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“Is it really so bad that we’ve lost him, Captain Strider?” Idris asked uncertainly. The young Gondorian Ranger gazed expectantly at Aragorn as his Captain inspected the soft earth, searching for some signs of what had happened to the missing Elf. “He can take care of himself....”

“Legolas is son of Thranduil,” Aragorn explained patiently, prodding a leaf hopefully. There was nothing underneath except a startled beetle. Sighing, he turned the leaf back over.

“Yes, but....”

Aragorn turned his head to look at the dark haired young man. “You have no idea who Thranduil is, do you?” he said dryly.

“Uh no....” Idris admitted sheepishly, his green eyes wide.

“Thranduil is King of Mirkwood. Which makes Legolas?”

“A prince?” Idris said slowly, awed.

“Correct. A king tends to get tetchy when his son goes missing,” Aragorn explained as he straightened up, brushing leaf mould and loam from his hands off on his soft dark brown breeches. “And yes, it is bad. Elves don’t go missing....”

“Legolas has.”

Aragorn gritted his teeth and counted to ten. Idris wasn’t really so bad; naïve and inexperienced perhaps, but as brave as could be asked for and an excellent fighter with a sword. Legolas had commented that he possibly had Elf blood somewhere in his ancestry. Aragorn was betting on Dunedain like his own blood line. “....unless something happens to them.”

Idris nodded solemnly, fingering the hilt of his dagger as he looked round at the dark shadows under the trees. “I didn’t know Legolas was a prince....”

“He doesn’t tell everyone,” Aragorn admitted. Legolas had been flitting in and out of contact with the Rangers for a long time; few of them had any idea that he was anything more than a roving warrior Elf.

“You think the slavers got him?” Idris questioned grimly. He had good reason to loathe the slavers; they had wiped out his entire village and taken him and numerous others youngsters into slavery. The Rangers had eventually freed him, but there had been no one and nowhere for him to go back to. Aragon had taken him under his wing, much to Legolas’ amusement.

“It’s possible. A lot of men have gone missing in these woods recently. Too many.” Aragorn rubbed an absent hand along his jaw line, contemplating the forest. He had brought his men into the Cethin forest at the request of the Steward of Gondor to find out who or what was causing the disappearances. Legolas had been with his squad at the time and had offered to scout ahead and return to meet them at the ford. The Elf had failed to reappear and no sign of him had been found; exactly like the others who had vanished. Aragorn was worried; it was unlike Legolas not to keep his word.

Idris was chewing his lower lip. “Taking an Elf would be risky....” he said slowly.

“This bunch don’t seem overly concerned with risks,” Aragorn pointed out sourly. Denethor might have requested their help, but it had been a grudging concession to admit the Rangers might be able to do something he and his men could not. Aragorn doubted he would have accepted it at all if he hadn't been under pressure from the Gondorian nobility to do something about the disappearances; a handful of the rich and powerful were among those who had recently gone missing.

Idris cocked his head to one side. “We don’t know how many huntsmen or ordinary folk are missing exactly....” he said slowly. One of the first things Aragorn had done had been to have his men question the villagers, seeking to find out how many were missing; the numbers were higher than Denethor had indicated. “But did you notice, they were all trained to hunt or fight? Not usual slave material. Even the nobles who were missing were all on a hunting party...”

Aragorn eyed him thoughtfully, approving that Idris had noticed what he had.  “Legolas could have been mistaken for a hunter...” His head came up alertly as he listened, hearing the rustle of movement in the forest, a low warning bird whistle.

“Strider!” the call was soft and familiar. 

“Here, Tehir,” Aragorn called back.

A few moments later, a green clad Ranger slipped out of the trees. His curly brown hair was cut short to his head and he carried a bow in one hand.  “Strider, we have found tracks...” he said quickly.

“Legolas?”

Tehir nodded. “His boot prints. Looks like there was quite a fight. We found blood. But no sign of the Elf. They probably took him with them.”

Aragorn nodded slowly. If they had found Legolas’ tracks, then he had left them deliberately. “How many?”

“Five or more.”

“Is that all?” Idris exclaimed sarcastically. “Legolas could take that many with one hand tied behind his back!”

Tehir gave him a quelling look as he fished something from his belt pouch and offered it to Aragorn. “Tanis reckons they drugged him. Mind your fingers....”

Unfolding the scrap of grubby cloth, Aragorn peered at the fine dart with the darkened tip that lay within. He sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the too sweet smell of it; like rotting roses. “Here, sniff....” he commanded Idris.

Idris sniffed obediently, then recoiled. “What is that?”

“Thornbane. See that needle fine tip? That’s the thorn itself. The Wild Men drug darts with it when they’re hunting. It causes unconsciousness and paralysis in their prey. Too much of it can kill, but it wouldn't have any problem knocking out one Elf....” Aragorn folded the thorn back into the cloth and tucked it into his own pouch. .

“But there aren’t any Wild Men in Cethin!” Idris protested in alarm.

“Hush, lad,” Aragorn told him. “You’d better show me these tracks, Tehir.”

“We’re going after him?” The Ranger asked hopefully.

“You’d better believe it. Legolas is one of us,” Aragorn answered. “Besides, this is the first lead we’ve had....”

“You don’t think he did it on purpose, do you?” Idris asked, obediently falling in alongside the older man as Tehir led the way out of the clearing at the trot.

Aragorn glanced at him, amused by the way his long hair bobbed in its glossy black pony tail as he moved. The question sobered him however. “He’d better not have. Rangers do not take that kind of risk.”

“Maybe Elves do?”

Aragorn grimaced. Knowing certain, thrill seeking, danger oblivious Mirkwood Elves, Idris could be right. “If he has, he is going to be in so much trouble when I get my hands on him....”

                                                            * * *

Wherever he was, it was dark. Very dark, very damp and chilly and very, very closed in. With his senses extended to their limits, he could sense no life around him; neither leaf nor fern nor tree where anywhere within reaching distance. Cold stone on top of cold stone above him and under him and far, far down earth shut away from the sun for far too long. Even the sky was out of reach and something inside him cried out, yearning for freedom, for a release from a body that could not move nor respond to his need.....

He spiralled inwards, falling....

Into the empty dark came voices....

“It’s an Elf.”

“Don't be ridiculous. You don’t get Elves in these parts.”

“What’s this then? Accident with a steak knife?”

Legolas winced as one of his slender ear tips was very definitely pinched between a rough finger and thumb.

“Uh oh....I think you’re right...”

“You think?! You are so slow....”

“Now what do we do?”

