Title: Masquerade

Authors: Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure

Summary:

Captured as prisoners of war by the Haradrim, Legolas and Aragorn are tortured ruthlessly at the hands of their host. If things go as planned there will be no dawn for either Elf or ranger, but first one must break.

Though more than their lives and spirits are at stake, an ancient alliance and bond could be shattered and all Middle Earth could be condemned. The fates of many, rest squarely on the shoulders of Legolas and Aragorn, will they give under the pressure?

Rated: PG-13

: DISCLAIMER :

We do not own anything of Tolkein's Lord of the Rings Trilogy or any other works by he or his family. We wish we could write like that though.

Please enjoy and review! Reviews are always good-Smiles- Thanks!

Part I

0o0: 0o0 "Masquerade" 0o0: 0o0

CHAPTER ONE

As the Seasons Change

The night was dark, very dark, not to mention bleak. The description just wouldn't be accurate without the word 'bleak'. A storm threatened to break in horrible wrath any moment and Aragorn looked grimly at his blonde companion. "So how far ahead are they my friend?" he inquired as to the position of the Haradrim enemy that all knew were lying in wait for them at some point.

Legolas Greenleaf smiled thinly and leaning close to the ranger, whose hood was drawn about his face, whispered his reply. "Well, Thorongil, they lie just over in the ledges of the dried up creek bed and deep in the foliage. They are strong, we are never going to make it past them." The Elf's voice was indisposed and he looked past the hood into his friend's eyes with a look of intense worry.

"Double-cloaked Elf," sneered a man near Aragorn's left; his second lieutenant. "With all due respect sir, how do we know we can trust him?" asked the man as he stared the scowling blonde being down.

Legolas gave the man who was questioning his honesty and honor an I-am-a-Elf-prince-and-you-doubt-my-word look. His narrow blue eyes spoke of irritation and discontent. Aragorn was not going to stand idly by and let this slur against his friend stand. "And with all due respect to you, officer, you question more than the Prince Legolas when you ask if he is trustable, you question my choice of friends and allies."

The man glared at his junior officer and the other man didn't seem to be put off. "Sir, I never meant to question your abilities, but every attack we have had ourselves in the midst of was known to him before the rest of us."

"Are you going to continue to question my sincerity, sir?" asked the disguised ranger tersely with a knitted brow and darkened gray eyes.

"I suppose I had better not, Captain," concluded the other man as he gazed into the deepening darkness, avoiding Aragorn's piercing gaze and the sharp and annoyed glare of the offended Elf.

Legolas turned his attention back to Aragorn serenely, but he kept half of his hearing turned back towards the men who he did not doubt would like nothing better than to kill him and call it an accident. He wasn't about to become some tragic victim of their fears, but he wasn't about to strive fruitlessly against them. He could never win and resistance would only make there opinion of him worse.

Aragorn knew what Legolas was thinking and he gently placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder and guided the Elf in the front, before him. Putting himself between his friend's back and the ones whom would like to stab it. He whispered dispiritedly, "Is there any alternative at all, Legolas?"

"None that would be less risky than the attack itself," came the forbidding response. As Legolas watched the trees and foliage sway in the wind of the upcoming storm he let loose a small and inaudible sigh. He felt the trees distress but he also felt their hostile nature towards him and his friends. In the distance, lightening flickered and sent tendrils of blazing volts across the darkened sky. "Remind me again why we came down South to fight Haradrim?" he said as he calculated the throbbing air and rumbling thunder with his scrupulous hearing.

Aragorn looked at the Elf's stony face and anxious eyes. "I don’t know about you, but I came down because they were a threat to Gondor and as a ranger that happens to be one of my jobs...protecting Gondor that is."

Legolas smiled dilutely and gave the ranger a somewhat dubious look. "And I vaguely recall your brothers saying that you wouldn't stay down here more than a few days before you came crawling back. Bets are dangerous things you know," he whispered in a tone that was filled with as much laughter as his fluctuating looking eyes as the friends crouched down now with the men in the brush, waiting for the Haradrim to launch their attack.

"And I remember someone else who's father told him that he needed to settle down and get married and if I recall that same someone disappeared that very night and trailed me everywhere until I consented to having him as a companion," teased the young human lightly. Making fun of his Elven companion was rejuvenating if it was nothing else and he was sure that Legolas had about the same opinion regardless of the fact that he was the center of the jests.

Legolas sniffed in mock contempt, "you exaggerate ranger. He said nothing about getting married." Aragorn just smiled in the dark.

The men laughed and snickered quietly behind the Elf and ranger. Even though they didn’t trust the Elf as far as they could shoot him, they did enjoy the teasing between the two friends that brightened the darkest moments and made the prospect of dying a little easier to bear. They carefully prepared to draw their weapons and the archers readied their bows.

Lightning flashed and in the faint light that lasted only a brief moment, Legolas and Aragorn smiled at one another and the Elf grabbed his bow from its place over his shoulder and grabbed a random arrow from the quiver on his back. Aragorn gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

The enemy was near, they could feel it in the growing tense air that seemed to throb in their ears precariously. The trap was about to spring and it was growing rigid in preparation for the pounce, like a cat playing with a mouse. The thought did nothing to help the blonde Elf's mood as he ran his hand along the feathers on his arrow shaft. He did not like getting played around with under any circumstances and the thought that a regiment of Haradrim warriors had managed thrice to catch them in a snare was disturbing.

Legolas knew that the blame for this attack had been squarely placed on his shoulders by the men and he had no doubt that if a few of them lived they would find a way to make sure he did not. But, he mused angrily, how was it his fault that he always knew the attack before them? He was a scout, what in the name of great Manwë had they expected him to do? Rolling his eyes inwardly with disgust at the men's' ungrateful attitudes, Legolas knew it was because he was an Elf. If a man had been the scout and placed himself in that kind of danger then he would have been congratulated and believed without the slightest hesitation. But because he was an Elf they didn't care what dangers he was placed in and the Elven prince knew with a stab of what could be called slight heartache, that despite all his labors for their well being they would rather that he never came back. Legolas felt a bitter anger rising as he realized what he had thought for a long time was true; they would rejoice to see an arrow embedded in his heart.

The wind blew stronger and as Legolas listened beside Aragorn he heard a series of war cries, like wolves on a hunt, arise in the air and suddenly something whistled past his ear and a javelin hit the dirt by his foot. He crouched lower in surprise and slight fear, and heard everyone else doing the same. Well at least he wasn’t alone, thought the Elf candidly.

But no more shafts came and Aragorn whispered grimly, "they are taunting us. But the attack will not be put off long." A huge shadow loomed not more than a couple hundred yards off and lightening revealed it to be what Legolas already knew as an oliphaunt.

Its bulk was painted in bright paint. As the thunder rumbled Legolas looked back at Aragorn and whispered, "they are close enough to launch their attack."

The ranger murmured, "I know. Stay down, Legolas. Be careful." The last thing he wanted was one of those thick-shafted javelins in his friend's back or head. He looked back at the men he was leading and whispered, "steady. Perhaps we can surprise them if you keep calm.” The proposition was more of a command than a conferral.

The men looked stony faced at one another and shifted quietly in the bracken and shrubs.

