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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 place apart....”

Aragorn shook his head and tensed, taking Legolas’ full weight as the Elf’s hands slipped out of the chains and he slithered bonelessly floorward. Glimmer hastily supported the Elf’s head as Aragorn settled into the dirt, cradling Legolas against him. “Can you get this iron off him?” Aragorn asked hopefully, hiding his aghast expression at the bruised and swollen state of the Elf’s left wrist.

“Lend me your knife,” Glimmer said grimly.

“In my belt....” Aragorn answered and allowed the other Ranger to forage for the slim bladed weapon.

“You’re not listening to me, are you? You’ll get yourself killed if you stay here.”

“You have another suggestion?” Aragorn demanded sarcastically, watching as Glimmer examined the manacle locks and then started to probe delicately at them with the knife tip. Strider slid his own arm under the Elf’s wrist, supporting the limb while Glimmer eased the manacle off.

Glimmer swore softly, staring at the blistered skin under the iron. “Bastards,” he muttered angrily, turning his attention to the other manacle. He flashed a quick look up at Aragorn as he unclasped the second iron band. “Well?”

Aragorn lifted his own head from his intent study of Legolas’ pale face. “Did you manage to search this place before you got caught? Is there somewhere I could hide with him?” He reluctantly decided that although it was comforting to hold the Elf he would probably do him more good by lying him down flat and examining his wounds.

“No,” Glimmer sat flatly. He sat back on his heels, studying the Duinedain as Aragon eased Legolas gently down to the floor and started to unfasten his tunic. He knew the Ranger wasn’t going to like what he found.

Strider caught his breath as he examined the ripped skin along the Elf’s ribs.  “How’d this happen?”

“They put him in the pit and set the Orcs on him,” Glimmer replied grimly. “From what they said, he killed them all.....”

“Sounds like Legolas...”

“But got sliced and diced in the process. Strider, they used Thornbane on him...”

“I know...”

“Then you know as well as I do, he’s not going anywhere.”

“Then neither am I. Damn it, Glimmer, I owe him my life several times over...”

“Then you go and let me stay with him.”

“No. It’s not your place....”

“Look, Splinter’s my captain, not you. Who do you think you are? The King? You can’t tell me....” Glimmer broke off under the steely look Aragorn gave him. Under that glare, Glimmer finally shook his head and fished under his shirt to extract a small leather pouch suspended on a cord around his throat. “Nothing else for it,” he muttered gloomily. “I’ll have to trust you.”

“You’ll have to trust me?” Aragorn sniffed haughtily,

Glimmer cocked his head to one side with a wicked grin and held out the pouch to him. “Here...”

“You think I want some mouldy charm?”

“It’s a magic ring,” Glimmer responded loftily.

“Really....” Aragorn commented sarcastically. “This is no time for joking.”

“Whose joking?” Untying the pouch, Glimmer upended the contents into his hand, revealing a tarnished silver ring with a sliver of black jet set into it.

Aragorn stared at it. “That’s a magic ring?”

“Don’t mock. It’s enchanted. Put it on....” Glimmer held it out again.

“What’s it supposed to do? Make me invisible?” Aragorn sneered.

“In a way....”

“I don't have time for foolishness....”

“Oh for....” Grabbing his hand, Glimmer pried it away from Aragorn and slid the ring onto his finger.

For a second it felt ice cold to Aragorn and he saw the flicker of a glow deep within the stone. “What...?” he began uncertainly.

“Anyone who sees you now, will only see who they’re expecting to see. The Chief and his men will probably see you as me because they’ve never seen you before.”

Aragorn frowned doubtfully at the ring, rubbing his thumb against it. “Glimmer, if this is some kind of sorcery....”

“It had better not be!” Glimmer protested indignantly. “Gandalf gave it to me. It’s never failed me yet.”

Aragorn pursed his lips, looking down at Legolas. “So, if we put it on Legolas they’d see you....”

“No,” Glimmer shook his head. “He’s an Elf. Something about them overrides the spell on the ring. Besides, they'd only wonder why he was hurt if they did see me...”

“Ah....” Aragon nodded slowly. Sitting back on his heels, he unfastened the pouch as his belt and took out a paper wrapped packet of herbs and a small jar. “So he’ll see me when he wakes?”

“If he wakes. I'm not so sure he’s only out cold....”

Aragorn gave him a frosty look, refusing to allow the possibility that Legolas might go where he could not follow. “Why’d Gandalf give you a magic ring?” he asked instead as he popped some of the leaves into his mouth.

“Some reason he shouldn’t?” Glimmer asked dryly after a moment’s hesitation.

“You tell me.” Aragorn snorted, paling slightly as he felt the bones of Legolas’ arm move under his examination. “I'm going to need something to brace this arm.....”

“You’re going to set it here?”

“You have a better idea?” Aragorn retorted. “If I don’t, the bone won't set straight. You know as well as I do how fast an Elf can heal....”

“He won't heal at all while that Thornbane’s knocking around inside him.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Aragorn snapped bitterly around the mouthful of herbs he was chewing, then caught himself. “You didn’t answer me about Gandalf....”

Glimmer sighed and rose to his feet, prowling over to peer along the corridor. “He owed me a favour.”

“Owed you?!”

“If you must know, I pulled him out of a bog when his horse threw him.” Glimmer shot a glare at the other Ranger. “You can stare at me all you like. It’s the truth.”

“Yesss.....” Aragorn said slowly. “I can see that....” Fishing the chewed leaves out of his mouth, he pressed them into some of the salve and mixed them together in his hand before applying them to the wound in the Elf’s side.

“Won't be long before those guards show up...” Glimmer muttered. 

“Better be going then....”

Glimmer frowned at him, baffled by his calm. “You have to be one of the most exasperating people I have ever met,” he grumbled. “Don’t you ever get spooked by anything?”

“Is there any point?” Aragorn didn't look up, taking care to smooth the freshened salve along the wound. It had bled freely and dried over, forming a crust. He flicked a glance at the Elf’s leg, noting the blood soaked leggings. Finished with the Elf’s wounded side, Aragorn turned his attention to his leg, peeling back the blood stiffened fabric as best he could and cutting it away where he couldn’t. He half wished for water to cleanse the wounds, but doubted that any water to be found in the dungeon would be fresh enough to use with any safety. He smoothed more salve into the wound, wishing he had more to soothe the Elf’s pain and help him heal. “I'm going to kill whoever did this to you, Legolas,” he promised his friend quietly as he turned him a little more on to his side so he could examine his striped back. “Glimmer? Who....?” He looked round to question the Ranger but Glimmer had vanished. “Damn....” Even though he had told him to go, Aragorn felt the loss. Part of him still hoped for a way to get Legolas out of the dungeon.

Treating the Elf’s back used up the rest of the salve and Aragorn gritted his teeth, knowing there was little else he could do except wait and hope to lure Legolas back from unconsciousness.

“Strider....” Glimmer called softly as he appeared in the doorway, making Aragorn jerk in alarm.

“Don't creep up on me like that. You’re as bad as Legolas...” Aragorn protested indignantly.

“Sorry,” Glimmer grinned, clearly anything but apologetic. Crouching next to him, he held up a selection of barrel staves. “These should do for splints. I found an old barrel...”

“Oh, thank you. I thought you’d gone.” Aragorn examined the staves hopefully, they were short enough that the curve was barely noticeable. If he padded them with strips of his tunic....

 “I’d better be. I heard the guards coming. Look, I'm going to lock you in. You think you can pretend to be me?”

“Scruffy and disreputable, you mean?”

Glimmer shot him a startled look and then grinned. “Something like that. It’ll take them a while to break in to get at you. I won't be far away.”

“You will be. I told you, go find Splinter....”

“Better if I stay inside. I'm betting you already sent someone to him...”

 Aragorn glared at him. “Even so....”

“Someone needs to get to those hostages, right? And if I'm inside, maybe I can help Splinter get inside too. Trust me.”

“Maybe you should take the ring...”

“No, better if they don’t know I'm missing.” Glimmer slid back to his feet, scooped up the keys and headed for the door.

“Glimmer, be careful....” Aragorn said quietly as the Ranger locked the door and tossed the keys back to him.

“You too, captain,” Glimmer answered with a grin and then he was gone, flitting away into the shadows.

