in the next two days, we'll do it together; if he doesn't show, we assume that… something kept him from helping us. Then, as soon as we fathom a way to escape, we escape."

"Aye, as soon as we may." That much was clear from the start; none would stay with the orcs for longer than needed, anyway. Yet, Legolas' urgency made her wonder. "Where are they taking us?"

His next words sent her a chill down the spine.

"They're taking us to Dol Guldur."