A small drop hit Legolas on the nose and he thought, wonderful, the storm is moving in. This is going to make fun combat weather. He sighed under his breath and watched as figures ahead moved soundlessly through the brush and positioned themselves all around the surrounded contingent.

Legolas suddenly shouted, "look out! "As he heard the bows of the enemy drawn back and then released. Bolts thudded against trees, stone, dirt and bodies. A few cries came from those wounded, those dead had been slain silently.

Then the battle began.

Legolas and Aragorn fought side by side as best they could, watching one another's back.

Everything was chaos, between claps of thunder, the cries of men dying and bleeding, oliphaunts crying in agony as arrows found their marks in the large creatures' hides.

In the lightning Legolas saw a man aiming his spear for Aragorn, who was preoccupied with another in intense combat. Drawing the bolt of his bow back so the feathers were along his cheek, Legolas shot the enemy's man dead quicker than sight.

He had hardly time to notch another arrow before he found himself assailed by a number of foes that came out of nowhere. As he looked around he found himself lost in a sea of enemy faces and immediately back stepping in pure instinct, he suddenly felt his boot go against nothing. Air. He was trapped on the edge of the cliff that overlooked the dried up creek bed.

Aragorn spun around as he struck out with his long sword and seeing his friend assailed by foes on all sides, the man gave a cry of trepidation and dismay. Taking his attention away from his own enemies trying to kill him, he ran towards Legolas, who was firing off arrows as quickly as possible, but his quiver was running out and his enemies were pressing in closer. Legolas realized with alarm that they were not trying to kill him, they were trying to capture him.

The ranger stumbled in weariness and abruptly felt a sting as something bit into his shoulder, no, his collarbone. He felt it rip through the muscle of his chest and crack through the bone in a violent assail on a path to his heart. He then hearing a strangled cry he had hardly realized he had given, the young ranger looked up to see Legolas staring straight at him with a contorted face of horror and rage even as the Elf ducked a blow intended to render him unconscious.

He must be hurt badly, or else Legolas would never look at him thus. Aragorn knew it and he looked to see thick-shafted javelin in his chest, just beneath the collarbone, dangerously close to his heart.

Aragorn felt hot blood run over his tunic and he gasped in horrible pain. It was shockingly hard to breathe. He felt as though he had a weight upon his chest, pressing down relentlessly and biting him fiercely.

He saw Legolas struggle to get to him and he saw the Elf notch his last arrow and looking where the fair being was aiming, he saw a Haradrim warrior just above him, ready to drive a scimitar into his skull.

But dazed, Aragorn told his muscles to move and they didn't respond.

Looking up he saw a green and white-feathered shaft sing through the air just as a blinding streak of lightning lit up the sky about them.

But Aragorn could feel the heat of the lightening, blinding, searing, and sending tendrils of volts of current through his body. But when he looked up all he saw was a bunch of dead Haradrim and Legolas, being hurled backwards and over the brink of the ledge and into the dried up creek bed below.

Aragorn felt huge ran drops begin to splash all around him and finding his legs, he ran stumbling to the edge of the cliff and fell to his knees as he looked over the edge and saw a pale and forlorn Legolas lying below.

The Elf's body was at a strange and twisted angle on the rocks beneath, so it made Aragorn think that his friend had broken his back. He felt a pang run through is heart and he could not tell if it was because of the javelin in his breast or because his heart had just shattered at the sight of his mutilated friend. He saw the Elf's lips moving faintly and then his chest rise and fall, and then after a violent shiver, the convulsing form of the blonde Elf lay completely still.

If Aragorn had had a difficult time breathing before, he found it impossible now. As hard as it was for him believe it, Legolas had been thrown by the lightning into the gaping pit below, his body smashing against the rocks. His mind was going through enough torture seeing his contingent annihilated but now that he saw his dearest friend lying mangled below he felt like his chest had been ripped into shreds and he knew it came from more than the wound be bore. As Aragorn gazed groggily down into the pit his mind reeled, taking in all the gore and bodies that were beginning to float in the rising water. The creek bed had become a mass grave.

It was more than the ranger could bear. The men he had been entrusted with and who had trusted him back were dead or captured. It was a heart-wrenching failure, one he wasn't sure he could endure. He knew now how Gil-Galad and other wise beings, like his foster father, must have felt after seeing their troops slain in battle and mercilessly tramped upon by the cruel feet of the enemy as though they were being ground into useless and unrespectable dust.

The rain became heavier, as if all heaven cried for his lost friend. Thunder rumbled loudly and lightening strapped across the sky in bright purple and white flares casting light on all the pale faces coated in blood.

Aragorn didn't even bother to remove the barbed spear from his chest and he just leaned forward, not caring if it was pressed deeper into his flesh. His wavy dark hair hung limply with perspiration and rainwater as he hung his head in despair and horrible, twisted agony. His eyes were fixed unmovable on Legolas' helpless and wrecked form, the Elf's hair thrown over one side of his face and plastered to it by the rain.

Legolas blinked in numb awe as he gazed up at the sky and watched the rainfall upon his pale face as he began to come free of his shock that still held a slight grip over his boggled mind. It felt good just to lay still and breathe again. He watched the sky intently, with all its strange and wondrous tendrils of purple and white and the darkness of the blackened world beyond while crystal rain beat upon him.

It was cold enough in the desert at night. The temperature often dropped to single digit number or below. He shivered as he felt his clothes getting soaked to the bone and the bone seemed to be pierced to the marrow. The rocks of the sandy and hard bottom bit into his cold skin like jagged knives and he tried to move, but he found that it was impossible. That alone was enough to send new stab of fear throughout his awareness.

Looking inquisitively up at the edge of the cliff where he guessed he had fallen from, he saw Aragorn hanging over the brim of the precipice, bent over in agony or grief, Legolas could not tell and he closed his eyes in passionate and physical pain. He wondered if he had broken something and thought it would be a miracle if he hadn’t.

He shuddered and then looked up again and as if Aragorn had known Legolas had opened his eyes, the man lifted his head and saw the wide blue orbs staring up into his own gray ones, wondering if he were alright. Legolas' face was still pale and he lay in a contorted form nevertheless, unmoving but his eyes spoke volumes about his thoughts.

After the ordeal Legolas had just gone through, Aragorn was touched to know his best friend was seeing if he was well first. When the Elf's sharp eyes caught the scarlet water running from the man's tunic he knew Aragorn was wounded and he cried up towards the ranger in a horror filled cry, "Thorongil!"

But it was then Legolas realized he could not hear, or at least, not like he used to. Everything was muffled and sounded so far away, even his own voice. He felt cold fear clutch at his stomach in a tight and frigid knot that threatened to grow and break through.

Everything had seemed unreal to begin with, now it was totally surreal and Legolas found himself floating in the juxtaposition of two worlds; fantasy and reality. He felt like he was dying and yet he felt nothing at all and seemed to be watching time drag by in slow motion. Why was it the painful moments seemed to last forever and the joyous faded so fast?

Legolas did not know and he determined rather quickly now was not the time to wonder.

He swallowed hard and saw Aragorn looking at him with dropped jaw and saying something, but he could not hear it. He was going deaf or slowly dying, he couldn't differentiate. The Elf did not even remember what had happened exactly, but he knew he had fallen and he knew he had felt a terrific jolt go through him, running around in his insides and feeling like it as unwinding him through and through.

