- Family Trouble -

By: Cassia and Siobhan

Rating: PG-13

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

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:
A disastrous run-in with some villagers leaves Aragorn and Legolas trapped and in a bad way.  To keep despair and claustrophobia at bay, Aragorn coaxes Legolas into telling him a story about the elf prince’s past when Legolas spent some time in his father’s dungeons.  Legolas relates why his mother left for the havens and Aragorn finds out that there’s still a few things about his friend he did not know.  Meanwhile, time for them is running short...

Series:
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”, “Between Darkness and Dawn”, “Only the Beginning”, “Trouble Follows”, “It had to be Caves”, “It had to be Stairs”,
“Cell Number Eight”, “Remember How to Smile” & “And So The End”
This story will make much more sense if you have read those first, Especially Tears Like Rain, Captive of Darkness and Mistaken Identity, but if you want to be adventurous and give it a whirl by itself, go right ahead!

Time Frame:
The story takes place in two time lines.  One timeline is set about two years after Mistaken Identity and the other is about 30-50 years after Captive of Darkness. 

Additional Notes and Disclaimers:
Please note that when Tolkien says that Aragorn was ‘raised in the house of Elrond’ after his father’s death when he was a child, we have taken that to mean that Elrond was something of an adopted father to his long-distant nephew, Aragorn, and Elrond’s twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir were something like older brothers to the young ranger.  Yes, we have written Aragorn’s mother entirely out of the equation, but Tolkien never, ever talked about her in the stories and quite frankly, do we care?  No.  So for our intents and purposes, both Aragorn’s parents were killed when he was little, although we mostly just avoid talking about his mother all together.  We do realize that this may not fit everyone’s view of the situation, but it is our view and that shows in our stories.  Please do not take offence, or flame us on this if you see it differently.  Thanks!

      Any spelling, date, cannon or character errors are the fault of the authors only and are completely by accident.  We are not an expert on Middle Earth and have never claimed to be.  So please forgive any omissions that you might find. 

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-Family Trouble-

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~*PART ONE*~
~Dark as a Tomb~

Aragorn sighed deeply and slid down the rough wall of stone that blocked his path.  Crumpling at the base of the caved in wall, he slapped the rocks ineffectually.  As his anger ebbed away, fear and pain eagerly rushed in to take its place.  The sound of his breathing was loud in the small cavern and he had to fight back the claustrophobic feelings that overwhelmed him like a flood tide blocking all rational thought.  He could barely hear the townsfolk now.  He wondered idly how much debris lay between him and the outside.  Slight sounds of shifting rocks caused him to wince and hold his breath. The mountainside was still settling in on itself, adjusting under the weight of the newly shifted rocks.  Dust fell into his eyes and choked his breath.

Closing his eyes the ranger worked to calm his breathing and still the anxiety in his heart.  He didn’t need any more adrenaline in his system.  He already felt shaky from what they had just survived.

They...

Legolas!  The elf had to be in here somewhere.

Giving up his failed attempts to dig them out, Aragorn crawled a few paces to the back of the cavern.  The shallow indentation in the cliff face that they had been buried in was no deeper than the length of a man and barely tall enough for him to stand upright.  From what he had seen before the rocks caved in the opening, Aragorn thought the width of the cave could have been no more than ten paces long.  He fought down the bile that rose in his throat conjured from the fear of their confinement.

Hesitantly he tested the floor in front of him with his right hand.  It was pitch black in the cave and he couldn’t see a thing.  His left arm was useless, having been broken or dislocated in the fight.  He hadn’t taken the time to find out exactly what was wrong. He was fairly certain something was broken, it hurt too much when he moved his arm and it wouldn’t support any of his weight.

His fingers brushed against soft cloth and he inched closer.  Gently, Aragorn ran his right hand over Legolas’ prone body.  The elf didn’t move.  The prince was lying in a crumpled heap where he had been thrown.  Slowly Aragorn turned the elf over onto his back and eased Legolas into his lap.  It was hard to do with his left arm hurting so badly but he needed to know his friend was alive and he needed the contact whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“Legolas?”  His voice was oddly loud in the silent cave.  Tomb, he thought darkly to himself, this is a tomb.  Or it would be if they weren’t found soon.

The elf in his arms didn’t answer him.  The ranger gently laid his right hand on the prince’s chest.  To his great relief, the steady beat of his friends’ heart thumped softly against his fingertips.  Now that his eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, the human could make out the natural glow of the elf.  Closing his eyes the ranger sighed in relief as the wild tinges of panic began to recede.

Scooting back against the wall, Aragorn pulled Legolas more tightly against him and settled them both as comfortably as he could.  The ground beneath him was cold and littered with small pieces of rock and debris.  The wall of the cave behind him wasn’t much better.  It took him a couple of minutes to find a place that was smooth enough where the rocks didn’t dig into his back and shoulders. 

With a hiss, he shifted his wounded arm so that it lay across the prince’s chest.  It felt better when the weight was taken off of it.  He was beginning to think his collar bone was fractured.  He had had broken arms before and this didn’t feel like that.  Carefully he worked his hand and arm.  Movement in his shoulder sent shooting flares of pain through his awareness and he stilled stiffly until the ache was gone.

Definitely his collar bone, he thought darkly.  Well at least it was something new and not the same old broken arm or leg that he usually returned home with.  Not that Ada would find that amusing.

Turning his attention back to the elf, Aragorn wondered how badly Legolas had been hurt.  His fingers trembled slightly as he brushed the prince’s face.

It shouldn’t have ended up this way.  He had never seen it coming.  The possibility hadn’t even entered his mind.  He thought they had left the memory of Hebrilith behind.  That had been nearly two years ago.  But they had forgotten that the Silvan prince was a dead ringer for the tormented elf that had hunted the humans this side of the mountains.  And the folks hereabouts thrived on tales and myths.  The legacy Hebrilith had built over the years through his activities had been enlarged upon in the small outposts until the dark elf had become the embodiment of all evil that haunted the villages.  They didn’t know Hebrilith had died.  And they didn’t believe the ranger when he had tried to reason with them.  It was easier to believe the lies, the half truths and legends and to keep the fears alive.  Tales told round campfires late at night have a way of never dying.  And so Hebrilith lived on.

Aragorn wanted to kick himself for not thinking about that when he and Legolas had entered the outskirts of the town.  It was almost on accident that they had stumbled on the village at all.  They were following the trail of recent evidence that seemed to point to a small enclave of orcs nearby when they very nearly ran into a group of hunters.

He remembered the looks on the faces of the men when Legolas had walked up next to him.  Fear, horror and surprise were quickly masked by anger and rage.  No amount of talking or reasoning had convinced the men that Legolas was not Hebrilith.  They had even accused Aragorn of being merely an embodiment of a dead ranger that Hebrilith had enslaved to his corrupted will. 

“Quite an imagination,” Aragorn whispered aloud.  He sighed deeply and shook his head.  They weren’t bad people, just scared people.  He knew the populaces in the hills near Imladris were a superstitious lot when it came to things like elves or the other races that inhabited Middle Earth.  Most had never even seen an elf and Hebrilith had done them no favors.

Aragorn gently touched his head.  He winced as his fingers brushed the jagged cut to his temple.  He had been trying to reason with the hunters when he had been knocked unconscious.  When he woke up he found himself inside this small cave.  The villagers were sealing it off, stacking large rocks in even rows against the opening.  Aragorn had begged them to go to Rivendell to verify his story but they wouldn’t listen.  The ranger had no idea what they had done next.  But after they were through sealing the cave, the hunters had somehow triggered an avalanche and buried them deep within the mountain.  They wanted to make sure that the evil the elf had done was never able to escape. 

And they’ve done a good job of it too, Aragorn thought darkly.

The fact that Legolas was unresponsive worried him deeply.  The last time the prince had been mistaken for Hebrilith it had nearly cost him his life.

He began slowly inspecting the elf more closely.  Legolas’ natural glow was extremely dim in the darkened cave.  His wrists were abraded and cut.  A nasty gash on the elf’s temple mirrored the one on his own.  He couldn’t tell if the prince was wounded more severely than the external bruises and cuts.  He would have to wait until Legolas woke up.  He hoped that would be soon.

