Immortal
Prologue - The Hunter

Legolas was among those who found the wife of Lord Elrond after her ill-fated attack on the way home from Lothlórien.  His investigation of the matter lands him into trouble, not to mention painful, haunting memories.  (Heavy on Legolas and Elrond plots, non-slash)

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The blue dim that came before the stars was settling over the road and all was silent.  Not a sound came from the woods, nor did the wind whisper in the trees.  It was calm and pleasant, true—a night to revel in nature.  It was like the kind of peace that came when a storm was calling all energy to its bidding on a path of destruction not far away.  The kind of peace that trained eyes knew to be wary of.

There had been scant signs of life here for some few days.  A stray bird or rodent perhaps, but nothing that lingered within the forest near the road.  The sole being that did remain here despite all the warning signs had seen this type of quiet many times and knew the doom it foretold.  He sat high within one of the trees, his back leaned against the massive trunk and his eyes upon the ground, mindful of anything amiss.  Soon he would be on the move again, hunting that which had left little telltale signs of passage behind for the Elf to follow.  He did not take well to this sort of company intruding upon the grounds so near his home.

The quiet would betray the footsteps of most, but not this hunter.  He was skilled in the ways of stealth and could move without fear of being heard, even placed within a silent wood where the leaves had fallen to the ground for the season.  Moving to a crouch on his perch, Legolas of Mirkwood listened to the air and then dropped down below, fading fast from the brush of the forest.

He took right to the road, for he knew his quarry would not be near enough to merit the caution that would keep him away from a short examination of the grounds.  Sure enough there were the tracks in plain sight, footsteps made by heavy boots.  Legolas bent down and touched his hand to the soft earth, trying to ascertain how many may have passed and if there were any foreign footprints mixed in.  The number had been more than a few, he thought, but not so many that he could not handle if he were swift and careful.  He could see no sign that there had been anyone else with them, but by experience he knew that meant very little.  Many had been carried off to their dooms in the inevitable location he knew he must go to solve this mystery.

Straightening, Legolas ran back into the trees off road and broke into a sprint, following along side the path.  His far-reaching sight could not find them in any direction, but he would guard himself against what may lay ahead.  Who could foretell what doom may lay hidden in the shadows on up ahead?  They were near enough at least to use caution while tailing them.  He could catch up to them by morning, he felt certain.  Then he could see what mischief they were up to.  Orcs could never be doing anything good, never anything greater than reprehensible.

Not that he made practice of following orcs whenever the opportunity presented itself, but the slain Elves he had found when morning dawned had bothered him greatly, had angered him.  The horses had been stripped of their meat and left beside the bodies of their masters, Elves with the dark hair and dressing that suggested Imladris.  There had been three tormented males that had more than likely served as guards to the lady that belonged to the single shoe he had found on the road.  She could not be found anywhere on the site; they had to have taken her.  He liked not to think on what they could be doing to an Elf-maid away from the reaches of her home.

He had his bow and his sword ready for when he would be forced to see it first-hand.  They would pay for their crime.  That he would see to with all due haste.

The Prince of Mirkwood ran the whole of the night, rested well enough and driven by the need to see this through.  He could not bear to see any come to the tormenting hands of the servants of darkness.  He hated it.

When dawn broke upon the horizon Legolas stopped and studied the woods ahead of him, listening for the sounds of birds.  There was not a song to be heard, which told him that the orcs could not be far ahead.  He would have to mind his surroundings with greater caution now.  Slipping from among the trees he approached the road slowly, peering from around the side of a great oak, but could see little through the dense forest ahead.  The entrance to the High Pass was very close.  His quarry had likely ascended the mountain trail and taken to black, hidden dens within.

Drawing his bow, Legolas retreated into the brush and began towards the Pass with a firm intent.  The air was deathly still, but his ears caught the hint of something nearby.  No creature of the forest would dare remain near to an orc camp.  It had to be a sign of his prey.

He was quick and skilled, not breaking a stick or stirring a leaf as he headed on towards the noise ahead.  As he neared he soon recognized the deep voices of the dark ones.  The words became clear to him all too soon and he stopped to listen, soon to regret that he did so.

“Tired of bleeding the Elf-witch, huh?”  The voice rasped into the ears of the prince and he set his jaw in anger.

The beast’s companion rumbled a terrible laugh.  “She’s unconscious.  Fragile little thing as Elves go.  I’m getting hungry though.  You ever tasted an Elf?”

The former snarled in disgust.  “She’d barely feed one of us.  Best to just toy with her and leave her dead where her kind can find her.”

Knowing that time was not on the side of the one taken, Legolas hunkered down and drew nearer, seeing them now from the shadows.  A large one with glittery eyes seemed to be watching his companion with a suspicious glare.  “You want her for yourself!” he accused, drawing his sword.   The prince knit his brow, aghast at the quarrelsome nature of orcs.

“What?” the other piped in quickly, hefting itself up and standing ready.  “I said no such thing!”

“Yeah, but you was thinkin’ it.  Admit it!”

Notching an arrow and pointing, Legolas breathed, “Orcs,” and made ready to end the argument for them.

A twig broke behind him and the Prince of Mirkwood cursed himself as the two stopped their bickering to watch him.  They had trapped him, waited for him and lured him in.  Legolas tried desperately to turn mere seconds after his realization, but something very hard hit the back of his head.  He dropped to his knees and the last thing he heard as his vision clouded was the sneering voice of one of his enemies, hissing a sarcastic mirror of his disgust.  “Elves.”

He was out before he hit the forest floor.

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Lord of the Rings isn’t mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn.  No infringement intended.

A/N:  I’m not sure how detailed the account of Celebrían’s sad tale is, but my inspiration compelled me to tell the tale in this way. :)  Hope you enjoy!

Immortal
Chapter 1 - Captive

Legolas was among those who found the wife of Lord Elrond after her ill-fated attack on the way home from Lothlórien.  His investigation of the matter lands him into trouble, not to mention painful, haunting memories.  (Heavy on Legolas and Elrond plots, non-slash)

~~~~~~~

Never before had Legolas of Mirkwood considered what it would be like to be in such a pain that would rob him of his ability to think clearly, assess and get himself out of danger.  There was always a first time for everything.  He had the wits about him to remain still and hold his tongue despite the terrible headache he was suffering, but he held off for a bit on the planning.  The surface he was on was cool and pleasant and if he could discipline himself enough to not move, he could almost remember what it was like to be free of such pain.

When a wave of dizziness passed, Legolas considered what he could ascertain from his current position.  He was on his chest, his hands above his head, bound by heavy manacles.  His left cheek was pressed against the stone ground and his nose was uncomfortably close to his forearm, nearly smothering him.  Aside from the throbbing in his head he did not believe he was otherwise injured.

That understood, Legolas opened himself up to the setting outside his own little dreadful corner of wherever they had laid him.  He could hear the crackling of a fire, could smell the foul stench of orcs.  Their voices made him wish he had not come awake with their darkness and volume.  Brushing past himself, Legolas forced himself to focus on their words.  “You let the ale get warm!  Get me another!”  The sound of liquid slapping against stone preceded the crack of a wooden mug hitting the floor.

“Perhaps I would have arrived sooner had you not injured my leg,” replied a soft voice, whose shaking timbre betrayed fear and pain.  It was feminine and most definitely Elvish.  The wisdom of the years had aged this voice beyond his own youthful countenance.

A harsh slap filled the air, she groaned and then fell.  Legolas deemed the time for resting over and pushed himself up, ready to go to her aid despite the odds.  His vision blurred a little from his fast movement, then cleared as he looked upon a form curled up on the floor near a crudely set up table where at least six orcs were laughing.  For a moment all he could think was how her pale blue dress was ruined by filth and blood.

“Well now you done it,” growled a member of the party that was not amused—the self-same one that had bested him.  He sat at the head of the table near where the Elf-woman had fallen, nudging her with his boot.  “She’s out again.  Now you get up and get our ale, you maggot!”

The offender made a deep, unhappy rumbling sound in the back of his throat, but obeyed and snatched his cup up from the floor.  When he saw Legolas, he stopped and twisted his head to the side.  “Well, well.  The little one’s awake.  What’s the matter, brat?  We rob you of your mother?”

Legolas looked around for any sign of his weapons.  “Avanich, ind ae lín adar gâr lín thîr, ingon torog ubennen le lín!”  He saw no sign of any implements of escape.
-You didn’t, but if your father has your face, I guess a troll denied you yours.

The orc neared and drew his foot back, making ready to kick him, but his commander stopped him.  “Knock that one out before we can cut him and I’ll have my fun sticking holes in you!”

Glaring down, his would-be attacker hissed, “You wait, Elf.  You just wait.”  Curling his lip, the orc lumbered off into another part of the caves.

Legolas leaned back against the rock he had been placed near, composing himself as another wave of pain seared through his head.  Looking at the apparent leader through half-lidded eyes, he said, “Will you allow me to see to her?”

The leader shook his head.  “She’ll wake up in due time.  Besides, you’ll be busy.”  That most likely did not mean anything pleasant.  Legolas tensed when he stood from the table and approached, looking down in mild amusement.  “I am Goralûk.  Remember that for the next few days.”

“Why only the next few days?” he asked, supposing the answer already.

He was not disappointed.  “That’s how long you have to live, Elf.  And I suggest you keep your pretty words inside your head and speak Common if you’d like to keep it.”

Legolas closed his eyes.  “I shall try to remember.”  For his insolence he was rewarded with a backhanded blow to the cheek that drove him down to the ground again.  His head spun and he did not get back up.  He heard the orc grunt as it walked away, listened as it hauled the other Elf up and dragged her closer.  She hit the floor beside Legolas and made a soft, pained sound.

The Prince of Mirkwood shifted himself to look at her, opening his eyes to the garish light.  Her golden hair covered her face, but he could see blue eyes looking beyond the strands at him.  Bracing himself up painfully, Legolas reached for her and brushed her hair back, gasping at the eyes that stared back.  It was the Lady of Imladris, the wife of Lord Elrond and mother to the twin princes he counted as friends.  He knew her face, for it was not unlike theirs.  Her lip was cracked and bloody, her face bruised.  It was a sore sight to behold of any Elf, especially one so gentle as she.  “Are you all right?” he asked in a soft tone.

Goralûk sneered at his concern and kicked his arm back from her.  Legolas fell and glared at his enemy, hungering for the moment when these fiends would pay for their actions.  Smirking at his malcontent, the orc retreated back to where the others were drinking.

The Prince of Mirkwood bit back his anger and sat up to see of the woman he had come to rescue.  Lady Celebrían stirred as he brushed his fingers against her cheek.  When her eyes fixed on his face they were pained, but calm.  “I endure.  You are Legolas?” she asked, her eyes glinting with the question.

He knew instinctively why she had not referred to his title.  If the orcs learned they held important figures their danger could become all the worse.  He nodded at her question, knitting his brow as he looked her over.  A sudden tension began in the pit of his stomach.  He stopped himself, as he always did, from exploring the oncoming thoughts, focusing on the here and now.  “And I know you as well.  Does he expect you home?”  His hope was that Lord Elrond would send of his guardians to search for her.

Her eyes misted as she nodded gravely.  She said nothing, laying very still and closing her eyes.  The prince knew not how long she must have endured the company of these orcs, but by now she would be exhausted.  His heart went out to her, for he could tell she was already wearing down.  They were going to have to get out of here fast, but there were many foes and his weapons were gone.

“Elf,” rasped Goralûk, his eyes fixed upon Legolas.

Meeting the hungry gaze, he sat up with nothing less than confidence written upon his features.  “I have a name.”

This amused the orc greatly, who laughed, then shook his head.  “Get up.”

“And if I refuse?” he asked hotly, though he knew there would be little patience spared for his defiance.  He would use wisdom, but he would not be broken.

The beast’s lips twitched into a hopeful grin.  “You watch me hurt her.”

It was a bad situation.  They would use them against each other, tormenting one if the other did not obey orders.  Legolas looked down at the unconscious form, knowing he could not allow harm to come to her, even if meant his own pain.  His head throbbing, he brought himself to his feet, displaying as little weakness as he could.  “What do you want?”  His tone was short and deep, filled with contempt.

Goralûk watched him with full recognition of his situation glittering in two black eyes.  He knew the Elf was cornered, knew he could do little else than obey or pay the consequences.  Ghoulish, shining eyes in the shadows waited to see what Legolas would do, hungry for him to make a mistake that would allow their leader to relent for their fun.  These beings despised Elves, for they were everything their forebears used to be.  Everything they could never be.  Legolas dared not show his fear, but he felt as though the cave walls were closing in on him.

The orc motioned to the table for him to sit.  “We’re going to talk about your home.”

Crossing his arms, Legolas made his way to the table, scouting for his weapons along the way.  There was no sign.  Frustrated, he sat down as far from the others as he could, glaring at his enemy.  Goralûk seemed to enjoy that.

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Lord of the Rings isn’t mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn.  No infringement intended.

A/N:  Thank you to everyone who reviewed or sent an email!!!  You made my day!  :D  Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

My Immortal
Scheming

Legolas was among those who found the wife of Lord Elrond after her ill-fated attack on the way home from Lothlórien.  His investigation of the matter lands him into trouble, not to mention painful, haunting memories.  (Heavy on Legolas and Elrond plots, non-slash)