"Thorongil!" he cried up to Aragorn as the man suddenly found himself surrounded by the enemy. The Elf's cry was desperate and overwhelmed and it delved into the ranger's heart as he realized his friend needed him and he couldn't be there. But he had no time for further thought about Legolas, his men or the rising rain water…anything. All his thought now went to the enemy that surrounded him in a tight, merciless mass.

The precipitation was coming in buckets and Legolas felt the flowing water rising about him, cold and tickling. The ground had been so hard form lack of rain that in this rainy season flash floods were not uncommon.

As the torrential rains spilled around him, Legolas watched in a haze as his best friend was set in bonds and lead away to only the Valar knew where. This didn't make Legolas despair, at least, not in the initial thoughts and reactions. His initial thoughts were intense wrath and a longing to deliver death to every last one of those cursed Haradrim men and personally scalp their leader. But seeing as how that was not possible, he began to retreat into an abyss of guilt and mourning that he felt was well earned on his part.

If only he had been quick enough, if only he had been there when Aragorn needed him most. Cursing himself inwardly in every tongue he knew and even considering for a brief moment making up a few of his own, the Elf-prince felt hot tears burn his eyes despite the cold rain and biting winds. He wanted to scream, but that would do no good.

Aragorn struggled as many warriors of the Haradrim pressed him down and made him completely immobile; he was all but suffocating. But his wound did not allow him to grapple much anyway. He kicked with his feet as the faint and fleeting opportunity arouse but as he did, the javelin was yanked out with a distinguished twist followed by a sickening popping sound and the ranger lurched forward accompanied by a cry before he was slammed into the ground harshly by his subjugators.

His face was smeared into the mud and grime and when that didn't put an end to his fighting a hand came and tangled itself in his dark and wet hair before using it as a painful handle to slam his skull into the ground. Stars danced before Aragorn's eyes and he struggled very little now as he was pulled up to his knees and his arms yanked behind him, and then twisted brutally for good measure before being tightly bound and rebound with thick hemp. A man, with dark eyes and a muscular build stood before him, spear in hand.

He was tall too, as far as Haradrim went and the way he carried himself lead the captive to believe that he was one of distinguished rank among the Southron Men. War paint of a bright red color was about his face and drawn in extravagant designs. He had earrings of gold and a nose ring with a red stone set in it.

His right hand tightly clenched a sword and Aragorn noticed absentmindedly that he had many rings upon it, including a seal of the Haradrim. He was a prince among them then or someone close to the King in one way or another.

"Greetings, Ranger," he said haltingly, Westron spoken by the rangers was not his first language and he wanted Aragorn to hear every word he said. This was not exactly a comforting thought, but Aragorn was too groggy at the moment to really try and discern the man's dark purpose. All he knew was that he was wet, miserable, weary, and first and foremost, utterly furious.

"For so I hold you," the Harad man went on slowly. "None would fight half so well and," he sneered suddenly, "and my intelligence reports you are close to the Elf-spy." He tapped his fingers on his sword hilt rhythmically as though he was calculating what to say next. The annoying sound got on Aragorn's nerves and made him feel even more uncomfortable than he was.

Aragorn twisted in his bonds and strong hands gripping his bound arms so tightly bruises were left, held him firmly in place. He glared up at the man with degenerate and uncaring eyes that still sparked a fierce defiance in their own way.

"Where is the Elf? He wouldn't die so easily." said the man as he watched the mute ranger with amused eyes that glittered in a flash of lightning. The Haradrim man then drove his boot into Aragorn's stomach, causing more hot blood to suddenly burst out of his collarbone wound. "Where is the Elf?"

The captor's attention was momentarily distracted as he watched other prisoners get rounded up at spear point. It was enough time for the hostage ranger to grit his teeth in agony and he doubled into himself against the hands holding him.

The Haradrim mortal narrowed his eyes and said in a commanding voice, "have you nothing to say?"

"Not for your ears, Slave of Sauron," spat the ranger back with difficulty. He was certain that the words 'Slave of Sauron' were not necessary to answer to stupid question (in his opinion), but in his usual manner, he had to infuriate his captors to madness. Of course he didn't do that on purpose, but he never could really stop himself either. Elrond was convinced that this was something the twins had taught him, the young Dúnadan recalled gloomily.

The rain, tumbling down still in buckets, provided little help for the interrogation of the prisoner. And when the Haradrim warrior thought about it more, it provided no help. He glanced at the captain to his left and nodded, "We are moving out. I can't imagine even an Elf surviving out in this."

CHAPTER TWO

Silent Storms and Clandestine Dreams

He was stupid. That was the conclusion the blonde Elf came to as he lay in the bottom of the reviving stream. Staring up at the steep embankment, the fair-haired being known there was not a chance a man or Elf could get up that. He watched the rain come and he watched the lightning flash, unable to hear the thunder roll. He had been stupid for believing that a single arrow could have saved his friend when there had still been over fifty foes on their feet with more coming. He had been stupid for trying to convince the men to trust him. In summation, he had just been really stupid. No… extremely stupid and under the influence of a gripping madness.

Now Aragorn was captured and most likely soon to be dead. And he was trapped down here, unable to do anything. You can't predict the lightning you fool, he told himself with an inward shake of the head. However, he still felt like an idiot for getting trapped on the edge of a cliff in the first place. Were his fighting capabilities no better than that?

Looking to his right, he saw the pasty white face of a dead man, a Gondorian man. With eyes glazed over and blood running from his nose and mouth to mix into he water, which alone was enough to make Legolas sick. And the fact that the deceased mortal was up stream and the bloodied water flowed over Legolas as the Elf was still stricken immobile from being so close to the lightning's impact was not helping his stomach's strange feeling either. If anything it was enhancing its abilities to create vomit. The water was a repulsive and deep crimson and still turning darker with enemy and allied blood alike. He noticed one thing that gave him a twisted regret: all of the blood was red, none of it was black. There had been no orcs, simply men fighting men…and himself, the only Elf.

Legolas felt his feeling coming back and he felt his nerves regaining their control over his body, but his hearing was not returning and that was a bit frightening. He had never realized how much he had relied on hearing alone. It gave a whole new meaning to the saying; "you never know what you've got until it's gone".

The blonde being could see the water rising slowly but surely and he knew it was get out of the fast flowing water or die. He began to work his numb and freezing fingers first, clenching and unclenching them. He knew the blood was still in them of course, but the fact that they were cold from the water was not helping. It felt like they were detached from his body except for the fact that occasionally they gave him slight twinges of pain as he supposed they were getting cut upon the rocks.

It was rushing to his face now and his golden hair streamed out about him and washed over his eyes as the water began to rise quicker. He gulped the frigid air and struggled, pressing his boots against the rocks and boulders for support. He had to keep his head above the surface. He could feel the icy water closing in and biting his flesh, freezing him and he began to shake. Suddenly the urge to sleep became very strong and his blonde head stopped jerking and leaping out of the water.

What was he fighting for? This was it, everything was over. This was the end of all his hopes and dreams. This was the end of everything. Dying didn't sound too painful and the frigidness of the water seemed to lulling him gently to sleep as he felt the current taking him along. Besides, if he were dead, he would get to rest…and that sounded so…peaceful, so wonderful that he let his muscles relax.