Aragorn sighed, suddenly feeling very alone with only the faint unsteady sound of Legolas’ breathing for company. Curling his fingers around the Elf’s slender wrist he felt for his pulse, finding its thready patter unsettling.  “Don’t do this to me, Legolas,” he urged quietly.  “No wandering off to the Grey Lands without me. You promised, remember?”

Letting himself ramble because he was afraid of the silence and hoped that the sound of a familiar voice might reach the Elf even his unconsciousness, Aragorn turned his attention to straightening Legolas’ broken arm as best he could. Strips of the Elf’s tunic padded the barrel staves to make the splints as comfortable as possible and he bound them into place with more lengths of torn cloth. That done, he smoothed the remains of the Elf’s clothes back around him as best he could, wrapping his own cloak around him in an effort to warm him. Legolas felt cold to the touch, his skin as chilled as if he had been in an icy river for too long so that his skin took on a pale blue translucence.

Lifting him was a struggle as the Elf appeared to be far heavier than normal when he was a limp weight, Aragorn settled him against his shoulder, supporting him with an arm around him as he leaned his own back against the wall. Once settled, he prepared to wait, one hand idly caressing the blond head lying against his shoulder.

“Legolas, come back to me,” he urged quietly into one leaf shaped ear, resting his head against that of the Elf. “Don’t wander the paths alone....If you go there you’re gone forever. If I follow I’ll lose the way....” He knew that if someone as powerful as Elrond had been there, he would have known what to do, could have pursued Legolas down whatever shadowed paths he chose to follow.

“Legolas, my friend, I need you. I cannot go on alone...”

                                                            * * *

He spiralled inwards, heeding the call of the white gulls to cross an ocean of silver watered silk, to sail beyond the edge of the world to lands he had never seen. Beyond the western horizon through the falling shadows...

If you go there you’re gone forever.

If I follow I’ll lose the way...

The words were a whisper on the edges of his mind, a breath on senses torn by pain, made ragged by the burn of cruel iron...

A balm to a wounded spirit...

I need you. I cannot go on alone....

But he did not want to go back to the pressure of cold, torn stone and the endless weight of lonely night...

 Don’t leave me alone...

But I do not know the way back to you...

Estel!

                                                            * * *

Aragorn jerked his head up, surprised by the cry heard on the edges of his mind. Concentrating on his friend, he had slipped almost into rapport, felt it draw him inwards into the maze of memories where a lost Elf might dwell as he drew ever closer to the Grey lands....

“Oh Legolas, I cannot follow you....” Aragorn whispered. “But if I stay here we’re not together....” Closing his eyes, he once more rested his head against his friend’s and cried out to him. I am here, hear me. Follow me, come to me, do not leave me alone....

Estel!

It was a cry of pain, of loss and loneliness, of an Elf bereft of light and life, of an Elf lost in a darkness where no star shone, no leaf whispered, no river murmured....

His mind was splintering; shattering like shards of glass and panic swamped him...

Estel!

I am here. Come to me, Legolas, do not leave me....You are in my arms and only sleeping....

                                                            * * *

The sharp rattle of the door jerked Aragorn painfully the knife edge of rapport to blink stupidly at the guard staring in at him through the cage door. His eyes swam with double vision, leaving the guard veiled by dancing shadows.

“How’d you get in there?” the guard demanded in outrage.

“They put me in here to look after the Elf,” Aragorn answered, thinking frantically. On the edges of his mind, he could feel his tenuous contact with Legolas shredding, felt the Elf’s despair as he slid back towards the darkness....

Estel....? The faint fair off whimper echoed, pleading....

Aragorn tightened his arms about his friend, hugging him close, his mind and senses reeling in confusion as part of him clung desperately to the fading contact.

“I'm not too sure the Chief will be happy about that,” the guard grumbled.

“Like I care...” Aragorn heard the slur in his own voice, feeling as if part of him was drowning, sinking into darkness.

“Who put you in here then? the guard demanded suspiciously.

“How should I know?” Aragorn spat back. “One of your lot....”

The guard grunted and turned away, clearly irritated but inclined to pretend he hadn’t noticed. As he stomped away, Aragorn sagged, his mind reeling as he looked down at Legolas, aware of the gleam of his aura, aware of his own mind peeling open like the layers of a flower bulb, shredding away....

Legolas.....help me.....

Estel?

Help me..... Aragorn flailed, sinking, drowning, lost in an Elven contact he had no control over, losing himself.....

Estel! Legolas was there, engulfing him, enfolding him, bearing him up through the drowning deeps....

Struggling to force his eyes open, Aragorn fell back against the wall, slumping in exhaustion, shaking with reaction as he realised how close he had come to losing himself as well as Legolas....

“Estel?”

“I am here,” Aragorn managed to croak, struggling to pull himself together and knowing that from somewhere he would have to find the strength to once more plunge into the cold dark waters. He was the only lifeline his friend had...

“Aragorn?” Legolas’ head stirred slightly against the Ranger’s shoulder, his eyelashes flickering as he struggled to move.

Aragorn stared at him, seeing awareness creeping back into the sky blue eyes. “Legolas? Oh, Legolas, my friend!” He drew him closer, careful of wounds and broken bones, placing the most gentle of kisses on the top of his head.

“I am here....” Legolas managed, his reeling confusion apparent in his voice as he focused on the Ranger, squinting for a moment before his gaze cleared. “There is magic about you....”

“A spell to hide me from the mercenaries.” Aragorn took a gentle grip on Legolas’ good hand and squeezed, aware of the tears in his own eyes. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said softly.

“You called me....” Legolas mumbled, resting his head in weary exhaustion against the man’s shoulder a trusting gesture he would have allowed himself with no other human. His gaze wandered away from him towards the other cage. “Where is Glimmer?”

“Gone, I let him out.” Aragorn paused, wondering that Legolas should show no surprise that he was here. “Legolas, do you know where you are?”

“With you?” Legolas looked up at him with trusting innocence.

“Yes, but where is that?”

 “I....” Confusion swam through the Elf’s eyes.

 “You’re in Cethin Fort....”

“Still? Oh....” Legolas’ face filled with disappointment and tears shimmered in his eyes before he bent his head so Aragorn could not see.

Closing his arms around him, Aragorn rested his chin on top of his head and let him hide. “Did you think you had slipped so far over the Western Horizon?” he whispered. “Did I pull you back from where you wished to go to where you do not wish to be? I am sorry for that, but I cannot be sorry that you are with me...”

“You wouldn't let me go...”

“No,” Aragorn admitted. “Not now, not ever...”

Legolas sighed, but there was a tiny smile hovering around his lips and the faintest of sparkles glimmering in his eyes. “So how do we get out of here?”

“Splinter will come for us,” Aragorn said firmly. “Are you hungry?”

“No....I....hurt....” Legolas sounded vaguely surprised and slightly outraged by the discovery.  “Why is my arm wrapped in bits of wood?”

“It’s broken.”

“Oh....” Legolas considered this, contemplating his arm while Aragorn shifted gingerly to dig out his pouch and extract the chicken legs.

“Want one?” Aragorn prompted, waving one hopefully under Legolas’ nose.

“That appears to be a poultry appendage,” Legolas observed somewhat dubiously. “I am not hungry, Aragorn.”

“I think I've got some Lembas bread if you prefer....”

“No....”

The Ranger stiffened. “You’re going to eat if I have to force feed you,” Aragorn cut him off grimly, desperately frightened for his friend “You’re hurt, you need the energy to get better....And if you think I came all this way to rescue you, only to watch you starving yourself...”

“I am not....”

“You will obey your captain,” Aragorn said flatly.

This time there was definite outrage in Legolas’ blue eyes as his chin came up in defiance. “I will not....”

“Please?” Aragorn wheedled, waving the chicken leg again. “One poultry appendage for my sake?”

Legolas stared at him, but that please had defeated him. He reluctantly accepted the chicken leg and took a dainty nibble. His stomach nearly rebelled at the first bite, but slowly he forced the meat down. He doubted it would help much, he could feel the wrongness in his body where the Elfbane sapped his strength, but perhaps the food might shore up his energy as Aragorn said. It was far easier to let Aragon take care of things than to think for himself....