~~~~~~~  

Elladan could be quite convincing and charming when he wanted to be.  He had a handsome face with large, gray eyes that pierced the hearts of young ladies.  He made promises that he knew would gain your favor—and made good on his word.  His voice was disarming, his personality charismatic and noble.  None of these things worked on his little sister, however.  Wearing one of his most pleading expressions, Elladan said, “Please, Arwen, do this for your favorite brother, hmm?”

Lounging on a chair, his leg slung over the arm, Elrohir snorted and watched the little encounter with amusement.  Arwen, his once tiny sister who had grown into a woman somewhere along the way, shook her head firmly, her arms crossed and her eyes twinkling.  “How do you know you’re her favorite brother?” he asked mildly.

His twin gave him a sly grin.  “Of course I am, Elrohir.  I give her sweets and you give her grief.”

Elrohir blinked at this.  “Dear Arwen, do I give you grief?”

“You both do,” the princess stated calmly, moving from Elladan’s influence into a chair placed before a window.  She curled her fingers around the arms of it, looking at her brother speculatively.

“I’ve seen that before,” Elrohir remarked thoughtfully, then brought his brows up.  “Mother.  That’s how she looks when she’s willing to ‘negotiate’.  You know how that goes.”

Elladan gave her a mournful look.  “Not you, little one.  Please.”  He wandered to the couch opposite her and flopped down.  “Ada’s been too wrapped up in his work of late, Arwen.  You can make him smile.”

Arwen tilted her head, her blue eyes twinkling.  “I do not have to play a joke on him to make him smile.”  She blinked, studying his face, gauging his reaction.  He seemed to be breaking, so she pressed on.  “Why is it, Muindor1, you want so badly for me to do this?”

The twins exchanged glances, the younger grinning at his scheming elder brother.  “She’s got you there, Elladan.  What is it you’re playing at, anyway?”

“Must I be playing at something?” he retorted very innocently.  He usually had another agenda when bargaining for Arwen’s aid, but there were some few times where his motives were solely intent on teaching her the higher points of having fun by way of pranks.  This time neither Arwen nor Elrohir could quite tell for certain which it was, but by the persistence Elrohir guessed there was some reason Elladan wished his father to be distracted.  “Is it so terrible a thing I ask?”

“Mmm I don’t know, Elladan.  Tell me again what I must do.”  Arwen smiled obligingly.

Widening his eyes, Elrohir sat up quickly, very dramatically.  “Where is it I have seen that face?  By the Valar, Elladan, she looks like you!”

The elder twin frowned as his brother sat back with a chuckle.  “All right, little one.  Father is dining in the gardens for lunch.  I will commandeer the tray from the maiden that delivers it and give it to you.  Elrohir will hold the plate while you place the mouse I captured on the tray in its place.  Give it to Ada.”

“Now he inducts me into this filthy little scheme,” the younger muttered.  Elladan gave him a little look.

Arwen nodded as if processing the information, then gazed up with a question.  “Where does the maid go?  She is supposed to be on duty, is she not?”

Silence filled the little sitting room.  The siblings looked at each other, then Elrohir laughed.  “She’s a very smart little thing.  She knows you through and through, Muindor.”

“Quiet you,” Elladan breathed, trying desperately to reason with his brother and sister.  “Arwen, love and light of my life.  Princess.  One of these days there will come a handsome young stable boy, or page, or whatever into your life and for some very obscure reason, Ada is bound to disapprove.  Especially where you’re concerned, I would imagine.  Who is it you will turn to when you need help of this sort?  And I promise you, it will happen.”

“Why should I do this for you?” she asked very plainly.

Her brother smiled.  “Because you love me?”  Arwen sighed at his response and he added, “Because I know a young lady that has been wanting to ride out of Imladris to test her horsemanship in the open wilds.  She has a brother that would be willing to take her, for if he does not she may well remain in the safety of her home until she becomes an old maid for the love of her protective father.”

The princess blinked.  “What if Ada gets mad about the mouse?  He has been irritable of late.”

Seeing his goal so close to being achieved, Elladan waved his hand dismissively.  “Forget the mouse part.  Just give him lunch because you love him and he will smile adoringly.  You win on all counts.  What say you, little one?”

Arwen drew a speculating breath, looking for the truth within her brother’s eyes.  He may just have a point in saying someday she would understand the true meaning behind his playful pastimes with the fair maidens of Imladris.  Nodding once, she agreed.  “I will.  But you must take me riding soon, Elladan.”

He was on his feet in an instant, a grin gracing his handsome features.  “I will, Arwen.  I promise.  Meet me at the south exit into the gardens.”

“All right,” she assured him, sweeping her hair behind her ear.  Elladan left with a parting smile, closing the door behind him.  Standing, Arwen smoothed her skirts and gazed at Elrohir.  “Bring the mouse, will you?”

Her brother shook his head and laughed, taking hold of the box on the table beside him.

The plan went accordingly.  Arwen and Elrohir met their brother as planned and right away Elladan handed off his burden to his little sister, then with murmured thanks departed for his own fun.  Pursing her lips, Arwen lifted the cover from the tray and motioned her remaining sibling to do his part—a task he was only too glad to do.  He grabbed the plate and set it on a bench, then opened the box.  “Come, my furry little friend,” he said, easing the little rodent out by its tail and setting it on the tray.

Arwen quickly replaced the cover, then made her exit from the residence, Elrohir closely in tow behind her.  They made their way along the trees, down the pathway that led to where their father inevitably would be reading or composing a letter.  When they saw him with his back turned, seated at a table beneath a blossoming tree, Elrohir stopped and hid behind a the shade of a willow while his little sister did her part.

“Ada,” she said in a very convincingly sweet voice as she approached.  Elrohir chanced a look and saw his father turn with a wan smile, reaching to touch his daughter’s face.  “I brought this for you.”  He grinned at her flawless act.

Elrond took the tray and set it on the table, motioning Arwen to sit across from him.  She complied, of course, gently nudging the tray towards him very subtly.  “Have you eaten, child?”

Arwen bit her bottom lip and nodded, glancing over their father’s shoulder.  Elrohir made a face and she coughed to hide her sudden smile.  His father went back to his writing, having yet to even touch the tray beyond setting it down.  It was a trap.  Elrohir could sense it a mile off.  Still, he couldn’t help but wait and see what happened.  Picking a small carrot off his father’s plate and popping it into his mouth, he leaned against the tree to wait.