He ceased struggling and just watched the clouds roll across the sky in flickering forms as lightning ripped holes in them with purple streaks. He wasn't frightened anymore, at least for himself, he realized with a stab of guilt that was not easily suppressible.

Aragorn was captured, or lying dying somewhere, with a wound that from what the Elf had seen, was mortal. He had failed his friend and would only help the enemy if he stopped fighting now. Aragorn would fight for him, and Legolas knew it. It was the least he could do to drag himself form the watery grave he was meant to have and track Aragorn on foot.

The current swept him under suddenly and water filled his nose and as he gaped it rushed to fill his mouth and enter into his lungs to suffocate him. He looked around under the current and saw the corpses of more men, floating by his side, showing him what he would be if he stopped now. Legolas felt fear grow inside and blowing bubbles through is mouth, he narrowed his eyes, glaring down at a huge boulder below that he was sinking to rest with. It was dark and he could only see it because of the way the water parted around it.

He was slammed into it feet first and pressing against it with all he had left, Legolas forced a way to the surface of the sinuous river. Once his head broke the frothing crest of the water, Legolas reached a hand up to brush his loose, blonde hair from his face, where it had been plastered and he drew a deep breath. You never could realize just how sweet even horribly foul air was until you have been deprived of it, mused Legolas to himself. Not that this air was foul, but if it had been he was certain it would have still tasted like honey, or maple sugar, if air had a flavor that was recognizable.

Another boulder ahead that jutted out of the water offered hope and the Elf let the current take him to it and plaster him against it. Then, all but giving it a huge hug, he managed to climb so only his waist and below was in the water.

Clutching its jagged surface and feeling it cut his skin, Legolas knew he was still alive and this wasn't some nightmare. Then, he coughed and a slight bit of water came up from his lungs, answering the question as to why his breathing had been hampered when he seemingly had no water in the organs. At least he knew he was still breathing. Just keep thinking those positive thoughts, he told himself silently with an inward and sardonic grin.

Resting his face on the rock, he took in all the air he could and then he finally felt hot tears begin to run down his pale and nearly transparent cheeks, creating their own littler rivers to join the oscillating water that would splash up and froth about his features. At first he felt incredibly stupid. He didn't know why he was crying, but he was. He hadn't cried like this in a while and an acute feeling of helplessness and hopelessness set in. But then the reason for the tears came to him in a reminder of painful clarity.

Shivering, he let the tears fall. He had lost Aragorn, he was all alone and half-dead. He was freezing and he had no knowledge of the world about him. Legolas had never really traveled this far South. His knowledge was only the things Aragorn had taught him.

The rivers all flowed South. Though he had known that himself, it didn't hurt that Aragorn had reminded him, forgetting he was dealing with a couple thousand and some years old Elf. But Aragorn had told him that since this was a desert climate, the people of Harad often built their towns and strong hold along the rivers.

Still crying and biting back sobs of failure, the Elf thought glumly that ending up in a Haradrim village was about the last thing he needed to have happen. He had no desire to get sacrificed or turned into a slave of only Valar knew what sort with these people. His shoulders shook and he couldn't hold back sobs of bitter despair, fear, and anger.

He felt like he as dying inside even if he was alive on the outside. Legolas narrowed his eyes and yelled at the water"my friend is in trouble and you are holding me back" He snarled"curse you" He didn't care if it was stupid to scream at water, it made him feel better to vent his frustrations and wrath upon something reasonably tangible.

This water was not the water of the river Nimrodel, and it was not friendly with Elves to begin with, so naturally Legolas felt his anger returned. He didn't care and he crinkled his blonde brows in fierce bitterness. Not able to blame this situation on anyone else, he blamed it on the water, rushing, frothing, pulling at him, calling him to die and forget the greatest friend in the world.

He choked and cried"I failed" He sobbed irrepressible and then he closed his eyes to try and block out the situation he as in. He couldn't hear, he was trapped and freezing, Aragorn was captured or worse.

He then remembered something that Aragorn had told him long ago, you are my best friend Legolas. Whenever you feel like you are in trouble and can't go on, just remember that and remember that I will do anything to help you. Even travel leagues upon leagues in a few days if need be.

This was some encouragement and Legolas felt his tears stop abruptly as though on command and a temporary calmness filled his mind. If Aragorn would do that for him, then he would do the same back. What was he doing feeling sorry for himself and letting undeserved guilt weigh him down? It would mean going further South into Manwë alone knew what dangers, but that was where he was going.

Recalling how his father had often called him insane, Legolas managed to crack a smile as he saw the truth in the allegation. He gave a wry and emotionless laugh before he looked at the water and watched it flame up in its fury against the rock he was clinging against for dear life. It was not going to get the best of him and he smirked at it darkly, as though it was a foe he had longed to defeat for a long time and finally sent to the Halls of Waiting.

Now, there was one problem that remained as far as this dilemma in the water went; getting free of the large and meager salvation of the reef without drowning. That was going to be a challenge he had never even dimly thought of in his craziest and most dark dreams.

As he was pressed to the rock by the force of the water current, he watched things slip by, bodies, lost and forlorn, fallen trees, arrows and leaves, fading and gliding past as though they had wings and the water were the air. Staring at the water himself once more, he began to see it as a devious being of its own. He snickered inwardly and wondered if Ulmo, Lord of the Waters was as devious as the water seemed to be at the moment.

He wouldn't find trouble believing it and then he wondered if Ulmo might be merciful enough to calm these wrathful waters and spare him. However, he doubted that as one of the top ten things on the god's list.

He saw a dead horse float by and that in itself was not surprising, many of them had to have been wounded and unable to gallop to the safety of the hills and higher placed woods. As Haradrim warriors popped up from beneath the current, Legolas felt strangely satisfied, for he saw a green and yellow feathered shaft sticking from the enemy's throat. It was satisfying to know he had slain at least one of these humans-if indeed that was the right word for them-who had injured his friend and slain many men with families.

Others might have felt a slight guilt, but not Legolas. It wasn't like he had wanted to kill these men to start with. He never wanted to go to war with Aragorn and hoped he never would again. But all was fair in love and war, or so he had heard. It was kill or be killed. He didn't enjoy it like some warriors of other races did. Of course the fact that he was rationalizing made him wonder if he did have some guilt somewhere inside. Reminding himself that war had killed those men, not himself, the Elf decided he would have to let go of the rock before he was going anywhere.

This was kind of laughable, because when he was younger, before his mother's death, he had been walking with her and had gotten stuck up in a tree. A simple walk had been too much to ask for and she had the hardest time just getting him to let go of one branch and grip another to gradually begin to climb down.

Now he was on his own and had to force himself to let go with no guidance. But he as older now, so he could do this, right? Not exactly. Looking at his fingers, holding on so tightly they were white at the knuckles he frowned and narrowed his eyes.

Willing his hand to shift one finger from its deadlock position in a crevice, he felt a thrill of victory that swiftly ebbed and was lost when a wave of water made him return his tight grip. Cursing himself, the blonde prince finally just placed his faith in Ulmo's mercy and let his grip slide free.

Instantly the rapids engulfed him and he felt strangely calm. He felt a strangeness of calmness and detachment followed by hope, a combination of emotions that one was not most likely to feel as he sank beneath the surface of the rapids and was in dire danger of drowning.

