-Cell Number Eight-

By: Cassia and Siobhan

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Rating: PG-13

Feedback:
cassia_a@hotmail.com and siobhancl2@aol.com

Spoilers:
Probably some for previous stories in our series, possibly for LOTR and other Tolkien works.

Disclaimer: 
We own nothing of Middle Earth or any of Tolkien’s worlds or characters. Everything recognizable belongs to JRR Tolkien; anything else belongs to us. We have no permission to use these characters and are receiving no money for this story. This story was written for enjoyment only.  Please do not use our original characters or situations without asking first.  Thank you. 

Summary:
Legolas is taken from Ithilien by slavers and forced to become an arena fighter.  King Elessar, wrapped up in peace negotiations with Harad, doesn’t even know he’s missing.  In a dark and brutal world Legolas finds one small spot of hope when he befriends a little human slave child.  But nothing is what it seems...

Series:
Yes, part of the sprawling Mellon Chronicles Universe which includes:
Tears Like Rain
Captive of Darkness
Hope
Father’s Love
Never Alone
First Meetings
Change of Heart, Change of Mind
Exile
Return
Mistaken Identity
Vilya
Black Breath
Sickness
The Seventh Stone
Betrayal
Legolas’ No Good, Rotten Day
Priceless Treasure
The Stars of Harad
Dark Visions
Traitor
Escape from Mordor
Curse of Angmar
Siege of Dread
Only the Beginning
&
And So The End

This story will make much more sense if you have read those first, but if you want to be adventurous and give it a whirl by itself, go right ahead!

WARNINGS:
The usual. 
Owies, angst, pain, near-death experiences... all the good stuff. :o)

Non-slash. 
Please note that when we use the word ‘love’ between two male friends, we are using it the way Tolkien often did – platonically. 

Time Frame:
Fourth Age, some years after ROTK.

Additional Notes and Disclaimers:
This is going to be a kind of a shorter story for us, but hopefully you will all like it anyway. :o)

The first half of this story is decidedly Legolas-centric since most of it was written by Cassia.  Aragorn *will* be in it eventually, so just hang in there and trust us. 
There is something a little different about this story that I had better mention up front.  You will notice that most of the tale takes place in one location, namely, Cell Number Eight.  We thought it was an interesting challenge to try to write a story almost entirely from one location, as if you too were in the cell and were only privy to what happened within those four small walls.  Therefore, a good deal of things have to come by way of memories and flashbacks at times, so hopefully you won’t find that too confusing or anything.  The way the story ended up working out, it actually ends up taking place mainly in *two* locations, as the second half of the story takes place from a different location, but I will let you find out about that when we get there.  Don’t worry if you don’t understand what’s going on, or how Legolas got where he is right away, you’re not supposed to, the layers of this story will be pealed back and revealed slowly over the course of the fic, so just wait and see how it unfolds. 

Also, please note, for all our wonderful reviewers who are reading this on fanfiction.net, I have one small request: Please do not argue with one another in the reviews.  Responding to other reviewers is fine, but please do not flame us, and do not flame each other.  Pretty-please!  If you wish to take up a disagreement with someone else about something they said, by all means feel free to do so, but do so through private e-mail please, not in the reviews.  LOL I am declaring this a flame-free zone!  *wields her flame-extinguisher of doom, trying to look threatening and instead ends up bopping herself in the head with it – oops!  Ow!*  LOL

Thank you all so much!

// and italics set off most flashbacks.  //Like this.//

___________________________________________________________

-Cell Number Eight-

___________________________________________________________

~*PART ONE*~
~Famous Monster~

~~~~~~~~
Look at your eyes,
The haunted black circles of your plight.
But you can get by,
Oh and killing you might take one more night...

Cause you’re a famous monster,
You’ll do whatever they offer,
You tie their noose around your neck,
And they throw you over,
Cause you’re a famous monster.

--Saliva
~~~~~~~~

Sunlight, bright and warm, streamed in around the dark iron bars set in the tiny window high above; a reminder that the world was bigger than this one, cold little cell, and that although darkness may triumph for a time, it can never have total victory.

The bright rays shone down on tangled and dusty golden hair.  Splashing its fleeting radiance across proud shoulders that were pulled forward and slender limbs made clumsy by the weight of chains much heavier than should have been placed on any living thing. 

There was weary acceptance in the exhausted form on the cell floor; but no hint of hopelessness or capitulation showed in the fair, blue eyes that turned upward, seeking the sky beyond the bars.  If only you looked at him, the slave’s piercing stare and clear gaze instantly marked him out as different from the rest of the hopeless, helpless, rage-filled, broken refuse of humanity that were housed here in the many small cells of the great arena cages of Rahzon. 

Caged up like animals and treated worse, these slaves were forced to fight one another for the amusement of others and kill, or be killed.  No honorable warfare this; these were not the kind of tournaments one might see in Gondor, nor even the barely respectable gladiatorial style games often practiced down in Harad, these were vicious, primitive blood-baths, no better than dog fights. 

Yet the one with the unbroken eyes in cell number eight needed little to distinguish him from the masses of slaves who came and went here, because he already stood out.  He was the only elf amid the crawling mass of humans. 

Legolas Greenleaf, prince of Mirkwood, was a very long way from home, and at this moment he missed it with every fiber of his being.  He knelt quietly on the floor of his small cell, his face upturned to catch the golden rays of the rising sun.  Once the glowing orb climbed too high, it would move out of sight of his window and this tiny nine-by-nine square hole would be dipped back into the dusky gloom that was its natural state.  But for a few hours in the morning each day, the sun rose in the east and painted even this miserable speck of blood-soaked earth with the celestial radiance of light and hope.

A dear friend of his had once told him that there was always hope, and longer ago than that, in another dark and painful cell, another wise elf had told him that hope could be enough if only one held on to it.  Legolas clung to both of those truths right now, because without hope, there was no reason for his heart to keep beating here in this inhuman place of death and pain. 

Three months.  He had been here for three months.  It was a lot longer than most slaves ever lasted in the blood pits and even to an immortal those months felt like an eternity. 

Legolas heard the heavy, barred grate behind him being pulled open.  It must be time for another fight.  That was the only time his prison was opened up.  Ever. 

The elf did not rise or turn, but neither did he attempt to resist when the two pit-guards dragged him roughly to his feet and led him out by his chains.  Resistance was useless, escape was not possible and the results were horribly painful, he had already found that out. 

So now they would take him out again.  They would lock he and some other unfortunate slave in a huge iron cage suspended in the center of a large, open-air arena and they would be forced to fight one another for the pleasure of the spectators.  Only one could leave the cage alive.

The elf prince lifted his chin and followed his captors with a surprising air of unquenchable dignity.  They could take many things from him, but they could not take everything.  Inside, Legolas steeled himself for what was to come.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The elf prince stumbled slightly and fell to his knees when the guards thrust him roughly into the cell once more.  Legolas winced in pain, his breathing was quick and shallow as he pulled himself into the corner and drew his knees up close to his chest.  Bright red blood ran down his arm from a cut to his shoulder and three long crimson scratches cut across his abdomen.  Blood that did not belong to the wood-elf drenched his leggings and stained his hands. 

Legolas pressed his eyes closed, more disturbed by what he had been forced to do than by his own injuries.  Making himself breathe deep and slow, the elf slowly stilled the slight trembling in his limbs.  He hated this place.  He hated it!  He was a warrior and he was not afraid to kill or to die, but the cruelty of the pits was unbelievable.  To have to kill for the pleasure of the bloodthirsty crowds was sickening and he hated himself for it. 