Before they had left, Aragorn had told his brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, where they were going and when they could be expected to return.  When the elf and ranger didn’t show up, he was sure the twins would start hunting for them. 

“Legolas?  Come on, I need you to wake up. Please,” Aragorn quietly begged the still elf.  His shoulder and arm were aching fiercely.  He wondered idly how he had come to be so beaten up.  What had happened to them after he had been knocked out? “Legolas?”

He could feel the elf breathing underneath his left hand and the steady pulse of the elven heart beat beneath his fingertips.  At least Legolas was alive.  For the moment that was all that mattered.  Leaning his head back against the rock wall behind him Aragorn closed his eyes.  He just needed to be patient, just needed to rest...

Someone stirred nearby.  White hot pain flared behind Aragorn’s eyes and a sickening grinding feeling in his shoulder brought him fully awake.  Involuntarily he cried out and tried to stop the movement that jarred his arm.

“Aragorn?!” The panicked shout reminded the ranger of their predicament.

“Stop moving, Legolas,” Aragorn panted hoarsely.  He closed his eyes and held his breath against the pain.  His right hand tightened on the princes’ shoulder.  “We’re safe for the moment.  Just don’t move.”

“Estel what is it?”  Legolas’ questioned worriedly immediately stilling his movements.  He realized with sudden clarity that he was being held by the ranger.  His hands gently touched the ranger’s wounded arm and began feeling it for breaks.  “Is it your arm?”

Aragorn shook his head still trying to calm his own racing heart.  Finally finding his voice he responded aloud.

“No.”  His voice was soft in the small confines.  “I think it’s my collar bone.  My arm seems to be fine but it hurts when I move it at all and I can’t put any weight on it.”

“I should wonder if it didn’t.  I was afraid you had been injured more severely,” Legolas responded cryptically.  He groaned softly as he stirred.  “Where are we?”

“Don’t ask,” Aragorn responded distractedly.  “You really don’t want to know.”  He was looking around them in earnest for anything they could use to make their stay more comfortable.  It appeared that their captors had simply thrown them in the cavern and kept all their supplies.

“Are we in a cell?”

“Of sorts,” Aragorn answered.  He directed his attention back to the elf in his arms.  “How badly were you hurt?  What happened, Legolas?” He gently brushed the hair away from the elf’s face as best he could with his right hand.

“Well I only remember some...” the elf’s words were soft and they drifted off as Legolas recalled the events that he could.  He didn’t move out of Aragorn’s arms.  The truth was he hurt too badly at the moment and their surroundings were strangely frightening if he thought about it too hard.

“After you were knocked unconscious I tried to get to your side and help you, but they wouldn’t let me.  I told them the truth many times but they were convinced that I was lying and would hear none of it.  They intended to slit your throat in hopes of ‘freeing’ your spirit that they just knew I had enslaved,” Legolas quietly repeated all that had happened to them.  “Finally I simply agreed with them.  I told them I was Hebrilith and they could do what they wanted with me if they left you alone and let you live.  It was the only way I could convince them to let you remain unharmed.”

The elf sighed softly.  It was hard to breathe and harder to recount what had happened.  When he breathed in deeply it was painful.  He was positive he had broken ribs.  It was a feeling he had learned over the past few decades and one that the mind didn’t let go of easily.

“What did they do to you, Legolas?” Aragorn asked fearfully, the horror evident in his voice.  His grip tightened on the elf as the prince spoke of his treatment at the hands of the men.  Aragorn knew that he was greatly simplifying what had really happened.  “I’m so sorry I was not there to help you,” the ranger whispered.

“Estel, it was not your fault.  Who knew that this village had been so devastated by Hebrilith’s hunting?  Honestly, it wasn’t anything worse than Taradin and his men did to me.  I will be fine,” Legolas concluded.  “I will heal.  You, however, sustained your injuries when they threw you into the back of a wagon that was brought up from the town.  You fell out and landed on rocky ground when the horses were spooked by the hunters’ caches. It was the dead deer that they piled into the cart that set them off.  No one was paying attention to us at that time.  I was positive that you had been injured but they did not care.  In fact when I expressed concern for you they used it as an excuse to beat you as well, though there is not half the sport in beating an unconscious man.  That is probably why you ache all over.  They said they were going to make sure that I could never harm another soul and that my corruption would not spread through you either.  Then the large man that knocked you out did the same to me.”  The elf shifted slightly and fingered his temple.  “I really hadn’t thought I would awaken.  I thought we were both dead.”

“Well...”

“Don’t tell me these are Mandos’ Halls, my friend,” Legolas jested, trying to lighten their situation.

A small snort of laughter was the ranger’s reply.

“No, I’m afraid we are still in Middle Earth...somewhere.  However the townspeople felt that in order to keep us from spreading evil we needed to be buried,” Aragorn explained simply.  He felt the elf in his arms stiffen.

Now that he focused on their surroundings Legolas realized where the familiar sense was coming from – they were underground.

“We are in a cave?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so, my friend,” Aragorn answered.  “They walled up the exit and then somehow brought the mountain down on top of us to ensure we could not get out.  I cannot find a way out.  I have been trying.  The cavern itself is small and there is no tunnel leading out but the one that they collapsed.  El and El will come for us, I know it, Legolas.  They told me if we didn’t return in a fortnight they would come after us.  They will come.”  The elf simply nodded against the man that held him.

Silence fell in the grotto.  When Legolas didn’t speak up right away, the ranger tried to change the subject.

“Tell me where you hurt,” Aragorn asked softly.  He pressed the fingers of his left hand down gently on the elf’s chest.

“I ache all over,” Legolas answered with a small laugh.  “I’m sure I have broken ribs as well.  It hurts to breathe.”

Aragorn turned his head and silently laid his cheek on the elf’s head.  “I’m sorry,” He whispered softly, his heart breaking.  He knew if they ever got out of this predicament they would have to return to the village and ensure that this abuse was never repeated.  He knew of a few people that could come to his help in that matter – if they got out.

“You know, Estel, I don’t mind getting into trouble with you or even running into enemies. But I am sorely sick of having broken ribs,” Legolas spoke quietly.  He stifled a small laugh when his body protested.  “It is not something I ever wish to do again.  I want you to know that, because I have never had them until I met you – *human*,” he jested lightly.

His taunting did the job as he felt the man laugh softly.

“You expect me to believe that you never had a broken bone before you met me?”

“No, in all honesty before I met you, Estel, I *never* had a broken rib.  My wounds were... of a different nature I am afraid.”  His voice quieted as he thought back to an earlier time.”

“I’m sorry...” Aragorn repeated again.  When Legolas tried to protest the human resisted.  “No.  I’m sorry your ribs were broke and I’m sorry we are in this hole in the mountain.”

“I’m not worried, Estel.  None of this was your fault or mine.  It belongs to an elf whose soul is now with Mandos.  You were right, your brothers will come.  It was nearing a fortnight when we headed back two days ago,” Legolas commented softly. He smiled at the grey eyes that stared down into his.  In the dim light his glow afforded, he could see the worry in his friends gaze.  “Besides, this is not the worst imprisonment I have ever endured.”  The last was said with a small smile.

Aragorn nodded mutely.  His friend’s words sank slowly into his mind.  His eyes had barely adjusted to the dim light the elf shed and he watched the prince closely.

“Would it be better if you were sitting up?” Aragorn prompted.

“If you don’t mind,” Legolas answered honestly, “I would really just like to remain here.  It hurts to move too much and right now it’s not so bad.”

Nodding slowly, Aragorn relaxed against the rocks behind them once more.

A thought occurred to him and he gazed back down at Legolas.

“What do you mean it’s not the worst imprisonment you’ve ever had?  What was the worst?”  Aragorn questioned.  It helped to simply talk, helped keep their minds off the small confines they found themselves in.

Legolas barely laughed.

“Oh no, the worst came from a more familiar hand and in quite an unexpected manner,” the elf spoke softly and haltingly.  Sometimes his words were faint and at times he stopped to catch his breath.

“Is it a story you can tell?” Aragorn prompted.