He looked at the surface longingly for a moment and then let the water take him. It was odd that for being an Elf and living for a long time compared to a human, nothing could have ever prepared him for this. He felt like he was in another world. He wasn’t frightened anymore, but in awe.

A mass of rising and bursting bubbles beneath the surface of the churning and foaming water caught Legolas' eye and he stared at it intensely. Still contemplating the thought of how the bubbles were swirling into neat shapes and sparkled like purple and nebulous stars, he came to the realization that they pointed out a dip in the rapids and a place to get pulled under and swirled around enough to suck the breath out and force the water into the lungs.

He remembered when Elrohir had been pulled out of the water after slipping from the top of a dam (while trying to pull a potentially lethal stunt of course) and how he had been so shaken, Elladan couldn't travel within site of the dam while in the company of Elrohir. Elrohir had been nearly drowned and frightened out of his mind for weeks. Of course they had all found it funny after a while, but in the beginning it was hardly amusing.

Legolas did not have much time to ponder this before he was pulled suddenly much farther under the superficies of the water than he had ever thought and for a brief moment a look of trepidation and confusion crossed his fair face.

Then everything blurred and he was twisted in the water. He felt the liquid sneaking its way into his mouth as he parted his lips to scream. His hair became wrapped around his face and he slammed into something and had the sensation of vomit rising in the back of his throat as the thought that it could be a corpse. He worked on keeping his mouth closed but the want to scream and vomit was very nearly overpowering.

Something hard hit his head and sent a shocking and immediate amount of pain throughout his body and a blinding light through his vision before blackness loomed before him. He felt himself glide as graceful as a fish through warm water into nothingness.

O0O0O0O0O0O

Eru, Legolas! Thought Aragorn with a worried frown. He heard the river rushing as he was led away and would have preferred at that point in his life to know nothing of the word drowning, nor the facts about flash floods that he knew, and thus salvage some hope for his lost friend.

The harsh fact was that he didn't believe that Legolas was coming back. He wasn’t going to white wash it, though it would feel better if he did, it would do nothing to help the situation. Being optimistic was all well and good to a point, but totally ignoring reality was quite another. Ignoring reality could result in untimely deaths and tragic accidents, not to mention depression when one realized the truth of a matter was far from his calmest and most imaginable dreams.

But now was hardly the time to get all philosophical about life, he told himself as he felt the hard grip of a Haradrim warrior sent a numb feeling through his arm as it pinched a nerve. The wound in his chest was hardly ebbing in its pain and that was a bit disturbing but it was to be expected. It was getting much worse, actually and so was the weather.

Water was frothing about his ankles, with small sticks and other minute debris dancing on the surface. All the enemy warriors around him looked tense as they escorted the prisoners to a group of Oliphaunts reserved for taking them to Manwë or Namo knew where. They obviously knew the situation was graver than originally expected.

It was not a comforting thought at all to consider the fact that these warriors had lived here their whole lives. They knew everything about the land, from weather to landscape, had planned this attack most likely according to weather and climate and now were giving the expression that their plans were dashed.

Of course for the war, this was a good thing, but for the fortune of himself and the other misfortunate captives, this was hardly a nice position to be in at all. He had the ominous feeling that things were going to go from bad to worse and that he and his companions were out of the frying pan and into the fire.

His wound was throbbing and he could still feel the hot blood running down his tunic front and turning it crimson. With a stab of pain, he stumbled and nearly fell over. He cursed his growing weakness from the excessive loss of blood and stubbornly rose up again where he had tripped onto his knees.

As he raised his eyes to see what was taking place around him, he saw a guard with a hand on his sword hilt as he watched the ranger. Aragorn gave the man a hard and defiant glare and then began to walk forward. These men were obviously not afraid to cut down the dying and had no qualms about spilling further blood without death.

Why did he keep thinking in this frightening logic? Legolas was the one who always saw the dark side before he saw the brighter side. But Legolas wasn't here, he reminded himself sharply and he felt his heart slow in his own chest as he thought of his friend broken upon the rocks and…dead. He had to be drowned by now, the water was roaring and he could hear it as he was led away.

As they neared the Oliphaunts, there was a board, revealed in a flash of lightning, that carried prisoners and supplies up to be packed onto the creature's broad back. As Aragorn watched some men being shoved onto it to that the structure was overly packed, he felt slightly more sick than he had before, if indeed that was possible.

The guards must have experienced quite a show as the ranger's face changed from white to ashen gray to a sickly green and then to a white tone again all in about ten seconds. Aragorn was watching the water rise deviously about his ankles and observing the strong undertow when he heard a scream that sounded for the entire world like a wild cat in its death throes. '

Looking up once more he saw a shadow fall from the board and crash to the ground below and as he gazed further he saw the neck of the man was bent at a strange and unnatural angle. The Haradrim were none too gently or caring about the body and gripping it cast it aside without the slightest compunction.

When it was his turn along with other numerous prisoners, he was shoved forward and pressed in tight with his captured men. As they were hauled up one of them said"Captain, where is the Elf"

His tone sounded genuinely remorseful and anxious for the blonde prince. Aragorn sighed and said"he is lost."

The young man who had inquired looked at his companions and then at his feet in shame. Drawing a deep and broken breath, the man said"I am sorry to have lost him." The soldier watched as flashes of pain, memory, sorrow and wonder danced across Aragorn's face all at once. It was truly a sad scene that would have touched the hardest soul.

"So am I" said Aragorn softly and he looked away further South, to where the lightning was flickering across the sky. The lightning had claimed his friend's life, and yet it was so beautiful and fascinating.

A soft voice to his right asked"Captain Thorongil, Prince Legolas was killed quickly, right" Aragorn turned to look at the young man who was about eighteen and a smile faintly formed on his face as he realized what the young man was trying to say him.

"I like to think so, Sirith"answered the young Dúnadan thoughtfully as he listened to the thunder rumbling in the distance as the storm moved away to trouble other places. But he knew that wasn't true…Legolas had drowned…suffocated…the most lengthy death and most frightening that he could think of.

Sirith had been one of the men that had taken the time to talk with Legolas like he as one of them and not some stranger who had no feelings. Legolas and Sirith had gotten along rather well and Aragorn had the feeling that Legolas felt child-like again when he was around the boy. He knew Legolas would be grieved to know of Sirith's capture.

Aragorn saw Legolas again, his body lying on the jagged rocks, twisted and looking broken. He could not imagine looking up through the rushing water pressing you down and seeing the sky in all its majesty above as you died…

The boy asked"Captain, where did he go…when he died" He hoped it was someplace good. He could not see Legolas going to a horrible place when he had so much faith and always seemed so kind and serene.

"He went to the Halls of Waiting to be with his grandfather and his mother" Aragorn answered as he watched the boy's face convey both pain and relief. Aragorn felt like he was going to cry buckets in about a minute. He had not thought of this sort of emotional stuff before and now that young Sirith was bringing them up, they hurt.

Sirith looked at Aragorn's shoulder and he grimaced"you are wounded, sir."

Aragorn nearly snickered at the boy's naiveté but the pain was a bit too real for that and said gently"I am. But I will be all right. Rest assured." It was a lie, but it obviously a whole lot better than the truth right now. He knew how Legolas had felt when he had been younger and the Elf had received a cut. The ranger had told him and Legolas looked at him with one raised brow in a sort of laughing pose and gave him a sarcastic no-do-you-really-think-so look.