The little princess knew to pull this off she would have to press the issue, but had the presence to realize appearing too eager would tip him off.  “Maybe I’ll have a little something,” she decided, looking at the tray expectantly.  Elrohir could just picture their father’s smile.

He nudged the tray towards Arwen.  “Go ahead.”  Now, that would not be the end of it, he knew.  There was still one trick she had that though she was a woman now, would still appear charming to her doting father.  Elrohir snorted at the idea of it.  If he or Elladan tried what she would inevitably do next it would fail.  A quick look showed her poised for her last, devastating attack on their poor father.  She made a pouty little face and pointed.  Far be it from Ada to deny her now, Elrohir thought with a smirk.   He took another carrot.

Elrond pulled the tray before him, resting his hand against the handle and lifting slowly.  “There’s nothing there,” he said plainly.

“What?!” Arwen exclaimed, sitting up and peering at the tray.  Elrohir leaned around the tree, watching openly now as his father lifted the lid.  She looked suitably puzzled, her brow knit and her fists in a clench on the table’s surface.  He watched his father move his hand beneath the table.  Any moment now…any moment.  Arwen scratched her cheek, then looked up at Elrond suspiciously and it was then she began to realize she was not alone anymore.  Pushing back from the table, she looked down into her lap and gasped.  By then their father had his hands folded neatly on the table before him.  Arwen picked the mouse up and gave it a pet, sighing as she said in a chiding tone, “Ada.”

Elrohir laughed, stepping around the tree and coming to the table.  He snatched another carrot and gave his father the plate.  Elrond gave him a look as he cleared his correspondence away.  “I suppose having one child that did not scheme against me was too much to hope for.”

“Scheme against you?  You pain me, Ada,” Elrohir retorted, sitting and reaching towards his father’s plate again.  Elrond smacked his fingers away, then picked up the last carrot and handed it to his son.

Elrond lifted an eyebrow as he spread his napkin across his lap.  “Yes, well, be that as it may, I am glad for your company.  We have things we must talk about.”  He slid his gaze to Arwen with a gentle expression.  He was still so very protective of her.  “Would you spare me a kindness and go pour me some water?”

Her expression was unguardedly long-suffering, but she did not show disrespect for his wishes despite her curiosity.  All three of them knew this tone, knew there was no use in arguing against it.  Something was troubling him and he did not want to burden his youngest with the worry just yet.  Elrohir marveled at her unquestioning understanding as she departed from their presence.

Once she was in the house the Lord of Rivendell looked up.  “I am concerned about your mother.” 

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Lord of the Rings isn’t mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn.  No infringement intended.

Sindar:
1 – Muindor – Brother.

A/N:  Thanks again to everyone that’s reviewed!!  I hope you continue to enjoy the tale, sad though it is. :X :)

Nat - In this particular story, I'm going on that they are on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains...not up in the High Pass directly, but very near it...though the catacombs I'm sure will open into the High Pass at some point as well.  :)

Legolas was among those who found the wife of Lord Elrond after her ill-fated attack on the way home from Lothlórien.  His investigation of the matter lands him into trouble, not to mention painful, haunting memories.  (Heavy on Legolas and Elrond plots, non-slash)

~~~~~~~  

“Legolas!  Legolas, avo diro!1”
Legolas!  Legolas, don’t look!

He awakened with a start, feeling smothered and heavy.  Legolas gasped for air as the female voice in his dream faded away.  He heard that voice occasionally in his sleep, rarely in his memories.  He always pushed it away.  This time was no different.  Sitting up in the darkness, the Prince of Mirkwood ran his hand along his cheek, curving to rub his temple.  His ‘friends’ had repaid him with a beating after their little discussion concerning just where he was from.  Though it was brutal, he had not given in, not betrayed his origins in the cave dwellings of his people in the mountains to the north.  The last thing he wanted was for them to have a target to use him against.

It was dark where he was, thrown in a cell that had no bed—just straw scattered about the floor.  Looking at the cell door he saw a faint light coming through the small barred window.  Legolas leaned against the cool rock wall and rubbed absently at the flesh of his shoulder, right below a blood-moistened slash.  It stung against the soft touch of his tattered shirt, but he did not have the energy or will to bare his arm.

He wondered where Lady Celebrían was.  A sweep of the cell told him she was not here with him and he worried she had been dragged away for interrogation or just for the fun the orcs would have in tormenting her.  The thought filled him with anger, which renewed his energy.  Pushing himself up, Legolas ignored the various aches and pains and stumbled through the dark to the door.  He remained silent, first studying what little he could see outside.  It was no traditional prison.  The rocky room was basically round with a few exceptions and looked as though the dark denizens of the caves had simply beaten holes into the walls with their shovels until cells had been fashioned.

The wooden door was crude, but yielded little in the way of leaks.  The Elf smoothed his hand down the grain, identifying a sturdy, hard wood that would not break easily.  He exhaled and turned his attention to the lock.  It was made of metal and without the proper tools, would not be unlatched anytime soon.  He crouched, examining it, then glanced around the floor in case any stray wires had been left.  No such luck.

A look at the bolts holding the door, however, proved hopeful.  He felt rust along the hinges.  Caves were damp places, prone to moisture.  The hinges were strong, but with the right amount of pressure could come free.  He straightened and peered out the window, his eyes landing on a shadow in the dark.  The orc sat back in a wooden chair, arms folded and keen eyes open.  He was alert and Legolas sighed inwardly.  This band was managed by a particularly intelligent leader, disciplined enough not to fall asleep on the job.  Escaping would not be easy.

He stepped back, leaning against the wall as he considered his options.  He could goad the beast into anger, force him into the cell for a face-to-face confrontation, but it would be dangerous without knowing where Celebrían was.  He could call for her, but would the orc punish him for it?  He could guess what the Elf was up to, at any rate and be more attentive to watching.  They would never be left alone if they appeared to be conspiring.  Legolas frowned at the darkness, cursing his limitations.  But then it came to him.

Singing might not appear so suspicious.

Legolas scanned his memory for a sad tune, anything that sounded as if he were lamenting, then began to reform the verses in his mind to suit his purposes.  He kept his voice low, pitching it just right for Elven ears so it would not be over-loud to their guardian.  He began slow, almost as if his words were an afterthought.  “Brennil uin imlad, na le lastannen egor cenannen?”  He paused for a moment, looking for some sort of reply as well as searching his thoughts for the next line.  “Boe isto lín manadh…” he knit his brow, thinking quickly, “…ai…vín tirith thia far…faeg?”  Legolas winced and waited.
Lady of the valley, be you heard or seen?  I need to know your fate…ah…our guard appears quite…mean?

Apparently the orc did not care for his style, snapping impatiently, “Shut your mouth, Elf, before I stick my sword in you!”  Something very hard impacted against the door.

Frowning, Legolas stretched the fingers of his right hand.  The cut on his shoulder throbbed.  Of course that was the least of his worries, but it did not help.  It would be foolish to attempt escape right now.  Lady Celebrían could be anywhere, unconscious or even dead.  The thought of it brought back that uncomfortable sinking feeling to his abdomen.

The prince paced across his cell, running his eyes over the stone locking him in.  He was accustomed to walls like these, for his own home was made within his father’s underground fortress in Northern Mirkwood but this was a far cry from being the same.  He could feel his freedom stripped of him already, knew his desire for the song of the trees and the light of the stars would weigh him down.  The sadness would get to her as well, even before it claimed him.  Time was not on their side.

His sharp ears caught a sound behind.  It was trying to sneak up on him, walking silently if one could term the footsteps of an orc silent.  The uneven, moist breathing of the beast was not masked by any means and just as the creature came to the door, likely peering through the window on the cell door, Legolas said, “Will your leader praise you or rebuke you, I wonder.”

The orc snarled and jammed a key into the lock, giving it a hard twist.  “For what?”

Despite the situation, Legolas showed no fear as he turned towards the dark creature.  He knew what was coming.  “For what you are about to do.”

A sneer formed across the beast’s black face as it approached, dagger drawn.  “Don’t you worry your pretty head over that, boy.  Just gonna have a little fun s’all.”

Legolas tensed, preparing himself for the inevitable fight.  The creature was eager, very eager to have his taste of blood.  It struck out first, slashing with its blade and growling when the Elf dodged fairly easily.  The Prince of Mirkwood did not smile in triumph or do anything to goad the beast on, throwing himself into full concentration.  The orc thrust out, then leapt towards the Elf in agitation.  Legolas threw himself to the side to evade and hit his arm against the wall, increasing his pain.  He gasped out, but knew there was no time to lament.  Pushing himself away just in time, he saw a clean path for the door and took it.

“Good, Elf,” the orc purred, entering the prison slowly.  Legolas slid to a halt in front of the exit—a large wooden door with a lock on it.  “You just give me a reason to hurt you more.  Escape attempts are frowned upon here and there’s no way out.”

The Prince of Mirkwood turned, hunkering down in preparation for the next round.  “So it comes to killing you,” he said, keeping his midnight eyes fixed on the orc’s hands.  “Very well.”

His enemy barked a laugh at that, lashing out again.  “Yeah, you try, Elf.”

Without warning the orc darted for him and won, knocking Legolas to the floor.  He wasted no time stabbing downwards indiscriminately, hoping to injure his prey.  The prince shoved at the heavy beast on him, extending his hands to block himself from the would-be killing blows that the orc was making.  The dagger’s edge caught his hand, peeling down the tender flesh of his palm, and Legolas groaned out in pain.

The orc laughed in amusement at this, dragging the bloody blade along his tongue with hungry eyes.  “You’re gonna end up a meal, boy.  Count on it.”

Knitting his brow, Legolas shoved hard and won his freedom long enough to stumble to his feet, only to have the creature slam into his legs, knocking him back to the stone floor.  He fell hard against his knee, but managed to scramble away from getting pinned again.  His foe was growling his frustration, fighting its way up to attack again.  The Elf turned on him and kicked before the orc could get up, landing his foot directly in the other’s jaw.  The dagger went flying.

Falling back, the orc gave an enraged shout as Legolas threw himself towards the fallen blade.  His fingers curled around the hilt just as the fell beast behind him took a hold of his ankle, jerking him to his stomach.  “You’re gonna regret being born,” it rasped, dragging the Elf towards his vicious attack.

Legolas rolled to his back and thrust the orc dagger, aiming for the open space directly to the creature’s right side.  In its haste to conquer, the orc guard did not notice this apparent miscalculation and swiped at his arm, only to direct it into the Elf’s true target, his stomach.  Legolas watched those fell, glittery eyes widen in realization, then dim as sudden death took hold.  The orc gasped, then fell upon him.

Groaning in disgust, the Elf shoved the burden from him and felt around for a set of keys.  There were none.  His knit his brow, looking around the dark room.  The light of the single torch near the exit illuminated the single key in the face of his cell door and he cursed his luck.  They had locked the beast in here with him, likely intent on leaving him here until his shift was over.  There would be no way out unless someone from the outside unlocked the large exit door.

Legolas retrieved the blade from the dead orc’s flesh and got to his feet, then checked each cell for Celebrían.  Unsuccessful, Legolas retreated then to his own, knowing there was nothing he could do but wait.  He cradled his bloody hand to his chest, feeling its sting acutely now that the adrenaline rush was over.  What they were going to do to escape, he could not even fathom right now, but he would not give up.

Leaning against the wall, the Prince of Mirkwood slid down it and hit the floor, resting and conserving his strength.  The real fighting had not even begun.

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Lord of the Rings isn’t mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn.  No infringement intended.

A/N:  Thanks for the reviews!!  Hope you guys continue to enjoy!  Vic – I’m not sure if Arwen is technically a princess, I’ve heard the twins referred to as princes…I’ve even heard of Elrond referred to as a prince and I’ve read that he could have taken the title of High King after Gil-Galad’s passing, but chose not to…so it’s hard to say, as I’ve not read all the materials available on the subject.  Since as far as I know Thranduil is the only King we hear of in this age, and he’s not a High King over all Elves, she would bear at least the function of a princess of her realm, just as her brothers would bear the function of princes as counterparts to Legolas’s role in his realm.

My Immortal
Comissioned