The crowds loved him; he was a spectacle, a novelty, a freak.  He made his owners insane amounts of money, because no one had ever survived as long as he had, or won as many matches. 

Morosely the fair elf looked down at his bloodstained hands.  Caged like animals, treated like animals, what was to keep one from becoming an animal here in this light-forsaken place?  What if he already was?  That he feared more than anything.  Always, he had fought for a cause; he had killed and killed efficiently, but never without the conviction that he was doing the right thing.  Here, all that had been stripped away from him and the act of taking life became a cruel perversion of everything he believed in.  He didn’t have a choice... or did he?  Was he fighting because they made him do so, or because he was slowly becoming what they wanted him to be?  Valar, he hoped not. 

Legolas’ breath shuddered slightly as he pulled it in and let it out.  He wanted to be home... Ithilien, Gondor, Mirkwood, anywhere else but here.  He wanted so badly to see a single instance of beauty or a single ray of hope and kindness.  His whole body ached with the despair that was settling down on him and it was trying to crush his spirit.  He let his head fall into his gory hands and freed his mind to wander under the green trees of Mirkwood and through the beautiful vales of Ithilien.  What he would give to be back there now, with Raniean and Trelan and all the others who had moved thither.  The land was finally beginning to respond to their tender care and spring was here... surely the buds would be blooming and the birds would sing high up in the waving branches of the trees... if Legolas had not been far too proud and too stubborn to cry, he would have.

The prince barely even remembered how he had gotten here half the time, and when he did, it was too painful to dwell upon.  He remembered nothing of his journey after he was taken captive and had no sense of how far away from Ithilien he was now.  His first clear memory after capture was waking up in the auction house.  The tremendous fight he had put up, even half-drugged and suffering a major concussion, had quickly caught the attention of a blood-pit master.  After that... after that there had been nothing but this brutal, inhumane hell. 

Raniean and Faramir expected him to be gone for quite some time, knowing that he and his party were off inspecting the progress down in southern Ithilien where the shadow had done some of its greatest harm.  Did they realize that something was amiss?  Were they even looking for him yet?  Would anyone ever know what had happened?  He feared not. 

Legolas closed his eyes, blocking out his ugly reality as he tried to find escape in letting his heart wander through the trees of home in his mind... but his heart found no peace there.  The beauty surrounded him, but it was remote, remembered, and unreal.  The trees were silent, they no longer spoke to his heart in the deep way that he craved.  Birds wailed over head, drawing at his spirit with a cry more compelling than the whisper of the wind through tree boughs... gulls, they were calling... they were calling him.  He could taste the sea air on his lips, remember the deep rolling blue-green of the ocean as seen from the shores of Pelagir... the elf’s breath hitched.  He had seen the sea only once, but it haunted his dreams and ever held a small part of his heart captive to its call.   In Ithilien he could ignore the pull, burry the ache under the enjoyment of all the work to be done, but here... ai Valar, his every fiber craved the sea, wanted to fling himself into its depths and let the water close over his head, not caring if he ever came up again.  Wanted to... 

The prince stopped and held his breath as the repressed desire squeezed his aching heart tight. 

He wanted to follow the path that his mother and father had already taken, that every elf on Middle Earth was destined to take someday.  He wanted to sail, wanted to find Valinor on the other side of those alluring breakers... wanted it so badly it hurt.

Legolas balled his bloody fists.  He could not leave, not yet.  He had promised Aragorn, he had promised Gimli... so many promises... but the longing did not recede, and in this dark hell it only burned ever brighter in his consciousness until his heart throbbed in time with the remembered crash and roll of the waves.  To sail... to be free...

Soft sounds pulled the Prince from his painful reveries and made Legolas lift his head wearily. 

A tiny little boy with huge grey-blue eyes and a curly mop of dark hair was standing just outside the bars of the elf’s cell, uncertainly clutching a pail of water and a rag; regarding the prince with unconcealed terror.  The child couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. 

Legolas wondered what a child so young was doing in a place like this until a barked command from down the hall made the little one flinch and hurriedly put the water pail past the bars of Legolas’ cell, following it through.  The boy was so small that he was able to easily slide between the narrow slats of the elf’s cage, which was exactly why he had been put to this job. 

The slaves’ cages were never opened except for when the inmates were taken out to fight, it was too dangerous any other time and besides, none save the men who owned the slaves had the key to their tiny prisons.  So the arena masters employed small slave children who could fit through the cage bars to tend the combatants after a fight.  Legolas understood the practice, although this particular pit had not had a ‘cage brat’ for most of the time that he had been here. 

The little boy was new, and obviously terrified out of his mind by the situation he found himself in.  Fixing large, frightened eyes on the elf, the child pressed himself back against one wall, clutching one arm to his chest as though it hurt and watching carefully as if expecting the bloodied elf to bite him. 

Legolas smiled softly despite himself.  “I won’t hurt you little one.  It’s all right...” he knelt and reached his hand out to the tiny human child.  The boy looked uncertain, but edged slowly closer, knowing he had to do as he had been told or he would be punished again.  He was still smarting from the last time he was punished. 

Hesitantly dipping the rag into the bucket, the little one screwed up his courage to gently brush the soft cloth across the elf’s bloody arm, washing away the gore and dirt. 

Legolas winced when the cold water touched his injury, but did not move away from the boy.  There was an innocence in the child’s eyes and a gentleness in his touch that reached to the elf’s shadowed heart. 

“Hurts?” the wide, questioning eyes looked up at Legolas with compassionate curiosity as he continued to gently mop the elf’s injury.  Despite the natural clumsiness of his extreme youth, the young one’s touch actually had a somewhat calming or healing quality to it that surprised the prince.  Had it really been so long since he was touched gently, or by any hand not meant to harm, that the halting contact of this mere babe should have that effect upon him?  He supposed so. 

Legolas nodded honestly.  “Yes, but it will pass.  And you?  Does your arm hurt?”  He noticed that the boy was still favoring one limb.

The child nodded back, hesitantly pulling up his grubby little sleeve and showing several long, dirty scratches that were flushed and inflamed. 

Legolas winced at the sight and took the rag from the boy’s other hand, dipping it back in the cool water.  Gently holding the small arm, he washed the boy’s wound.  “How did it happen?”

The little boy stuck his lip out but otherwise made no sound at the pain of having the infected scratches cleansed.  “Big man with lots’a hair two cells down.  He said he was gonna eat me!”

Legolas would have laughed at the youth’s round-eyed look if he had not known that the threat had not been delivered in a light-hearted manner.  Many of the fighters in the pits behaved little better than the animals they were treated as. 

“Did they give you any bandages little one?” Legolas asked quietly.

“Oh!” The boy clapped his hands at being reminded and scurried out between the bars for a moment before quickly reappearing and slipping back in.  “I forgot,” he apologized somewhat sheepishly. 

Legolas just smiled softly as the boy tried to unroll the long ball of bandaging and end up getting tangled in it instead.  Just what exactly they expected little ones this young to be able to do with the scanty tools given them was beyond the elf, but Legolas gently relieved the boy of the task, binding first the child’s arm, and then his own.  That done, Legolas treated the rest of his wounds himself, washing away as much of the blood from his body as he could.

The child was watching him seriously.  “Did you kill anybody?” he asked quietly, showing that he understood more of what went on here than he should have for one so young. 