“What do you think we do? We slap the chains on it and leave it to the Chief to decide what to do.”

“Yes, but an Elf.....We’ve never caught an Elf before.”

“Always a first time. Dare say it’ll fight if it wants to live same as anything else.”

            Legolas howled silently inside as he felt the bite of cold iron clasp around his wrists, fastened in an implacable band around his flesh. A second iron ring bound his other hand and chains clanked and rattled as he was dragged across the stone flags to be flung down against what felt like a wall....

“There, that should keep it quiet...”

“Here, you don’t think the Thornbane’s damaged it, do you?”

“Save our problems if it has,” chortled the first voice. “But I doubt it....Look....” A booted foot thudded heavily into Legolas’ ribs, making him gasp instinctively in response then struggle to breathe as the drug paralysing his body curbed his efforts to breathe. “Still, twitching, see? Come on; let’s go tell the Chief what we’ve got.”

“How’d you think he’ll take it?”

“Probably cackle in glee. Lot of money to be made betting on an Elf....”

Betting on an Elf? Legolas thought with distant indignation, then the drug once more got the better of him and his senses fled into a darkness where no stone walls trapped him. 

                                                            * * *

Iron burned.

It burned like fire....

Legolas was shivering when he awoke, aware of aches and pains reporting in from all over his body, of the soreness of his wrists and, beneath it all, the slow pulse of the drug lingering within. What had the voices called it? Thornbane?

Legolas ferreted slowly through his memories, seeking the errant scrap of thought, eager for a distraction from the weight of iron manacles...

Thornbane, Elfbane....

Once the Wild Men had hunted Elves....

A careless movement made him hiss and open his eyes, feeling the iron’s kiss brand his skin. For now, it would leave no mark, but given time and his fair skin would blister and burn and fester as if held in the flame....

Think about something else....

Like moving out of his cramped position.

Gingerly, Legolas eased his legs out, carefully easing himself over onto his back and away from the slick stone wall before his nose. He was lying on a stone floor in a small room, one wall of which was made up from an iron grill. He didn't have to touch it to know what metal it was; he could feel it.

His manacles were iron as he already knew, so was the chain leading to a heavy ring set into the stones above him. He eyed it thoughtfully, aware that he wouldn’t even have the strength to even stand until the Elfbane faded from his blood. His legs felt heavy, his arms limp, he could feel the weight of the Elfbane suddenly crushing him, dragging him back down into that silent stillness where he was lost and alone and helpless...

A surge of panic rushed through him and he struggled, fighting to sit up....

“Take your time, Elf,” a voice called quietly. “They won't be back for a while.”

After a second, Legolas lifted his head to look. Beyond the iron grill, he could see into a second room like his own. A fair haired man dressed like a Ranger was sitting cross legged before the grill, watching him. Legolas didn’t recognise him.

“They hit you with a Thornbane dart. That’s how they got me. Nasty stuff, but the effects wear off after a while.”

“Yes.....” Legolas managed, sinking back and licking his dry lips. ”Where are we?”

“They used to call this place Cethin Fort. It’s in the pass at the edge of the forest. Been abandoned for a long time....Or at least I thought it was...” The Stranger paused, eyeing Legolas’ frantic efforts to turn over. “Don’t fight so hard....” he advised.

“I cannot move!”

“Hard for an Elf, I know. But move slowly.  The harder you fight, the harder it is....Take it slow...”

“Ah....” Legolas subsided again, considering this, forcing his panic to subside, settling back into himself, seeping into his own limbs until he could roll over onto his side and face the Stranger.   “Thank you....”

“No problem. I know how it feels. For an Elf....” He shrugged. “From what they said when they dragged you down here, you must have put up quite a fight. They must have given you enough to knock out an Olliphant. It may take a while to wear off....”

“Yes, you said....”

“Wasn’t sure you were listening. You have a name?”

“Yes.”

The man cocked his head to one side, smiling faintly. “Elves can be so pedantic. And would you care to tell me what it is?”

“Oh, yes....” Legolas scrabbled with his memory for a moment, half afraid that he had lost his own identity for a second. “I am Legolas...And you are?”

“No one you’d have heard of. A thief.... How come you’re dressed like a Ranger?”

“I am a Ranger!” Legolas retorted indignantly.

“No kidding!” the Stranger looked genuinely awed. “An Elf and a Ranger and you still managed to get caught by a bunch of no hoper slavers?”

“They were humans,” Legolas hissed bitterly, irritated by his sarcasm.

“So?”

“So, I was not expecting to be betrayed by humans! They lied...”

“Ah....” The man nodded slowly. “Humans do that.”

“So I have discovered....”

                                                            * * *

Aragorn shook his head, only half listening to the murmured conversation behind him. His small squad weren’t the only Rangers in Cethin forest and they had run into a second patrol shortly before darkness fell. Like Aragon’s squad, they were out searching for the missing men. Aragorn had grown tired of listening to their speculation and had drifted away from the camp to sit in silence on a promontory of rock that jutted out over the vale below.

“Strider?” Captain Splinter prowled up beside the other man. He eased himself into a crouch beside the other Ranger. “How long’s Legolas been missing?”

“Most of the day,” Aragon answered gloomily. “He should have met us at the ford.”

“You left someone to watch for him?”

“What do you think?”

Splinter nodded, tossing a pebble off the boulder and hearing it bounce away into the darkness, swallowed up the forest.

“They would have caught up with us by now if he’d turned up.”

“I have a missing man too; name of Glimmer?”

“Alaric?” Aragorn looked at him in surprise. He knew Alaric; an ex thief, some said one time spy but a good Ranger nonetheless.

“You haven’t seen him?”

“No.”

“Damn.” Splinter shrugged and sat down on the rock. It was still warm from the sun and he spread brown fingers across its wind smoothed surface. “I was hoping he’d hooked up with you. He went off scouting like your Elf.”

“You think he’s been captured?”

“If he has, it was deliberate,” Splinter muttered sourly. “Glimmer’s been muttering about strange things happening in the land. He’s getting restless again. He doesn't think it’s slavers.”

“No,” Aragorn agreed with that. “It’s more than that. They’ve taken hunters, fighters....You’d think they’re building an army.”

“For who?”

“Legolas says that something has been stirring in Mordor.”

“Mordor?” Splinter looked at him in alarm.

Aragorn nodded grimly. “Orcs have been seen.”

Splinter scowled. “We found Orc tracks while we were looking for Glimmer,” he observed. “Looked like there’d been a fight. They could have been captured too....”