“Now...yes,” Legolas answered.  “There was a time when it was never spoken of, a time when it hurt too much to even think about.  But now... now time has dulled the ache and it is more of a point of humor and embarrassment to those involved.  I am sure they wouldn’t mind if I told you.”

Aragorn smiled and simply waited his friend out while the elf took a few painfully deep breaths.

“You already know some of the story of my mother, but I have never told of you my sister,” Legolas began his story by way of explanation.

“Sister?!”  Aragorn leaned down closer, gazing deeply into the elf’s eyes to make sure he had heard correctly.  “You have a sister and you never told me?”

“I’ve seen what happens when you get around elven maidens,” Legolas joked, arousing laughter from the human.

“Don’t even go there,” Aragorn warned him off laughingly.  “Now what is this about a sister?”  His voice was teasing.  “Tell me more.”

“Well it happened over two thousand years ago,” Legolas began.  “When the forests were first overrun by the spiders we didn’t realize what a threat they were, how vile and evil their hearts were or the darkness that ruled their simple minds.  In the beginning we still ventured into the southern reaches of the forests thinking we were safe.  We were not.”

Legolas grew quiet.  A million thoughts assaulted his mind at once. It had been over a millennia and yet it still felt so fresh like the events had happened yesterday.  His heart had healed and he was content with the fact he would see his family again someday but memories were so different for the eldar – sometimes more painful.

Taking a deep breath Legolas launched back into the tale.

“My sister’s name is Celesté she is younger than I.  One day in late summer we decided to go on a small trip near the southern regions – the parts where travel is now forbidden.  It was not always as it is now. Mirkwood was beautiful.  We were all supposed to go, Ada, Nana, Celesté and I.  But my father ended up having to cancel because of affairs of state and things of that nature so he declined remaining behind while we traveled on.  Running a kingdom has always been a consuming job for my father,” Legolas commented softly, smiling as he thought back through all the times Thranduil had had to cancel plans to attend to some crisis or mediate some decision. 

Shaking his head to clear the more recent memories he continued. 

“Celesté was too young to ride a horse by herself so she sat with Nana.  The two had wandered off ahead of me...I don’t quite recall now why I was not nearer them.  Something had caught my attention and distracted me.  I never heard the attack.  Several large spiders dropped out of the trees in front of Nana’s horse spooking it.  The poor beast was terrified.  Celesté died instantly when she and Nana were thrown from the horse.  I was able to drive the spiders back so they could not reach my mother and sister.  Fortunately a small hunting party nearby heard our cries for help.  They chased the beasts away, but it wasn’t in time.  The damage had already been done.” Legolas’ voice had faded to a whisper and he closed his eyes tightly against the sorrow that welled in his heart as he remember the sight of his sister’s small body lying so still in the meadow.

“She was never still in life.  Always so full of all that was alive in the forests,” Legolas spoke distractedly. His voice startled him.  He hadn’t realized he was speaking his thoughts aloud. 

Glancing up at Aragorn he noted the pained look in his friend’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry Legolas,” the ranger replied.  He wasn’t sure what to say.  Legolas was right he had never heard this tale and that it still hurt the elf to retell it was painful for him.  “I never knew.  I mean I knew your mother had gone across the sea... but...”

With a smile the prince set the man’s heart at ease.  “It has been many years now.  My father and I have both come to terms with Celesté and Nana’s departures.  I know I will see them again.”

“Still...”  Aragorn shook his head in empathy as he thought through all the elf was telling him.  He understood loss, understood it all too well.  “But if your mother wasn’t hurt...why then did she leave? I thought she was wounded?”  The ranger asked gently.  He didn’t mean to pry but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.  It was a trait the elf had come to expect from humans and he nodded as he followed the man’s train of thoughts.

“Yes and no.  Not as you understand wounding.  Remember Estel that for an elf a wound to the heart can be as fatal as an injury to the body,” the prince explained.  “My mother could not get over the grief from the loss and left for the undying lands where she knew she would be reunited with Celesté.  It was not an easy decision, nor did it come quickly.  But it did compound the emptiness in both my father’s heart and mine.  You see my father was not there and for his part, because of that, he had his own guilt over it.  Because he was supposed to have gone with us and did not, he blamed himself for Celesté’s death and Nana’s state of heart.  With both of us experiencing the same guilt we naturally sparked off of each other and contributed to our problems growing father apart and never realizing what the other was feeling.  In the end after they had both left, we made our lives a living torment, unintentionally that is.”

“Why didn’t you just tell your father what you were thinking and feeling?”  Aragorn questioned.  He hadn’t meant the query to sound harsh he was simply trying to fathom why the situation had gotten so out of hand.  In his household everyone freely voiced their opinions, thoughts and emotions.  If he didn’t, his Ada would simply drag it all out of him anyway, so there was no use in hiding. 

“I wish we had had that type of relationship back then.  We could have avoided so much hurt and loneliness.  My father is a good king.  He is a decent father although he would be the first to admit he is still learning that role,” Legolas laughed softly.  His breath catching slightly as the pain reminded him of his injury. 

“I also have had much to learn.  When Nana left, it was hard to talk to anyone about the way I felt.  She was the one I always went to when I was troubled or frightened or needed advice.  I am sure that Adar would have wanted to be that one that I confided in, but most of the time he was too busy and...well...Nana just had a way about her that was soothing and calming.  I still miss her,” Legolas confessed.

“The fact remains that when she left I shut everyone out.  It was easier that way.  Easier to channel all the loss and pain and forge them into a blunt anger, which developed into a hatred for the spiders in the southern region.  I didn’t care what clan or enclave I ran across I simply wanted to kill them all.  I took to hunting them any chance I could get.  And I got pretty good at it too.  Of course once Raniean and Trelan found out what I was up to they wanted to accompany me.  We spent every spare moment tracking the spiders and killing any we came across.  It went on for a bit until it was brought to my father’s attention,” Legolas snorted softly as he remembered the exact day his father found out. 

“I don’t know if he was told what we were up to or if he simply noticed how much I was gone. But when he discovered our forays into the southern forests he forbade me to continue them.  Only his wishes didn’t matter to me at the time and I defied him.  It really was my fault.  I pushed him too hard, but at the time all that I was clinging to was my hatred and anger.  Ada had allowed his duties to the kingdom to consume him.  It was how he dealt with the pain.  But we were both just retreating from the truth.  Finally he could take it no more and ordered me to appear before him, which of course I declined,” Legolas admitted sheepishly.  He smiled as Aragorn shook his head at the elf’s stubbornness.

“Oh Legolas...” the ranger groaned.  “My friend you still have that stubborn streak down your back.”

“Yes, but at least time has tempered it.  Ada and I now have a much closer relationship.  We are both learning how to love one another,” Legolas replied.  “Now stop interrupting or I won’t tell you the rest!”  The elf laughed softly, holding his ribs with his arms.

The rocks in front of them shifted and slipped.  Aragorn curled over Legolas sheltering him as the wall in front of them moved closer, collapsing in on itself.  Small bits of debris rained down on them showering them with dirt.  Dust filled the air and choked their lungs making breathing hard.

Curling in on himself Legolas tried to catch his breath.  Fire raced through his body as his ribs protested any attempt to breathe.  Tears formed at the edges of his eyelids unbidden.  He could hear Aragorn speaking but he couldn’t concentrate on the words.

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~*PART TWO*~
~Rebellious Prince~

Choking and coughing Aragorn batted at the air in front of his face trying to clear the dust from the immediate area.  The shallow cavern was too confined to escape the polluted air and he had to wait for the silt to clear on its own.  A few of the smaller rocks tumbled down the face of the wall in front of them scattering across the floor of the cavern.  One smashed down forcefully on Aragorn’s left ankle and he stifled a cry as the boulder settled against his leg.

The rocks stopped moving with a groan, readjusting to new constraints and shifted weights.  Aragorn surmised with sudden clarity that the townsfolk had probably never intended for he and Legolas to survive the cave in.  They were hoping that the shallow indentation the two had been thrown into would have collapsed on them and killed them instantly.  He wasn’t sure if surviving the cave in was a blessing or a curse.  He was pretty sure they wouldn’t last much longer.  Without water and food it would be a matter of days.  If their supply of air was cut of by the shifting rock wall, it could be a matter of hours.