Legolas dropped his gaze, staring at the water in the wash-pail, now stained a deep red; his own feelings of taintedness coming back with a vengeance under the child’s innocent gaze.  Certainly, as a warrior, he had taken many lives in countless battles, but that was different... he had been fighting for a cause or to protect others... not just the twisted amusement of the onlookers.

“Yes,” Legolas whispered.  He didn’t want to answer the question but somehow felt compelled to do so.

The elf almost started when the little boy touched his cheek gently.  “You didn’t want to.”  It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

Legolas shook his head.  Smiling softly again as the little boy petted his cheek in an obvious attempt to make the elf feel better. 

“It makes you sad.  I sorry.” 

Legolas ruffled the boy’s thick locks fondly.  “You are a very perceptive child, you know that?”

The boy cocked his head to the side.  “What’s precip – precept- what’s that mean?”

Legolas laughed, the first time he had done so in weeks.  “Never mind.  What’s your name little one?”

The child looked uncertain about trusting the stranger with this information and pulled his chin back a little, studying the elf. 

“My name’s Legolas, it means Greenleaf in the language of my people,” the prince offered, prodding slightly.

“Dari,” the boy finally confided.  “It means...” a thoughtful look crossed the little one’s face as he tried to recall if his name had a meaning.  “It means me!” the boy smiled. 

“So I see,” Legolas grinned.  “And where are your parents Dari?”

Dark clouds fell immediately across Dari’s face and tears welled instantly in his large silver-blue eyes.  Legolas realized too late that that must be a painful subject for the young one.  The child didn’t speak but scrubbed at his eyes as the tears spilled down onto his cheeks, his breath hitching as he nearly dissolved into tears.

“Shh, shh, it’s all right, don’t cry Dari, I’m sorry,” the elf tried to sooth, unsure what to do or say to help the sobbing child.  He was not well used to dealing with children, especially human ones.  The most contact he’d had recently was with Aragorn and Arwen’s infant son several years ago, but he’d never been left *alone* to figure out what to do with the baby. 

Suddenly a loud voice shouted Dari’s name from down the hall and the boy jumped almost visibly.  “Dari?  Where are you, you little brat?!”

A large, burly man stormed down the hall, stopping before the barred door to Legolas’ prison.  Hetsupa was a quick, evil-tempered man; he was the overseer of this cage block and also Dari’s master. 

The little slave boy was still crying, but visibly cringed in fear when Hetsupa’s bulky form stopped outside the cell.  “Get moving brat!  This isn’t a social call!  You had better get the rest of these cages seen to in *less* than no time or I’ll give you another whuping, got it?”

Dari hurriedly grabbed the bucket, cloth and bandages and slid out between the bars, casting one last, teary-eyed glance at the elf. 

Legolas watched him go with a pain-filled gaze.  He would have liked to wring Hetsupa’s neck for treating the little boy as he did, but he would only have gotten Dari in trouble if he acted up.  That was the way things were here. 

“What’re *you* looking at arena-bait?” Hetsupa clanged his fist against the bars of Legolas’ cell. 

Legolas pierced the man with his hard stare before settling back into the corner, crossing his arms over his knees and turning his face to look back out the window. 

Hetsupa scowled and gave the bars another kick.  “Freak,” he muttered deprecatingly.  One good thing about the perpetually locked cages was that the overseers and guards couldn’t actually mistreat the slaves as much as they would have liked to. 

Legolas ignored the hateful man, his eyes locked on the blue patch of sky that was his only touch of freedom.  The pale, blue-grey expanse reminded him of Dari’s eyes. 

Dari should be free.  He should be free.  They all should be... The elf steeled his shoulders so they would not shake.  They did not belong here... no one belonged in this place. 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART TWO*~
~Stars Within~

Darkness had fallen and tonight the cloudy heavens obscured the stars.  Legolas sighed softly in the darkness as he lay on the cold stone floor.  He was weary but could not sleep.  He missed the stars on the nights in which they did not shine, missed them more than he wanted to admit. 

The soft sound of quiet, padding feet in the corridor behind him fell upon the elf’s sharp hearing and Legolas rolled over, towards the door of his cage. 

A small, dark form appeared on the other side of the bars and even in the gloom Legolas’ keen eyes told him it was Dari. 

The boy hesitated uncertainly outside the cage, looking around fearfully. 

“Dari?” the elf whispered quietly, leaning slightly up on one elbow. 

That seemed to be all the invitation the child needed because he quickly wriggled through the bars and sat himself down with his back against Legolas’ stomach, curling in tightly on himself and hugging his tiny knees to his chest. 

Legolas felt the small, warm body trembling against him. 

Gently the elf prince pulled the small human child up against his chest, wrapping one arm comfortingly about the boy and propping his own head up on the other.  The child remained tense in his arms, the tiny body now shaking with quiet sobs. 

Legolas thought his heart would break.  “What are you doing here Dari?  What’s wrong?” he coaxed in a quiet whisper.  Surely the child should be in bed at this hour.

“Scared,” Dari whispered back.  “Had a bad dream.”  Hetsupa had beaten the child last time he had woken the overseer because of his night terrors.  With no one to turn to and nowhere he felt safe, the little boy sought out the one person who had been nice to him in the whole three hellish days that he’d been in this place. 

Legolas brushed the little boy’s hair with his fingers soothingly.  “It was just a dream Dari, it’s all right now.”  The elf wished that were true.  Unfortunately he knew the grim reality that this place was a living nightmare and they were all trapped here.

Dari snuggled back into the prince’s arms, resting his little head on the floor as he lay down with his back firmly pressed up against Legolas’ chest.  The little boy couldn’t explain it, but he felt safe with the elf.  Safety he had not felt since the last time he was held close in his father or his mother’s arms.  Dari was young and trusting, so he required no explanation.  His only feeling was one of relief that there was somewhere in this darkness that he could still go for refuge.  Someone who would hold him and not hit him. 

Legolas curled around the child a little, offering the warmth of his body against the night chill, since the slaves were given no blankets or other comforts.  To the elf that mattered little, but Dari’s tiny body was still shivering from fear and cold, so Legolas held him close. Pillowing both his and the child’s head on the arm beneath him, the elf wrapped his free arm around Dari, humming softly to the boy in the darkness. 

The elf’s heart was heavy and ached with the burden of their situation.  He wanted to be comforting for the child, but it all seemed so hopeless.

Dari turned restlessly in the elf’s arms at first, having difficulty settling down and falling asleep again after having been so badly frightened by his dreams.  “You sad Leg’las?” he asked after a few moments, peering up questioningly into the elf’s face.

Legolas was surprised by the question, he stopped humming.  “Yes, Dari,” he was truthful.  “Maybe a little.”

“Why?” came the quiet question in the dark.

Legolas took a deep breath.  There were a million answers to that question, but he finally chose a simple one that the child could understand without being too distressed.  “There are no stars tonight, I miss them.”

Dari seemed to consider this.  “They aren’t gone, jus’ behind clouds so we can’t see them,” the child said pragmatically. 

Legolas chuckled.  “Yes, Dari, you’re right.  I simply miss their presence on nights when they do not shine.  The stars give me hope, little one.”

Dari nodded slowly.  “I like the stars.  But I like the sun too, it makes me happy when ev’thing’s bright.”

Legolas nestled his chin atop Dari’s small head.  “As it should,” he said with a small smile.  “Humans woke first with the rising of the sun, but Elves awoke with the stars.  Their light was the first thing that those original elves saw when they wakened from the deep sleep of creation, and the love of them has always remained in our hearts.  But you little one, are a child of the sun, born to love the light and the joys of daytime.”