Watching his friend’s bowed head as he ate, every bite obviously an effort, Aragorn felt a rising sense of worry. He had seen Legolas hurt before, but always before the Elf had been able to bounce back with the resilience of his race. This time was different, Legolas was behaving like a critically wounded human. “Legolas,” he said with determined confidence into one leaf shaped ear. “You’re not that badly hurt.”

Legolas cocked his head slightly and slanted a glance up at him. “Are you so sure?” he responded wearily.

“Yes,” Aragorn answered flatly. “You’ve got nothing I couldn't survive, so don't be such a, a...wimp....”

Legolas head came up and his eyes blazed. “Wimp?” he echoed frostily.

“Yes, wimp,” Aragorn scolded.

After a long icy moment, a small smile curved the corner of Legolas’ mouth. “I apologise, captain,” he said loftily. “I am not used to being so restricted in my movements. Nor to being....hurt so. I believe the Elfbane perhaps affects me more than I thought. But I am not a wimp!”

Since he still had his arm around the Elf to support him, Aragorn rubbed Legolas’ upper arm reassuringly. “No, you’re not,” he told him briskly, suppressing a grin. The apology was deliberately too flowery, but there was a sprinkling of truth in it. “But the languishing Elf isn’t you. No going into a decline on me. This is the Elfbane making you feel so....fragile.”

“The Grey Lands call....” Legolas murmured.

“Not if you do not wish them too. I do not give you that choice, for it is not your time. I would know..”

Legolas gave him a startled look. “You would?”

Aragorn didn't look at him, but gazed at the far wall in surprise. “Yes,” he said slowly, remembering those sensations he had felt during his rapport with the Elf. The bond between them was deeper than before, he felt. “I think I would....”

“You’re not an Elf.”

“No....” Aragorn admitted. “You think I lie?”

Legolas gazed at him solemnly for a long moment, then with a weary sigh trustingly rested his head once more on the man’s shoulder. “No, you do not lie.” He closed his eyes.

“Legolas, do not leave me, my friend,” Aragorn felt a quick return of the panic that had started to ebb.

“I will not. But I am very tired, Estel. May I sleep for a while?”

“Yes, sleep, my friend. I will guard you and see you do not wander far to other shores....”

                                                            * * *

“So, how’d you do it?”

The gruff voice startled Aragorn out of a light doze. Ashamed of himself for letting his guard slip even for a moment, he lifted his head and squinted towards the shadowy figure outlined by lamp light at the cage door. “Do what?”

“Get into the Elf’s cage.”

Aragorn frowned, letting his eyes adjust to the light as he took in the tall, scar faced man with the eye patch. He was backed by two guards; one a surly faced man who reminded the Ranger vaguely of a rat, the other a burly scar faced man carrying a spear. “One of the guards put me in here....”

“And lost the key?” the man scoffed.

Legolas stirred, belatedly lifting his head and staring towards the door. “You’re still alive,” he hissed and he sounded disappointed.

“Why, so I am, Elf. You missed. I gave you your chance to cooperate. It’s your own fault if you earned yourself a beating.”

“You should have killed me,” Legolas snarled and Aragorn could feel his anger building, beating against the edges of his mind like waves against a sea worn cliff.  

“I’ve decided to sell you instead.”

Aragorn choked and felt the anger suddenly reined in, in deference to his human friend as Legolas realised what he was doing. 

“It is all right, Estel,” Legolas said mildly however, his anger tightly controlled now. “They will not sell me.”

“Oh? And why not?”

Legolas tilted his head, his eyes enormous; like a cat’s before it attacked. “Because I am going to kill you, Chief. You and Cassius and Dorf.....and all the rest of you low life....er....” He glanced at Aragorn. “Dirt that floats on water?” he asked in Elvish.

“Scum?” Aragorn offered as the Elf floundered for the suitable phrasing in the human tongue.

“Scum? Yes, low life scum....” Legolas said in satisfaction, giving Strider a little nod of appreciation. “Thank you....”

The surly faced guard flinched, but the spear carrier lifted his weapon with a sneer. “Lots of men have threatened to kill me, but I'm still here. Somehow I don’t think one scrawny Elf is going to manage it. How about it Chief? Me and the Elf in the pit?”

“He might kill you, Cassius,” protested the other guard. “Elves are nasty, tricky, devious  creatures. I mean look how one of them sliced up the Chief...” He broke off suddenly, sliding a look at the one eyed man. “I m’mean....”

“I know exactly what you mean, Dolf,” the Chief snarled, reaching up to rub his eye patch. “You with your low opinion of Elves think I should have killed it first.”

“I didn’t say that,” Dolf protested. “They’re arrogant things. Let me break this one for you....”

“Come into the cage, Dolf,” Legolas purred, sliding away from Aragorn and forgetting his wounded leg.  “I am not bound now....”

Aragorn locked his fingers into the back of the Elf’s tunic and tugged hard, sitting him back down. Legolas looked at him in outraged betrayal as the Ranger bounded to his own feet. 

“He cannot fight,” he said flatly. “But I can....”

“And why can’t he fight?” the Chief mocked.

“Do you know his arm’s broken?”

Cassius laughed nastily. “You hum it, we’ll sing it....”

“Shut up,” the Chief snarled. “It’s an Elf. A beautiful, perfect, unbeatable Elf. And I've had enough of both of you. You’re both going in the pit with the Orcs.”

“I thought you wanted to sell me....” Legolas growled, glowering at him.

“If you survive the Orcs, I might still do it. Or I might hack you to pieces myself.” The Chief slammed a fist against the cage door. “My scouts tell me there are men in the woods. The removal of two Rangers has become something of a necessity. You two get killed by Orcs attempting to find the hostages, its not my fault.”

“If you think...” Aragorn began angrily.

“Faster than you, Ranger. I have a ship on the way. As soon as it gets here, I’ll be taking my men and getting out of here. The hostages will come with us....” The Chief swung away, stabbing a finger at Cassius. “Get the guards and throw them in the pit.”

“How many Orcs do you want?”

“How many have you got?”

“You want all of them?!” Cassius asked, aghast.

“Why not? They’re no good to us now.”

“But....they might get out, chief!”

“Good. It’ll keep the Rangers busy dealing with them while we get away....Hurry up. I want to see these two slaughtered before the ship gets here...”

                                                            * * *

Cassius brought too many guards to move the captives for them to fight. Legolas bristled like an angry cat and would have attacked them anyway, but with a vulnerable Aragorn beside him, he could not take the risk that his friend would be hurt. For his part, Aragorn was worried by the febrile light in the Elf’s eyes. Legolas had passed beyond the reach of common sense and wouldn’t have recognised danger if it politely introduced itself first.  Harried by bow and spear and Elfbane dipped crossbow, they were herded into the pit where Legolas had first fought and locked in before their weapons were tossed to them.

Picking up Glimmer’s sword, Aragorn grimaced as he gave it an experimental swing. The balance was probably fine for the lighter built man, but didn't suit him at all. With a shrug, he discarded his cloak and drew his own sword. Two sworded fighting was Legolas’ forte, but he had a feeling he might need the extra blade if the mercenaries had as many Orcs as he feared.  A faint despairing sound from Legolas made him look round in alarm.

Cassius had tossed the Elf’s white knives down to him and Legolas had retrieved one of them. He was now kneeling in the dust, looking helplessly from his unresponsive left hand to the sword as it lay in the dirt. Sensing he had Aragorn’s attention, he looked up at his friend, searching his face for answers with blue eyes wide in confusion.

“My hand will not close....” he protested in bewilderment.

“Your arm’s broken,” Aragorn reminded him as he took his upper arm and drew him back to his feet.

“Yes, but....my hand.....I do not understand.....”

“Haven’t you ever broken anything before?” Aragorn asked curiously.

“I do not....think so....But the bone should be mended....” Legolas said forlornly and a fine tremor shook him. “I cannot have only one hand....”

“Legolas!” Jabbing one sword point first into the dirt, Aragorn grabbed his friend by the chin and forced his head up. “Your arm is only broken. Bones heal. You will heal. You’re not crippled. Don't you dare go to pieces on me!”

Legolas blinked at him in astonishment. “You do not have to yell at me,” he protested. 

“Ach! Elves!” Aragorn swung away to grab Legolas’ second knife. “Here, stick it in your belt.”