~~~~~~~

Thunder rolled in the distance and the air was moist with the coming storm.  The soft curtains moved to the rhythm of a flowing, chilly breeze.  Prince Elladan was acutely aware of the eyes on him as he stuffed a dagger into his pack.  He did not particularly relish being under such scrutiny at this time.  “Not now, pentithen.  I have something to do.”
Pentithin - Little one.

Arwen bit her lip, eyeing her brother seriously.  “But you’re leaving Imladris.  How long will you be gone?”  Her blue-eyed gaze was sad.

He stopped packing long enough to mess up her dark tresses, winning a slap in the arm.  “Hopefully not long.  Ada just wants Elrohir and I to do something.  I promise, as soon as I return, I will take you riding into the wilds.  If you’re good, I may even take you to Bree.”  Her gaze widened at that prospect, but she was not easily diverted.

“Is it a secret?” she asked, folding her hands delicately before her.  “You and Elrohir are the best.  Ada only sends you when it’s very important.”

Her questions made him sigh.  Pretty soon they would not be able to protect her at all.  He recognized it and knew if he did, their father did.  Turning his head to look at her, Elladan stopped his packing.  “It may be nothing more than a short trip to visit our grandparents, Arwen.  Come here, please.”

Instantly on her feet, the princess came to him and he took her hands in his.  “What is it, Elladan?”

“You’re growing up,” he observed, smoothing her hair back.  “I want you to do something, Muinthel.  Something only a grown up princess could do.  Think you can handle it?”  Arwen nodded gravely and he gave her a wan smile.  “Take care of Ada while we’re gone.  I know you want to know what’s going on, but I do not want you asking him while we are away.  You know him.  He is protective.  Let him be that to you while he can.”
Muinthel – Sister.

She seemed to understand, but that did not stop her mind from wondering.  “Did he see something terrible?” she whispered, her gaze glued to him.  Often their father saw things, snippets of the future.  It happened indiscriminately, without warning and often foretold things that were scarcely avoidable.  Some things he did not see.

Elladan looked away for a moment, letting out a tense breath.  Her questions were just of a young lady her age, but he always saw the little Arwen barely two feet tall who called him ‘Dan’.  He wanted to protect her perhaps as much as their father sometimes.  “Honestly, I don’t know.  He has not said so.  He just worries.”

Arwen bit her lower lip, looking out the window as a few flower petals breezed in.  The rain had begun slowly, misting the curtains and dragging them down.  “About Nana?”

That was precisely what he did not want her to linger on, but he would never dream of lying to her.  In his view there was nothing to worry about, in any event, so he nodded and batted at her hair.  “He only wants to know where she is.  Now, Arwen, I forbid you to fall to the same devices.  Do not worry.  All is well, I promise.  You know his ways.”

“I know,” she agreed, looking up with a soft smile.

Elladan grinned and poked her sides.  “He has more human blood that we do.  You know that makes him crazier than us.”

Laughing, she fended off his tickles and gave him a chiding glare.  “Elladan!  Be respectful!”

“This from a little princess that tried to feed him a rodent,” he scoffed, playfully pushing at her shoulders, trying to knock her off balance.  “Elrohir told me you did not drop that part of the plan as I had been lead to believe you would.”

Arwen collapsed to the bed and looked up at him with pursed lips until his expression of shock made her giggle.  Shaking his head, he grabbed his knapsack and slung it over his shoulder, then collected his quiver and bow.  “Elladan,” she called as he made for the door to the hall.  He turned back to her.  “If all is well, why do take so many weapons?”

For a moment he was at a loss, then stuck his tongue out.  “Prudence, Ada, prudence.  I told you not to worry.  Come and wish Elrohir farewell.”

Together brother and sister abandoned the bedroom in haste, chasing through the last homely house, laughing and skimming past Elves until they were at the front.  The main entrance of the great mansion stood open, revealing the growing deluge outside.  That being as it was, Elrond did not leave the entrance hall to see off his sons outside as was customary.  The farewell would remain indoors this time.

Elrohir gave Arwen’s head a swipe, brushing her hair back as she ran past.  The princess drew herself up regally and trotted to their father’s left to be welcomed at this side with a pet to her shoulder.  Side by side, bantering about Elladan’s tardy arrival, the twins stood and waited as Elrond moved to embrace them, accepting his eldest first.  “Be swift, my sons,” he said in a quiet way, standing back to look at them both.

Elladan smiled confidently, meeting his father’s eyes.  “As swift as the wind, Ada, we promise.  I will convey your love to Nana.”  Gratefully, Elrond nodded his thanks and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Be careful,” he added gravely, giving them both a pointed look.  The twins exchanged glances, grinning at one another.  Elrond withheld a longsuffering sigh.   “I am serious.”

Elrohir pushed Elladan out of his way and wrapped his father into a hug, saying in his ear, “I will keep him out of trouble.”

Their father grunted at that, stepping back with an upraised eyebrow.  “Indeed?  The blind leading the blind, then?”  When Elrohir made a face he made up for his jest with a warm smile.  “Namarie, my sons.”

“Namarie, Ada,” they replied together.

A little cough from behind Elrond signified that Arwen would not let herself be forgotten.  Right away the twins embraced her, teasing her with tickles and pokes to make her feel better about this so sudden business.  But too soon the time came for them to leave.  Before they stepped out into the rain, the elder brother gave her a knowing glance and she slipped her hand into their father’s, watching them leave.

Winds and rain greeted them as they abandoned the warmth of their home and claimed their horses, setting out to the task at hand.  Finding their mother.  Mounting, Elrohir looked with squinted eyes into the sky.  “This is only going to get worse, you know?”

Already atop his steed, Elladan shrugged.  “What does that matter?”

His younger brother grunted.  “Only you would not see being drenched as an irritant.”

The elder rolled his eyes as they nudged their horses on towards the main gate.  “Whoa to the Elf that melts away beneath the fierce pummel of a cruel spring shower,” he retorted smartly.  “What is really bothering you?”

“I am certain I know not of what you speak, Muindor.”  Elrohir pushed his dark hair out of his face as the wind swept some of the damp strands before his vision.  They approached the gate, nodding to a guard entering the city.

Once they were well down the road, out of earshot, Elladan threw his twin a deciphering look.  “Complaining about my lateness, complaining about the rain.  Next you’ll be ordering me to straighten my room.”

Elrohir snorted, his gaze lost ahead of them.  “Hardly.  I never ask a man to perform beyond his capabilities.”

The elder shrugged, then sighed.  “Be that as it may, you are bothered.  Who would you tell what troubles you except me?”

“Oh, all right,” Elrohir agreed tartly, awarding his brother’s shoulder a rough shove.  “It is this business with Nana.  She has been away a long time.”

“She visits with Edwenaneth.”  He was unwilling to accept anything other than the obvious.  Their mother had long been away from her parents.  Why should she not want to stay long now that she had returned to her home?
Edwenaneth – Grandmother. (Second-Mother)

Elrohir frowned at his twin.  “Edwenaneth says Nana left her company already.  Ada spoke with her through Vilya.  Why do you think he sends us?”

Still, Elladan stubbornly refused to think the worst, scoffing, “She is merely wrapped up in the Golden Wood, bidding her home farewell.”

For a long moment his younger brother fixed him with a hard stare, then sighed, giving in.  “Perhaps you are right.”

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Lord of the Rings isn’t mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn.  No infringement intended.