Aragorn winced. “Snuff fights? Gladiator style?” he suggested bitterly. The underground fights had been common in Gondor’s main cities for a while, until determined action by the Rangers had driven the lethal fighters out. Popular as they had been, it was likely that they would return and Aragorn had heard rumours of such.

“Seems possible. I was going to see if we can track the Orcs back to where they came from. Could be more of them...”

Strider tilted his head to one side with a rueful smile. “Not much we can do about that for now. Perhaps later. Our missing friends are more important. Cethin Fort lies in the direction they were taking Legolas.”

“Ah....” Splinter scowled, glancing back at the camp. “How many do you think there are of them?”

“Hard to tell. Five took Legolas. But there must be more....”

“A fight then?”

Aragorn smiled faintly, looking out over the forest. “Perhaps. Unless we can find another way in....”

                                                            * * *

“Uniforms?” The Stranger’s eyes glittered in the dim light as he paced his cage. This snippet of information from Legolas had him bristling in outrage.

“Yes,” Legolas inclined his head cautiously. He had managed to pry himself off the floor and was sitting with his back against the cold stones of the wall, his hands resting in his lap. If he didn't move, the drug inspired dizziness wasn’t so bad and the burning sensation of iron rubbing his wrists was easier. “I thought they were Rangers.”

“Cunning. Dressed like us they can go anywhere and carry any weapons they like. No one would think twice.”

“Us?” Legolas said softly.

The Stranger paused. “Ah....” he said quietly, then swept the Elf a mocking bow. “You may call me Glimmer.”

“I have heard of you. Strider mentioned you....”

“Did he?” Glimmer looked faintly surprised. “Our most noble, prim and proper Captain remembers me? And there was I thinking I wasn’t his type. Ah, well, I was wrong, wasn’t I? You have heard of me. Such is fame....”

Legolas ducked his head, smiling faintly. “How did you get here?” he asked however.

“Stupidity,” Glimmer sighed, gracefully seating himself once more. “You were scouting for Strider? You know about the missing men?”

“I was looking for them.”

“So was I. Trouble is they found me before I found them. I wasn’t quite ready....”

“Ah....”

“Ah?”

Legolas flicked a look at him from under his dusky gold eyelashes. “The cunning plan went wrong?”

Glimmer drooped ruefully. “Well, let’s say I hadn't quite got all the details smoothed out when they took me by surprise.”

“The unexpected can do that....” Legolas agreed solemnly.

Glimmer looked at him askance, suspecting he was being teased. The Elf was certainly an uncommon one. Few of his kind would condescend to assist humans these days. Or perhaps condescend was the wrong word. The Elves seemed to have other things on their mind. “Hold on a second....” Glimmer said sharply. “Legolas?”

“Yes?” The Elf gazed at him enquiringly.

“Thranduil’s kid?”

“I am not a kid,” Legolas retorted stiffly.

“Ah no, I can see that. But even so....” Glimmer winced. “I get the feeling that you being here is not necessarily a good thing.”

Legolas gave his chains a pointed look. “No...” he agreed.

“I didn’t mean that. Thranduil’s not your airy fairy Elrond type is he? Something happens to you he’s likely to get a bit...miffed.”

“Miffed?” Legolas inspected the word curiously. “If I understand you correctly, I believe you have assessed the situation appropriately.”

“You mean yes?”

“Yes.”

Glimmer grinned again. “Denethor doesn't need to make the Elves mad enough to march on Gondor. So we’d better do something about rescuing you.”

Legolas frowned at him. “How?” he asked.

“Haven’t quite got that figured out yet. But I’ll get there.”

“Hmmh....” Legolas inspected the manacles around his wrists again for a while, respecting the human’s thoughtful silence. “Glimmer?” he said at last. He didn't mind the silence, but inactivity bored him and in his present captive condition, it gave him too much time to think.

“Mmmh?”

“Why have these men taken us captive?”

“The Chief wants to know what the Rangers are up to. They keep asking me about them. I think he’s worried they’re coming after him. He’s been gathering an army of men together. Some say to march on Minis Tirith.”

“They do not seem like slavers as such. And one of them mentioned betting on me.”

“You know what a snuff fight is?”

“No...” Legolas admitted slowly.

“Some people pay to see one man pitted against another in a fight and bet on the outcome.”

“Elves wrestle occasionally....”

“No, I mean fight to kill,” Glimmer told him flatly. “Not for fun. They put a man in an arena and make him fight someone or something else. I've heard that the latest fashion is to put a man up against an Orc. I should imagine they have something like that in mind for you.”

“I will not fight for their pleasure.”

“I don’t think an Orc will see it that way. They catch a sniff of you and they’ll be on you like wargs.”

“But why?” Legolas protested plaintively.

“Orcs will kill anything, but especially Elves. I thought you’d know that.”

“I meant why would they do this to me? I have done them no harm.”

“You’ve seen them. Now they have to get rid of you. This way is more fun that slitting your throat on the quiet. Besides, they can probably make money on a fight like that....”

Legolas frowned uncertainly, cautiously lifting his hands a little. “I can do little bound in iron. And the Thornbane you called it? I can feel that still.”

“The effects should have worn off by now,” Glimmer argued.

“On a human perhaps, not on an Elf,” Legolas replied miserably.

Glimmer squinted at him. “You’re not going to go all namby-pamby on me, are you?”

“Namby-pamby?” Legolas echoed dubiously.

“Go into a decline? Stone walls and a cage make an Elf gaga?”

Legolas blinked at him. He had a feeling he should be insulted, but he didn't really have the energy. “That is not really something I have any control over....” he said slowly.

“Course you do. You pull yourself together, Elf. I’m betting Strider’s looking for you and I don’t put money on nothing but a sure bet.”

                                                            * * *

“No tracks?” Aragorn asked sharply, studying Tehir critically.

“Nothing. Not a sign. Like they vanished into thin air.”

Aragorn scowled, lifting his head to scan the land ahead of them. Open plain stretched before them and in the distance he could see the dark squat shape of Cethin Fort brooding on the cliff above the river. “Magic?” he murmured under his breath. Or men simply used to hiding? He hoped it was the latter.  He could perhaps have picked up tracks that Tehir had missed, but with the Fort in plain sight, there seemed little point.

Splinter stirred beside him. “The way I see it, we have a choice,” he said quietly. “They could have headed for Cethin Fort or they could have headed down river for the port. If it’s the port and a ship, they’ll be in the open. More chance for us to take them.”

“Not likely though,” Aragorn argued dubiously. “If they’re slavers they’ll have needed someone to hole up until they have enough merchandise to sell. If they’re not, they still need a camp somewhere to train what they’ve caught.”