Dari was slowly relaxing.  He liked listening to Legolas talk, it was soothing.  “I think I like the ‘tween hours best,” Dari’s voice was starting to sound tired again.  “When it’s not quite night, and not quite day.” The boy whimpered slightly, still a little frightened by the menacing shadows about them that acted as reminders of his nightmares.  “I wish it was then now.”

Legolas kissed the downy little head gently.  “Sleep then, little child of the twilight.  I will let no harm befall you.  Morning shall come soon.”

Dari slid one small hand under his shirt, hugging something tightly against his chest.  He felt safe and protected in the elf’s arms, but wished he could do something for his new friend like the elf did for him.  He was too young to understand all the reasons why Legolas was hurting inside, but he could almost feel the inner ache radiating from the elf holding him, and it made the little boy sad for his new friend.  Dari had a very big heart for one so young.  On a sudden impulse, he pulled the object he was clutching out from under his shirt, sliding it off over his head.  Turning to Legolas he pushed the wadded up treasure into the elf’s hand. 

“Here,” Dari said quietly.  “It’s a star.  It fell down and got stuck in a river.  I found it when I was little.  You can keep it for when the stars are gone, so you aren’t lonely.”

Legolas kept his amusement over Dari’s reference to ‘when he was little’ to himself and looked in surprise at the object in his palm.  It was a small, milky-white stone threaded upon a thin leather cord.  The little pendant had a naturally smooth, polished surface as one might expect from a river stone, but was otherwise unadorned and had not been shaped or molded by a craftsman.  Indeed, the only thing that seemed to have been done to it was the little hole that had been drilled in one end to allow the thin leather cord it hung upon to pass through.  It looked quite plain at first glance, and that was doubtless the only reason the child’s masters had not taken it away.  Yet in the elf’s hand, it almost seemed to glow slightly, sparkling in the dim light very much like a faint little star as the stone reflected the elf’s inner light.  Legolas imagined that it would probably do the same thing if subjected to the direct light of the moon, which was doubtless why the child thought it was a fallen star. 

The elf prince was touched by the gift, but did not want to take one of the child’s only possessions.  “I can’t take this Dari, it’s yours,” he tried to put it back around the little boy’s neck, but Dari shook his head, snuggling deeper into Legolas’ embrace. 

“It’s for you.  Now you don’ have to miss the stars.” Dari murmured.  He wanted to make his gentle new friend happy.

Relenting, Legolas slid the thin cord around his neck, letting Dari’s stone hang against his breast as he cuddled the child close.  The elf started humming softly again to fill the expanding silence between them and slowly Dari’s restlessness began to fade.

“Leg’las?” Dari’s sleepy little voice murmured after a while. 

“Hm?” the elf whispered into his hair. 

“I not so scared now.”

“That’s good.  You just rest little one, just rest...” Legolas soothed quietly. 

Slowly the little body in the prince’s arms relaxed.  Legolas continued to hum softly to him long into the night, until the slowness of Dari’s breathing told the elf that the child was asleep.  Resting his chin lightly against the boy’s head, Legolas smiled faintly. 

There may not have been any light in the sky right tonight, but a light of hope was even now slumbering in his arms.  The empty ache in the prince’s chest eased slightly.  Not everything was dark; not everything was ugly and twisted.  There was goodness and beauty left in the world still, and it was worth the effort to find it. 

Legolas smiled faintly before he too, fell asleep.  He dreamed as he had for many nights now of the stars in the heavens shining down upon the glassy surface of the murmuring ocean.  Glimmering lights of small ships sailed ever across the face of the water, going always away to the west and never coming back. 

The elf stirred in his sleep, his arms tightening slightly around Dari’s small form as one might hold to an anchor to keep from being pulled away across the deceptively gentle, but unrelenting waves that dominated both his sleeping and waking dreams. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After that first time, Dari spent almost every night with Legolas in his cell.  He could not sleep unless it was in the elf’s arms.  Legolas soon came to look for the soft footfalls in the dark that heralded his little friend’s approach. 

He tried to return the boy’s necklace, but Dari truly didn’t want it back.  The child seemed to prefer the elf keep it, as if it was one small thing he could do for the friend that he was quickly coming to look to as his guardian, his protector... and, Legolas realized with a small amount of surprise, his surrogate father. 

Legolas had never really considered being a father.  He had protected children before, he had taken care of them and seen them safely along their path, but none had passed so deeply into his life as Dari.  Legolas had been many things, he had been a son, a nephew, a friend, a mentor, a guardian, a warrior... but a father’s role, although combining different elements of the others, was new to him.  Yet he found it was not so hard.  All he had to do was love Dari with his whole heart, and that he found, was incredibly easy. 

The elf wondered if Dari realized that the real gift the child gave was himself.  Holding the tiny body close and giving comfort as well as receiving it in the very act of giving was as good for Legolas’ sad and weary heart as the stars.  On the nights when they did not shine, Dari was his star.  His tiny ray of hope that kept him grounded as surely as he was the beacon that kept the child’s gentle spirit from withdrawing completely in the face of the cruelty around him. 

If Hetsupa or the other overseers knew about the child’s nightly sleeping arrangements, they did not seem to care.  So long as the little brat did not bother them, they were happy.

Legolas was dragged out to the arena nearly every other day, so Dari was often in his cell, dutifully lugging along his bucket and bandages.  To the child’s credit, he actually seemed to have some skill at healing, if only because his heart was so kind that he wanted to do anything he could to help.  Even when he was not there in his ‘official’ capacity, Dari began spending a good deal of time in cell number eight.  A naturally quiet child, he talked very little, but seemed to simply want to be near Legolas whenever possible. 

The other inmates still frightened the child out of his mind and Hetsupa inspired surpassing terror, but so long as he could slip in and out of Legolas’ cell when he was not working, Dari seemed to be holding onto his trusting, innocent nature.  For that, Legolas was eternally glad.  It would be horrible to see one so young become scarred and jaded by the terrible situation the little slave was forced to endure. 

The blood pits were reaching new, fevered levels of brutality as they entered into what they considered to be their championship phase.  Legolas was forced to fight more and more often as he passed through the championship matches undefeated.  

It would have been so easy.  So easy to simply lower his guard in the cage, to just let the other slave kill him and end this horrid existence.  He had the opportunity almost every day now...

Yet even with this higher level of gruesome activity, the elf found the will and the strength to endure, because every time he went out there he looked down at the simple little pendant around his neck and remembered why he was fighting.  If he died, then Dari would have no one, and Legolas could not allow that.  Love for the child had given him a reason to fight that his conscience could accept.  Dari had given him something to live for. 

Rapid footfalls sounded down the hall and Legolas looked up, recognizing Dari’s footsteps easily since the child had more or less moved in with him for the past month or two.  But today the footsteps were agitated and stumbling.  Besides, it was midday; Dari should have been at work in the kitchens above, not down here with the fighters. 

Dari didn’t even pause when he reached the cell, having become quite accustomed to sliding in and out between bars.  He hurled himself into Legolas’ cage and crumpled into the elf’s arms.  His face was streaked with tears, but he seemed too scared to cry now. 

An ugly red welt ran across Dari’s bare back, shoulder to waist.  The very sight of the cruel mark on the soft, tender flesh made the elf’s blood boil hot in his chest.  Yet before Legolas could even ask what had happened, Hetsupa’s voice boomed down the hall as his heavy feet pounded down the stairs from the upper level.  “COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW BRAT IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU!!”