Legolas’ lips twitched as he gave the Ranger a pointed look. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot....” Aragorn smiled ruefully and tucked the knife into Legolas’ belt for him. “You want to swap for a long sword?” he suggested as he retrieved Glimmer’s sword.

“No. I must be careful of my balance.” Legolas indicated his wounded leg. “Aragorn, I think perhaps I may be a hindrance to you....”

 “In a fight? Never!” Aragorn scoffed, refusing to admit his own doubts. A low rumbling sound told him of gates opening somewhere down the pit’s entrance tunnel. “Come on, over against the wall.”

“We will be unable to retreat....”

“But they won't be able to get behind us either. You won't be able to move around much on that leg.”

“True,” Legolas admitted, glancing down at his dragging leg. He was limping heavily and his wounded side was throbbing painfully. Part of him was concentrating on forcing the pain down to a bearable level, wrapping it up to be tucked away and considered later. He would pay for it later, but for now, he could override the damage signals of his body to fight. “I will be little faster than a human....”

Aragorn gave him a quick glare. “Watch it, Elf.”

Legolas gave him an impish grin. “Watch yourself....”

“You watch my back, I’ll watch yours....”

“Yes, Aragorn,” Legolas said obediently. “It was nice to know you.”

“What?!” Aragorn gave him an incredulous look.

“Is that not what humans say before battle?”

“No. Its usually last one to the pub buys the drinks. Or the guy who gets the most kills gets free ale....”

“Ah....” Legolas considered this, lifting his head slightly as he smelt the stench of the Orcs. “Aragorn?”

The Ranger flexed his grip on his swords, reminding himself not to grip to tightly. “Yes?”

“I have already killed three Orcs. I believe I am ahead on points....”

Which was when the Orcs rushed into the pit in a seething, stinking screeching horde....

                                                            * * *

Aragorn wasn't sure how long he had been fighting. He had lost all track of time in the frantic whirl of battle and struggling to stay alive. He slashed left to disembowel an Orc, ducked under another blow from the Orc intent on pounding him into the ground and rammed his sword into its chest. As it gurgled and toppled backwards, he planted a foot on its ribs to wrench his blade free and blocked frantically another blow aimed at his head.

The flash of Legolas’ silver sword darted past him to take the Orc under its upraised arm and it staggered back, toppling with a thud to trip two more its kind. The fall made the other Orcs drew back to regroup.

Yanking his blade free, Aragorn steeped back to Legolas’ side, panting for breath. “Thanks...” he gasped.

Legolas nodded, gingerly dabbing at a streak of blood on his cheek with his damaged wrist. “You positioned it perfectly for me...”

Aragorn shot a quick look at him, certain the Elf was teasing him. He had never quite decided whether or not all Elves had a strange sense of humour or if it was only Legolas. “How are you holding up?” he asked however.

“Holding what up?”

“Your leg....”

“Oh....” Legolas glanced down, grimacing faintly at the wet patch of fresh blood on his thigh. He shrugged and winced slightly. “There is nothing that can be done now...”

Aragorn grimaced, squeezing his elbows in against his sides to ease his aching ribs. Exhaustion was starting to set in with bone grinding weariness. And there were still so many Orcs left....

“Where are they all coming from?” he groaned.

“The dungeons on the third level I believe,” Legolas murmured.

“I meant where did the blasted mercenaries get them from?”

“But that isn't what you said,” Legolas protested.

“Legolas, you.....Oh never mind.”  Legolas might have been teasing him, but there was a distracted look in his eyes that spoke of confusion.  Aragorn supposed it was difficult to focus properly on reality when half of you was dwelling on another plain simply to prevent yourself from passing out.

“Arrgghhhh!” Another Orc had decided to charge them and came hurtling towards them, hacking wildly.

Aragorn ducked, sweeping it legs from under it with one massive blow. Legolas took it in the throat with an expert slash and it toppled backwards, fountaining gore.

“Fortunately Orcs are not the brightest of species,” Legolas observed, then yelped and turned fast to block the Orc coming in from the side. His leg buckled under him, spilling him to the ground so that the Orc’s axe aimed at his head missed. He stabbed upwards into the thing’s belly, ripping upwards to disembowel it.

Aragorn was driving back two more Orcs, his blades whirling around him in a lethal whirlwind of iron.

An Orc head went bouncing across the pit and the second Orc scrabbled backwards in retreat.

“Get up!” Aragorn commanded as he once more backed up to cover Legolas.

“I do not think I can...” Legolas said faintly.

Aragorn shot a quick look down at him as the Elf cradled his arm to his wounded ribs. He swore, facing front again to stare belligerently at the Orcs. “You have to,” he insisted desperately. “They’re like scavengers. Once you’re down they think you’re easy prey....So, get up!”

Legolas hissed a savage curse at him but he made the effort, struggling to get his feet under him as he clawed the way up the wall and leaned into it, bracing himself with one shoulder to stay upright. The Orcs had packed them up tight to the wall now, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to retreat, no way to manoeuvre....

“Good, now stay there....” Aragorn told him flatly. “I’ll do the fighting....”

Legolas’ eyes widened. He knew Aragorn was a superb fighter, but even he had his limits. They were looking death in the eye. “You cannot....”

“Neither can you. Rest....” Aragorn watched the Orcs expectantly, flexing his sweating hands on his sword hilts. “There’s not so many now....”

“Too many,” Legolas argued.

“Hah! Seen you take on this many when you’re in a snit...”

 “That is different. You are not me.”

“I know. I have more sense....”

“Then why....”

“Usually anyway. Right now, there’s no choice....”

“There is no guard on the Orcs gate. Perhaps if we can get to it....”

“And do what?”

“There must be another way out of the third level....”

Aragorn grunted, taking one step forward to meet the Orcs as they rushed forward again. They were not the best or the bravest of Orc fighters and for that Aragorn was very grateful. If they had been any tougher, he would have been goblin bait long since...

Hack slash, glide a step, lunge, parry, swing....

Dimly he knew Legolas was behind him, guarding his back....

The movements became a dance of death, slice, hack, riposte, hack and hack again, carving his way forward....

His boot slipped in the gore and he staggered, dropping to one knee as exhaustion rose over him in a black wave....

Grinning in horrible triumph, the Orc raised its serrated edge to hack his head off....

Legolas came up from behind, screaming in rage as he sliced the Orc’s head from its shoulders and turned after the others....

“Legolas....”  Aragorn croaked as he lurched to his feet, his mouth dry as dust.

It was Legolas who led the way now, his sword flashing as it darted and stung, biting deep time and time again to drive the Orcs back.

Aragorn swung his own sword with arms that felt too heavy to even lift, his head roaring with the beat of his blood and the howling of the Orcs. He dreaded how Legolas would be feeling, if the Elf let himself feel anything at all. He must be pushing himself far beyond his limits...

Legolas slipped and swayed, reeling back. Overreaching his final slice at an Orc so far that he swung around and dropped to his knees at Aragorn’s feet.

Aragorn bellowed and jumped over him instinctively, chopping the Orc down with a crude blow as Legolas rolled beneath him and tottered back to his feet.

“Blast.....” Aragon wheezed, doubling over as he realised the Orcs had pulled back again. But this time they had surrounded them, cutting them off from the walls.

“Aragorn, the walls....” Legolas gasped.

“What?” Groggily, Aragorn looked round and up, peering at the pit walls.

There was the clash of swords from above them, the roar of human voices as Rangers poured into the seats, pursuing running mercenaries.

The Orcs roared and charged again, careless of the fight above....

“Splinter!” Aragorn screamed frantically. “Help!”

One of the Rangers swung away from the man he was chasing and looked down into the pit.  Aragon waved frantically, then remembered the ring and hastily snatched it off.

Splinter’s expression brightened as he recognised Strider. Assessing the situation instantly, he then swung a leg over the parapet and dropped to the ground below, bellowing for back up and followed by a handful of eager Rangers. Seconds later they were surging past Aragorn and Legolas and hurling themselves gleefully on the startled Orcs.

Aragorn sagged, leaning on a sword for support then hastily lifting it again to skewer a terrified Orc as it came at him.

Legolas screamed wordlessly and lunged, hacking and slicing, madness in his eyes....