“The Fort then,” Splinter said grimly. “Getting in there is going to be a bitch. We don't have enough men.”

“Maybe not...” Idris chirped from behind them.

Splinter exchanged a long suffering look with Aragorn, but Strider had had experience with Idris’ quicksilver mind. He turned to look at the young Ranger. “You have an idea?”

Idris nodded eagerly, pony tail bobbing with enthusiasm. “In that last village we went to, there were rumours about someone looking for mercenaries.”

“So?” Splinter eyed him curiously.

“So take a look around you,” Idris waved at the Rangers grouped behind them. Most had settled into the long grass and shade of the tree line, resting while they could.

“We are not mercenaries,” Tanis observed dourly. The big bluff Lieutenant scowled down at the smaller Idris.

Idris gulped and smiled weakly. “No, no, of course not. But we could pretend. Couldn't we?”

“Might get us past the gates. Some of us at least....” Aragorn mused.

“Crazy idea!” Splinter argued. “Even if someone is hiring mercenaries, doesn't mean to say their headquarters is at the fort.”

“Um...” said Tehir.

“Um?” Aragorn and Splinter both glared at him.

“I heard the same rumours in Minis Tirith. Only well, someone did suggest to me I might find Cethin Fort an interesting place to visit....”

“Were you drinking and gambling again, sergeant?” Aragorn rumbled.

“Hey, I wasn't in uniform. And I was looking for information on the disappearances....” Tehir protested hastily. “And Tanis backed me up...”

“Anyone mention fighting to you?” Splinter asked curiously.

“Fighting? Mercenary stuff....”

“Gladiatorial stuff, snuff fights....”

“No....” Tehir admitted.

“They did to me,” Tanis rumbled. “Tehir’s too small....”

“Hey!” ”

Tanis looked down from his vast height at the slighter Ranger and grinned.  “Want to argue about it, titch?”

“Oh never mind,” Tehir grumbled. “But we both heard the same thing, right?”

“Aye, lad, we did.”

Splinter cocked an eyebrow at Aragorn, waiting for his opinion. Men had a way of deferring to Aragorn.

“Cethin Fort it is then.” Strider turned to the men, lifting his voice. “On your feet, lads! We’re bound for a fight at the Fort!”

“You heard him!” Splinter bellowed. “Stir yourselves now...”

Aragorn nodded and dropped an arm around Idris’ shoulders. “Find Aris for me. I want to send a messenger to Minis Tirith. We need more men....”

“You think Denethor will listen?”

“The captain of his cavalry will. He was spoiling for a fight when we left.....”

                                                            * * *

The Chief was a tall man, broad in the shoulders with shaggy hair held back from his face with a strip of grubby leather. A long scar down one side of his face explained the reason for the black eye patch over one eye. A leather belt around his waist supported a set of knives and the hilt of a backsword peeked over one meaty shoulder. A leather waistcoat hung open over his bare chest revealing a string of gold chains.

Standing not quite within reach of the grill, he stared in at Legolas, inspecting him like a prize animal. “Not bad,” he observed to the surly faced man beside him.  “Never expected you to catch an Elf.”

“Neither did we, Chief,” the man admitted. “Don’t see them in Gondor that often. Thought it was a Ranger.”

“No....Ah, well, at least we won't have to feed it!” the Chief scrubbed one hand along his bristled jaw as he chuckled, then leaned closer to the cage and barked at Legolas,  “Oi! Elf? You understand me?”

Legolas stared back at him in stubborn, mutinous silence.

“What is it? A halfwit?” the Chief demanded irritably.

“We used Thornbane to catch it. Didn't know it was an Elf at the time. Stuff’s supposed to have a funny effect on Elves. Could have addled its wits.”

The Chief grunted, staring in at Legolas again. He shook his shaggy head. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not addled, nor a halfwit. Not happy about being in a cage though, are you? Don’t like the weight of cold iron.”

Legolas resented his laughter, seeing nothing amusing in his predicament.

“Well, Elf, you’re not much use to me as anything except bait,” the Chief said with callous cheer. “You won't make a mercenary and I certainly can’t sell you as a slave while you’re so feisty. That makes you pit fodder.”

“Pit fodder?” Glimmer echoed. He had moved up close to the grill of his own cage to listen.

The Chief turned to stare at him. “Did the Chief say you could listen?” the surly man snarled and smacked the thick cudgel he carried against the grill, making Glimmer snatch his hands hastily out of the way and back up.

“Yes, pit fodder,” the Chief said complacently however. “I like to put on a little entertainment for the buyers.”

“What buyers?”

“Oh, you do like to be nosy, don’t you?” the Chief mocked. “I gather men here to fight as mercenaries. People like to hire them as private guards. Maybe I sell a few slaves too. But every now and then, I get the awkward ones or the ones I can’t sell. They go into the pit to fight. The mercenaries use them as sword fodder.”

“Should you be telling him that, Chief?” asked the surly man uncertainly.

The Chief glared at him and then chuckled, throwing a muscle thick arm across his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter, Dolf. I want to know what the Rangers are up to. One of these two will tell us. The Ranger’s going in the same pit as the Elf if he doesn’t cooperate. Though not at the same time. Too much chance of them teaming up” He paused, sliding a malicious look at Legolas. “Besides, I want to see the Orcs rip the Elf apart....”

                                                            * * *

Not good, Legolas reflected gloomily as he was dragged along the stone lined corridor. His wrists were still manacled and the chains held taut by two brawny men, either of whom outweighed him. Behind him, Dolf and a couple more guards followed. Dolf was carrying the miniature crossbow which Legolas distinctly remembered from the fight in the forest. Even if he hadn’t Dolf had taken pains to tell him that the bolt had been dipped in Thornbane and Legolas really didn't want to find out what another dose of the drug would feel like.

So he walked docilely between his captors, waiting the opportune moment to escape them. Unfortunately, the moment didn’t come and almost before he knew what was happening, Legolas found himself thrust through a doorway and tripped to land heavily on a dirt and sawdust covered floor. A knee in the middle of his back held him down as the chains were removed, but even worse than this undignified process was the found of human laughter and jeering.

“Hey, look at the Elf with the cat like grace!” a raucous voice mocked.

“I want my money back! The Orcs are gonna eat him alive!”

“Shouldn’t have bet on the Elf then...”

“Call that an Elf? More like an over grown Halfing!”

Legolas growled deep in his throat and rebelled, surging upwards to fling off the man kneeling on him. The guard however rolled aside, dodging the fist aimed at his side. Coming to his feet, Legolas whipped around in a furious pursuit of his tormenters and froze as spear pricked at his throat throat, stilling his instinctive urge to kill them....