Pain shot up his leg from where it rested under the boulder.  He noticed that Legolas was curled into a fetal position trying to catch his breath.

Gently grabbing the elf’s shoulders he pulled the prince back into his lap.

“Legolas?” the soft question sounded strangely loud in the stillness that had reoccupied the cave.  “Are you all right?  Where you injured?”  He brushed blonde strands of hair away from the elf’s face.  Rock dust coated them both, smudging their faces a sooty grey.

The elf simply nodded by way of answering.  He had finally gotten his breathing under control and was trying to shunt the pain aside.

“Legolas?” Aragorn’s voice took on a more worried tone.

“It is well,” Legolas panted softly.  “I just couldn’t catch my breath for a moment.”  He relaxed back into Aragorn’s arms, his eyes fearfully glancing at the rock wall that hovered over them.  “I do not think they meant for us to survive this long.”

“I agree.  Let us hope that they will be found wrong on all accounts and we will escape,” Aragorn commented wryly.  He winced as his ankle began to throb.

“What is it?” Legolas asked. Shifting, he eased himself up so he could see the far wall.  A dark irregular shape rested against Aragorn’s leg pinning his ankle in place.  The prince scooted stiffly around and placed his booted foot on the rock and kicked at it trying to push it off.

Seeing his intent, Aragorn placed the heel of his right boot against it.  Together they both pressed the same side of the rock, sliding it slightly to the right and tipping it off its base.  It rolled a pace towards the rockface and stopped giving Aragorn enough room to pull his foot away from it.  His ankle throbbed worse now that it was freed and he hissed as the blood rushed back into his foot.

“Is it broken?” Legolas asked.  He leaned back against the ranger’s chest and held his breath as his body relaxed once more.  The beating he had endured was beginning to take its toll.

“I don’t know.  I don’t think so.  It just hurts right now.  It’s hard to tell,” Aragorn replied.  He leaned forward, around Legolas, as far as he could and felt his ankle.  It was beginning to swell.  “It could just be badly bruised.”  With a sigh he rested back against the rock wall and gazed at the dark ceiling.  His thoughts coalesced in his mind as dark as the rock prison his body was trapped in.

Silence fell between them for a span.  Legolas knew if they didn’t get help soon Aragorn would fade before he did.  If the human died and there was no rescue he would not linger long after.  His hand tightened on the man’s where rested against his chest.

Aragorn’s dark train of thoughts was broken and he glanced down at the elf.  His right hand absently brushed the prince’s hair away from his forehead.  There was nothing to say, they both knew the truth of their situation.

The air in the cavern had noticeably dropped a few degrees; it must be night time without.  The fact that the air had cooled gave Aragorn a bit of hope.  At least somewhere there must have been an opening that allowed fresh air into the cleft.

“I bet your father would have a few words to say about our predicament right now,” Aragorn joked hesitantly. He desperately needed to refocus his thoughts and he was sure the elf he held was in no better shape.

A soft short laugh was his answer.

“Oh that he would,” Legolas concurred.  “Would you like to know how he responded to my forays into the southern reaches?”

“Yes very much please,” Aragorn encouraged.  Settling his back more comfortably he closed his eyes and listened to the elf’s voice as Legolas picked the tale back up.

~*~

Young prince Legolas had his arms folded across his chest and his feet planted.  He was not moving on his own. 

Captain Amil-Garil and the other soldier looked at one another and shared a silent sigh.  Easily picking the younger elf up by the elbows they carried him between them into Thranduil’s audience chamber where the elven king was waiting for them. 

Legolas did not resist them, but he did not help them either and when they set him on his feet before his father’s throne his stance did not change, save that his gaze remained firmly riveted to the arm of Thranduil’s large seat. 

Legolas didn’t need to see the look on his father’s face to know what was there.  Disappointment, anger, disgust... he’d seen them all before.  The prince tightened his fists against the side of his chest. 

Raniean and Trelan, far less resistant, let the remaining two guards prod them gently into the room.  The two young elves looked nervously between Legolas, the king and the guards.  Their loyalties lay with their friend, but they were a little frightened about what they had gotten themselves into. 

“We found them in the woods near the... near the last spider sighting,” Amil-Garil reported dutifully.  Thranduil knew exactly where his son and the other two young elves had been found, not by what the captain of his guard said, but rather by what he left unsaid.  Of course, Legolas had been out by Three Corners... in the glade where his little sister had died almost five standard years ago.  Thranduil had forbid the boy to go back again after he had nearly gotten killed hunting there alone the last time.  Legolas had defied him no less than six times now.  This had to stop. 

“They resisted your attempts to take them back no doubt,” Thranduil’s voice was hard as his eyes bored into his son, but Legolas carefully ignored him. 

“Yes sir they did,” Amil-Garil had no choice but to acknowledge. 

“Well Legolas?” Thranduil’s eyes were locked on the boy.  “What were you doing out there *this* time?”

“Hunting spiders,” Legolas’ tone was defiant; he was still staring at the arm of the chair. 

Raniean and Trelan shifted uneasily and looked at one another.  Legolas didn’t have to make things worse... but they said nothing.  They knew how hard Legolas had taken the death of his sister and when his mother decided that she could no longer remain in middle earth and passed over the sea it had been even harder. 

“I see,” Thranduil paced on his dais, his hands clasped behind his back.  “After I specifically forbade you to do so.  Just as you were specifically *not* supposed to leave your chambers until I gave you leave to do so in the first place.  So what do you do?  Immediately sneak out, round up your friends and go looking for danger!  What am I supposed to do with you Legolas?  And you two...” the king’s gaze fell upon the prince’s friends. 

“Raniean and Trelan did not know I was acting against your wishes,” Legolas defended quickly. 

Thranduil sighed, his gaze shifting between his son and the other two young elves. 

Trelan and Raniean bowed out of respect for the king when his eyes lighted on them.  For a moment the elder elf’s lips almost twitched when he saw their faces.  They were obviously scared out of their wits.  It wasn’t every day a young elf was arrested by the palace guards and dragged before the king after all, even if these particular two young ones *did* have a penchant for getting into trouble with his son. 

“Then that makes it worse,” Thranduil answered.  He shook his head, his face sobering as he turned back to his son.  “It wasn’t enough that you recklessly threw yourself into danger, you dragged others who trust you into it with you.  What if someone had gotten hurt?  *You* would have been responsible Legolas.”

Legolas’ jaw tightened and his eyes stung in a way he couldn’t control.  “Like nana and Celesté?” the young elf’s words were softly uttered between clenched teeth but Thranduil heard them clearly. 

The king’s face tightened as the pain that was ever near the surfaces stabbed him viciously.  Legolas had no business bringing them into this!  Yes, Legolas had lost, but he had lost too and it was no excuse for the boy to be acting up like he was.  They had to be strong, they had to go on, for the people, for Mirkwood... they had to go on.  Oh Valar it hurt though.  Pain lanced through Thranduil’s heart at the mere mention of the names, bringing a sharp edge to his tone. 

“Don’t change the subject Legolas.” The king’s eyes were hard with hurt.  That wound was still too raw, too open... for both father and son. 

“Is it changing the subject?” Legolas raised his eyes to meet his father’s for the first time and Thranduil found himself looking into tumultuous blue seas of swirling, raging emotions.  He almost wasn’t sure he knew Legolas anymore.  Had he lost his son as well as his wife and daughter? 

The king let his breath out slowly, frustration welling up in every pore of his being. 

“Out,” he ordered the guards and other elves to leave.  He and Legolas needed to have a talk and they did not need an audience.  “Take Raniean and Trelan back to their families.  If they are in any trouble over this let their parents deal with it.  I have no charges for them since I am quite sure that my *son* is fully responsible for any contravention of rules or law that occurred.”

The guards bowed and left, taking the other young elves with them.  Raniean and Trelan looked relieved and worried at the same time, stealing glances back over their shoulder towards their friend before they were ushered firmly out of the room.