A face swung before him and he skidded to a halt, staring at Tehir’s panic stricken expression. “Oh, it’s you....”

“Thank you for not killing me....” Tehir squeaked, doing his best not to gulp at the feel of the sword blade poised at his throat.

“Next time don’t sneak up on me....” Legolas responded as Tehir leaped after another Orc.

“Duck!” Aragorn yelled, shoving Legolas out of the way to kill the Orc about to decapitate the Elf from behind.

“I had that one,” Legolas protested as his own sword sank into its throat.

“Half each?” Aragorn panted back, then growled as he saw the Chief appear on the balcony. “Him...” he spat in disgust.

Legolas looked round. “Mine!” he hissed and turned, running towards the wall.

“Legolas! You can’t.....!” Aragorn shouted after him, then broke off, gaping in astonishment as the Elf reached the wall and used an Orc for a springboard, flowing up the last few feet like a shadow.

Landing on the balcony, he dropped into a crouch confronting the Chief. For a second they stared at each other in loathing, then the Chief sprang at him and Legolas raised his own sword to block, dancing backwards with a flurry of blows....

Aragorn saw the stealthy shape of Dolf behind the Elf even if Legolas did not. The surly faced man was licking his lips and grinning as he raised a dagger and launched himself at the Elf’s unarmed back.

Gritting his teeth, Aragorn weighed his sword in his hand, aimed and threw the blade over arm, watching the heavy weight of the sword spin through the air...

To thunk solidly into Dolf’s back and skewer him to the back of the balcony box, the dagger clattering from his twitching hand.

Legolas flashed a surprised look at him then round at Aragorn, almost absent-mindedly blocking the Chief’s enraged attack on him.

“Only you could find a way to disarm yourself,” Tehir panted as he came up alongside Strider. He was smothered in Orc blood but clearly unharmed.

“Never mind that. I have to get up there....”

“How? Fly?” Tehir demanded sarcastically. “You’re not a lighter than air Elf...”

“Perhaps I can assist,” Glimmer came up on Aragorn’s other side, swinging his borrowed sword meaningfully. “Can I give you a lift?”

Aragorn flashed a look at him and gave him a wild eyed grin. “Yes! Move...”

Glimmer nodded and ran to the wall, turning to brace his sword flat across his thigh. Aragorn ran after him, dropped his sword and sprang, landing with one foot on the Ranger’s braced leg. With a grunt of effort, Glimmer heaved, tossing Strider upwards.

“Remember to stay alive!” he yelled after him. “I want my ring back!”

Aragorn caught the edge of the balcony and heaved, dragging himself in time to meet Cassius driving a sword at his face. Rolling over the wall, Aragorn lashed out in a frantic kick that smashed into the mercenary’s face and sent him crashing back into the wall.

“Strider!” Tehir yelled from below and Aragorn leaned over the balcony in time to catch the sword the Ranger threw to him. He swung back and round, hacking into Cassius midriff as the mercenary hurled himself at his back.

Doubling over the blade, Cassius looked up at him in astonishment....

“No one’s that....fast....” he gurgled

“Elf trained....” Aragorn answered flatly as he wrenched the sword free.

With a puzzled expression on his face, Cassius crumpled as the light faded from his eyes.

Aragorn was already gone, racing after Legolas as the Elf was driven back along the side of the pit by the Chief.

Legolas was starting to realise he had made a mistake. Rage had given him the extra energy to pursue the Chief, but there was only so much even an Elven body could take and Legolas had long surpassed his physical limits. The Chief was currently stronger and faster than he was. Normally, the Elf would have had little difficulty fighting him to a stand still but Legolas knew he the man had him on the retreat.

“What’s the matter, Elf? Your pretty little toy sword not sharp enough...?” the Chief leered at him as his sword slashed towards the Elf’s eyes, making him jerk frantically back out of reach. “Too good for you, am I? Maybe I’d better carve you up....Hmmh? Hmmh?” He lunged, sword point aiming for the Elf’s stomach. Legolas parried desperately and reeled as the Chief smashed his left hand into the side of the Elf’s head.

Dazed by the blow, Legolas slipped as his foot found a protruding stone behind him that he hadn’t expected. He caught his balance, clenched his teeth and riposted, his blade gliding past the Chief’s to plunge into the man’s shoulder.

The Chief grunted in shock and stepped back, startled by the pain of the wound. “Bastard bloody Elf....” he snarled in fury and went after the Elf in fury, bludgeoning at him with his sword until Legolas startled to crumple under his attack, then hurled a punch past his guard.

Legolas flung up his left arm to protect his face this time and yelped in pain as agony exploded through the limb. He slid to one knee and the Chief roared in excited triumph, hammering down another tremendous blow that would have sliced the Elf’s head in two if it had landed.

Instead he slammed to a halt, staring down at the slender blade that had driven through his stomach and up deep into his chest. He could feel it grate on bone as it emerged from his back....

Legolas let go of the sword and limped back, trembling with weakness and pain...

The Chief lifted his head and a horrible grimace of a smile crossed his face. Muscles convulsed as he dragged the sword back up....

“Take you...with me....” he gurgled as the blood spilled from his mouth and he lurched after Legolas.

Horrified, Legolas took a shocked step backwards...

“No, you bloody don’t....” Aragorn snarled as he came up behind him and slashed the mercenary leader’s head from his shoulders with one clean blow. It vanished over the wall into the pit as the body slowly toppled after it.

Badly shaken, Legolas leaned on the parapet and peered over. “I think that one counts as half each too....” he giggled and kept on leaning, sliding over the parapet.

Aragorn lunged and caught him with an arm around the waist before the Elf fell into the pit too. Pulling him backwards, Aragorn sank wearily to the floor, cradling the Elf as he sagged into his arms, head rolling limply against his shoulder.

“Oh Legolas,” he whispered as he hugged his friend closer. “Stay....”

                                                            * * *

Aragorn listened with only half an ear to Tanis’ report, knowing that Splinter would be listening carefully. The important bits he already knew; the fort was theirs, the mercenaries either killed, captured or driven off. The last of the Orcs had been killed in the pit. And the hostages had been found holding their own in the fort’s tower, having killed their guards and then successfully used the narrow stairway to hold off the mercenaries attempting to rush them. 

Aragorn’s thoughts were with the unconscious Elf lying in one of the tower rooms with Idris and Glimmer currently watching over him. He had had done all he could for his friend, resetting his wrist, cleaning and dressed his wounds and attending to the numerous scrapes and bruises had had picked up in the fight. Now there was nothing he could do but wait and call on the tenuous link he felt between them, pleading for his friend not to wander to far from him.

Taking another pull at the strong ale, he sighed and ran one hand wearily through his lank hair. He was so tired; there wasn’t an inch of him that didn't hurt. Glimmer had herded him out of the Elf’s room to grab a meal, retrieving his ring in the process.

“You should get some rest,” Splinter advised.

“What? Sorry?” Aragorn blinked at him, wondering where Tanis had gone.

“I said you should get some sleep.”

“Legolas needs me.”

“You’ll do him more good if you’re rested.”

“No, I can’t leave him.”

“You’ve left him now.”

Strider shook his head, struggling to push the cobwebs out of his mind. Even the thought of sleep was an alluring temptation he could no afford. “No, no, this is different. He knows I'm here. I needed a break for a few minutes; something to eat and drink. I can’t sleep. I have to stay awake.”

Splinter frowned at him. “Is this some Elf thing?”

“Yes. Someone has to stay in contact with him. If I sleep, I’ll lose the connection and I’ll never get it back. He’ll sink too far....” Aragorn rubbed his fingertips against his temples.

“How about a bath then? Idris and I had a look round while you were patching Legolas back together. The mercenary leader had a mighty fine bedroom, deep tub, clean sheets, the lot....”

Aragorn groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Don't tempt me. I’ll fall asleep if I even think about it....”

“Strider? Splinter? Sorry to disturb you....” Tehir peered anxiously round the door jamb, then trotted in quickly.

“What is it?” Splinter demanded. “Didn’t I tell you not to disturb us? Is the tower falling down maybe?”

Tehir grinned at him, unimpressed by his scowl. “No, there’s an Elf here for Captain Strider....”