Breathing hard, he was aware of the sudden silence that had fallen as he flicked a look around him, taking in the steep stone sides of the circular pit he found himself in. Above him, in three tiers of seats, human faces stared down at him, clearly surprised by his sudden burst of defiant violence. Legolas felt a surge of white hot anger and twitched, feeling the blood hunger swell inside him.....

The spear pricked him again and he focused on its wielder; a burly scar faced man dressed in leather fighting armour. “You gonna behave, Elf?” he demanded. “Or do I slice your throat open now?”

“Go on, kill him, Cassius!”

“Prove you’ve still got it...”

The crowd was stirring again, scenting blood...

Cassius grinned mirthlessly and jabbed again, drawing blood....

Legolas retreated a fraction from the sting of cold iron....

Cassius jerked his head in a tight nod. “Save it for the Orcs,” he advised.

“I will not fight for your amusement....” Legolas snarled.

“You’ll fight an Orc to save your skin though,” Cassius retorted as he quickly skimmed an assessing look up at down the Elf. “Wood Elf?” he guessed.

Legolas refused to answer. He was aware that the guards and his leash holders had retreated through the iron grilled gate, but Dolf lingered, still holding the crossbow. He could take the spear away from Cassius, but perhaps at the cost of being wounded in the process. And with Dolf waiting for him to make such a move...

“Uh huh, afraid of the Thornbane, are you?” Cassius commented, noting the flicker of a look towards the crossbow.

“No....”

“You should be. It’ll slow you down, wreck your emotional balance, screw up your thinking..... You understand me?”

Legolas stared at him icily. “I understand. Why am I here?”

“To fight Orcs,” Cassius told him grimly. “Or anyone else the Chief decides he wants you to fight. You were a bit troublesome to catch. If you’d cooperated like a good little Elf, you’d be up there with them watching the show.” He jerked his bald head towards the tiers of seats. “Fight well and you might still get out of here alive. Swear to follow the Chief. No harm in being a mercenary, is there? It’s better than being a slave.”

“Where are the men you took?” Legolas demanded.

Cassius grinned nastily. “I told Dolf you were one of those nosy Rangers,” he chuckled. “Four kinds of men we take. Those no good for anything but slavery. If they can’t fight, that’s all their good for. Men willing to turn mercenary. And creatures like you; mercenary potential but unwilling to be sensible. Pit fodder. And the fourth kind; hostages for ransom.”

“The hunting party of nobles...”

“Bright ain’t you...for an Elf.....”

Legolas opened his mouth to respond, then paused, lifting his head to sniff an all too familiar stench. “Orcs....” he hissed, his eyes flaring wide in response.

Cassius smirked. “Yeah, Orcs. Hungry Orcs. Have fun, Elf....” He whipped away, withdrawing to the length of the spear and then retreating quickly through the gate. Dolf stepped backwards after him and the gate was slammed across and hastily locked.

Legolas took a strutting step after him, then turned fast as a snake, tensing as something landed in the dirt beside him. His knives lay on the ground. Scooping them up, he flashed a wary look upwards, gritting his teeth as he saw the Chief leaning on the jutting lip of balcony that overhung the gateway.

“Fight well, Elf, and I may let you join us,” he told him.

Legolas turned away disdainfully, experimentally slashing the air with his twin blades. His reflexes were horrendously slow, he noted grimly. Cassius should never have been able to get that close to him with the spear....

“ELF!” The tremendous bellow echoed around the pit, funnelled into a slurred blast of sound that hurt Legolas’ ears as he spun instinctively to orientate on the new threat.

Across the pit was a second gateway, larger than the one by which he had entered and set into the wall, making a short tunnel. It was closed by two heavy iron gates that were being slowly pushed back against the  stone walls.

A trio of Orcs lumbered through it, all armed with spiked weaponry and blades. Each was uglier than the last with the twisted faces of their mutated species and the fanged mouths. They stank like a charnel house and Legolas recoiled from the foul air that wafted across the pit to him.

“ELF!” Bellowed the biggest of the three again and broke into a shambling run, lumbering towards Legolas and swinging its massive arms, blades that more like butchers axes slicing the air

Legolas ducked the windmilling blades and went in under the massive arms, slicing one sword across the Orc’s heavy belly. It bellowed in pain and smashed one huge arm down, hammering a blow down on the Elf’s shoulder and slamming Legolas into the dirt with the force of the impact.

Stunned and bruised by the impact, Legolas rolled frantically out of the way before the Orc could decapitate him and slammed one foot into the creature’s knee, glad to hear it screech as the joint popped.

Coming to his feet, he hastily dropped and rolled, hearing a sword hiss over his head as a second Orc took a swing at him.

Scrambling out of reach, Legolas found himself up against the wall of the pit and dropped into a defensive crouch, turning to face the oncoming band of Orcs with his swords crossed in front of him.

The Orcs were smart enough to spread out, one to each side to flank him. The biggest remained in the middle, clearly the road block. All three were grinning, scenting fresh meat.

With the wall at his back, Legolas could retreat no further. So he attacked, darting forward with a fraction of his normal speed.

The Orcs on his right lunged and Legolas parried, catching its sword on his own blade and feeling the impact jar right through his body. Leaning into the blow, he kicked sideways, slamming into the midriff of the Orc on his left as it rushed in.

The ragged bite of pain ripped through his left side and he yelped aloud, instinctively twisting away from the knife that had caught the soft flesh under his ribs and feeling the wet heat of blood run down his skin. 

The biggest Orc in front of him, screamed in excitement at the smell and lunged forward, greed overwhelming its orders to hold back.

Legolas leaped, avoiding its clutching hands and using the creature’s thigh as a springboard to vault up and over it. At the same time, he slashed backwards, hacking across the Orc’s unprotected neck. One foot against the Orc’s shoulder to push off and he was landing in the middle of the pit, spinning back to face the Orcs.

The big Orc had dropped its weapons to clutch at its neck and the fountain of gore pouring from the huge gash sliced through its neck. It staggered around, turning on Legolas with a feral expression and reached for him with a spasming hand. Then it toppled face first into the dirt and lay there, its blood soaking into the sawdust.

Breathing hard, Legolas pressed one hand into his wounded side, feeling its sting and mindful of keeping the iron manacles away from it. He didn't dare risk taking his eyes off the Orcs to look at it, but he could tell the wound was bleeding heavily and he knew the Elfbane was once again affecting him.