Sindar:
1 – Pentithen. – Little one.
2 – Muinthel. – Sister.
3 – Edwenaneth. – Grandmother (Second-Mother)

A/N:  Thank you, Karri, my sole reviewer for this site this time around.  *sniffle* ;)  Somebody wikes me besides Elrond! :D  Yeee!  ;)

My Immortal
Fury

~~~~~~~

An indeterminate amount of time passed, countless hours that lulled Legolas into a comfortable rest that healed his abused body, but one would have to be deaf to miss the voluminous lumbering of orcs.  Legolas came into awareness when a dark laugh passed through the shadows to his ears.  “Looks like the Elf had himself a good time.  I warn you, boy, we have your companion out here.  Make a false move and she’s dead.”

Pulling himself to a standing position and clutching the dagger firmly, Legolas called, “Celebrían, are you well?”

She gave no reply, but the orc did.  “She’s out.”  His grip on the dagger tightened until a black form covered the open doorway to his cell.  Goralûk studied him with intent eyes.  “Give up the weapon or watch me cut her into tiny pieces.”

Legolas was half-tempted to fling the blade at him in a vicious way, but knew it would gain him nothing but trouble.  He tossed it down at the orc’s feet, then waited for whatever would come next.  Goralûk laughed as he scooped the dagger up and stepped aside.  The light made Lady Celebrían’s pale dress seem to glow as they hurled her in.  She tumbled to the floor at his feet without crying out or moving.

Ignoring his audience, Legolas knelt and looked over the Lady of Imladris carefully, trying to ascertain the extent of her injuries.  “Brennil nîn?” he whispered gently, turning her over.  Her face was dark with blood and markings.  Something other than wisdom took over his mind.  The Prince of Mirkwood tilted his head up, glaring in open hatred of their captors.  “Why?”
My Lady.

Goralûk cocked his head, studying the Elf.  He seemed amused by the prince’s sudden fire.  “It is my nature.”  He took a step towards the two of them, his expression a mask of danger intent and a deep, insatiable hunger.  “Blood and pain is my nature.  And ah, how sweet she was.”  A rumbling, insinuating laugh filled Legolas with deep anger.

The Elf clenched his jaw and laid his burden back down upon the cold floor.  “Leave her alone,” he hissed, feeling dangerous himself.  “Satisfy your need for blood with a warrior, not a defenseless woman.”

His enemy did not back down, would not have even had Legolas threatened with weapons.  This beast would be inevitably greedy as all the servants of Sauron were, but he would not let it save his life if it meant accepting defeat.  He was a dangerous one.  “I will have satisfaction,” he rasped low, flitting those glittering eyes over the Elf before him.  “And I see no need to free anyone.  This is where the both of you will make your graves.”  The deadly certainty in his voice was unwavering and confident.

“The only grave I intend to make is yours,” Legolas growled back in retort, readying himself to fight.

Goralûk stared back, and then whipped his hand out without warning, snaring the prince’s hair.  He jerked roughly, dragging the Elf towards him.  Trying to ignore the pain, Legolas gripped the orc’s leather cuirass, pulling, struggling, doing anything to throw the monster off balance.

The orc only laughed, his dirty fingers tangling the golden strands, spinning them tighter and tighter as he forced the prince out of his cell into the open.  He jerked back, throwing Legolas into an arch that brought him to his knees, then threw him down to the stone floor.  When he straightened and looked up, he saw three more had joined the fray, surrounding him.  “This is how you fight?” he asked incredulously, turning his heated gaze on their leader.  “You alone cannot subdue even one Elf?  You need help to do it?”

Smiling, Goralûk kicked dust at him.  “This isn’t about subduing.  This is about causing you pain and that I will share with my boys, just like I did with her.”  He growled, drawing a dagger.  “You like to fight, Elf?”

Maneuvering to his feet, remaining crouched, Legolas looked for any window from which to break free the deadly circle.  Their shining eyes were keen on him, focused and waiting for the start to their fun.  He could see no immediate route of escape.  “I like to fight,” he answered, glaring up steadily, “if only to keep monsters like you from walking the earth!”

One of the others snarled, kicking with a heavy boot, shoving the Elf forward.  Legolas fell onto his hands hard with a groan, but saw a chance.  He used their amused distraction to propel himself into Goralûk, shoving him down.  The surprised orc gave an angry shout, struggling viciously to regain the power he had over the Elf.  This prompted the others, whose collective growls were like a pack of hungry wolves converging on him.  Legolas sent his fist flying into Goralûk’s jaw before feeling hands on his shoulders, jerking him away.

Their fingers were rough, claws sinking into his tender skin without care for whatever wounds he bore.  They ripped him off their leader and threw him across the room.  A sharp, echoing thud filled the dark room as he slammed back against a wooden cell door.  He let out a hard breath, immediately turning his concentration back to the battle at hand.  One of them was closing on him with a drawn blade.  He chose to exploit that one’s confidence first.

Legolas pushed himself off the door, standing ready until the black creature crept forward with a moist laugh.  It thrust the dagger forward in an attempt to catch the Elf in the stomach.  He easily dodged the blow and used his swiftness to reach for the hilt.  The orc growled as he turned the blade back towards the wielder, forcing it dangerously close to its stomach.

For a long moment there was a power struggle; the blade switching targets back and forth more than once. His foe had the definitive advantage in strength, but Legolas was nimble.  He let up on the blade, allowing it to come near to hitting him, then twisted out of the way.  The orc had assumed himself victorious too soon.  His arm was stretched stiffly, his elbow locked, diminishing his reflexes enough that the Elf could get a hold of his wrist and hold it while he slammed his free hand into the orc’s elbow, straining it in the wrong direction.  It howled and dropped the blade instinctively.

Legolas let him go, ducking as the monster swung its arm out, grasping the blade as he did so.  When he straightened he saw he had a very angry party of orcs on his hands.  Goralûk fingered a wooden club that had frayed sides and splinters sticking out, watching and waiting.  There was a quiet bloodlust in his eyes that would not be denied.

Feral growls filtered through the air and glittering eyes in the dim reminded him of the perils of his home.  The forests of Mirkwood were thick and filled with dangers that only multiplied by night.  He was accustomed to fighting creatures that cared only for the kill, but the reality always hit him with the same dread and the same anger.  These things should not happen.

“Rattled, boy?” Goralûk growled, advancing with the others.  “You ever fight an orc?”

Holding the knife firmly, Legolas growled, “I have fought and killed many of your kind, beast.”  He shifted his gaze between them, waiting for the initiative move.  “Four more will not add greatly to my count.”

The laughter was dry, condescending.  Sneering, he motioned his lackeys forth and they obeyed, all three closing in around Legolas.  One thrust his dagger and he threw himself out of the way, into one of the others, knocking it down to the group.  He had scarce too little an opportunity, so he made his move and plunged the blade in his hand down into the throat.  A deep cry turned into a gurgle and dark blood spurted from the wound, sprinkling in thick drops onto the Elf’s hand.

He grasped the hilt, tearing it from his enemy’s flesh, but was not fast enough to prevent the blow to his shoulder.  With great force his attacker slammed his foot against him, knocking him completely off his kill.  His back hit the cold floor, knocking the wind out of him.  The orc kicked his wrist away from the fallen dagger, then bent down and reclaimed it, handing it off to its rightful owner.

Then it lifted a mace on him, sending it down full force.  Legolas ignored his pain and rolled out of the way just in time to save his life.  They had learned, though, and instead of hefting its mace back up, the fiend abandoned it for the moment and snagged the prince’s tunic, jerking him to his feet.  It pushed him back into the wall, then backhanded him viciously.

By the time the stars cleared from his vision, the mace had found its owner once again.  The orc grinned and grabbed his wrist, pinning it to the stone wall as his companion mirrored on the other side.  Legolas jerked at his captors like a caged animal, but could not break free.  Goralûk stepped before him, holding his club.  “Are you afraid, Elf?”

Breathing hard, staring intently without fear or worry, Legolas hissed, “Not afraid, orc.  Do as you will.  I will endure.”

Nodding as though he doubted that statement, Goralûk lifted his club.  He hit right where he knew it would hurt, sending the rough edges and sharp splinters into the gash on the Elf’s shoulder.  Legolas bit his lip, but could not withhold a groan of pain.  It seared his abused flesh like a fire.  His breathing came hard and without his conscious thought his eyes were tightly closed.  He knew he could not remain this way, still as the pain assailed him.  He had to fight, had to take any chance as it came to try and defeat his enemy, but the hold they had on him was firm.

Goralûk slammed the wooden implement into him again, this time going for his stomach.  The Elf tried to double over, but they restrained him, putting hands on his shoulders.  He bit his lip against the pain of a hand on his injury, drawing his head up so he could meet the orc’s triumphant look.  The monster laughed at that and drew his fist back, then let it fly into his captive’s jaw.

His head snapped back and a dull headache began.  Legolas spit blood from his lip, then looked up again, anger firing his strength.  He jerked away from the orcs again, this time succeeding enough that he could dive into Goralûk.  He curled his fingers and scratched down the beast’s face, causing him to growl in rage.  The orc shoved him away, screaming, “Hold him, you scum!”  Impulsively, he smashed the club against the prince’s head.

Immediately Legolas lost his grasp on what was going on, darkness overtaking his vision for a moment.  He dimly felt himself being dragged to his feet, felt hands pulling at his shirt until the chill of the dungeon sailed over his flesh like a ghostly caress.  He groaned as they shoved him against the wall again, this time face first.  With a snarl Goralûk sent his club into the Elf’s back and that woke him out of his momentary darkness.  Legolas arched and yelled out, then was shoved back against the wall again.  “You seem to enjoy defiance,” the leader of the orcs purred, hitting him again.  “Defy me, Elf!  Show me what makes you so blessed!”  He hit again.

Legolas did not speak, did not give in to the orc’s obvious want of more banter.  He was too focused on the pain assaulting his body.  The attack was merciless and painful, and soon he lost track of what they were doing until finally he was allowed to fall to his knees.  Goralûk grasped his head, running his finger through his braids until they were undone, the ties split and fluttering to the floor.

Hands swept across his flesh and hungry growls and lapping gave him the sickening truth that they were consuming his blood.  “Now you see how your end will come about,” Goralûk sneered, standing above him.  He grabbed a mass of sweat-moistened, blood-smeared golden hair and dragged Legolas back to his cell, throwing him in.  “You have no name.”

The cell door slammed shut and was locked.  Hovering on his hands and knees, Legolas tried to clear the fog over his mind, but found weariness overtaking him quickly.  The Prince of Mirkwood glanced at Lady Celebrían with soft, regretful eyes, then collapsed and gave in.

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Lord of the Rings isn’t mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn.  No infringement intended.

Sindar:
1 – Brennil nîn? – My Lady?

A/N:  Thanks Karri and Eruanna for the reviews!  Makes my day!  *sniffles and hands you both an Elf Lord* ;)

My Immortal
Opening Floodgates

~~~~~~~

“Law!”  When the golden-haired boy screamed and burst from the bushes five startled goblins turned, fixing dangerous, amused gazes on their faces.  He was too young to conceive of just how perilous his abandoning his hiding spot made his situation.  All he knew was anger and pain.  The form on the grass was at the forefront of his thoughts.  “Nuitho, delu levain!”
No!  Stop, fell beasts!