“An Elf? Here? Now?” Aragorn echoed incredulously, lifting his eyes to stare in sudden hope at the doorway as a tall dark haired shape appeared.

“Ah there you are...Es...Ara.....El...Er, what are you calling yourself now?”

“Figwit!” Aragorn cried in delight and raced to meet Elrond’s right hand Elf, assistant, squire and secretary. He flung his arms around Figwit and hugged him hard in sheer relief.

“Er yes, quite...Ew.....When did you last bathe?! Would you mind letting go?” Figwit protested, but he was smiling faintly and made no effort to escape the human’s embrace.

“Oh er, yes, sorry,” Aragorn hastily released him, belatedly remembering that most Elves did not like being ‘mauled’ as they put it. “What are you doing here?”

“Elrond sent me of course,” Figwit replied mildly. “Are you calling yourself Figwit? Only it will be terribly confusing....”

“No, no, call me Strider,” Aragorn said hastily, remembering that Figwit could be as literal minded as Legolas at times. “Legolas is hurt.”

“Yes, I know. Elrond saw it....” Figwit sobered and nodded solemnly. He patted the satchel hung over his shoulder, caressing the leaves embossed into the soft green leather. “I have herbs that will help. Elrond said that there was Elfbane involved. Do you have ale?”

“You want ale?” Aragorn echoed incredulously.

Figwit nodded seriously, gazing at him in earnest expectation.

“Well, it might not be what you’re used to....” Splinter said as Aragorn looked at him helplessly.

“Oh, it’s not for me! It’s for Legolas!” Figwit exclaimed with a flash of exasperation. “The herbs must be mixed with ale to flush the Elfbane from his body... The combination of yeasts and hops and vitamins....Am I going to fast for you?” He looked from one human to the other with a faintly exasperated frown. “It is rather important...”

“I dare say we can find a few barrels....” Splinter murmured faintly.

“Right on it, captain,” Tehir assured him as he raced out.

“Oh, I won't need an entire barrel. Two or three pints should do it....”

“Pints?” Aragorn echoed faintly.

“You look as if you could do with a drink yourself,” Figwit observed gently.

“Yes, but....pints...? How are you going to get him to drink it?”

“The usual way.”

“But he’s out cold!”

“Oh, I knew that as soon as I got here. Not to worry. We’ll simply have to wake him up....” Figwit gazed at Aragorn thoughtfully for a moment and the Ranger felt a beguiling tickle at the edges of his senses. “Ah, so that’s it....”

“That’s what?” Aragorn asked suspiciously.

“I wondered who he was in rapport with. It’s you....”

Aragorn flushed. “Yes, well...”

“Oh, don't be embarrassed. You should be honoured. We don't form a kindred rapport with any riff raff you know. Now, where is Legolas? Might as well get started. The sooner he knows I'm here, the sooner you’ll be able to get some rest...I’ll probably need you once he’s drunk....”

”Drunk?!”

“Well, he is hurt. What do you expect drinking three pints of strong ale would do to him...?”

                                                            * * *

Sitting beside Legolas, Aragorn shifted his grip slightly on his friend’s hands, rubbing his thumbs gently across his palms. His own palms were rough with sword calluses, but Legolas seemed to have some magical Elf ability to keep his hands as smooth and soft skinned as if he spent all his time wafting about some ethereal palace. Right now, the fair skinned Elf looked pale, his skin seemed too thin, shining with a faint blue white translucence that spoke not of the magical serene glow of his people, but of fever and wounds that would not mend.

Aragorn had personally peeled him out of his clothes, bathed him and washed the matted, tangled hair, brushing it out as best he could and reluctantly cutting out those knots too thick to tame. But the beautiful sheen that always marked the Sindarin’s hair was missing now. It was if whatever magic made him an Elf was ebbing away as the life drained quietly out of him...

“Has he spoken yet?” Figwit asked softly as he set down a tray beside the bed. On it were set a large pitcher, a tankard and a smaller beaker.

Aragorn flinched, dragging his eyes away from his intent stare at Legolas’ marble smooth features. Concentrating hard on calling to his friend, he hadn't heard Figwit come in. “No. I do not think he can hear me He has travelled too far for me to reach....”

“Nonsense. He’s only hiding,” Figwit sniffed briskly. “Here, take this....Look, you can let go of him with one hand at least....I’m not holding it for you...”

“Sorry....” Reluctantly releasing one hand, Aragorn accepted the beaker. “What is it?”

“Wine....” Figwit replied as he leant over the bed to peel back one of Legolas’ eyelids and stare into his eye. “Hmmh....”

Aragorn frowned from beaker to pitcher, able to smell the heated ale and spices. “I thought you were giving him ale....”

“Oh, I am, the wine is for you. Drink up....” Figwit leaned down a bit closer. “Legolas! Wake up!” he roared into one sensitive ear.

Aragorn jumped a foot, nearly pouring his wine over all three of them. Legolas however didn't even twitch. “You could warn me....” he protested faintly.

Figwit waved a hand. “Drink....” he ordered crisply.

Aragorn grimaced, but downed the wine in a couple of quick gulps, surprised to feel the warmth expand inside him, chasing away an icy chill that he hadn't known was there. Hard on its heels came a glowing sensation as if his senses were expanding, like sunlit water rushing in to fill a gap.

“That’s better,” Figwit said smugly, plucking the beaker out of his hand.

“What did you-?” Aragorn growled, sensing that there had been more than spiced wine in the cup.

“Nothing to harm you,” Figwit responded as he took a firm grip on Legolas’ hand where it lay limp on the blankets, then grasped Aragorn’s free hand. “Now, Strider, I want you to do something very simple. Imagine yourself standing on a cliff top, looking out towards the Grey Lands across the open sea. And then call Legolas, call him with all your heart and soul....” He gazed at the Ranger seriously. “He has gone very far this time, too far perhaps. And if he will not answer to your heart, then I do not think he will return....”

Aragorn’s blue eyes widened and he turned back to Legolas in panic, feeding that fear into his own desperate need for his friend to call back, screaming with all his soul, willing to surrender everything if he could only call him back....

Legolas! Legolas, come back to us! Aragorn cried the words silently, screaming them inside, feeling them ripped out of him and made all the stronger for his anguish and fear at the thought of losing his much loved friend.

His mind reeled and grew thin, starting to shatter as he sought a deeper contact he was not trained for and felt the endless depths of the Elf’s mind drawing him in and down, spinning through a kaleidoscope of colours; of amethyst and peridot, sapphire and emerald shot through with skeins of silver silk.....

He was spinning thinner and thinner, losing himself to the ethereal beauty that surrounded him, as he if he was diving into the light, into the shining depths of a crystal star.....

Thoughts shredded as he became no more than an illusion of himself and he didn’t care. He wanted to become lost forever....

Estel! No! Not so deep....

He knew Figwit’s mind trace, but he didn’t care, could ignore the insistent tug from the Elf as he sought another presence in the shining glory that surrounded him.

If you walk the Grey Lands, then I shall follow...

For if I stay here we’re not together.....

There was an explosion of gold in his mind like a sun burst, bright and blazing, dazzling the mind’s eye, engulfing him in honeyed warmth....

“Strider! Strider! Estel! Wake up! Don't you dare do this! Elrond will kill me! Legolas will kill me! They’ll take turns at it! Wake up!”

Aragorn awoke to find himself lying on the floor with Figwit kneeling beside him, both hands wrapped around his. He could feel the energy the Elf was pushing into him, feel the fluttering pulse of his blood returning slowly to normal....

 “Figwit....” he croaked and could have cried for the loss of the beauty he had seen. “Why did you stop me.....?”

“I didn’t. He did....” Figwit said crisply and there was a suspicious sparkle in his dark eyes as he nodded at the bed.

Groggily lifting his head, Aragorn found Legolas peering down at him anxiously, clinging to the edge of the bed to hold himself up. Seeing Aragorn looking at him, the Elf slumped back in relief.

“He came back to us....” Aragorn breathed.

“No, he came back to you,” Figwit corrected with a weak smile. “You went too far and he had to bring you back.”

Aragorn grinned him and gripped the dark haired Elf’s shoulder, struggling to sit up so be could peer at Legolas. “You’re awake....” he breathed in gratitude.