When the door shut behind them Thranduil slowly descended the dais until he was standing eye-level with his son.  “Legolas I want to know what is going on with you, and I want to know now.  This behavior you have been exhibiting is totally unacceptable and I hope you realize that.”

Thranduil didn’t understand what was going on in the boy’s head and he couldn’t deal with it.  Legolas had never been this much trouble his entire life, never.  He was such a good child, always wanting to please, always respectful, but now...

Legolas didn’t answer.  He didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t actually *want* to make his father angry, but lately there just seemed no way to avoid it.  Thranduil never talked to him anymore unless it was to yell at him over something.  They had hardly said three decent words to one another since Elvéwen left for the havens.  Legolas didn’t know what he was doing wrong to garner such perpetual disfavor, but frustration had caused him to give up trying to figure it out.  If his father were going to be constantly angry with him, he might as well give him something to be angry about. 

Father and son loved each other very much, but they had not always been the best at showing it.  On more than one occasion Elvéwen had been the mediator between husband and son, smoothing over all those little bumps and helping them to see each other’s true motives.  It was as if she were the lifeblood that kept her family thriving.

But now Elvéwen was gone... leaving a huge, bleeding gap in the small, broken family. 

“Legolas I know you have been through a lot these past few years,” Thranduil continued, his voice softening ever so slightly.  The elvenking was trying, he was trying to see things from his son’s point of view, but his own heartache kept welling up and getting in the way, turning everything he tried to say into a reprimand.  “But that is no justification for the way you’re acting and don’t think I will accept it as such.  You are almost an adult Legolas, you have to put the past behind you and go forward.  Killing every spider you can find will not bring them back Legolas...” Thranduil’s eyes were sad.  “We’ve been through this before my son, you have to let it go.  It is no different then when you came back from-” the king stopped himself.  “When we have gone through other hurts or trials.  I expect you to be stronger than this.  I expect you to move on.” Thranduil looked away, remembering the bloodied, hurting young man who had been dragged home from Dorolyn almost thirty years ago now.  Legolas had shown remarkable courage and strength in the way he had handled his recovery from that situation.  As painful as it had been it had caused none of the problems they were facing now. 

Thranduil needed Legolas’ help to keep going, to keep the kingdom going and not let it fall prey to his personal heartbreak.  He needed the boy to help him, not make more problems.  This blatant rebellion the young elf had been exhibiting of late was driving the king up the wall and making an already difficult situation almost unlivable.  Thranduil expected more of Legolas than this... he expected more of himself than this. 

Legolas knew what his father was thinking; he saw it in his eyes when he looked away.  The young elf balled his fists tightly and dropped his gaze.  His father had spent so much time after his return from Dorolyn trying to convince Legolas that what had been done to him had not changed him or the way he was loved and respected by his family, but when Thranduil looked at him that way, at moments like this, Legolas couldn’t help but wonder if he really meant any of it.  Deep down Legolas feared that it really did matter.  Yet he knew that wasn’t what stood between he and his father right now.  No.  This was worse and it was slowly eating Legolas’ heart out.  He knew exactly what his father blamed him for... what he blamed himself for...

“Move on?” Legolas echoed disbelievingly.  Didn’t his father care at all about what had happened?  “You mean forget, like you have?” 

It was a mistake to say.  A large mistake. 

Thranduil rounded on the younger elf with pain-fueled fire in his eyes.  “Elvéwen and Celesté are *gone* Legolas!  I will NEVER forget them but nor can I afford the luxury of wallowing in the past!  I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by insisting on going out there to chase the spiders like this, except perhaps getting yourself killed as well.  But I want it to stop.  And I want it to stop right now!” Thranduil ordered firmly.  He would never show it, but deep down he was terrified, terrified that he was going to lose Legolas as well.  That would be a blow he could not take.  That would kill him. 

Legolas’ features were unmoved.  Thranduil’s jaw tensed, knowing what that look meant.  “I *mean* it Legolas!  This has got to stop!  I forbid you to hunt spiders and you disobey.  I forbid you to leave the palace and you take no heed.  I tell you not to leave your *room* and where do the guards find you?  Out in the forest again!  You are not leaving this room until you promise me that you will not go out again until I give you leave to do so.”

Legolas’ hard gaze was focused on the wall across the room.  He never broke his word once it was given; therefore he did not intend to make promises he had no intentions of keeping.  He did not wish to trade angry words with his father, no matter how riled up he was inside.  Despite what the king thought the young elf did respect him, greatly.  The prince kept his voice low and quiet, but very decided nonetheless. 

“I cannot make any such promise until all the brood that attacked mother and Celesté are dead.” 

Thranduil threw up his hands.  “Legolas our guards scoured the forests for months, they *are* all dead.  Any new spiders are just that, *new* spiders.  And you young elf will not speak to me like that.”

Legolas pressed his lips together.  It didn’t matter how he spoke to his father; Thranduil never seemed to want to hear.  Legolas knew it was because the king blamed him - because what had happened to his sister and his mother was his fault.  That was why Thranduil couldn’t stand to look at him anymore, he knew it.  He knew it and it was killing him slowly inside. 

“How would you prefer that I spoke to you your highness?  Would you rather I scrape and grovel like the rest of your slaves?” Pain made the young prince’s words carry much more bite than he would have wished. 

Thranduil turned sharply and Legolas flinched, half-expecting to be struck for his insubordinate words, half-thinking he deserved it. 

Thranduil did not slap Legolas although for a moment he had had half a mind to do so.  The king just pierced the young prince with his glare.  Yes, he knew Legolas was hurting, he would never punish the boy for hurting, but if Legolas let that hurt continue to lead him down this reckless path of destruction... It could not be allowed.  Something had to wake the boy up. 

“I am serious Legolas, I want you to promise me that you will not leave the palace again until I say you may,” Thranduil’s voice was very quiet. 

Legolas just looked away, refusing to answer.  He was not a child, he was an adult.  If he chose to hunt in the woods then that was his business.  Thranduil could not order him around forever. 

Thranduil’s look darkened.  “Fine.  If that is the way you want it.”  Clapping his hands loudly the king summoned the guards standing outside the doors.  “Take the prince down to the dungeon,” the king instructed the guards tersely.  “Lock him up.  He is to be treated no differently than anyone else.”

Legolas’ eyes had fixed on his father in semi-shock but his gaze was quickly darkening to match the flashing look on the older elf’s face.

Thranduil shook his head when he saw his son’s look.  “Legolas, if I cannot trust you to obey me of your own free will then you leave me no choice.  Take this time to think about the path you have been choosing with your reckless behavior and where it leads.”

The smoldering ire behind Legolas’ icy blue eyes told Thranduil that the prince was not appreciating the lesson he was trying to teach him.  Well, that’s just the way it was then.  Thranduil would rather have Legolas alive and hating him then dead from his own foolishness. 

The guards glanced at one another uneasily but saluted and turned their prisoner towards the door.  Legolas allowed them to lead him but the set look on his face was a dare, seeming to ask just how long they thought they could keep him against his will. 

“And Amil-Garil,” the king stopped the guards in the doorway with a sigh, having read Legolas’ thoughts on his face.  “If he tries to escape, give him twice the normal punishment.”

Legolas’ shoulders stiffened but he did not turn.  His father hated him.  If he had had any doubts about it before he knew it for certain now.  The young elf was angry yes... but just below the anger that he held up to protect his vulnerable emotions, his heart was slowly breaking.  His mother and sister were gone and his father hated him.  And he had no one to blame but himself.

Thranduil had no intention of ever letting the guards lay a harmful finger on his son, but he felt sure the mere threat of that kind of humiliation would keep Legolas from trying anything idiotic. 

The guards had never looked quite so unhappy or uneasy about fulfilling their orders, but they dutifully put the prince into one of the dungeon cells and closed the door behind him.

The instant he was alone in that small, dark room Legolas’ strong facade crumbled and he felt the familiar chill of terror sweep up his spine.  Loathing himself for his own inner weakness the young elf sat down in the corner and drew his knees up to his chest.  He couldn’t look at the bars; he couldn’t think about the dark... he mustn’t... The prince shivered slightly.  He hated being imprisoned.  He hated it.  Burying his face against his knees he rocked slowly back and forth in the darkness.