Dari trembled.  “I didn’t mean to trip him I didn’t!” the little boy pleaded with Legolas in quiet hysteria.  “Don’ let him hurt me please don’ let him hit me again!” the words were almost too jumbled and panicked to even make out.  The panic in the child’s wide eyes made the elf feel sick.  It was so familiar.  Legolas wanted to kill the person who had taught Dari these emotions, but he knew that there was nothing about their fate and wellbeing that was in his hands to control. 

“Shh, shh Dari...” Legolas held the little boy tightly, looking around his small, empty cell in desperation.  There was nowhere to hide... wait.  Yes, there was.

Hetsupa stalked in front of cell number eight and stopped, glaring at the infuriating golden-haired slave champion inside.  “Where’s your little friend?  Did he come in here?  You better tell me the truth, freak!” 

Legolas, sitting in the corner as he usually did, gestured around at the obviously empty cell.  “Do you see him?” the prince asked with biting disdain.

Hetsupa just swore and stalked off down the hall, still calling Dari’s name. 

Legolas remained still until the overseer had gone.  Then he moved away from the wall and let the little boy who had been hiding behind his back scoot out of the corner.  “You can stay with me, in here, for a little while, all right Dari?”  If he followed true to form, Hetsupa would be too drunk by evening to remember that he’d even been angry with Dari earlier.  For that at least Legolas was glad. 

Dari nodded gratefully, scrubbing his dirty little face with his hands. 

“I sorry,” the boy murmured, hiccuping through quiet tears.  “I didn’t mean to be bad.  Please don’ make me go away ‘cause I’m bad.”

Legolas hugged the shaking child gently, brushing away Dari’s tears.  “Dari, Dari... you aren’t bad and I would never make you go away.  Dari, when Hetsupa hurts you, it’s not your fault.  You know that, right?”

Dari snuggled tighter into the elf’s arms but didn’t speak for a moment. 

“If I wasn’ bad he wouldn’t have ta hurt me,” the small voice almost broke Legolas’ heart.  “He said so.”

The elf closed his eyes.  *That* was familiar.  “No, child,” Legolas’ voice was loving, but very firm.  “That’s not true.  People like Hetsupa... they do not hurt you because there is anything wrong with you, but because there is something very wrong with them.  They are... hard and sick inside and they don’t know it’s wrong to hurt other people.  But it isn’t your doing.  Promise me you won’t ever believe it’s your fault, please Dari?”

Legolas knew just how badly that kind of thinking could tear a young heart to shreds and he tried to speak the words he wished he could have heard when his Uncle first started abusing him as a child.  He felt hopelessly inadequate, and wished there were someone wiser to help Dari, but there wasn’t, so he offered the best he could. 

“’kay,” Dari sniffed uncertainly. 

Legolas rocked the child for a while until he stopped crying. 

Slowly, Dari got over his scare and began to watch the little crawling insects that made their way across the floor.  Wriggling down out of the prince’s lap, the child followed the bugs around on hands and knees with great interest.  Legolas couldn’t help but think the boy was incredibly resilient for one so young. 

“Tell me a story,” Dari looked up from his play and requested.

Legolas nodded.  “All right, I will tell you a story about a very good friend of mine.”

“Was he an elf?” Dari interrupted.  Usually a very quite child, this was a talkative mood for him. 

“No, he was a human, like you.  When he was little they called him Hope, because he brought hope back into many lives...” Legolas stopped to smile at the child.  “You remind me of him very much you know.”

The little boy just smiled at the compliment and continued playing.  He liked being thought of as the elf’s friend. 

“Well, one time he and I were together and we found a map leading to an ancient treasure...” Legolas told the tale in simple language so as not to lose the child and Dari enjoyed it greatly.

The child laughed lightly at some of the more humorous portions of the tale.  “Tell me about the plant again!  The one that wanted to eat you!” he asked, snuggling up into the elf’s lap and resting in his arms as he listened. 

Legolas laughed gently and launched into the telling, humorously exaggerating at Aragorn’s expense, but his friend was not there to hear him, so he figured it mattered little.  The elf hadn’t thought he’d mentioned that particular escapade yet, but his mind had been wandering back across those years as he must have spoken of it without thinking.   So much of his and Aragorn’s early years together were forever etched upon his heart, it was more like tracing its pattern with the fingers of his mind than truly telling a story. 

Before they reached the end of the tale however, there was a clatter of footsteps in the corridor and several of the guards rushed by.  They seemed on edge and alarmed.  A general clamor was going up and Legolas rose to his feet, setting Dari down gently.  Going to the door of the cell he peered out, trying to see what was happening and what the reason was for the sudden increase in the levels of fear he was sensing around them.

“Khelekir!  Khelekir!” many voices were shouting far away and the instant the prisoners heard it they took up a horrible wailing cry of distress and fear. 

“What?  What?!” Legolas tried to make himself heard above the din.  Turning his attention on the wild, bearded man who was throwing himself against the bars of the cell beside him, he tried again, focusing on the human and trying to get him to calm enough to talk rationally.  “What is going on?  What is the Khelekir?”

“Not what, freak, who!” even the other prisoners regarded Legolas as some kind of monstrosity, but he was used to that and shrugged their disdain off easily.  At the moment he was more concerned with information than etiquette. 

The man gave another wail and shook the bars hard, screaming to be let out.  Legolas knew that wasn’t going to happen, so he pressed for information yet again.  The fellow prisoner snarled, but did eventually answer. 

“The Khelekir live over the hills.  They are bitter enemies of our people and condemn the pit fight practice as insufferable.”

Legolas grinned without mirth.  //We agree on something then// he thought dryly.  He wondered that the man could still call these creatures who did this to them his people. 

“They used to leave us alone, but they’re on a killing spree now the guards say.  They raided a village over the hills not many days ago.  It was a clean sweep, ‘rid the earth of them’ that’s what they say.  Women, children, everyone, dead.  And us slaves...” the human spat in fury and fear.  “We’re especially fortunate.  They think we’re animals and they kill accordingly.  Over in Anond they made a bloodbath of the arenas.  Six dozen souls killed right in their cages.  We haven’t got near as many here, should go a lot quicker for them, curse them!”

Legolas moved back away from the bars, sitting back down on the floor with Dari who looked like he was trying to decide if he should be alarmed or not. 

“Leg’las, is something bad happening?” the child inquired uncertainly.

“Yes, Dari, but it will be over soon,” Legolas hoped he spoke the truth.  The savagery the other prisoner spoke of was almost as bad as the pits.  It seemed that no one out here had any idea of mercy.  “Perhaps you had better go.”

“No!” the boy protested quickly.  “I want to stay with you!”

“I know Dari, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Legolas reasoned gently.  He didn’t want to frighten the child, but he didn’t want him in the cages if something should happen. 

Just then however, the guards came stumping back in, looking decidedly less afraid and more irritated.  From what he could overhear, Legolas quickly decided that it must have been a false alarm triggered by some over-edgy sentries and he relaxed a little.  Hetsupa was still in a sour mood so Legolas kept Dari hidden in his cell with him for the rest of the day until all the guards were so drunk they could barely remember their own names. 

Dari left only long enough to carry out his duties before running back to the safety of cell number eight and cuddling up to the elf who had become his protector and comforter. 

It became apparent that the events earlier in the day had disturbed the child more than Legolas first thought because Dari had trouble sleeping.  Legolas rubbed the little back gently, trying to ease the young one to sleep, but Dari was restless and rolled onto his back, laying in Legolas’ arms and playing absently with the ends of the elf’s long blond hair where it fell down against Legolas’ shoulder next to him. 