Sirith asked one final question before they were at the top of the beast and ready to be secured, to be transported away. "Are you sure, sir"

"You have been following Prince Legolas far too much for your own good" teased the ranger. Sirith looked crestfallen and Aragorn bit his lip to not smile despite the dark situation. Then he remembered Legolas was no longer around to mother him and he no longer had to bit his lip to keep back a smile, he had to bite his lip to keep from crying. The sudden change in emotion was so fast, it would put an Elf's work with a bow to shame.

"I am sorry, Captain, but he told me to look after you if anything should happen to him, a while back" confessed the young mortal with a tear springing into his eye.

Aragorn turned a pair of dead serious grey eyes upon the younger human and asked in a flat tone"when did he tell you that"

"After he woke up from a dream, sir"replied the soldier swiftly, trying to please his captain and friend. "He saw you sleeping, said something in Elvish and then turned bright eyes on me. It was during my watch" he added quickly as t the explanation on why he was even awake. "He said he didn't think he was going to be going home and made me promise to make you treat your wounds."

Aragorn felt a tear melt from his eye and slip down his face. He had wondered why Legolas had been so quiet lately and so quick to anger and frustration. He had known he was going to die. Anger burned in Aragorn's heart. Why had Legolas not told him? That stubborn secretive Elf! He fumed inwardly, tears streaming from his eyes.

He found it slightly amusing though that Legolas had known he, Estel, was going to get wounds. Aragorn guessed that he had received them often enough and it was pretty much predictable. But the ranger also found it highly annoying that Legolas would think someone younger was more capable of looking after him than he himself.

He placed a hand on his wound and it came off wet with blood. Aragorn really had no idea why he felt so surprised. Sirith asked in a soft whisper"does it hurt, sir"

"It does indeed, Sirith" Aragorn said in an absorbed voice that sounded very close to being completely lost. "But I don't mind." His eyes took on a lost look and he watched the world far below washing away, and the bodies floating by in the fast rising water. This pain was better than the pain of loss and so he would rather be distracted by it than by his grieving heart.

Sirith seemed to understand and said nothing, but looked at his boots with sorrow and despair.

CHAPTER THREE

These Wounds We Bear

There is nothing that fear and hope does not permit men to do.
-Marquis De Vauvenargues

Legolas opened his eyes gradually and looked wearily about himself. Sandy grit half covered the blonde Elf and stuck in his hair that as plastered like a blonde paste to his neck and face. Brushing it out of the way to better his vision, the prince saw that it as dawn. A new morning and as he laid on the sandy side of the rushing river he realized it was also a new chance. He had to admit this was not entirely what he had expected. Well, waking with the sandy grit half covering his body was expected but other than that things seemed to be going strangely.

Sighing, he suddenly coughed and a considerable amount of water spilled from his mouth. Wheezing, the blonde Elf tried to sit up and found it made things worse. Fallen trees and large rocks swirled and merged into surreal images and he sank back onto his stomach setting his cheek against the cold gritty 'soil'. It felt like everything in his body was detached. He couldn't really explain the feeling and for a temporary moment his memory lapsed and he could not bring up the slightest recollection of why he was here, half-drowned and miserable.

Then all memory of the prior night flooded back and he moaned wearily at the sad and painful thoughts. But he still had no real idea of where he was. That was more disturbing than it was annoying.

This was perfect! He thought satirically.

The sun was bright and he could feel its heat on his back. Rolling over onto his back, the nearly drowned being watched the clear sky curiously. Just last night it had been storming without mercy. Now there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the cruel heat fell to the earth's surface.

It was then that Legolas remembered where he was and he moaned once more into the hot air of the morning. "Oh, Estel. I am sorry. Where are you" Closing his eyes against his pain as much as against the bright light of the sun, which he felt he didn't deserve to see, Legolas Greenleaf resisted the urge to cry in his misery.

He had to go and find Aragorn or die trying. He knew his father would rather he came home alive and if the older Elf was here right now Legolas knew he would be getting the lecture of a lifetime.

A brightly colored, exotic bird sat on a branch nearby and Legolas saw it moving its mouth in song, but he did not hear it. He then remembered the lightning and recalled bitterly that his hearing was lost. He couldn't even hear himself breathing.

Realizing he had a gift given to him by surviving, Legolas willed himself to get up and begin to walk. He was weaponless; everything lost in the torrential rainwater that had washed him away. It was a frightening thought. If he did catch up to the Haradrim, then he would be unable to fight and he was more or less sacrificing himself to let Aragorn know he wasn't alone. As he walked he began to wonder if the 'gift' was more of a curse. As far as he was concerned his life at the moment was wretched, nothing more.

As much as Legolas wanted to be there for Aragorn, he wasn't stupid. Doing that would be what an idiot would do. He would have to rely on secrecy and the power of his cloak to hide him. But that would never work, especially if he got into the heart of their kingdom or stronghold.

Walking further, Legolas knew he was at a severe disadvantage because of his hearing loss. He could be walking into an ambush and never know it, unless he saw it set up with his own eyes. The Elven prince had never before realized how much he had relied on his healing. Glaring at the sand as he walked, as if it was its fault, the immortal's blue eyes became dark, storming slits of self-bound anger.

Looking over to his left he saw something against the horizon. A long row of moving oliphaunts. They had huge structures on their backs, swaying gently with the great beasts' slow and large strides. Legolas looked closer, squinting against the sun and his eyes widened when he saw that these oliphaunts were loaded with prisoners.

Face contorted in fear, Legolas Greenleaf watched the slave drivers lash out at the bound men simply for fun. If Aragorn was with them, Legolas was horrified to even think about what they were doing to his friend. But he was also angry. If he had his bow he might have sneaked in closer and shot some of the Haradrim warriors from their mounts. That would certainly be satisfying.

If these were the same prisoners Legolas realized that he would have little chance of rescuing Aragorn until dark came. He would have to simply trail the caravan of warriors and captives.

Stumbling and nearly falling over with weariness and strangely enough, with dehydration, the prince placed his hands on his knees and bowed over for a second to catch his breath. This was not natural and it certainly was alarming that his energy and sense of balance should be deteriorating so fast. He suspected the balancing problems spawned from his ear troubles, so there was really no way around those. His head felt so detached from his body that he placed a hand on his throat to make sure that there wasn't an empty space between his shoulders and head. Nope, his neck was there and he was surprised it wasn’t broken for how twisted it felt. What his father would say if he saw him in this state, Legolas had no idea and he really was beyond caring.

O0O0O0O

It was some time later, when darkness had crept over the land and the cold winds blew once more that the oliphaunts stopped and the prisoners were lowered down to be fed and get rest. But everyone knew that there was never really a 'rest' for the prisoners, just a slight reprieve from their absolute misery. The Haradrim warriors would still perform interrogations and such things at night when there was a proper place to bind a prisoner.

Legolas shifted his feet uneasily in the wet sand and mud as he waited for the exact and right moment to sneak forward a few meager feet closer to their vast camp. Many watch fires burned and that alone told Legolas they expected the men of Gondor to retaliate.

He was being watched for.