From the center of the circle of creatures a white hand raised as if to reach out to him.  He took a step to go to her, but knew better when one of the hungry monsters growled at him.  “Noro!” she cried, unable to get her voice above a whisper, her throat hoarse from her screaming.  “Noro si!”
Run!  Run now!

One of the goblins laughed from deep within its chest, a terrible sound that made the boy shiver.  “Looks like we got more than we bargained for.  Get him, boys!”

The young Elf-child’s luminous dark eyes filled with tears.  He knew to stay would mean something terrible, but he did not want to leave her here.  The little prince just didn’t know what to do until the much larger forms began after him.  “Noro!” she managed to yell at him, her hand falling to the ground limply afterwards.

In agony he took off in the opposite direction, shoving branches out of his way, stumbling over rocks and fallen tree branches.  He ran heedlessly, not knowing where to go or who to call out to.  They wandered too far from their home and the beasts were running so very fast.  He could hear their feet pounding into the earth and their growls chasing after him relentlessly behind.  It filled him with fear.

“Run, little brat!” one of the creatures howled at him, gaining on him quickly.  Twigs broke in the grass of his wake.  Though the little Elf did not speak Westron very well, he knew he was being teased.

He fell.  In his haste he did not afford himself the time to seek solid footing, so his sharp eyes missed a large stick that had been covered over with mud.  It snagged his foot and he collapsed with a hard thud that sent a painful jolt up his little body.  But he did not stop to cry.  Clawing at the dirt beneath him, he pulled himself up and sprinted on, headlong into one of the goblins that had taken his fall as a chance to get ahead.  He hit the creature’s front and fell back into the hands of another, who jerked him by his tunic.  “Valiant little fighter,” it grunted, pulling out a dagger.

Looking up as the one before him took out his own blade, the boy waited in silence, too afraid to cry.  He pulled away once and was hit viciously for it.  His face turned with the force of the slap and that did bring moisture to his eyes.  When he looked back the creature laughed at him and made ready to plunge the dagger down.

A hiss filled the air; followed by a distinctive ‘thwack’ and the goblin that would have been his ending fell down with wide eyes.  Before it hit the ground another arrow flew into the face of the one clutching his shirt.  He fell back with it, then growling out, yanked himself away and ran again.  This time he ran into the arms of his father and that drew the most tears of all.

Kneeling and surrounding the child with his arms, King Thranduil whispered, “Sîdh, Legolas.  Na naneth lín nedh taur?”
Peace, Legolas.  Is your mother in the forest?

Clinging to his father as the horrible sounds of her screams washed over him again, Legolas nodded softly and looked over his arm at the tree, trying to blot out what he had seen.  The forest seemed so quiet now.  “Fuion ti, Adar.  Fuion ti.”
I hate then, Father.  I hate them.

His father said nothing, but those arms around the little prince tightened when footsteps approached and a soft voice said, “Your Majesty, I bear terrible news.  The Queen, Sir, has been slain.  Nothing can be done.”

 

“Naneth!”  His chest felt heavy, smothering him nearly as he awakened with a start back into the here and now.  When Legolas opened his eyes they were greeted by the soft glow of a torch bleeding in from beyond the cell door.  It was enough to cast faint illumination upon the golden hair of the woman above him and for a blessed moment he felt reality crumble into an irrational hope.

Her voice dashed it and brought him back.  “You were dreaming, Legolas.  Are you all right?”

His dark eyes moistened uncontrollably, though he knit his brow and tried to withhold any further display.  “I am well.”  Unstoppably his voice was strained.  It was not exactly true, his reply.  His body felt ravaged, his emotions taken from the secret spot deep within that he had not visited in many years.  For so long he had banished that memory and now here it was, replayed before his mind’s eye in vivid detail.

A ripping sound pulled him away from his thoughts.  Lady Celebrían looked down through soft, weary eyes at the strip of fabric she had just torn from her skirt.  Legolas shook his head, sitting up with her help.  Upon rising he noticed how tired she looked, how pale.  Her dress was ripped down the center, as if someone had gripped at the neck and pulled it apart.  His mind shuddered back from the implications of what could have occurred to cause that.  He reached for the cloth, not wanting to be a burden to the Lady of Imladris.  “I can…”

“No!”  Her voice was hard, desperate as she ignored his reaching hand and wrapped the strip around his wounded shoulder to stop the bleeding.  He groaned at the sting, closing his eyes and setting his jaw.  When she spoke again her tone had somewhat lessened.  He recognized this.   She was afraid, hopeless, looking for something to take her away from what inevitably whatever had occurred while he had been unconscious.  “What were you dreaming of?”

Legolas averted his eyes from hers, feeling the familiar barrier between the words and his mouth.  Maybe it was her need or maybe it was his, but without knowing why, he broke through it this time and admitted what was on his heart.  “My mother.”

Celebrían tied the cloth off and looked him over, pressing gently, asking where he hurt.  It had been so long since he had felt anything like this; he did not know how to react to such a tender touch.  It opened up a well of longing in him that had been sealed off ever since his mother had been ripped from him.  He could almost recall, listening to the Lady’s voice.  “I know she is gone, but I never heard what befell her.”

Her hand met his bare arm and he looked down, noticing the little cuts, slash marks from a blade, running along her fingers.  Her form shivered and her blue eyes were shaded.  Gently he removed her touch from his flesh and breathed, “Lady, it is I that should be caring for you.”  Lady Celebrían shook her head, moving her wrist out of his grasp.  Sighing, he leaned back on his hands, his back aching and stinging from the beating he had endured.  The silence was uncomfortable, neither of them bearing any words of comfort, so he continued from her last statement.  “My father doesn’t speak of it.  She was taken from us when I was very small and killed by the servants of the Dark Lord.”

Perhaps it wasn’t wise of him to bring it up.  Too closely it reflected what might happen to her children.  He saw that much in her gaze.  “Such evil in this world.  Indeed I am sorry to know this.”  Her sorrowed face filled him with grief, for it reflected back to him all that held deep inside.  “Do you recall her?” she asked softly.

Legolas sighed and shook his head.  “Alas, no.  Such a short time she was with me, Lady.  I only remember her face…” screams filled his mind, prompting him to add in a lower tone, “and her voice.”

“You are all right, though?” Celebrían said after a moment’s consideration.  Her blue eyes seemed to beg him to lie if he had to and he turned his gaze downward.  “You miss her, but you have done well?”

On the surface her question was for him, but he knew deep within she was asking whether or not he thought her children would endure her death, for she had accepted it, there was no mistaking that.  He didn’t know what else he could say except, “I have done well.”  He looked up from the stone floor, taking in her sallow visage again.  “I miss her, but I endure.”

The Lady of Rivendell gave him a pale look of sympathy, and then lowered herself to the hard floor.  So exhausted she must be, he reflected sadly.  In an attempt to comfort her he asked gently, “My Lady, are you all right?  Is there anything I can do?”

Her eyes were half-lidded, glassy as she replied in a low tone, “Penneth, there is nothing you can do now.”  She held up her arm and he saw she had an enflamed red cut marring her milky flesh.  “I have been poisoned.”  The skin around the wound was a very angry red and swelling despite the rapid healing Elves were gifted with.  In her eyes he saw the acceptance of that wound, too.  The acceptance of what it would ultimately lead to.  It made a swell of rage rise up within him, but for her sake he remained silent.
Young one.

“I am sorry,” was all he knew to say.

Lady Celebrían offered him a soft smile in thanks and closed her eyes.  His gaze moved to the door as two orcs conversed in the black speech, snarling with cruel amusement.  In his mind he entertained dark, sad thoughts of her sons, his friends.  He could not allow her to die, not if he could do anything imaginable to stop it.

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Lord of the Rings isn’t mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn.  No infringement intended.

Sindar:
1 – Law! – No!
2 – Nuitho, delu levain! – Stop, fell beasts!
3 – Noro!  Noro si! – Run!  Run now!
4 - Sîdh, Legolas.  Na naneth lín nedh taur? – Peace, Legolas.  Is your mother in the forest?
5 - Fuion ti, Adar.  Fuion ti. – I hate them, Father.  I hate them.
6 – Penneth. – Young one.