If Thranduil had only known the kind of emotional terror being locked up still evoked in his son, he would never have done this.  He would never have willingly done anything that he thought would actually cause the boy pain.  But Legolas was good at hiding his own fears and feelings, so the king was unaware of how his son felt about small, dark, underground places.  He had never gotten in-depth details from Legolas or anyone else that would have let him know how much Legolas had come to fear prisons and anything that resembled a cave.  In his mind Thranduil saw this as nothing but a reprimand, a chance for Legolas to cool off before he did something truly stupid. 

Besides, Legolas wouldn’t be there long. Thranduil only intended for him to spend the night down there, then in the morning he would release him. 

But sometimes the best laid plans go horribly awry.

___________________________________________________________

~*PART THREE*~
~Horribly Awry~

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Aragorn interrupted.  His horror had mounted through the retelling.  He was having a hard time reconciling what Legolas was saying with the Thranduil he had met.  Oh he had heard the tales of the king’s quick temper and even seen it in action before. But he knew that Thranduil loved Legolas.  This was a part of his friend’s family life that he had never heard.  He needed to stop the story and get a few more details.

“Are you telling me your father imprisoned you for not giving your word?  In a cell?  In the dungeon?!  You are kidding me, right?”  The ranger found that information incredulous and stared in shock at his friend.  “Why didn’t’ you ever tell him how much you feared the dark and the confines.  You’ve told me.  It can’t be that terrible of a secret.  Legolas that stubborn streak of yours will be the death of you yet.”

“Well it almost was,” Legolas answered softly.  He smiled up into the wide eyed stare that Aragorn laid on him.  “You must know, Estel, that my father loves me very much.  He didn’t do it to be mean.  He thought he was helping the situation.  Believe me, he knows about my fears.  You have seen how hard headed he can be at times and you know of my stubbornness.  They can be a nasty mix.  I fear I am more like him than we both want to admit.  Sometimes we just don’t communicate very well.  Ours has been a very different relationship than the one you have with your father.  I always worried that he would see my fears as weaknesses and I would lose his respect.  His love I always have.  But I needed to know that he knew I could take over in his stead should he require it.  An elf that is afraid of the dark and small places is not fit for leadership.”

“Obviously that assessment is wrong,” Aragorn replied softly.  “Fears do not make you weak.  They make you more real, easier to get to know than if you were a perfect pointy eared elf.”  The last was said with a quiet laugh.

Legolas couldn’t help the quiet snicker that escaped his lips.  “Don’t make me laugh, Estel it hurts,” he whispered through gritted teeth.  “It has taken many years for me to be able to agree with you on that.  But at the time the losses in my life outweighed my reasoning and I locked myself away from all others – even my father.  It was not wise.”

Aragorn snickered softly.  “That’s an understatement.  Somehow Ada is always able to pry out of me what is going on in my head.  But if he imprisoned me every time I wouldn’t promise not to get into trouble or do something that he had asked us not to do I think we should all still be serving out our time in our rooms.  You know, come to think of it, we don’t have dungeons in Imladris.  We don’t even have cells.”

“Rivendell is not a kingdom like Mirkwood is,” Legolas explained a bit further.  “There are many differences in our homes.  It is important for a king to be constant in his rule even with his own children.”

“You said it didn’t work out well...what happened?” Aragorn asked hesitantly.  He felt Legolas shudder slightly and he tightened his grip on the elf’s shoulder.  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.  I mean I know you told me your father had put you in the dungeons before, but I guess I just thought you were kidding.  I never realized you meant it.”

“No, I’m afraid this wasn’t the first time it happened.  Only it wasn’t meant to be for an extended period of time.  Later that same day word was sent of a violent orc attack on some of the patrols near the southern border.  So my father went out with a large contingent of reinforcements to see for himself what had happened and lend any aid he could.  When he reached the site of the battle it was revealed that many had been killed but dozens more were taken as captives.  That was unacceptable and my father wished to journey with the garrison to free the prisoners,” Legolas continued the tale. 

He halted every so often to catch his breath or rest.  It was hard to keep up the conversation, but it kept his mind off his hurting body and their cramped predicament.  Aragorn was satisfied to simply wait out the elf until Legolas was ready to speak again, letting him have what rest he needed.

“My father sent back a runner to tell Amil-Garil to release me, but confine me to the palace grounds until he could return.  Unfortunately, the messenger never reached the palace.  He was killed before he could return and his message was never delivered,” Legolas picked up the story again after a long pause.  Most of the tale evoked little emotion from him now.  It had all happened so long ago.  But parts of it were still painful to tell.  And this was one of them.

Aragorn was shaking his head in disbelief.  His stomach churned as the prince’s voice dropped off.

“I’m so sorry,” the ranger whispered.  “Was no one else sent back?  No word brought after?”

“Well, eventually some of the warriors who had been wounded, but not killed in the previous fight, made their way back to Lasgalen.  From those soldiers we were able to find out what happened and where the king and the other contingent went off to.  However, they also brought with them no word from the king on my behalf and so my guards had no other orders but the last ones they were left with.  Amil-Garil and the rest of the guard had no choice but to continue to keep me imprisoned.  For their part they did what they were supposed to do and it was to their honor that they did.  It brought them no pleasure and they were kind to me.  But they could not let me out without the king’s word.  They had no idea he had already given it.”  Legolas stopped speaking again and winced, holding his breath against a spasm of pain.

“Legolas?”  Aragorn moved slightly, wincing in sympathy.

“Perhaps I should sit up.  My ribs ache fiercely,” Legolas answered the question.

“Maybe you should just stop talking.  I could tell a story instead.  Have you heard about the time we tricked Ada into drinking some of his own tea, but Elrohir made it and it was too strong?  There was a delegation from the surrounding towns coming for a council the next day and Elrohir and Elladan took turns pretending to be Elrond because we couldn’t wake Ada up.”  Aragorn laughed at the recollection.

“Yes, I have! And shame on you all!  You are lucky it worked so well.  You and your brothers never cease to amaze me.” Legolas smiled up at his friend.  “But no, really, I just think I need to sit up for a bit, please if that’s possible.”

“Of course,” Aragorn complied.  “Wait a moment though...”  Gingerly he lifted his left arm from where it lay across Legolas’ abdomen and held it tightly to his chest.

As Legolas tried to rise, Aragorn knelt beside him and helped him sit up as best he could with his right hand.  After a few moments the elf was resting against the warm shallow where Aragorn had sat a few moments ago.

Moving slowly around the prince in the tight confines, Aragorn stepped over Legolas and seated himself on the elf’s left.

“You need a sling for that arm,” Legolas commented softly.  He was breathing better now that he was sitting up although the change in position hurt.

“It’ll be fine,” Aragorn commented. “I’m more worried about you right now.”  He watched as the elf moved slowly, unfastening the catches on the leather belt that held his quiver in place.

“Here, use this,” Legolas offered.  Leaning forward he clumsily adjusted the straps until they held Aragorn’s arm tightly to his chest, with the weight resting on the ranger’s right shoulder.  “That should help a bit.”

It did indeed help and the human sighed as the pressure was taken off his collar bone.

Sitting back against the rock he shouldered the elf forward until Legolas was leaning against him, his warmth helping to ease the pain.  For several moments neither of them spoke as their bodies readjusted to the movements and the new positions they sat in.  The pain slowly ebbed away and in moments Legolas was breathing easier.

“Better?” Aragorn whispered.

“Yes much,” Legolas countered.  He laid his head against Aragorn’s shoulder as they sat there side by side.

“They’ll find us.  I know they will,” Aragorn reassured quietly.  He spoke the words aloud as much for himself as for the elf.

“I hope they do,” Legolas whispered.  “I really don’t want to remain here for the rest of my days.”

With a laugh Aragorn glanced over at his friend.  “Yes, this would be much worse than one of your father’s cells.”