Weaponless, the Elf had no idea what he was going to do if he was surrounded. A shadow fell over the blonde being and the prince slowly turned around to see one of the large mounts grazing in the moonlight. But something else moved… another shadow. Even though Legolas could not hear him, he knew there was a man of Harad, in the briars, watching vigilantly over the pasturing oliphaunts.

He was going to have a hard time getting past the oliphaunt's gaze. They were not fond of Elves, remembering the dark days where Elves had been forced to kill them in battles. Legolas was surprised they could remember back that far, being only animals, but they did and he had long ago accepted it as being one of nature's oddities.

Finally, after what seemed a century, Legolas crept forward a few more yards. He was thus far not discovered, but it was only a matter of time before he was taken prisoner as well. Perhaps a wiser Elf might have gone back for help, but where would he go and who would he go to? There was no one else he could confide in. He could not hear, and he knew the harsh fact that he was as good as dead at the moment as it was. But he would rather be killed trying to protect his friend or save him than he would any other way.

Narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brows, the Elven prince flipped his hood over his head and pushed his face deeply into it, hoping to be less noticeable. Now that he was closer, he could see the faces of the men, Haradrim, cruel and many.

The sight of the tattooed and painted cutthroats was chilling, but the conditions of the Gondorian prisoners tore at his heart. They were bound extremely tightly and quite a fair share of them bore gruesome wounds that would in the end prove fatal. Remembering how Aragorn had a wound and realizing now that he saw his friend nowhere, the blonde being willed himself not to sigh in despair.

This had to be by far the hardest and most despairing situation he had found himself locked within for quite some time, well, he thought with an inward shake of the head, that was if you disregarded the Corsairs. But that hardly bore any remembrance and he gave a small frown as he further studied the camp about him.

There were many Harad warriors; more than he thought his father had Elven warriors. They must have gathered from every corner of the Southern country. The wind blew and Legolas held perfectly still hoping that the soft and nearly inaudible ruffles of his cloak didn't give his position away. After a few moments of nothing incidental occurring and thinking he was clear, Legolas wriggled forwards just a little in his crouched position. He was nearing the circle of firelight from one of the large watch fires and was about to stop when something slammed into him.

A look of surprise and anger crossed Legolas' fair face before he was smashed to the ground on his stomach and his chin brutally connected with the damp soil. Cursing his luck and being found and counting his blessings for not biting his own tongue off, the Elf looked around slightly bewildered. The blow had seemingly come out of nowhere and he rued the fact that if he had his hearing still he might have heard the attack coming. But as it was he did not.

He tried to roll over to see who his attacker was but whoever it was snarled his fingers in a good sized handful of golden-hair and slammed Legolas' forehead into the hard ground with violent force causing the Elf to cry out softly. Feeling blood running down his face from where his soft skin must have come in sharp contact with a rock, Legolas blinked stupidly and tried to roll over onto his back again.

He should have known that that was never going to be allowed to happen so when a strong hand twisted one of his arms abruptly if not angrily Legolas was hardly surprised. The way the arm was twisted created enough pain to convince him that the more he struggled the more pain he would find himself in. Some blood trickled into his eyes and burned them. Shaking his head to try and relieve the tickling and burning blood on his face, the prince dug his booted feet into the soft soil and tried to pry himself out of the grasp of his assailant.

It was not even meagerly affective and so he stopped and just rested his chin on the ground. It wasn't that he had given up, he just happened to know when it wasn't worth the trouble to fight because it was going to be fruitless in the end no matter how much pain you went through to get there.

Apparently satisfied that the Elf was no longer battling him, the attacker suddenly, in one swift and fluent move, flipped Legolas onto his back. The Elf stared up into the face of a Harad warrior, bright red with war paint. He scowled down at the Elf and placed a knee on Legolas' sternum, pressing it in so that it would be harmful to struggle anymore if he chose to apply any more pressure. Legolas felt the wind being slowly but most assuredly pressed from his lungs and he wheezed.

Glaring up at the man pinning him to the earth, Legolas let his eyes speak volumes about his contempt and displeasure. Nearly curling his upper lip in disdain, the Elf wondered absentmindedly what this man might look like with an arrow in his forehead. With an inward laugh Legolas decided that it would be an improvement and only felt unsatisfied that he was not able to place on there.

The man placed his spear point against the blonde prince's throat and said slowly"Elf, you will rise without any tricks. We know your kind and won't tolerate an escape attempt." Legolas didn't hear the harsh voice, but the man was speaking slow enough he could read the lips and knew roughly what was being said.

Legolas asked bitterly but with hardly any breath left to give a lethal tone"do I look stupid to you" The man had a spear to his throat, like he was going to try some sudden move to escape! That would be insanity.

Laughing, the man said"not exactly. But what you were trying to do was a fool's errand."

"What do you have here, Sarchel" asked a harsh voice, full of scorn and contempt for the other warrior, whom he really didn't like.

The man called Sarchel dug his knee further into Legolas' breast bone causing the Elf to stifle a cry and try to squirm clear of the dull pain. Something that he found highly degrading, having to squirm. "An Elf, Captain Darcíl. He was sneaking about and up to no good I warrant."

"I bet he was up to plenty of good" said the other"good thing you caught him" The Captain sneered down at the pinned Elf with scorn in his eyes. "Prince Dorrag will be very much pleased."

Legolas glared up at this new human with utter loathing and the man just smiled. That was something that got on the blonde prince's nerves, but not nearly as much as being unable to hear what was being said of him.

As he gazed up at Darcíl, he noticed that this man had many strange designs tattooed all over his chest and face. A snake wound about the man's neck, done in a bright blue color with a purple tint to outline the scales. Its eyes were made in red and long fangs protruded from its mouth in s snarl.

Legolas noticed also, that the man carried himself with much assured posture. He seemed to know exactly how much power he had and how much he could get away with. He also knew that those beneath him could be manipulated. His eyes spoke about his temper and sly nature.

Seeing Legolas looking at him he looked at the Elf and smiled brightly"welcome to the army of the Haradrim, Elf." Then, shifting his hard gaze at Sarchel he spat"have you searched him for weapons or valuable things, like maps"

The other man shook his head and said"all my strength has been at use keeping him in place." He gave the captive prince a dig with his spear point.

Darcíl rolled his eyes as though he thought Sarchel was a complete idiot, (which wasn’t far from his conclusions on the other man) and drawing out his scimitar, he touched the cold hard tip to Legolas' neck and pressed. "Now search him"

Legolas felt alarm rising in his throat as he felt the buttons to his suede tunic being undone and he jerked only to feel the prick of the blade against his neck. Struggling to control his breathing, the Elf tried not to let his fear slip into his gaze. Instead he allowed all the anger he felt and what extra he could gather to give expression to his façade.

Finding no weapons hidden beneath is tunic, the man saw the belt Legolas used to hold his knives at times and daggers. Unbuckling it, he searched the sheathes for their weapons and found them not. They had all been washed away in the flood.

Getting frustrated and wanting to please Darcíl, the man moved down to Legolas' leather boots and slipped those off, checking the insides for maps or boot daggers. When he found nothing he reached his hand up and grabbed Legolas' chin. Then drawing up close to the Elven face of his captive he asked hoarsely"where are your weapons"

Legolas could not hear the question and so he could not answer, he simply tried to twist away from the other's grip. Luckily for him Darcíl stepped in and said"we will take him to Prince Dorrag. If he is weaponless then he is harmless enough and our prince can do the interrogations himself."