A/N:  Thanks all for the lovely reviews again!  Makes my day!  Frodo- I guess we put him in danger because if he could fell a nest of orcs single-handedly it wouldn't make much of a story. ;)  I try to put a good, realistic balance in my stories.  He has no weapons and the Lady is danger.  As to why he was out searching for Celeb, I thought the first chapter covered that enough?  Maybe you missed the part where I had said he found dead Noldor on the road and trailed after the orcs?  His purpose in the forest wasn't them, it was hunting...just general hunting away from home, but he discovered something much worse.  Anyway, thanks for your comments! :)

My Immortal
Before The Storm

~~~~~~~

It had rained the day and the night through, leaving behind mud and saturation.  The trees here did not whisper of the return of the Lady of Imladris.  Her passage into the east could be remembered by nature fondly, but if she had tried to come back she had not made it within the woods before the High Pass.  Leaning against a tree, watching his older brother drink from a water skin, Elrohir said, “It is going to rain again.  Soon, too.”

Elladan shrugged and remained seated upon the log he had claimed as his own.  “You fixate on the weather.  I find your habit irritating.”

“I am only thinking of Naneth,” the younger shot back, examining his fingers absently.  He sighed and looked around at the wet brush.  “Does it not bother you, the thought of her being lost?  Storms change the land with such heavy rainfall.  Tracks will be not as easily found.”

Standing up and fastening the water skin to his horse’s saddle, the elder prince retorted firmly, “I am not worried, for I know she endures.  If she had passed to Mandos I would have known.”

Elrohir nodded quickly.  “Strange that you would have such an assurance and I would not.”

Elladan eyed him with a stubborn expression.  “Think as you will.  I know I would have known.  Nothing you say can change that.”  He pet his steed softly, not bringing his eyes off the shiny black mane.  His tone lowered as he continued.  “Why is that so unfathomable?  You are so intent on believing the worst.  Why?”

His twin sighed and ran his hands back through his dark hair.  He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of troublesome thoughts.  “It is not for want of it, I assure you.  Never have we been faced with this, Elladan.  We are blessed by having our mother and our father with us, and our little sister.  I…I fear what could happen if we lost that.”

“As do I, Muindor, but I do not dwell on it.”  Elladan approached his brother, putting his hand to his shoulder, seeing he was not comforted.  “I know you aree the more careful of the two of us, but never have I known you to be so troubled.  Will you not tell me why?  You are not one to look for the worst to happen.”

His brother shook his head, laying his hand on Elladan’s wrist and looking out across the wet road.  “It is a thing I do not wish to say.”

The elder’s gaze became graver.  “Then you are being unfair if you expect me to understand your fears and accept them.  Tell me and have it off your chest.”  He had never seen his younger brother quite so rattled before and it filled him with unease of his own.  They shared everything and he could not see why Elrohir was so reluctant now.  They knew things of one another that no one else knew.

Looking pained and hesitant, Elrohir met his eyes with naked fear in his eyes.  It was not terror, but a quiet thing as if he had borne it for a long time and just now allowed it to surface.  Giving his brother’s arm a squeeze, he nodded, saying, “I will tell you, though you may wish I had not, for it may cause you unneeded doubt.”  He leaned his head back against the bark of the great tree they stood under, looking off as the thunder returned in the distance.  “I believe I had a vision when I was but a child.  It was not a happy one, Muindor.”

Elladan knit his brow.  “A vision?  Does Ada know?”

Giving a wan, sorry smile, Elrohir shook his head.  “I never told him, so badly it frightened me.  And eventually I forgot anyway.  Even if I thought of it, I deemed it nothing more than a dream.  Now I am afraid I was wrong.”

“What did you see?” Elladan pressed, swallowing back his growing disquiet.

His twin took a deep breath, his face sad and reflective.  “I saw Ada.  His eyes were wet with tears.  ‘Teli, ionath nin,’ he said to you and I, leading us into his study.  He told us Nana could not remain with us.  He sounded devastated.  I was so upset that the vision fled me before I could learn all that it meant.  Now do you see why I fear?”  Elrohir brushed back his hair, a gentle gesture that ignited a fire in the elder twin as he concluded, “What if it was a warning?  What if we are going to lose her to Mandos?”
Come, my sons.

Taking his brother by the arm, Elladan gave a sharp tug, startling him.  “Do not say such things!” he hissed, suddenly angry.  “It was a dream!  Just a dream!  There is no reason to believe otherwise, for there is not a wound that a sword could deliver that our father could not heal.”

“There are some,” Elrohir said ominously, pushing his brother away with a frown.  “You pressed me for the truth of my feelings.  I warned you it would cause doubt.”

“Understand one thing, Elrohir, I do not doubt she will endure,” Elladan stated firmly, turning his glare on the grass beneath his feet.  “I do not doubt.”

The other’s sigh made him feel him guilty, which was only increased when Elrohir came back to him, saying, “I am sorry, Elladan.  I know you and Nana have a special bond.  I should have used wisdom and remained silent.  I do not want to believe those things I told you, but when I think on them my heart laments.”  Putting his hand to his brother’s shoulder, he urged playfully, “Come, Muindor, you are my favorite brother and I would not have us quarreling.”

“Favorite brother,” Elladan scoffed, giving in.  He pushed Elrohir’s hand off him, the reached for his head, messing up his brother’s hair.  “I would say the same, but Arwen is more of a brother than you will ever be.”

His brother sighed and shoved him on towards his mount.  “One day you will say one insult too many and I will drag you in a public display at our home into the courtyard and give you the whipping of your life.  Get on your horse.”

Doing just that, Elladan mounted with a dubious grunt.  In an exaggeratedly bored tone he retorted,  “Your threat leaves intense fear in my heart.”

~~~~~~~

He was aware of eyes on him, stalking his every movement as if he were a mere rabbit in a field.  Folding his arms and taking a tentative step, he listened with keen ears, waiting for the inevitable attack.  It would come.  It always did, without fail and without mercy.  Biting his bottom lip, the Elf prepared for what was to come, for he could almost sense the anticipation of the one stalking him.

There was a telltale footstep aimed in his direction.  He tensed, not bothering to turn, resigned to his inexorable fate.  She was relentless.

Her footsteps were becoming more trained, silent and pretty soon he would no longer be able to prepare himself for these little moments in life.  Even still, however, he did catch the faint pitter-patter of tiptoeing behind him.  Smiling, Elrond decided to give Arwen this one.  He felt owed it to her after the mouse incident.  Inhaling the fresh air and running his age-old wise gray eyes over the flowering gardens of his home, he leaned against a pillar and pretended that for all of Middle-Earth he believed he was completely and utterly alone.

Despite all of that when her hand came against his shoulder in a soft pet, her voice very smooth as she greeted, “Ada,” Elrond gave a genuine start.  He had not expected that.

Turning, he viewed his daughter and thought her expression a little too cheerful, a little too schooled.  Raising an eyebrow, he reached behind him, feeling along his robe, mindful of her smirk.  “What have you done to me, Arwen?”

Arwen bat her eyelashes very innocently.  “Why, Ada, what makes you believe I have done anything to you?”

Elrond pursed his lips, turning his head and trying to view his shoulder.  When he turned a circle his princess laughed at him.  “What makes me believe that?  Centuries of raising your brothers for one thing.  Other past incidents of this nature for another.  What did you put on me?”

Her blue eyes widened and her pink lips pouted at him for his accusation.  “I did not do anything to you, Ada, except try to greet you.  Would you rather I left you alone?”

“Of course not,” he sighed, abandoning his back, now truly reconciled to the fact that either whatever she had done would fall off or that someone would notice and smirk, then hopefully remove it for him.  Running his fingers through her hair, looking for the truth in her eyes, he added gently, “I suppose I will believe you.  This time.  Do not abuse my trust.”

Arwen shook her head with a grave expression.  “Of course not, Ada.  Your robe is safe from harm.”  Her smile returned as she watched him and for a moment he reconsidered her claim, but if she had gotten the best of him this time, she deserved it, he supposed.  His children were very fond playing these affectionate games and he was not always able to stay one step ahead.  Besides, it was love that made them do these terrible things to him.  That he knew.  She leaned into his hand as he smoothed her hair from her face.  “Do you think Elladan and Elrohir will be long?” she asked him in a more serious tone.

He had no answer that would satisfy either her.  “I hope not.”  She looked so much like her mother sometimes.

“Did you see something, Ada?  Something bad?”

Elrond had foreseen many things, like the fall of Gil-Galad just moments before it had happened.  He had tried to run the battlefield to find his friend and King, but he had been too late.  He had foreseen wars, pillages, even the birth of the child before him, but he could not fathom where his wife was.  Perhaps that was a blessing for such a question as this.  It was not his want to tell his daughter anything that would cause her pain.  “No, I did not see anything. “

Arwen frowned and looked out across the wet gardens.  Another presence came into theirs and Elrond looked up into the face of Erestor, who placed his hand on his breast and bowed.  “My Lord Elrond, how do you fare this eve?”

Exhaling, the Lord of Rivendell nodded softly.  “I am well.  And you, old friend?”

Erestor’s smile was wan, but encouraging.  “I am well enough.  I have things I need to discuss with you in private a little bit later.”  He offered Arwen a glance, smiling in greeting.  “My Lady, you are looking well.”

She bowed her head respectfully.  “As do you, Lord Erestor.  So, you have words for my father?”

“Indeed, my Lady,” he replied solemnly, meeting the gaze of his lord.  “At your convenience, Elrond.”

Elrond pushed himself off the column.  “Of course.  I am at your disposal, Erestor.”

The advisor gave the princess another look, a gentle expression crossing his usually stern features.  “It is nothing that cannot wait until after dinner if you need time.”

It was not commonly known that Celebrían was missing, but those that did know were very patient, very kind and Elrond appreciated every bit of it.  Reflecting, he decided a nice dinner between father and daughter would be good for both of them.  “Very well,” he replied, watching for a moment as Arwen toyed with one of her curls absently.  He offered Erestor a nod of thanks, then stopped him from leaving as he made for the hall again.  “Ai, Erestor, I have a most serious question to ask you.”

The advisor raised his eyebrow.  “Yes, my Lord?”

Elrond turned around, peering over his shoulder.  “Is there anything on my back?”  Arwen rolled her eyes at him.

Erestor, who had glanced at the princess with him, smiled cunningly.  “Not a thing.”

Satisfied, the Lord of Rivendell nodded, then it occurred to him as Erestor walked away.  “What about my hair?  Was there anything in that?”