“Ah yes, that’s right.  The story,” Legolas smiled as he returned to the telling.  “Well in all honesty I actually feel a little bit like I did back then.  It was hard to breathe in the dark.  It felt like the walls were physically closing in on me whenever I opened my eyes.  In fact I actually took to softly banging the back of my head against the wall behind me repeatedly for hours on end.  It was odd, but it helped, and at that time I needed anything to distract from the tightness that the fears were wrapping around my heart.  Eventually I lost all track of time after the first three weeks.  However, far from becoming accustomed to the prison cell every passing moment seemed to make me more and more desperate to do anything to get away from it.  I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t stay there.”

“Oh Legolas, tell me you didn’t try to escape,” Aragorn groaned quietly.  He squinted his eyes shut against the thought.  To him this retelling of his friend’s past was terribly painful.

“I did,” Legolas answered simply.  “Elves were not made to subsist in the dark.  It is one the closest things to death that can ever be done to them.  To lock them away from all that is good and fair or to banish them forever from their people – both are death sentences to an elf.”

“We’ll get out of here,” Aragorn repeated fiercely.  “I’ll not let you die here.  My brothers are out looking for us right now.  I know it.”

Legolas simply nodded and laid his back against the ranger’s shoulder.  It helped a little bit to have hope that someone was searching for them.

In moments Aragorn’s breathing had evened out and deepened.  The man had fallen asleep.  With a soft sigh Legolas relaxed against his friend content to wait.  At least this time he wasn’t alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The night was quiet and warm.  The sounds of small animals and night insects serenaded the full moon that shown above the canopy of trees sheltering a grassy meadow near the small outpost Legolas and Strider had stumbled upon not so long ago.

Silently two identical elves walked out from under the shadowed shelter of the woods and approached the clearing.  The meadow glistened in the evening moonlight.  On the far edge of the grassy bowl a group of men were sitting around a campfire, enjoying an evening meal and the company of one another.  The path that the elves were tracking passed right by this very shallow.  The fact that one of the human voices was familiar to the two elves was the very thing that had brought them out into the open. 

It hadn’t taken much in the way of tracking skills to find the hunter’s campfire.  The sharp ears of the elves had picked up the sounds of full laughter and loud boasting while they were still some ways off.  With barely a word spoken between them they had shifted their course in hope of uncovering clues to the whereabouts of those they tracked.   In the moonlight their glow was set off by the natural illumination that fell on them.  As they picked up their pace they moved as one.

The laughter round the fire died down as the men took note of the two cloaked beings that exited the forest.  A large man stood up and addressed them.  His eyes were quick and thick graying hair crowned his head.  He was dressed in the brown leathered garb of the hunters this side of the Misty Mountains.   Next to him a younger man stirred but was pressed back down by the older hunter.

“It’s late friends.  What brings you out this way?  Care to join us?”

The question was part invitation part warning if the strangers had mischief in mind.  His right hand strayed to the hilt of his hunting knife as he waited for a response.

“Told you it was Taradin,” a soft whisper traveled on the slight breeze.

“Who comes calling?” The hunter called again.

Elladan flipped the hood of his cloak back revealing his raven hair and fair features. A brilliant smile lit up his face.

“Taradin, you scoundrel, we thought we heard your laughter above the rest.  How fair you and young Garith?  He is there with you is he not? Father has inquired on your well being many a time,” Elrohir called out to the man.

“Elladan?  Elrohir?” Garith jumped to his feet and began shuffling the men over making room for the two elves near the fire.  “Come!  Sit and join us!  Is Strider with you?”  The young man had a fondness for the ranger that they had befriended.

“What brings you elf lords out this way?”  Taradin asked jovially.  He rounded the fire and grasped each of the slender elves in a crushing hug.  “Been meaning to head out your way before the winter storms set in.  How is your family doing?”

The twins exchanged worried glances.  The older hunter knew a bit about their family.  The exact nature of Aragorn’s relationship to them had never been fully explained.  They stepped round the fire and seated themselves next to Garith, easily exchanging greetings before answering Tarith’s questions.

“The reason we are here concerns a member of our family,” Elrohir answered hesitantly.

“Actually two of them, our extended family,” Elladan covered easily.  “Strider and Legolas have been missing for a few days.”

“It wouldn’t be odd usually,” Elrohir continued quickly, “But they said they would return in a fortnight.  That was two days ago and their trail leads near some of the more outer lying towns.  We were worried they may have fallen into trouble.  They were tracking orcs.”

Taradin sobered.  He glanced across the fire and locked eyes with a man on the other side of the fire pit.  The sandy hunter dropped the piercing gaze and shifted uncomfortably.  The man was more of youth. Caught in between the growing up years, the young hunter was broad across the shoulders, his green eyes obscured by a shock of light brown hair that kept falling across his face.  He was obviously uneasy with the attention and the change in conversation.

“Renning didn’t you say your townsfolk ran into some odd travelers not but two days ago?” Taradin questioned the younger hunter.  He turned to the elves seated next to him and explained the other’s presence.  “Renning here is from an outpost just over the next hill. Small town, mostly built on trading.  We passed through there just yesterday and some of the kin asked if they could accompany us – deers been scarce this season.”

“That would be from the orcs that Strider and Legolas have been tracking,” Elrohir offered.  “There is an enclave somewhere near these hills.  They were trying to uncover where the orcs are nesting before winter sets in and they become bolder ”

Turning his attention back to the hunter across from him Taradin pressed him for an answer. The youth had not yet been forthcoming.

Before Renning could respond an older man sitting on his left piped up. 

“The only people we seen in these here parts was that demon spirit of an elf and some poor ranger he enslaved to his will.  Weren’t your people,” he snapped at Elladan tersely.  “They’s the ones that haunt this area.  Finally caught them we did.  Took care of them right good.  They’s the ones scaring off the deer, not no orcs.”  The older man’s gaze shifted to Elrohir and his eyes narrowed.  “That one was pure evil, shoulda done him in long time ago.  Now he’s taken to capturing the bodies of good men and bending them to his will and lies – dangerous.  But he won’t be hurting no one, no more, now,” the balding hunter finished grumpily.  He locked eyes with Taradin and glowered at the man.

“Uncle!” Renning growled warningly trying to stop the others tirade.  “That is not true and you know it.  They were not spirits.”

The news was disturbing and more than that, confusing.  A frown creased Elrohir’s brow and he glanced at his bother.

“El?”

Elladan gently touched Elrohir’s thigh.

“I’m afraid you have confused us,” Elladan replied politely. “What elf are you speaking of?”  A mounting horror was eating at his heart.  He dreaded the hunters’ next words as much as wanted to hear them.

“There ain’t no demon elves in this area, Trenth.  Haven’t been any for a few years now,” Taradin explained slowly.  “Only the elves from Rivendell.”

“Nah, he weren’t like them.  His dress was different and his hair was lighter colored.  Not related they ain’t,” Trenth explained.  He leaned closer and pierced Taradin with a hard stare, “You know the one I’m talking of...killed your Elbamir a bit ago.  Bastard of an elf.”  The last was spit out as a curse.

“Valar no!” Elladan whispered as he finally understood what the man was thinking.

“Elladan!  We have to find them,” Elrohir had risen to his feet in alarm.

For Taradin it took a few moments longer to fully understand what Trenth was talking about.  When he realized that the townsfolk had mistaken the ranger and the elf for Helbrilith, the dark elf that haunted the woods a few years ago, he could barely believe what he had heard.  Memories of his own bouts with misperception dogged his conscience.  It was something he had learned to let go of but never forgiven himself for.  A lesson learned the hardest way possible.  The experience had left him no less gruff but much more humble and compassionate with those he encountered. 

At the moment however his ire got the best of him.

Trenth had stood to his feet and was shouting about the townspeople having done what should have been done a long time ago.  His nephew was trying to calm the older gentleman and settle those around the fire.  He was doing a poor job at it.  When Taradin spoke the whole camp quieted under his angry bellow.

“Trenth! I always took you for a damned fool but I never thought you were stupid enough to do anything like this.  Renning you’re no idiot like your kin, why didn’t you stop them?  Have you any idea what you have done?” Taradin shouted angrily.

Renning forcefully pushed Trenth back to the ground with a warning and paced around the fire till he was standing in front of the two elves.  Elladan’s glare made him flinch slightly as the elf turned towards him.  He would endure whatever they had in mind for him.  He needed to tell someone what had happened, it had been weighing heavily on his conscience.  Though he did not know these two, he hoped they could help.  It may not be too late.