Sarchel snorted"I don't trust him as far as I can shoot him." He backed away from the blonde Elf and Legolas glared up at the men darkly. He was more than angry at his treatment, though he couldn't really blame them. He and his Elves would probably do the same thing to one of them if they caught him. It was something to be expected.

Captain Darcíl shifted his scimitar and then told Sarchel"run and tell the prince we bring what he has been seeking." Glaring down at Legolas, he snapped"now put your boots on" Legolas didn't hear what the man said but as soon as the spear was removed from his throat and he was allowed to rise the Elf slipped his suede green boots back on for the sheer fact that they were far more comfortable than going barefooted on this terrain. He felt uncomfortable under the scrutinizing eyes of the Haradrim captain. They gave him an eerie feeling of vulnerability.

The tickle of the scimitar never left his back as he was forced to stand with his hands in the air. One arm was twisted behind his back and then the other and Legolas winced in pain as much as with contempt as he felt cords being tied tightly around his wrists.

Shoving Legolas forward he commanded"walk and no tricks Elf. We have sentinels all about and none are afraid to place a bolt in you" he added as a reminder that Legolas was the captive and was not above the threat of death.

O0O0O0O

Aragorn gazed angrily at the man to his left. "That Elf betrayed you and now we are being sent to our deaths. If I were you and I saw him again, I would slit his filthy little throat." The man spat. "So much for Elven loyalty."

"Damn it" argued Aragorn sternly. "He didn't do it! I saw him fall! He was killed, same as our comrades." His wound was hurting badly and he was hardly in the mood to deal with the stupidity and stubbornness of some of the men.

Young Sirith sat to his right and his eyes were on his boots. He missed Legolas, who had befriended him even though he was the outcast. He knew Legolas was loyal at heart and would never willingly let himself or Thorongil get hurt.

The man to Aragorn's left snarled"you just can't admit that even your friend betrayed you, can you Captain Thorongil" The ranger watched as the other's face turned into a bitter scowl. "He even betrayed young Sirith who trailed him around like a lost puppy. He has no heart, or if he has he can't find it."

"Just leave Legolas out of this" snapped Aragorn fiercely. "I am still your superior officer and I don't want to hear anymore, am I understood" A stab of vehement pain ran through Aragorn's wound and scored his chest. Crumpling his face in pain, the man said testily"I don’t want to talk about it"

Sirith looked at his captain and he felt ill.

Aragorn knew now all the men would believe that he thought Legolas was a traitor, but he couldn't help that. He as greatly disturbed that a great deal of evidence was against Legolas. But he could never believe that his friend had sold him out.

He knew that if Legolas were taken captive and threatened with anything horrible under the sun; the greatest torment an Elf could endure, he would suffer it to spare his friends.

Sirith suddenly shook Aragorn gently with his bound hands and said"Captain Thorongil, sir, they bring forth a new prisoner"

Aragorn opened his eyes with a jolt, as though he had been struck by lightning. He looked and saw Legolas walking stiffly towards the tent where he knew the Prince of the Haradrim was staying. There were harsh and quick words traded with the guards at the tent flap and then Legolas was shoved in.

Legolas stared with contempt at the man before him. He was responsible for all the death and destruction he had seen, all the hurt and turmoil. Anger seethed in Legolas heart and he narrowed his eyes at the Haradrim royalty before him. Seeing the expectant facial expression of the Haradrim lord, Legolas squared his shoulder in a way that resembled his father's form of carriage and observed with a sneer of loathing"You look disappointed. Too bad for you that I will bend my knee to no one, save my king and those I deem worthy of respect."

A sharp blow to his back with a spear shaft and Legolas found himself on his knees before the man with his head bowed in pain despite his recent words. This was a position -he decided quickly- that he didn't like very much. His blonde hair had slid to cover the slight pain on his face. He was glad his face was covered, because on top of being ready to go rabid with anger, he was humiliated. The cold humiliation only served to make his livid temper rise in a way that would make any sane person want to flee in terror or at the least feel very uncomfortable as long as Legolas still possessed his crystalline and icy blue eyes.

Prince Dorrag stood up and walked around too stand before Legolas. "You will bow on your knees before Prince Dorrag, Elf" demanded Sarchel with a sneer that equally matched Legolas' for malice and spite and he nodded to his lord as Legolas stayed knelt on the ground. Legolas felt this was kind of ironic considering he was a prince himself.

"You may be dismissed Sarchel. Captain Darcíl, stay if you will" stated the Haradrim prince as he leaned back against a large chair. The Haradrim captain nodded obediently and stepped back into the shadows, watching his liege from the darkness.

A small frown garnished his face as he watched Dorrag stare down the Elf he and Sarchel had brought. Sarchel was a stupid soldier, thought Darcíl dryly. He could follow orders, but really he was worthless when it came to plans and thinking ahead. Lazily, the captain looked at the lantern the provided some light in the tent, casting off an orange glow. He imagined that it was most likely Sarchel would have slain the Elf without thinking twice and regretted it later.

The prince of the Haradrim brushed the long blonde hair away form the captive's face with his large hand. Legolas glared up with venomous eyes that were still an understatement concerning his frame of mind.

Dorrag smirked calmly as he sank his muscular frame slowly into the comfort of the large chair. Fingering his overly large signet ring thoughtfully the man said"do you know why you were not killed"

Legolas could not hear the question except for a strange muffle sound. Well -he thought grimly- some of the hearing as returning anyway. Shifting his weight he raised his chin proudly and his eyes connected with his subjugator's in a clash of wills.

Dorrag continued scornfully"well, if I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise. " Turning over his plans once more in his head, he smiled at the thoughts that seemed so perfect. But even the most perfect plans could go astray. That is why he could suffer no errors, everything must be done delicately and flawlessly.

Of course with his idiot men, he highly doubted that was going to happen. His thought filled purely with scorn as he thought what morons he governed. Well, Captain Darcíl was not all that much of an idiot. He could lead men well, and not only that, conceived the mortal prince, he was excellent with creating splendid little plans that could escalate to huge disasters for the enemy.

He had wanted to capture a Firstborn since his men first shot one that for some unknown reason had been traveling south. He knew that they were in alliance with the men of Gondor. That was the entire problem. If the Elves were quiet like they used to be and continued to stay hidden in their little trees that would be fine, Sauron the Great would deal with them later. However they were coming abroad.

He had spies in many at least three out of Four Corners of the world. A disturbing message had come from the North saying that the Elves of the hidden fortress of Rivendell were with the Rangers, dying beside them and aiding them. Giving them Lembas bread and other strange attire. They were lending them their keen sight and hearing.

He had heard of two identical dark-haired Elves that were always with the rangers and abroad in Rohan, helping to keep Sauron at bay. They were supposedly the sons of Elrond but he had not the time or resources to capture them now.

The Haradrim could not afford these Firstborn to make a treaty with the Gondorians again and go to war. Their hearing and eyesight were too sharp and found the snipers Haradrim had set in trees. They discovered ambushes and found ways around them and they never tired. He also knew that they had the annoying ability to slay the oliphaunts without such much as getting their hair out of place.

He knew it was highly unlikely that the Gondorians were going to stand by and let these men he had taken remain prisoners. He also tossed over the idea in his da