With distinctive amusement the advisor shook his head, laughing.  “Relax, my Lord.”

Elrond sighed.

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Lord of the Rings isn’t mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn.  No infringement intended.

Sindar:
1 – Teli, ionath nin. – Come, my sons.

A/N:  Thankie for the reviews!  Tis much appreciated!  Chocolate covered Elves to my dear friends who did review! ;)  Niiiice thought.  *falls back in dreamy state*

My Immortal
Driven

~~~~~~~

Unseen, moving as silently as shadows, both Elladan and his twin made it over the High Pass without having any encounters with the black beasts of Sauron.  This disappointed both, who had grown more restless as the days had passed.  Not a sound had marked their passage, not a whisper of either nature or darkness.  It was entirely too quiet, in fact, which made their quest even slower for the caution they used.

Now coming down from the cold and wet pass, both of them entered into the warmth below quietly, eyes and ears scanning their surroundings for anything unusual.  Indeed, the silence was just that.  No birds sang in the trees, no furry foragers could be seen gathering acorns.  Elrohir looked to Elladan and nodded his brother off the main path and into the forest.  “Do you feel it, Muindor?” he whispered, motioning around them.

Elladan nodded gravely.  “Anger and fear.  The trees whisper of recent woe.”  He urged his brother deeper along the base of the Misty Mountains.

“Indeed,” Elrohir agreed, scanning the trees.  “Nature here has been corrupted.  I dread to…”  He stopped and froze, listening intently, having heard a noise.  Then, before he could prepare himself for anything, he watched a hand cover his brother’s mouth.  In an instant his bow was drawn and an arrow notched and aimed over Elladan’s shoulder.  His ears told him their assailant was no more than one.  “Leave my brother, you fell…Rumil?”  He lowered his bow, glowering at the smirking Lórien Elf.

Elladan pulled himself from Rumil’s arms and whipped around with a frown.  “Would you care to explain yourself?”

Coming into the open, the Lórien Elf shrugged.  “What is to explain?  I chanced stealth with you and won, Prince of Rivendell.”  There was a good-natured smile upon his face, but also a certain gravity hidden within those shining blue eyes.  “I was sent here by my Lord and Lady to find their daughter, your mother.  Haldir went to scout the forests of Mirkwood, but alas I think the trail ends here and his help is sorely missed.  You come at a fortunate time.”

The twins exchanged glances, then Elladan spoke up.  “The trees beyond the pass speak nothing of our mother.  What has my grandparents said of this?”

“They have seen nothing,” the silvery-haired Elf replied gently.  “My Lady fears this is an unalterable event, for their sight of their daughter is blocked.”

“As is our father’s.”

Rumil looked off into the trees, words on his tongue held back yet displayed by his expression.  He had something on his mind and the twins urged him to speak it.  With a sigh, the Lothlórien Elf relented.  “I confess this quest did yield one find apart from tracks.  Haldir and I found Lady Celebrían’s attendants.  They were slaughtered and left in the open.”

“Our mother?” Elladan demanded, eyes wide.  Both brothers visibly paled at the prospect.

The Marchwarden shook his head.  The answer was an uncertain one, perhaps a blessing for the missing Lady, perhaps a curse.  “She was not there.  We found nothing but a shoe, which is in my brother’s possession.  This is the handiwork of orcs.”  Stretching forth a hand, he pointed south of the pass.  “There is a den in the Misty Mountains.  I found the opening and slipped away with the intent of hiding up in the pass until my brother came, knowing I could not go alone in there.  It is my thought that she is there.”

The eldest twin took a breath, his gray eyes fixed in the direction Rumil had pointed out.  In a tone of deadly purpose and unchangeable resolve he said only one thing.  “Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~

He awoke to screaming which transported the Prince of Mirkwood back a few thousand years.  His chest constricted holding the dank, musty air he had been struggling to breathe in for the past few days.  In his mind he saw his mother being tormented, screaming her pain until she could scream no more.  But this was not his past.  This was not his pain.  Aware of the present, Legolas pushed himself up from the hard, chilly floor and raced to his feet.  A quick sweep of the cell proved to him what his heart had not wanted to believe.  It was Lady Celebrían who cried out.

At the cell door he peered out the barred window though he knew what he would see then would grieve him.  Beneath the illumination of one torch there were two dark beasts above the prone form of the Lady of Imladris.  She was held against one, her arms gripped by strong hands that knew no mercy.  Beside her sat the other, his head cocked in curiosity.  Her skirt was high on her thighs and the monster’s hand was invisible beneath the folds.  She tried to move away and he drew a dagger, waving it in warning before her face.  Outraged, feeling helpless, Legolas slammed his hands against the cell door and shouted, “Leave her alone!”

Rasping deep in his throat a hungry sound, the one with the blade hissed, “Come out here and force me, Elfling!”

The orc holding Celebrían jerked her back against him, digging his fingers into her arms.  “Ignore him.  I want another turn with her.”

Grunting, the blade wielder took his dagger, brushing her skirt further up her legs.  With an evil light in his eyes, he jerked the sharp edge down her thigh and a stream of red followed.  Celebrían squirmed and whimpered at the sharp sting.  “Daro!” she cried, weakly kicking out at her assailant.  A blow to the face rewarded her attempt at retribution.

Lifting the dagger the one that cut her ran his tongue down the blade, and then spat the blood onto her dress.  “Never did enjoy Elf meat.  Too delicate.  I say you should die soon, Elf witch!”

“Such a test of strength you think you display!” Legolas sneered, pulling at the door fruitlessly.  He stopped and glared through the bars.  “But I say you only show your weakness in attacking one who is unable to fight!”

With a flicker of bloodthirsty delight the orc put his filthy hand to Celebrían’s side, diggings his claws into her dress until he broke through to flesh and caused her to cry out.  Legolas tensed, watching as he yanked his hand down, ripping a gash into her side.  She tensed, then fell unconscious.  It could have been the pain, it could have been blood loss, he did not know.  It certainly covered the both of them enough.  He watched a new river spill from her fresh wound.  The vision filled him with despair and loathing.  He searched himself for answers that would not come.  What could he do?  How could he stop this?

With an aggravated growl, the beast with the dagger tossed Celebrían off his partner to the floor.  She fell in a heap, not making a sound or moving when her body hit the floor.  A chill spread through him as he watched her for any small move to betray she was all right.  None came.

The orcs stood, both bearing fell grins and both heading towards the cell.  “You wanted some fun, boy?” the more outspoken of the two growled darkly, pulling a dark metal key from his belt.  “Well, now you’re gonna get your chance!”

They were hungry for his pain, just as they had hungered for hers.  It never seemed to stop.  He could see no end to the treachery they suffered, for every time he fought he was struck back down, each time harder than the last.  He had escaped many perils and had thought he would escape this one, but even now he could feel it beginning, just as it had for Celebrían.  Acceptance.  Defeat.  He considered himself usually optimistic, but this was beating him down and he knew not how to stop it.

So when they came for him he was prepared to fight until the end.  Rage and indignity pulsed through his veins, giving him a fire to ignite his force.  Hunkering down, his face a mask of concentration and resignation, he hissed, “Come then and fight me!”

“Oh, we shall!”  The door swung open, then was slammed back against the wall with such a force he heard the wood crack.  Snarling darkly one entered, then the other.  Both wielded weapons this time.

Legolas raised his chin, not backing down.  “So you come at me with weapons while I remain unarmed?”

The outspoken orc pointed his blade at him, waving it.  His glinting eyes smoldered in fury.  “I’ve had about enough of your attitude, Elf!  You think you’re so strong, so smart, hmm?  Why you still in this hole?”  He barked a sharp laugh.  “Ain’t you Elves afraid of caves?”

The Prince of Mirkwood smirked at that, but said nothing.  He would not be goaded into revealing anything to these monsters.  When one of the blades struck for him, he dodged it and grabbed for the orc’s wrist.  Catching it, he yanked hard, but the monster’s hide was tough.  It flew forward, using the Elf’s pull to gather momentum and hurl Legolas back into the hard wall.  Too angry to care about pain anymore, he forced himself to react instantly and kicked his foe in the stomach, sending him back into his partner.  Both tumbled to the floor, growling their surprise.

Again Legolas did not wait for them to recover.  He launched himself forward with a battle cry in Elvish, diving for a dagger.  Catching the fist of one of his assailants, he gave his arm a hard twist and won his prize this time because of the beast’s floundering state.  It howled in pain, letting it drop into the Elf’s hand.  Legolas, in turn, plunged the blade down, aiming for the throat.  Once it won past flesh he turned it and the flailing orc took a few gurgling breaths, then stopped moving.

His partner gave a furious yell, pushing Legolas off of him and tackling him to the floor.  “You’ll pay for that, Elf!” he growled, pinning the prince down by the shoulders.  His weight was heavy and immovable, giving no way for Legolas to escape.  The beast drew back his fist and sent it down into the prince’s jaw.  His head snapped back and he groaned, but couldn’t give up.  Pushing on the beast above him with reckless abandon, Legolas fought back like a caged wolf, clawing and shoving, doing anything in his power to win this battle.

The fist came down again, landing against his cheek, then again and he saw stars.  The battle was lost.  His shoves began losing momentum until finally he orc stopped, glaring down in satisfaction.  “Now, Elf, you die.”

~~~~~~~

Author:  Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Lord of the Rings isn’t mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn.  No infringement intended.

A/N:  Thank you guys for the reviews last chapter!  Wow, Karri, I had no idea you were a twin!  That's cool...I always wanted to be one myself, she'd prolly have turned out to be the better one though. ;)  Eruanna, as far as Elrond and his lovely hair and back, I figure Arwen just touched him and implanted the idea something would be there, but was totally truthful when he questioned her. ;D  Can't fault that, eh?  I love tormenting Elrond like that. :D *hands out Elves for the lovely reviews*  Thanks again!