“I did try.  You know the myths they tell in these places, Taradin.  There’s no reasoning with them when they get of one mind.  When I attempted to stop them Gentry strong armed me and tied me up, took me back to the outpost.  They were convinced the evil elf had filled my mind with lies.  They wouldn’t listen to the ranger and they didn’t believe the elf that accompanied him.  News never gets up to us here about the true goings on of things and that wood elf sure looked a lot like the evil one that used to pick us off.  Only he didn’t act like him at all.  Seemed he had a heart to him,” Renning explained softly.  He brushed the quickly hair out of his eyes before opening his hands displaying them for the elves and men to see.  Rope burns still flared painfully around his wrists confirming his story.  “I tried all I could to stop them.  They knocked them out and planned on burying them near the cleft, the one with the overhang.  That was all I heard before they dragged me back to town.”

The young man dropped his gaze and shook his head slowly.

“I’m sorry Taradin,” the tortured whisper was not lost on the elves.

“It’s not your fault,” Elrohir replied softly.  He reached out and touched Renning’s shoulder gently.  “Could you take us there?  Do you know the way?”

“Is there a chance they are still alive?” Elladan asked hopefully.  He was sure his heart had stopped beating.

“Yes, it’s not far,” Renning answered.  Turning his gaze on Elladan he shrugged helplessly.  “It’s possible they might still be alive.  From what I gathered they buried them in a shallow cave that the locals call the cleft.  It was two days ago now.”

“Trenth, I’m telling you the truth, that dark elf was put down nigh over two years ago now,” Taradin explained calmly.  “All those stories they still circulate are just that - stories.  If Elladan says there is a band of orcs nearby than you can bet there’s a band of orcs nearby, not elves.  These two were part of the ones that took that evil one down.  Why in the blazes didn’t you ask a few seasons back?  I thought we explained it all to Manneth.  Didn’t he tell you the truth?”

Trenth was chewing on the inside of his mouth, his brow creased in a frown where he sat crosslegged on the ground.  “Well, there was talk that Manneth was cracked.  Some didn’t believe him and the killings haven’t stopped none,” the old hunter offered.

“It’s the orcs,” Elrohir repeated patiently.  “You have sentenced my brother and his friend to death mistakenly.  The one you feared is dead.  He is in Mandos’ halls now.  I pray the Valar have more pity on him than you have shown to strangers passing through your lands.  Take us to this place so we can free them and then we will help you with the orcs.”

“If they are alive,” Elladan added darkly.  “If they are not, I will escort the orcs to your village and let them decimate it *before* I kill them.”

“You had best pray they live,” Taradin warned as he started packing his rusack to accompany them.  He nodded at Garith who quickly joined him as they broke camp.  Some of the men would remain behind with the traps and their catches.  Most of them would be needed to help dig the ranger and the elf out – all of them were more than willing to help.  Garith quietly began dividing up the camp, designating who would remain behind. He was quickly becoming more adept at being Taridin’s second in command and the men accepted his orders with the ease that they took their leaders.

Elrohir glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eyes.  The look on Elladan’s face frightened him. He desperately hoped Estel and Legolas were alive as much for themselves as for the sake of the townsfolk.  He hadn’t allowed himself to think through what his reaction would be if they found them dead.  He couldn’t.  They had to be alive.  Turning back to Taradin he helped the hunter collect what they would need.

They would be heading out tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He wasn’t sure when they had fallen asleep.  It was during one of Legolas’ longer pauses that exhaustion had found the two and overcome them.  Time was lost in the cave and Aragorn had no way of knowing whether it was day or night.  He stirred and stretched his legs out in front of him.  They scraped the wall of collapsed rocks reminding him of how tight their confines really were.

“You awake?” Legolas whispered.

“Yes,” Aragorn answered around a yawn.  “Did you sleep?”

“Not really,” Legolas confessed.  He had always found it hard to sleep when confined.

“Legolas...”

“Did you really expect me to?” The elf questioned sarcastically.

“No,” Aragorn sighed in defeat.  He was actually surprised he had fallen asleep himself.

Silence settled between them for a bit.

“Shouldn’t we try to get out?” Legolas offered softly.

“I have.  We are in no shape even if we could.  I can’t lift the rocks on this side of the wall and neither could you without further injuring yourself,” Aragorn explained.  “And I don’t have my pack so we are out of food and water and any herbs or medicines.”

“So what is the bad news?” Legolas joked lightly.

The sound of Aragorn’s soft laughter cheered his heart.

“The bad news is I am horrible at waiting,” the ranger responded.   He shifted slightly readjusting his position against the wall behind them.  “And I think my back end has fallen asleep from sitting on the ground so long.”

Legolas had to curl into himself to keep his ribs from hurting as a fit of laughter caught hold of him.

“Stop.  Please Estel, don’t make me laugh it hurts too much,” the elf whispered through boughts of mirth that mixed with the deep ache in his chest.

Aragorn chuckled lightly but refrained from commenting until the prince was able to catch his breath and relax.  The soft exhalation of their breathing was the only sound in the tiny cavern for some time as each of them dealt with their own private thoughts and emotions.

The dark possibility that they would not cheat death this time overwhelmed the ranger and he turned to the elf for distraction.

“So did you escape?  Did you get free?  You left the story there last time.  I’d love to hear the rest of it.” Aragorn asked curious to hear his friend’s tale.  “Please tell me that they didn’t recapture you.”

Legolas barely laughed, trying to contain his mirth as he watched his friend wince with the thoughts of the elf’s recapture.

“If you like I can tell it that way,” Legolas smiled softly.  “But that was not the way it happened.  You see, finally I could take it no more.  I was positive that my father really did hate me.  He had left me down in the dungeons with no word for over three months.  He hadn’t come to see me and no one had told me what had occurred or that he had been called away.  I simply thought I had lost him forever.  When Renault came in one morning to bring food for me to break fast with I caught him off guard.  I took his hunting knife, over powered him and locked him in the cell and I fled up the halls.”

When Legolas paused Aragorn did not interject.  He quietly sat next to friend and wondered at the depth of pain the young elf had erroneously endured.  How could the light hearted person he knew as Legolas ever bounce back so easily from such hurt and pain that he kept buried so deeply within.  He kept reminding himself that this was the elf’s far past and had happened long before even his father’s father was born.

“I nearly made it too, but Amil-Garil discovered my escape and cut off my route...”

~*~

“What are you going to do with that Legolas?” Amil-Garil kept his hands up and his distance even.  He would not draw a weapon on the prince, but neither could he ignore his King’s orders and let the boy escape.  “Are you going to kill me?”

Legolas wavered uncertainly, the blade in his hand lowering a few inches.  Of course he wasn’t going to kill anyone.  He had no intention of harming the guards, he knew they were only doing their job... he just wanted out.  He needed the free air like a starving man needs food.  The confinement and lack of light was killing his spirit. 

He would fight if he thought he could get away without hurting anyone, but with the passage behind Amil-Garil filling up with guards he knew that was becoming impossible.  He was trapped. 

“I want out.  Please Amil, I just want out!” his voice shook slightly, but the dangerous look had left his eye, replaced by one of despair. 

“I know you do, I’m sorry,” the captain of the guard moved forward slowly.  Gently he took the long dagger from the prince’s hand.  Legolas did not fight him, there was no point.  He had lost and now he had to suffer the consequences. 

Amil-Garil shook his head, touching the prince’s shoulder gently.  Legolas flinched instinctively and pulled back.  The guard’s eyes reflected pain.  He wanted to tell the young elf he wasn’t going to hurt him, but that would be a lie, because he knew he was going to have to hurt him, and that thought tore his heart. 

“Your highness...” Amil-Garil wished he knew what to say.  “Why did you have to do this?  You know our orders.”  He did *not* want to do what he knew he was going to have to do to the young prince. 

Legolas, breathing hard as he leaned against the wall just turned and pressed his forehead against the cool stones.  He was trembling slightly.  “I-I know.  I’m sorry.  I... I just had to get out!  I cannot take the darkness anymore, I shall go mad!”