The two remaining Orcs were staring at their fallen companion, but slowly they turned their attention back to the Elf. If their expressions had been ugly before now they were downright horrendous.

Legolas braced himself. He could feel himself wavering at the edge of exhaustion already. He could not hold his own against these two for long. So, he had to end it quickly...

The Orcs came forward in a sudden rush and Legolas met them, his silver bladed knives whirling a web of mithrail around him as he somehow managed to twist and dodge away from the Orcs fearsome weapons. But it was only a matter of time before one of them got through his guard and all too soon he felt the sting of a wound slicing like a razor into his thigh. Even as the Orcs screamed in triumph, Legolas screamed back in fury and pain and tore into them, driving them back...

They retreated before his sudden onslaught then rallied as the Elf staggered. A blade nearly pierced his throat before he could back up and with a burst of adrenalin inspired energy, Legolas turned and ran.

Through the roaring in his ears, he could hear the jeering and shouting of the crowd, hear the baying of the excited Orcs who thought he was cornered.....

Legolas reached the wall and ran up it, using his speed and agility to take him upwards....

He had a glimpse of startled, shocked faces above him....

Then gravity took over and he pushed off, ignoring the pain flaring white hot through his body as he flipped backwards, somersaulting over the startled Orcs as they came up behind him....

The white knives flashed in the torchlight, arcing like bolts of light through the air....

Legolas landed squarely on both feet, breathing hard, flashing a look behind him to check.....

Two Orc heads bounded into the dirt, looks of anguished horror still on their faces, and two headless bodies toppled into the sawdust with hefty thuds....

With a surge of desperate strength Legolas, whipped to his feet, coming up and around towards the balcony from where the Chief was watching.

The Chief was grinning as the shocked silence flared back into cheering that echoed around the pit, half deafening Legolas. “Well done, Elf! You’ve.....”  He ducked, flinging himself aside as Legolas grabbed one of the Orcs’ swords and hurled it at him.

The blade slammed into the stone lip of the balcony and stuck there, quivering slightly....

Snarling, Legolas followed it, heading for the grilled gate that he was convinced he could use as a ladder to get at the mercenaries leader....

It was obviously a tactic that had been used before for a trap lay in wait for the unwary Elf.

A heavy net was dropped from the top of the gate, smothering Legolas in its heavy folds and dragging him to the ground. Before he could get up, guards dropped from the walls, their booted feet pinning his hands as a spear came down against the back of his neck. Cassius bent to disarm him, shaking his head at the Elf in disgust

“Bloody fool. I thought an Elf would know better....”  

From the corner of his eye, Legolas saw the Chief swing himself over the edge of the balcony and drop into the pit. He ambled over to crouch next to the netted Elf.

“Now, what do you have to say, Elf? Are you sorry?” the Chief observed sarcastically.

“Yes....” Legolas hissed. “Sorry that I missed. Next time I will do better.”

“I take it you don’t wish to join us then,” the Chief said, sounding disappointed. He stood up and stamped deliberately down on the Elf’s left wrist, grinding his booted heel savagely into the skin beneath the iron manacle, putting all his not inconsiderable weight on his foot....

Legolas screamed silently, feeling the bones snap as his tendons and hand spasmed and he fought the urge to writhe in agony....

Then suddenly the pain was gone, leaving him gasping for breath and wavering on the verge of unconsciousness...

“Take it back to its cage and beat the defiance out of it,” the Chief ordered grimly.

“You want us to kill it?” Cassius demanded.

“No, it fought well. Teach it a lesson.... Maybe then it will be willing to talk. I will not have an Elf defying me....”

                                                            * * *

Hitching his cloak a little tighter around him, Aragorn rested one hand on the pommel of his sword and took what he hoped appeared to be a casual glance around him. It had been easier than he expected to get past the outer defences of Cethin Fort. He and some of the other Rangers had drifted in in twos and threes, finding themselves once p[art the heavy outer gates between the outer ramparts and the inner ring wall of the Fort itself. In the sheltered area, there was a thriving market and the walls were packed with lean-to’s and stalls.

“What are all these people doing here?” Tehir whispered.

“Trading by the looks of things,” Aragorn answered sourly. “They probably come up the river. Whoever these mercenaries are, they’ll have their camp followers. Not everyone will be able to stay in the fort.”

“Which is where we have to be,” Tehir commented. “But how?”

“I'm thinking about it,” Aragorn muttered, scanning the dark forbidding walls above him. He knew Legolas was in there, could feel it somehow. And he knew that his friend was hurting....

“Strider? Over there.....That’s one of the men I talked to at the pub....”

Aragorn followed the quick jerk of Tehir’s head towards a leather clad soldier strolling towards the inner wall as he chewed on a meat pie. He was armed and swaggering, clearly unconcerned by the crowds. Aragorn’s quick eyes had noticed something of interest however; he was wearing an insignia painted on his leather vest of a dagger in a white fist. A quick look round confirmed that many of the other men were wearing the same insignia.

“I need that tunic,” he hissed quickly to his fellow Ranger.

“Hardly a fashion icon,” Tehir muttered.

“Idiot! Come on, you speak to him, See if he remembers you....”

It was almost ridiculously easy. The mercenary did indeed remember Tehir and although surprised to see him, was quite obviously too drunk to be overly concerned by his presence. As he confided in Tehir as the Ranger steered him behind a convenient lean-to, there was a bounty for every new recruit they brought in.

Thirty seconds after that he was trussed and bound like a turkey with Strider’s knife at his throat to keep him quiet.

“I won’t kill you if you tell me what I want to know,” Strider growled at him, eyes glittering dangerously. “Where’s the Elf you caught?”

“The Elf?” the man squeaked, eyes crossing in a desperate effort to watch the knife. “Second level dungeons. First is mercenaries. Third is the Orcs.”

“What about the Fort itself?”

“The Chief and his guests. Our so called officers....” The mercenary was desperate to talk rather than his throat cut. Strider had no stoic refusal to worry about with him.

“Dissent in the ranks?” Tehir mused.

Aragorn shrugged slightly. “Who is this Chief?”

“That’s all we know him as,” the mercenary babbled. “Got a big scar down his face...says he got it off an Elf...”

“Why’s he gathering men?”

“Not sure. Rumour is he wants to take the white city and rule as king.”

Aragorn snorted at that. “What about the men who disappeared?”

“Which ones?”

“Any of them.” Growing impatient, Aragorn pricked him with the knife and the man whimpered and wriggled.

“Some of them joined us, some got sent to the pit...to fight....” The mercenary was clearly reluctant to say too much about the pit for fear of what the Rangers might do to him.