“Leg’las... you won’t leave me, will you?” the little boy asked at last.  “They won’t take you away from me like...” he stopped, seeming to not want to follow that train of thought any further.  “Will you?  Promise?”

Legolas heart ached. So much trust, so much pain in one so young.  He wanted nothing more than to erase all the hurt behind those innocent eyes but he would not make the child promises he was not sure he could keep.  Such a thing could scar Dari deeply if... if anything should happen. 

The elf didn’t answer right away but stroked Dari’s hair absently, letting his fingers tangle in the curly dark locks much the same as Dari was doing with the prince’s. 

Legolas regarded the child seriously, but tenderly.  “Dari I promise that I will never willingly leave you for as long as you need me and I am able.  Beyond that young one, none of us can say.  But do not fear, all right?  You see?  I am here and so are you.  Neither of us is going anywhere tonight.”

Dari was not entirely satisfied, but it seemed to be enough and he snuggled close to Legolas again, finally finding enough peace to fall asleep.

Rest found Legolas slower.  He lay awake for a long time trying to think of some way he could get himself and Dari out of this situation.  There had to be a way, but he could not come up with any.  Sighing he laid planning aside and tried to decide what he would do when and if they did escape.  He would never leave Dari behind of course.  The prince’s greatest wish was to somehow be able to find the child’s parents and in so doing erase that pain behind the young eyes... but the more he learned, the more it seemed the child had no family to which the elf could return him.  Gently, so as not to wake him, Legolas pulled Dari closer.  If that were indeed true, then Legolas swore he would become the boy’s family.  His best friend had been a human adopted by elves and he was not afraid of the prospect.  Aragorn would help him, Raniean, Trelan, Elladan and Elrohir would help him... Legolas chuckled.  Those last two would just love to have another young human to dote on no doubt.  Maybe he should keep Dari away from their influence if the stories Estel told had any truth to them.

With these pleasant thoughts on his mind, sleep finally overtook the elf.  And for the first time in a long time, the specter of the rolling ocean swells did not haunt his dreams. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day there was a fevered excitement in the air.  It was the big day, the championship.  Legolas was being matched against the champion from the next village over and huge amounts of money were being wagered. 

More than the clamoring excitement though, Legolas felt something different today... something disturbing.  This conviction was deepened when his owner came to take him out of the cell.  Most often, the pit guards escorted him to and from a fight, even if his master were present to give them the key and then take it back again.  That the man who owned him had come to take his prize fighter out of the cage himself was not entirely unusual, but it was still another mark that there was change in the air today.  Hetsupa was also there and he leered at the elf as Legolas’ master pulled him from the cage, making a slicing motion across his throat with a gloating grin. 

“Your day to die, freak,” he promised with a dark smile when the other human wasn’t looking.  He was paid good money to watch over the pit slaves by their various owners, but he did not like the elf because the creature unnerved him.  He was going to be glad to be rid of the pointy-eared warrior.

Legolas did not like the implications of these statements, but he was given no time to think about it before they were pulling him away. 

Dari watched quietly from down the hall, his little lips pinched tightly together as he said the same silent, simple but heartfelt prayer that he said every time they dragged Legolas out to the arena.  He prayed that cell number eight would not be one of the empty cages he cleaned tonight. 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART THREE*~
~Killing you Might take One More Night~

~~~~~~~~
You lean on your pride,
The only friend that would never let you down.
You look at the signs,
Look at the way they stop and stare,
They’re watching you die...
And when you’re gone its like you weren’t even there.

’Cause you’re a famous monster.

--Saliva
~~~~~~~~

Pain.  Intense pain.  Legolas thought it was going to choke him.  He couldn’t move, couldn’t think.  All he could do was hurt. 

Unforgiving hands pulled at his arms, his hair, his chains, dragging him down the passage roughly.  His skin scraped and tore painfully across the rough stone floor but his body was unresponsive and he could not protest or move to ease the situation. 

The elf moaned softly as he was dropped to the hard floor, his head impacting with a painful jolt.  He was only barely aware when the guards heaved him in through the doorway of his cell. 

His side was on fire.  The deep, gaping wound that sliced just below his ribs was bleeding freely and the elf had left an ominous crimson trail down the passage through which he had been dragged.  It was not his only injury, but it was the worst, the one that part of Legolas’ foggy mind knew was going to kill him. 

A hard boot kicked the elf in the ribs and Legolas cried out, unable to do otherwise as his injury was torn at afresh.  A harsh voice that Legolas knew was his owner was cursing at him.  Did the elf know how much money he had lost today?  He was supposed to lose!  Supposed to lose!  Why was he still alive?  How could he have survived that??  No one should have survived that!

Dimly, Legolas agreed as he felt lucidness beginning to return, as unwelcome as it was.  The way they had stacked the odds against him no one should have been able to survive. 

He remembered the smell of the arena and the roar of the crowd when they dragged him to the pit.  It had been like every other time, until they stopped just short of going outside.  His owner stepped back, watching as one of the guards grabbed Legolas’ chains and slid around behind the elf, holding him from behind.  The other guard took Legolas’ right arm in his hands.  The elf had not suspected that his owner would let these men try to harm him; they wanted him to win did they not?  But he knew the instant the human touched him that something was amiss; he could feel it coming from the other’s contact on his skin.  He started to struggle, but it was too late and he was held too well.  A sudden, painful jolt shot up his arm and the elf had to catch his breath as the guard roughly twisted and yanked his captive arm in a manner that showed he had far too much practice at what he was doing.  The elf’s elbow and wrist joints protested agonizingly as they received one more vicious twist before the arm was dropped back to his side. 

Legolas hugged the injured arm to his chest tightly as soon as he was released.  He knew a move like that might have broken some men’s bones.  His were not broken and, thank heaven for small mercies, they were not too badly dislocated either.  However, some important soft tissue had apparently been torn; the elf could tell right away because he could not move the arm without great pain and his fingers were still tingling sharply. 

He looked uncomprehendingly to those who had hurt him so, unable to understand why this had been done to him... and then he saw in their eyes that what Hetsupa had said was only too true.  He was meant to die today; they intended it, they were ensuring it... or so they thought.

They put him in the pit weaponless and injured against a heavily armed and armored foe.  It was a fixed match and that was painfully obvious.  His own owner had bet against him, figuring to make a killing since the odds were so overwhelming in the elf’s favor. 

Yet somehow, Legolas had survived and his opponent had not.  The humans had made the fatal mistake of underestimating an elf.  Unfortunately it seemed it was going to be fatal for Legolas because he had by no means escaped unscathed. 

The boot kicked him again and Legolas moaned sharply, curling in on himself and trying to twist away. 

“You are through!” his angry owner was still shouting at him, adding to the disconcerting buzzing in Legolas’ head.  One more painful, solid kick to his bleeding body and the man finally seemed done, stalking out of the cage in disgust.  The key was turned harshly in the lock. 

“Let him rot!  See that no one touches him again unless it is to remove his filthy corpse!” Legolas heard his owner command in anger before his footsteps receded down the hall.  Then all was quiet and still. 

Legolas wanted to pass out; he wanted to return to comfortable oblivion, even though he knew he might never wake from it again.  Willing or no however, it would not come.  He lingered in a painful twilight between sleeping and waking, but could not seem to break free in either direction.  Slowly though, he knew the shadow must surely win as the air chilled around him, harkening the slow approach of night.  The last night the elf knew he was likely to see in Middle Earth.  He hoped there would be stars tonight.  He wanted to see them one more time.