Turning his head slightly on the pillow, Legolas gazed at him from luminous blue eyes and sighed. “You shouted at me,” he whispered reproachfully. “You nearly deafened me....”

“Ah, well....” Aragorn began awkwardly.

“It’s your own fault, going wandering like that,” Figwit interrupted tartly as he poured the ale with slightly trembling hands. He knew how far both Legolas and Aragorn had wandered and it scared him.

“Figwit?” Legolas looked up at his Elven friend, a faint crease forming between his slender eyebrows as he recognised him. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a feeling you were in trouble, so I asked Elrond to look for you for me. Next thing I know I’m on a horse heading for the middle of nowhere and here I am saving your royal neck as usual. Drink this....Strider, help him sit up....”

Aragorn obeyed, sliding a strong arm under the Elf’s shoulders and propping him up so Figwit could push an extra pillow behind Legolas and press the tankard into his hands.

Supporting the tankard with both hands, Legolas looked round from one to the other of them in bewilderment. “But this is ale....”

“Full of herbs to flush the Elfbane out of your system so you can start to heal properly. So, either you drink it voluntarily or I shall have Estel...er Strider I mean....or possibly both of them....hold your nose.”

Legolas gazed at him wide eyed at his impatient tone and took a cautious sip of the ale. “I don’t really want....”

“Strider, hold his nose!” Figwit commanded, folding his arms and scowling at him.

“I think he means it Legolas,” Aragorn told his friend. “Don’t make me do it. You’ve got another two pints of that to drink.”

Legolas blinked huge eyes at him and took another mouthful. “He’s a bully...” He slid a look up at a scowling Figwit’s intimidating presence.

“I suspect you might be right....”

“And you called me a wimp....”

            “Did I?” Aragorn grinned at the blond Elf. “Prove me wrong and drink your ale....”

Legolas sighed and took another mouthful, tasting the bite of spices and herbs mingled with a hint of honey and Elfmint that tingled on his tongue. He had a feeling that between them Aragorn and Figwit could make him do whatever they wanted and he really didn't feel like arguing with them.

Figwit suddenly put a cool, gentle hand on his forehead and smiled at him affectionately. “It will help, little one, trust me,” he said softly in Elvish.

Or possibly make you too drunk to care about anything... Aragorn reflected silently as he watched the two Elves silently commune, knowing that Figwit was feeding Legolas with as much energy as he was ale. He wished it was a talent he shared as he sank back on his heels on the floor...

The brush of fingertips against his shoulder made him look up into Legolas’ blue eyes that spoke of more things than words ever could. “You look pale, Estel. You should rest....” He smiled tentatively. “But do not go too far from me....”

Aragorn reached up to take his hand and squeeze his fingers. “I promise,” he said solemnly.

“If you wander, he will follow, Legolas. So I suggest you do not wander...” Figwit said quietly, giving the prince a warning look. 

Legolas gave him a look of understanding and nodded. “I shall be good,” he said dryly.

“Excellent,” Figwit said cheerfully. “So, Estel can get some much needed sleep and an even more much needed bath. And you, my friend, you can have some more ale....”

                                                            * * *

Like most Elves Legolas normally had a superb singing range; from a soft lyrical croon to the power of the battle songs of Mirkwood. On this occasion however...

“Ten green dwarves hanging in the hall! Ten green dwarves hanging in the hall. And if one green dwarf should be accidentally shot....” There was a pause while an extremely drunk Legolas grappled with the concept of mathematics. “There’d be.....eight green dwarves hanging in the hall....”

Aragorn groaned softly as he paused in the corridor. He had had several hours sleep and a good hot bath, but he had not been expecting this. He slid a look sideways at Idris. “How long has he been like this?”

Idris shrugged, pony tail bobbing. “A couple of hours. Master Figwit says the herbs are having an effect now...”

“Yes, but what effect?” Aragorn growled.

“Master Figwit says the drunkenness is temporary.  He’ll feel much better when it wears off.”

“After the hangover, I trust?”

Idris pursed his lips dubiously. “I don't think he’ll have one according to....”

“...Master Figwit,” Aragorn grumbled. “Green dwarves indeed....”

“At least he’s not singing the one about Glorfindel any more,” Figwit himself commented as he appeared in the doorway of Legolas’ room.

Idris ducked his head and blushed furiously, making Aragorn give him a curious look.

“Glorfindel?”  he queried.

“I'm sure it was physically impossible,” Idris mumbled in embarrassment. “I er, I have to go. I think Splinter wanted me....”

“With Glorfindel you can never be quite sure,” Figwit commented dryly, smiling faintly after the young Ranger as Idris rushed off. “But I suspect Legolas has the name wrong. At least I hope he has the name wrong because if it’s true and Gorfindel ever hears that song....”

“There’ll be....um....eleven green dwarves hanging on the wall....!” Legolas carolled merrily in the background.

Figwit winced. “I did ask him to stop singing that one as well,” he sighed. “It’s hardly ethnically correct. Not that they worry about that sort of thing in Mirkwood of course, but still....

Aragorn smiled ruefully. “I cannot help but wonder if his inability to count explains his penchant for attacking Orcs when he’s heavily outnumbered and his total lack of comprehension of the phrase ‘overwhelming odds’.”

“Possibly,” Figwit mused. “Except Mirkwood Elves do not recognise either phrase. If they did, they’ve live their lives in a state of total panic. They’re always outnumbered.” He paused, eyeing Aragorn askance. “Have you never been to Mirkwood?”

“No,” Aragorn admitted. “Legolas has asked me several times, but something ahs always come up...”

“Well, if you ever get there, take lots of weaponry and lots and lots of armour... And do not let Legolas leave you alone in a room without making sure he’s hidden nothing in the closets. I shall not forget the spider spawn he left me as a welcome present. Of course, that was before he realised I am not much of a hunter....I think I may have given myself away with the screaming....”

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning, Aragorn nodded solemnly. “I shall heed your suggestions,” he managed to say without laughing.

Figwit smiled at him, spotting the dancing light in his eyes. “Better, Estel. You were looking far too solemn. Now, I was wondering if you could help me persuade Legolas that he really doesn’t need any more ale...”

“He doesn’t?”

“No, what he needs now is some sleep. And I need a rest from his singing to soothe my shattered nerves.....”

                                                            * * *

Over the next few days, Aragorn found himself gradually unwinding from his own tensions as Legolas started to recover from his wounds. After the herbal ale concoction Figwit had given him, Legolas settled down, sobering up and sliding into a deep and natural sleep to be followed by the healing trance he so desperately needed to renew his energies. He woke, ravenously hungry and demanding to be released from his captivity in his tower room; a release which Figwit flatly denied him.

Aragorn had little time to spare for attending his friend and when he did find time to visit him, Legolas was usually curled up and sleeping, frequently drawn back into a healing trance. Disturbed by the amount of time the Elf spent resting, Aragorn took his worries to Figwit only to be told it was all perfectly natural and he should go away and do whatever it was he supposed to be doing.

After several days however, the Rangers were firmly ensconced at Cethin Fort with its strategically important stance on the river and Aragorn felt he could finally turn his attention to deciding what to do next. Splinter was talking of establishing a permanent base for the Rangers at the fort; an idea which Aragorn was in agreement with in principle, but dubious about the consequences of such a settlement.

In need of someone to talk to who could take an unbiased stance on the idea, he went in search of Figwit only to discover that the Elf had gone out with Idris and Tehir for a ride along the river. Part relieved at this indication that Legolas could be left alone and disturbed that Figwit had left him alone, Aragorn hurtled off to see his friend.

When he rushed into the tower room, he found Legolas neither asleep nor in bed, but perched somewhat awkwardly in the tower embrasure, peering wistfully from the window. He looked round as Aragorn knocked and pushed the door open and his eyes lit with a brilliant smile. “Aragorn!” he exclaimed in genuine pleasure, slithering to his feet and limping heavily to meet him.

Aragorn hurried forward to catch his arm and steer him hastily to a chair. “Here, sit down. Should you be up?”

Legolas’ smile wavered. “Have you also come to berate me?” he asked sadly. “Figwit has driven me mad with his scolding.”

Aragorn sank slowly down on the edge of the bed to gaze at him in mingled relief and exasperation. “Figwit has gone off riding with Idris and Tehir. I was surprised he’d left you alone.”