“What about the nobles?” Aragorn demanded grimly.

“Held in the fort. Up there in the tower....” He jerked his head towards the single square tower jutting up from the inner fort’s solid walls. “The Chief’s planning in demanding a ransom for ‘em, I heard. Hoping to scare ‘em into elling him about the city’s defences...”

Aragorn nodded. “You want to ask him anything?”

“No...” Tehir said grimly.

“Right then...”

The mercenary’s eyes widened in horror as Aragorn lifted his knife. “No, no...you can’t kill me....I....” Aragorn slapped his hand over his mouth before he could scream for help and struck once, quick and coldly efficient blow.

“For a minute I thought you actually were going to kill him...” Tehir said faintly.

Aragorn gave him a chilly look. “He probably deserves it. But gag him and shove him under the tent, Tehir. We don’t want him found.”

Tehir grimaced. “Maybe I should untie him? If they find him they might think he crawled off to sleep off the booze....”

“No, gag him...”

While Aragorn wriggled into the man’s tunic and belted it in around his much leaner waist, Tehir bound and gagged their captive. “I should come with you,” Tehir urged as he swung Aragorn’s cloak around the taller man’s shoulders. “Or at least stay to watch this one...”

“No. You’ll go back and tell Splinter what this place looks like.” Splinter had stayed behind with the bulk of the Rangers and was holding young Idris on a short leash awaiting Aragorn’s word to attack.

“It’s too risky, Strider! You’ll get caught.”

“Then you’d better make sure you come and rescue me!” Aragorn replied, slapping his friend on the shoulder before he sobered. “Tehir, I have to do this. I have to find Legolas and locate the hostages. We need to know exactly where they are if we’re going to rescue them. Now go. And be careful!”

“Same to you,” Tehir answered, squeezing his arm before he slipped quickly away into the crowds.

Waiting until Tehir was safely away before taking a deep breath, Aragorn once more drew up his cloak, made sure the mercenary’s badge was in plain sight and started for the gates leading into the inner fort.....

* * *

“Leave him alone, you bastard!” Glimmer shouted in rage, rattling the stout iron mesh of his cage door.

Dolf turned his head to sneer at him and smashed the slender birch switch across the door. Glimmer snatched his hands back then lunged, eager to get his hands on the bully’s throat. It was Dolf’s turn to dodge with a look of alarm. “Elf lover....” he spat as he scuttled out of reach

The Chief snorted, vaguely amused by the Ranger’s impotent fury and Dolf’s sudden fright.  Arms folded across his bull chest, he studied the slumped Elf critically. Legolas hung in his chains from a hook planted in the roof of his cage, head bowed to his slender chest, blond hair in rattails around his face and torn tunic gaping from his blood striped back. Dolf had carried out the beating with malicious pleasure, but the Elf had told them nothing nor offered them the satisfaction of even a whimper.

With an irritable grunt, the Chief grabbed a handful of matted blond hair and yanked Legolas’ head up. “Well, Elf, will you tell us what you know? Where are the other Rangers?”

Vacant sky blue eyes stared back at him, chilling the mercenary’s soul. Wherever the Elf’s soul had gone while Dolf laid into him with the birch switch, he was no longer present in his body. Resisting the urge to back away in dread, the Chief knotted his hand tighter in the long hair and shook the Elf as a dog shakes a rat. “Talk, Elf!” he bellowed into Legolas’ ear. The Elf registered not even a blink of response. The Chief softened his voice to rough approximation of a croak. “Listen to me, be reasonable. What have men ever done for you? I know the Rangers sent you here to kill me. Tell me where the Rangers are, how many they are, what there plans are. I know you know or you wouldn't be here. I know you were scouting for them. Tell me and we’ll cut you down. You can have one of the upper rooms and I’ll have someone tend your hurts.” He lifted one hand, touching the iron band around his slim wrist. “I’ll have the iron taken off, Elf, all you have to do is tell me what I want to know. Otherwise....” He closed his hand around the Elf’s broken wrist, squeezing meaningfully...

There might have been the tiniest flex of muscles under his grip, the faintest of hisses...

“Sadist...” Glimmer hissed in frustrated fury, swearing at him. “Leave him alone! He won’t tell you anything!”

“I can make it talk!” Dolf urged, shooting a cruel look at Glimmer. “Let me get a proper whip....I can take the skin off it! You know I can....”

“No....” rumbled the Chief, dropping Legolas’ head back on his chest. “It’d be a waste of time.”

“The branding irons then?” Dolf begged hopefully. “I can make it squirm and twist....I can burn it out of it...”

Glimmer held his breath, sickened by the look of lascivious delight on the mercenary’s face and terrified that the Chief might actually agree. The Chief looked equally disgusted.

“I'm not surprised Denethor threw you out,” he said grimly. “The Elf isn't going to talk. It’s withdrawn itself from the world....” A flicker of annoyed disappointment crossed his face. “It’s a shame. It fought well in the pit....Still if we leave it alone, it might come back....”

“What about him then?” Dolf asked, pointing at Glimmer. “He’s a Ranger too. I can make him talk.”

Glimmer laughed in his face. “What kind of fools do you take the Rangers for? As soon as we were captured, they’ll have changed their plans.”

Folding his arms, the Chief sighed heavily. “He has a point.”

“Then let me have the Elf. Let me break it,” Dolf begged. “They’re so damn haughty and proud....”

“No....”

Dolf’s tongue slithered over his lips. “I want to make it squirm....”

“I said no!” The Chief roared and grabbed, folding thick fingers around Dolf’s throat and squeezing hard enough to make him drop the switch and grab at the Chief’s hands in panic instead. “You will leave it alone....I don't want it broken. Not yet anyway....”

“Sorry, sorry, I understand....” Dolf choked.

With a grunt, the Chief dropped him to the floor and cast a calculating look at Glimmer. “Even withdrawn the Elf has some value as property,” he informed the Ranger. “I can sell it. I know quite a few men who would take great delight in owning a haughty Elf as a slave. I can imagine what they'd do to it....”

“If you want to call the entire Elven army down on your back, you go right ahead,” Glimmer sneered.

“Not going to know about it, are they,” the Chief retorted.

“Oh, they’ll know....” Glimmer promised.

“Whose going to tell them? You? I don't think so. I’ll cut your tongue out first. But before then you are going to tell me what I want to know...”

“Not much incentive to talk then....”

“You’ll talk....”

“Oh, no I'm not....You can get that slimy little worm of yours to torture me all you like, but it won’t help. And I notice you don't want to get your own hands dirty....”