Legolas lay curled on his side on the cold stone floor, much as he had been left.  His breathing was ragged.  He could feel the icy tendrils of shadow reaching for him now.  With proper care he might make it... but obviously his owners did not intend to afford him that.  He had failed them and for that he would pay with his life.  Left on his own he did not have the strength to fight.  Truth to tell, he didn't want to fight. 

His body was burning up around him and his throat was swelled shut with thirst.  He was dehydrating swiftly from blood loss.  The prince did not make the effort to ask for water.  He knew he would not be given any, even if anyone was around to hear, which was doubtful.  The last remnants of his pride would rather suffer in silence than let others gloat over his fall. 

Against his lightly heaving chest, Dari’s star-stone was a small, comforting weight.  It was stained with his blood, but twinkled faintly, almost sadly, against the skin of the dying elf.  Legolas touched it lightly with stained fingers that had begun to tremble.  Oh Valar, Dari... he hated to leave the child this way. 

Evening shadows lengthened.  Everything was very quiet outside the cell.  The huge festival surrounding the championship match must still be going on and even the guards seemed to be away.  Delirium sucked at the elf’s consciousness.  He tossed and rolled on a violent and roiling grey sea... but he wasn’t sailing this time, he was drowning.  The water closed over his head, but he stopped fighting it, stopped kicking back to the surface.  All roads would lead him home, over the sea or under it... it would end, he could rest, the pain would cease. 

Stuck in his twilight state between this world and the next Legolas was not aware that anyone else was near until a soft, gentle hand touched his face.  Cool water dabbed his hot, dry lips giving welcome moisture.  The elf’s body responded even before his mind could, cracking split lips to let the moisture in, accepting the dipper full of water that followed without question and gulping greedily to slake his burning thirst.  The water revived him a little and he felt the fog begin to clear from his mind somewhat. 

“Leg'las?” a small voice said with concern.  “Leg'las?”

“Dari?” the elf's eyes fluttered open and he could see a blurry picture of the child's face a few inches from his own.  A deep, worried frown creased the cherubic countenance as Dari let the water dipper settle back into the bucket he had dragged into the cell. 

“Dari... you shouldn't be here,” Legolas said softly, his voice unable to go above a whisper.  He knew his master intended for him to be left to die, he did not wish for Dari to get in trouble for disobeying his orders to stay away, nor did he want the young one to be there when he left this world behind.  Dari didn't need that kind of emotional scarring. 

“You're hurt,” the little boy shook his head simply, mopping the elf's brow again with the wet cloth in his hand.  Dari had apparently gathered up his cleaning supplies himself, including the herbs that Legolas had taught him to carry around.  Hetsupa had told him not to go near the elf again, but as soon as the big man was gone Dari had wasted no time in disobeying. 

Lifting Legolas' hand from his side, Dari tried to see where the blood was coming from.  For one so painfully young he had taken to his forced duties as cage brat incredibly well. 

Legolas winced and caught the little ones probing hands, pulling them away from his wound.  He captured Dari's eyes with a gentle gaze.  “Not this time, Dari.  You need to leave, little one.”

Dari shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks.  “Hets'pa... Hets'pa said you gonna die.”

Legolas closed his eyes tightly.  The child shouldn’t have had to hear it that way. 

“Don’t go,” Dari shook his head, washing the cuts and bruises along the elf’s exposed arms.  “You promised.  Don’t go...” the first time his voice was demanding, the second time it was pleading.  “Please... stay with me...” Dari’s hands trembled before he finally gave up and just buried his small face against the elf’s shoulder.  “Don’t leave me too!” he sobbed into the elf’s torn and soiled tunic. 

Pain, more sharp then that in his side, passed through the prince’s heart.  Struggling to sit up, Legolas pulled Dari close with one trembling hand.  He felt so weak and lightheaded that it was almost impossible to stay upright, but somehow he managed.  Legolas didn’t know if he had the strength to hold on, and if by some miracle he did he knew the arena master would only kill him in the morning so that they could have the cage space free for fresh blood.  But for Dari... for Dari he would hold on as long as he could, even if it meant continuing to endure this pain a little longer.  He would keep his promise to the last and not leave the boy until he truly no longer had a choice. 

“I-I wish... Dari I told you I couldn’t promise...” his breath caught as his injured ribs spasmed sharply and the elf doubled forward with a moan of pain.

Dari took Legolas’ face between his thin little hands, resting his forehead against the prince’s in a way that Dari remembered his father doing often when comforting he or his mother, what now seemed ages and ages ago. 

“Try,” he entreated in a small voice.  “Try.  Look...” the young voice was choked as he pointed up at the tiny, barred window, turning the elf’s face in his small hands.  “Th’ stars are out Leg’las.  You’re always happy when there’s stars.”

Legolas smiled faintly.  “So they are, little one.  All right Dari, I’ll try,” he nodded, running his hand gently over the boy’s downy head.  “For you my, little star.  I’ll try.”

Dari looked pleased although still concerned and wiped his eyes, trying to stop snuffling.  “Look, I brought th’ leaves you told me ‘bout...” he showed Legolas his little cache proudly.  “They’ll help you feel better!”

Legolas was almost too weak to try to dress his own wounds, but Dari was a willing helper, doing everything the elf told him to do.  The herbs did help dull the elf’s pain a little and once he was washed up a bit Dari crawled into his lap and snuggled back against the elf’s chest, comforted by the heartbeat under his ear.  He was too young to know that the erratic pounding was too sluggish for the elf’s good, too young to understand that his friend was in serious trouble.

Legolas leaned heavily against the wall behind him, letting his hand rest on Dari’s back as the child lay with his chest against the elf’s stomach.  Night had fallen and darkness swathed the little room.  The stars twinkled on overhead and Legolas was glad they were there.  He wished they could comfort Dari as much as they did him.  He could not bring himself to imagine the point when the child would realize that the elf holding him had ceased to exist in the realm of the living.  Legolas did not have the strength to cry, but one tear slipped down his cheek.  Not for himself, but for Dari, for the future he could never help the child to have. 

Everything was very quiet.  No noise drifted in through the window, not even the sounds of celebration.  “You should go Dari, you’ll get in trouble...” he murmured faintly, but he had no real strength or desire to make the child leave. 

“Hets'pa and the others all gone away...” Dari didn’t budge.  “They were scared.  Lotsa men were yelling ‘bout an army.  Khel-Khelekir or something... they kept sayin’ it and sayin’ it.  Like the other day, only longer this time and they didn’t stop.  They said must have been scouts the other day though they thought it was nothing.  Lotsa people running or going to fight.”  The child reported with anxiety, although he didn’t really even know what he was afraid of other than that everyone else had been.  Such things made little sense to him.   

Legolas stiffened in the dark.  That was it then.  That was why no one was about, not even celebrating.  They weren’t at the feasts as he had thought, but rather they were either running to defend the town, or just running.  All the things he had heard about the Khelekir ran wearily through his mind, but the elf felt no fear.  His hours were numbered as it was.  Whether the people of Rahzon won this fight or lost it... it mattered little to him.  Dari should leave... but where would the child go?  No one here cared about him, no one would look out for him, what hope did he have?

Legolas sighed and just held the little boy close, resting his chin on the top of Dari’s head, floating in and out of reality.  Dari had no one else.  He had nowhere to go.  Maybe it would be better for whatever end found them to find them together.  Legolas hoped that wasn’t a selfish thought.  He wanted Dari to live, but he did not know how to make it happen.  His own life was slowly slipping out of his grasp. 