“I may have driven him to it,” Legolas sighed, casting a longing glance at the window.

“He only wants what’s best for you....”

“He is fussing merely because I am a prince. If I was anyone else, he would have released me by now...” Legolas lifted his head, shaking off his melancholy. “I apologise. I should not snap. Only I am so, so.....”

“Bored and confined?” Aragorn offered. “Like a squirrel in a cage?”

“Yes....” Legolas sighed, propping his chin on his hands and his elbows in his knees. His splint had been the first thing to go as his bones knitted rapidly, but it would be a while before he could draw a bow. “I must not run or ride or....tire myself.”

Aragorn gazed at him thoughtfully, aware of the boredom in his friend’s eyes and the disgust in his voice. Legolas was dangerous when he was bored. Restrain him too much and he might well do something foolish and damage himself further. The phrase Overwhelming odds sprang to mind....“If I let you out....” he said slowly. Legolas sat up eagerly. “If I said....will you do as I tell you and rest if I think you are tired?”

“Oh yes, most certainly...Please?”

Aragorn could not withstand the look of appeal in the huge blue eyes, even if he had steeled himself to do so. “All right. Wait here while I fetch something....”

                                                            * * *

Hovering close to the Elf, Aragorn smiled to himself as he listened to yet another enthusiastic Ranger greeting Legolas. “They missed you...” he explained when Legolas gave him a questioning look. “We’ve all been worried about you....”

“That is very kind of them,” Legolas said in pleasure as he looked around the yard of the fort. He had not seen it before, having been unconscious when dragged to the dungeons. He was leaning for support on the hastily produced stick Aragorn had made him, favouring his leg.  His limp however had already eased off as the gentle exercise the Ranger was allowing him loosened the knotted muscles in his thigh. His hair streamed behind him like a banner of gold silk, unplaited for once, and for the first time in days, he looked more like the Elf Aragorn knew. “So, Splinter would make of this place a headquarters for the Rangers?”

“It’s a sensible idea. It’s ideally positioned to guard the river. It’d be a good place for wounded Rangers to rest. Convincing Denethor might be difficult. The man’s paranoid.”

“But Splinter wishes you to explain it to him,” Legolas murmured as he carefully seated himself on the steps and stretched his leg in front of him.

“Denethor would have me shot the first time I set foot in the city with this idea.”

“But you can be very diplomatic.”

“Me? Hah!”

Legolas gave him one of his searching looks. “We both know it is in your blood....” he said softly.

Aragorn flushed. “I have no wish to settle anywhere,” he said flatly. “Nor do I wish to take responsibility for all of the Rangers.” He paused, glaring at his friend. “Don’t look at me like that, Legolas.”

“Like what?”

“With that meaningful ‘you don’t mean that’ look. I do mean it. You want something to eat?”

“You are changing the subject.”

“You look hungry,” Aragorn waved to one of the Rangers, signalling for him to bring a meat roll from one of the cooks. Once the initial uproar over the capture of the fort had settled down, most of the traders had returned and seemed to be a lot happier with the presence of the Rangers than they had with the mercenaries. 

“You sound like Figwit. He is constantly stuffing food down me,” Legolas sighed.

“You need three square meals a day at least until you’re back to your normal self.”

Legolas gave him a blank look. “I was not aware that I had been anyone else....”

“Legolas....” Aragorn growled, grabbing the handful of meat rolls the Rangers had brought and shoving one into the Elf’s hand.

“And how do you have a square meal? Food is not square. Unless you mean Lemnas bread, but even that is more oblong than....You are glaring at me, Estel...”

“Odd that,” Aragorn muttered, taking a savage bite from the hot bread and sausage roll. “You know I told Figwit I gave you chicken drumsticks to eat when you were hurt and he decided I meant wooden drumsticks.”

“Ah...” Legolas nodded as he took a small bite from his own roll, then another larger bite as he decided he was hungry. “You must admit that men eat very strange foods. Toad in the hole for example. Only there is no hole and there is certainly no toad!”

Aragorn grinned at the plaintive protest in Legolas’ comment. It had taken Legolas a long time to become used to human names for various recipes, some of them still confused him. But he had definitely taken a liking for some things; cheese for example and bacon sandwiches....and as for milk....

“May I have another of those rolls?” Legolas asked hopefully and Aragorn cheerfully handed him a sausage roll. They ate in companionable silence, enjoying the fresh air and each others company. “So, if you do not go to the white city, what will you do?” The Elf finally asked as he daintily licked his fingertips clean.

“Take Figwit back to Rivendell for a start. Figwit tells me he expects you to go back with him. He wants Elrond to see you before he lets you off the leash. And I would like to see Elrond again.”

“Ah, yes, of course, you would wish to see Elrond...” Legolas purred meaningfully and his blue eyes sparkled with anything but innocence.

“Yes, I would,” Aragorn responded loftily.

“The fact that Arwen has returned from Lothlorien has nothing to do with it naturally...”

“I might say hello....” Aragorn said stiffly.

 “Hmmh...” Legolas mused. “I believe it is too late for you, my friend. Far, far too late for you to forget her no matter how far you run....”

Aragorn sighed. “You know, you’re the only Elf I know who has never disapproved of how I feel about her....” he murmured. “You’re the first one I ever told....”

“I trust you told Arwen first.”

Aragorn grimaced ruefully. “Actually I didn’t dare until you convinced me I could....”

Legolas laughed, a rippling sound that was pure joy and lifted the last shadows of fear for his friend that Aragorn had felt. “Shall I tell you something shocking?”

“What?” Aragorn asked suspiciously.

“Thranduil and Elrond do not get on.”

“That’s hardly shocking. I grew up knowing that.”

“And did you know that Galadriel once proposed a marriage alliance between Mirkwood and Rivendell?”

“A marriage alliance? I can’t see Elrond....” Aragorn paused, seeing the mischief in Legolas’ blue eyes and reassessing his answer hastily. “Between you and Arwen?” he breathed in shock.

“Quite. Shocking isn’t it?” Legolas teased and laughed again. “Do not look so horrified. Arwen and I knew we would not suit the first time we met; although we are very fond of each other, we could not feel that way about the other. I am much younger than she. But then she prefers younger men, such as yourself. I believe there is an expression amongst humans; the older woman and her toy boy?”

“Ouch! Remind me to hit you when you’re strong enough not to fall over when I do it,” Aragorn retorted indignantly.

“I believe that may escape my memory,” Legolas said solemnly, with an impish twinkle in his eyes.

Aragorn gave in and laughed, draping an arm across his friend’s shoulders and knowing that the Sindarin would not reject either the embrace or the spirit in which it was offered. “I missed you, Elf,” he said softly.

“And I am grateful that you came after me,” Legolas answered.

“You’d do the same for me....”

Legolas turned his head slightly to look at him. “I would...” he agreed. “I think I will enjoy going to Rivendell with you. And will you then come to Mirkwood with me?”

Aragorn grinned. “My pleasure. But I shall check the closets.”

“You have been listening to Figwit...” Legolas pouted.

“Taking his advice rather. Shall we go spider hunting?”

“If you wish it. And I shall introduce you to my bodyguard....Fluffy....”

“You have a bodyguard called Fluffy?”

Legolas nodded. “She should have finished breeding by now...”

“Breeding?”

Legolas frowned slightly. “Yes.....”

“What exactly is Fluffy?” Aragorn asked weakly.

“She’s a giant woodlouse....You’ll like her. She can bite through anything. Particularly Orcs...”

“I can see why Figwit said bring armour....” Aragorn muttered.

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing....I shall enjoy it.” Aragorn said faintly then shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it. You’re teasing me. There are no giant woodlice in Mirkwood. You’re only telling me that because Figwit told me about the closets. Elves do not play practical jokes.”

Legolas gazed at him mildly. “Of course not,” he said innocently.

Aragorn gave up. The trouble with Elves was that you could never tell whether they were joking or not; not even one he knew as well as he thought he knew Legolas. The only thing he could be sure of was that Legolas would never let any harm come to him; intentionally or otherwise. Smiling to himself at that knowledge, Aragorn leaned back, stretched out his long legs and settled down to enjoy the sunshine in the company of his best friend.

                                                            oooOooo