The Chief wiped a hand across his mouth, unfazed by Glimmer’s efforts to insult him. “It’s Dolf’s little treat. He enjoys hurting things, especially Elves.” He shrugged heavy shoulders. “And I enjoy watching it....but as for you...” The Chief ambled over to stand in front of Glimmer and look him up and down. “You might be as tough as you think. You might not talk no matter what we do to you. But what will you say as you watch us torture the Elf?”

Glimmer opened his mouth to spit back an answer, but the words dried on his tongue as he saw the knowing look in the Chief’s eyes. The mercenary had him cornered; he had already revealed his own weakness by protesting Dolf’s beating of the helplessly bound Elf. “I can’t tell you what I don't know,” he said stubbornly.

“We shall see,” the Chief replied, slapping Dolf hard across the back and herding him away from prodding the Elf. “There are a lot worse things a man can do to an Elf than beating it. But I’ll leave that to your imagination....”

Glimmer glared at him in resentful silent as the Chief stomped away, followed by the sullenly scowling Dolf. Only when the door crashed shut, did he stir slightly.

“Legolas?” he called hopefully, unsure of how much the Elf was faking his withdrawal. There was no response; either Legolas had passed out or he had slipped out of reach....

                                                            * * *

With a tankard in one hand, a batch of chicken legs in his other and his borrowed cloak hitched up around his neck, Aragorn weaved his way across the main hall of the fort. He had spent a while sitting at one of the long tables, chewing on some of the bread rolls amongst the other men who were eagerly stuffing their faces and swilling down as much beer as they could. By diligent listening, Aragorn had learned that three quarters of those present were guests of a sort. The leader of the mercenaries, known only as the Chief, had offered an open invitation to anyone who wanted to attend the gladiatorial fights; even to chance their own arms in the pit if they dared. There was much talk of the Chief’s offer to let them join the army he was gathering, the free food and beer, the availability of the camp followers and the promise of looting and fighting was a temptation to most.  These men were the dregs, the ones the army refused and threw out.  Aragorn doubted they would put up much of a fight when challenged by the Rangers. They had no loyalty to anyone, least of all the Chief, and would cut and run soon enough.

That was a problem for later however. Right now, he had to find the way into the dungeons. The trouble was, the main hall had any number of doors that could lead anywhere and he didn't dare call attention to himself by picking the wrong one. He thought he’d spotted the door to the tower where the hostages were being held; it was the only one with a guard on it.  

Swaying into the wall, Aragorn leaned into the cold stone and groaned loudly hiding his face in the shadows from a passing guard. The man gave him an annoyed look. “If you’re going to throw up, throw up outside!” he barked.

Aragorn waved a feeble hand. “Need to lie down....” he moaned.

“Oh for....that way, man!” The guard grabbed his arm and shoved him towards a doorway. “Down the corridor and through the door at the end. Plenty of empty rooms on the first level down. Go on. Go sleep it off.....Now clear off!”

Mumbling a slurred thank you, Aragorn lurched towards the indicated doorway and staggered through it, hiding his triumph at his success. He tottered along the corridor beyond, keeping his head down as if he needed to watch his feet. No one took any notice of his progress however and he was soon through the door and on a flight of steps spiralling downwards. Finding himself alone, he shoved the chicken legs in his pouch, wiped the grease off on his grimy cloak and trotted quickly downwards, hanging onto the tankard as a disguise.

A door at the bottom of the stairwell opened out onto a stone corridor that was lit with cressets. Once more resuming his drunken stagger, Aragorn lurched along the corridor, peering into the various rooms and cages that had clearly once held captives. In some men were sleeping off their binging, in several there were amorously engaged couples who swore at him if they noticed him at all.

Ignoring various side routes, Aragorn kept going, finally finding another door that led to another stairwell that led both up and down. Pushing the door to behind him, he sped downwards and slipped through the door at the bottom, hanging on to his tankard as he swayed forth into the corridor. His performance went unnoticed for there was no one to see his entry.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Aragorn padded swiftly along the corridor, poised to perform or fight whichever seemed easiest. A rising sense of alarm was starting to niggle at him however; where were the guards? And how exactly was he supposed to find one Elf in the maze of corridors and cages? Maybe he should have gone for the hostages first? But then he had hoped for Legolas’ skill to back him up....

“Strider?!” the soft startled hiss came out a gloomy side turning and he paused, tensing warily, half turning to look.... “It is you! Quick, man, here! It’s Glimmer. The Elf’s here....”

Taking a chance on the vaguely familiar sound of the voice not being lying, Aragorn checked both ways along the corridor and flitted into the side turn. There were four cages here, facing on to each other. In one was the vaguely familiar figure of fair haired Glimmer, in the other....

“Legolas!” Aragorn was at the cage door in a flash.

“Hush! Not so loud!” Glimmer urged hastily. “Someone might hear....”

“I saw no guards....”

“The Chief let them all go to the feast and the pit fights. There’s a couple on general prowling....”

Aragorn nodded grimly, staring at Legolas as he hung in his chains. He could see the blood in the torchlight, shimmering in little crimson rivulets down his back. It had started to dry...

“...I said Strider!” Glimmer barked.

“What?”

“Keys!” Glimmer pointed at a hook on the wall where an iron ring containing several heavy keys hung in a niche in the stones. Focusing on it, Aragorn darted back to grab them, sorting through the keys quickly.

“That one for the Elf...” Glimmer was watching closely.

“Which one for you?” Aragorn demanded.

Glimmer lifted his head, looking at him in surprise then reached through the grill to touch one. A moment later and Aragorn had released the Ranger and turned to unlock the door of Legolas’ cage. “You’d better get out of here,” he urged Glimmer as he slid inside. “I'm sure someone of your skill can get out of the fort. Splinter’s waiting outside with the others....” With gentle care, Aragorn brushed the matted blond hair away from Legolas’ face and bent his head to peer anxiously at the Elf. “Out cold....”

Glimmer was hovering. “And how do you propose to get Legolas out on your own? You can’t carry him. Someone would notice.”

“You suggest I leave him?”

“No, no one gets left behind. But....”

“I was thinking of hiding him somewhere until Splinter gets here...” Aragorn winced as he saw the iron manacles and gritted his teeth in angry anguish, fumbling at the keys.

“Here, let me. You hold him...” Glimmer grabbed the keys, finding the right one with long deft fingers. Sliding his arm around Legolas, Aragorn lifted him slightly, supporting him to take the tension off the chains while Glimmer released him. “And where exactly do you think you can hide him? The Chief will rip this