Away in the distance sounds of battle began to reach their ears.  The ringing of metal on metal and the distant shouts of men filtered in through the window.  Dari tensed and huddled back tighter against Legolas.  He had heard those sounds before.  The last time he saw his parents. 

// “Shh, quiet little one, we’re going to play a game.  You’re going to hide here and not let anyone find you until I come back.  Just be brave Dari, be brave my little star.”  //

Dari liked that Legolas had unintentionally picked up his mother’s nickname for him, but remembering the last time he saw her brought nothing but loss, confusion and fear to his young heart.  Would Legolas disappear too?  Would he be left alone again among strangers like the last time?

Legolas felt the little boy trembling against him.  Gently rubbing soothing circles on the child’s back, the prince began to sing softly in elvish, blocking out the distant clamor with the sweet, albeit weak, sound of his voice. 

Dari’s body relaxed and his tension seemed to ease as the beautiful, lilting words comforted him. 

“Minuial telitha
i elenath deliatha
vi guren
an-uir hebin

I tinu na le
i calad gerich
ir ardhon
os-mín galatha helch

Ú-daro laer
meleth ú-gwannatha
i elenath ú-thinnatha
ir vi hin-lín...”

// Morning comes
The stars will sleep
In my heart
I’ll always keep

The star that is you
The light you hold
Even as the world
Around us grows cold

Don’t stop the song
Love never dies
The stars will not fade
Not the ones in your eyes... //

Legolas sang for as long as he had breath, and when that failed him he continued rocking Dari softly, humming. 

The sounds of battle were closer and louder now.  Obviously, things were not going well for Rahzon.  The stars outside the window were now obscured by the red glow of firelight and smoke carried on the chilly air.  The town was burning. 

Dari looked up at Legolas, his eyes wide in the dim light.  “Ú-daro...” the child pleaded in whispered elvish.  “Don’t stop...”

Legolas started softly and gazed at the boy in surprise.  “Man pedo le?  What did you say?”

“I-I’m scared,” the little boy cried softly in the dark, reverting to the common tongue and Legolas wasn’t sure if the child had really understood what he said, or if the boy had merely picked up a word out of the song. 

The prince had never spoken to the child in elvish, assuming he wouldn’t understand, but now, hearing Legolas sing in that beautiful tongue had opened a floodgate of emotion in Dari’s small heart and made him incomparably homesick.  “Leg’las, I’m sacred... I miss Nana and Ada!  Why did Nana never come back?  Why didn’t Ada find me?  I want to go home...”

Legolas held him close in the dark, trying to comfort the child and puzzle this riddle out.  Dari had never spoken of his parents before, starting to cry whenever they were brought up.  So Legolas had stopped asking.  But now that the child finally did speak of them, why did he use elvish words?  How could a human child this young possibly know even a little of his tongue?  Perhaps Dari had been taken from Gondor or one if its provinces that still had a distinctly elvish influence, but it would still be rare indeed to Legolas’ knowledge that even in Gondor a human family would use the elvish words for mother and father.  

Dari was crying hard now and Legolas didn’t have time or strength to try to figure this puzzle out.  “Hush... hush little one...”

“I don’t wanna be here!” Dari sobbed.  The smell of smoke was getting thick as the fighting got closer. 

Legolas stroked the boy’s hair.  “Then let’s be somewhere else, all right?” he whispered softly.  “Close your eyes.”

Dari complied, still snuffling sorrowfully in the dark. 

“That’s right...” Legolas soothed, pushing back the dizziness that was trying to take him.  His body hurt dreadfully but he ignored it.  “Do you know what I do when I’m afraid, Dari?  I remember my favorite places to be and then it’s like I’m there.  I’ll take you with me.”

“Where?” the child asked in a tremulous voice.  Outside the window a man screamed in either rage or pain.  Dari flinched and huddled closer.

The other slaves in the cages had begun to clamor and yell for release, as futile a request as they knew it was.  All of them remembered the stories they had heard of what the Khelekir did to the blood pit slaves. 

“Well, there’s a hill near my home with a tall tree,” Legolas soothed gently, willing the child to listen to his voice and ignore everything else.  “Close your eyes and we’ll go there now.  See it Dari?  When sunlight catches its leaves it turns them gold.  I like to climb up in the tree and watch the birds fly in and out of the branches, especially in the spring.  There is a family of squirrels that live in a big hollow in the trunk and sometimes if I have a treat for them they will come and sit in my hand...” the elf prince wove the enchanting tale quietly.  He had little breath left and even less strength, but thinking about happier times and the beauty that existed far beyond the walls of this dreadful little prison calmed his hurting body as well. 

“Do their tails tickle?” the boy asked curiously, his hitched breathing slowing a little. 

“Oh yes, they tickle a lot...” the elf’s gentle smile was obvious in his voice.  Legolas knew his time was drawing near, but he fought to stay with Dari as long as he could.  “Especially when they crawl up onto your shoulder and under your chin,” Legolas tickled Dari lightly under his chin in demonstration and the little boy giggled. 

Above them, they could hear footsteps running here and there in the formerly quiet upper structure. 

Dari flinched and whimpered as he was dragged from the peaceful place Legolas’ words created for him.

Legolas hugged the boy tightly.  The elf’s body was beginning to tremble.  “There’s another place that I go as well.  Come on, close your eyes, I’ll take you there.  Nestled in a beautiful valley, there is a house I call my second home.  It’s a wonderful place Dari, where a hurting heart can truly find rest and healing.  In that house there is a big room with a roaring fire that is kept always burning.  Outside through the windows the stars look in, making you feel peaceful.  There’s feasting, music, stories and song... but the best is simply being with the people you love.  The room may be full of many friends or hold only a few, but it always feels like home...” Legolas recounted the Hall of Fire in Rivendell with a faint smile.  So many happy memories of swapping stories around that fire, of the light and laughter and love... Legolas would miss that.  

“I like it...” Dari said softly, wistfully.  “Will you take me there someday?  For real I mean?”

Legolas closed his eyes.  He wanted to.  Wanted to with all his heart.  “Maybe someday, Dari,” he whispered around the choking lump in his throat.

Doors slammed in the upper rooms.  Dishes and cookware crashed and smashed in the kitchens where Dari usually spent his days working.  The end drew near for all of them now.

Legolas doubled forward slightly, pressing against Dari who was still sitting on his lap as a sharp stab of pain shot through him.  Sweat beaded on his pale brow and he grit his teeth to keep from moaning.  He felt so drained... so drained...

“Leg’las?  Leg’las!” Dari’s voice brought Legolas back.  The elf was spent; he couldn’t seem to find the strength to talk much more, so he squeezed the little boy’s shoulders. 

“Your turn, Dari,” he whispered somewhat hoarsely.  “Where will we go now?  What’s your favorite place?”

Dari seemed thoughtful, then his face lit up.  “The tower!”  Settling back in Legolas’ arm he closed his eyes and imitated the way the elf had spoken to him.  “Close your eyes,” he glanced up to make sure that Legolas had.  “We’re on the *very* top of the White Tower... it’s nighttime.  Ada and Nana don’t know I’m not in bed, but the stars are so pretty I had to go see.  From the top of the tower you can see the *whole* city an’ watch the guards in the courtyard standing by the big tree.  It’s so funny that they guard a tree, even in the dark.  I thought it was ‘cause the tree might get lonely, but