Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, it all belongs to Tolkien. I'm not making any money.

A/N: Wow, someday really was a long time, sorry I took so long guys!

I just want to add here that the, uhm, torture at the end of the chappie is SB's fault, so attack her, not me.

The language barrier has been removed, in that Elladan speaks english now, so when he speaks with Legolas and Elrohir, they are speaking elvish, and if he speaks to anyone in our world, he's speaking english.

There's also a brief flashback, which I will go into in further detail in future chappies, it's denoted quite clearly, (in a fashion that annoys Cathy, I apologize, I just felt it worked best in this situation, please ignore it as best your able)

Ok, I'm done rambling, on with the fic!

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Three days had passed since Elladan had been reunited with Legolas and Elrohir. They had exchanged information quickly, and found themselves even more confused than before.

A riddle, help from long-dead companions and relations, and the apparent return of Melkor. They all added up to something, and Elladan was certain that Manwe's spell was the key.

Logan had been most kind, and allowed the three elves to stay in his house, making no comment whatsoever about their strange appearance. Their delicately tapered ears and strange clothing didn't seem to faze him at all. He merely made no comment about the ears, and loaned them some of his clothes.

For the past three days, they had rested up after their harrowing ordeal, and tried to figure out the Spell. Legolas had written it down on some paper that Logan supplied, with a rather ingenious writing instrument.

It wasn't a quill, but was made of some sort of flexible white material, and the ink was kept inside it, so there was no dipping and no spilling. Logan had called it a 'pen', and Elrohir in particular, was rather taken with the instrument.

He spent hours absently doodling on everything within reach, books, scraps of writing paper, even napkins made not from cloth, but paper (which Elladan found rather strange). Things finally went too far when, in his search for drawing material, Elrohir found a book made entirely of a strange, shiny paper, with no covers. Inside, there were startlingly realistic images of completely nude females in a variety of positions. Logan was quite unhappy when he found Elrohir calmly drawing clothing on each and every maiden, and managed to express his displeasure even with the language barrier between them.

It was then that he introduced the threesome to what he called a 'TV', a small black box, with glass in the middle. When a button on it is pushed, images and sound appear on it. It rather reminded Elladan of a palantir, and made him nervous at first, until Logan explained that it was quite harmless.

Which brought him to where he was now; staring at the TV, Spell in hand, trying to decipher it and watch 20/20 at the same time.

Logan sat behind him, puffing away at his ever present pipeweed (which he had informed Elladan was called a cigarette).

Elladan was only halfway listening to the program, and absently mumbling the lines of the spell over and over to himself, Legolas and Elrohir had gone outside, and were sparring with each other on the beach.

These three days of inactivity were starting to wear on them, they were worried about their families and friends, and with no word whatsoever from Aragorn or anyone else for that matter, Legolas was beginning to have difficulty sitting still.

Thankfully, Elrohir could always be counted upon for a good tussle. When Anni was in labor with Faenrin, he and Elrohir had spent most of the time sparring with swords, daggers, staffs, and, when Elrond got fed up and took all their weapons away from them, they resorted to dueling with dandilions.

Currently, there were no dandilions to be found, so they were simply wrestling like elflings. Elladan watched them a moment, before chuckling softly and turning his attention back to the spell in his hand.

""Residing in the Elements / Of sea and sky and fire / The hidden light of Valinor / Whose source, destroyed by Melkor's ire." He muttered softly to himself as he mulled over the first verse. Suddenly, it clicked in his mind, "The silmaril! It's a silmaril!"

"What?" Logan gave his unusual house guest a strange look, as the elf leapt out of the chair he had been draped over and burst out the front door.

"Elrohir, Legolas! It's the silmaril!"

"What is?" Legolas looked up from where he had Elrohir caught in a headlock.

Elrohir used his opponents momentary distraction to slip free of his grip, and flipped Legolas onto the ground, straddling his chest. Legolas grunted in frustration as he tried to dislodge the heavier elf from his chest.

"Valar, Elrohir! I swear your human blood makes you twice as heavy as any other elf in Arda!"

Elrohir merely snorted in response, and looked at his twin, "Now what are you shouting about?"

The older twin was fairly jumping up and down in excitement, "It's the silmaril! That's the answer to the riddle, at least the first part of it!"

"Are you sure?" Legolas gave Elladan a skeptical look, though his current position rendered it rather ineffective.

"Yes, listen: Residing in the Elements / Of sea and sky and fire / The hidden light of Valinor Whose source, / destroyed by Melkor's ire. That's the silmarils! All three of them, one is in the air, with Daer-Adar Earendiil, one was with Maedhros when he jumped into the fiery chasm, and the last was supposedly tossed in the sea by Maglor."

Elrohir exchanged a look with Legolas, and climbed off his chest. "Let me see."

Taking the paper from Elladan's hand, he mulled over the first verse. "It does make sense, especially when coupled with the next two verses. The second one refers to where they are now, and the third and fourth speaks of Feanor's sons. What have you made of the fifth, though?"

Elladan shook his head, "The sacrifice of perfect love / A mother and unborn / Shall flood a tarnished world with red / And mend an Arda torn? I'm not exactly sure. A pregnant woman shall flood the world with blood? I have no answers there, I'm afraid. But I agree with Aragorn's assessment of the sixth, it does refer to us, and him, and the last simply says if all these things come to pass, then Melkor's hold on the Halls of Time will be broken, and the Valar will destroy him."

"Where do we go from here, then?" Legolas shook some sand from his long, golden hair. "How are we supposed to locate a Silmaril?"

"Uh..." Elladan gave the prince a blank look, which was perfectly mirrored by his twin.

Exasperated, Legolas threw his hands up in the air, and stalked into the house. "So we are no further than we were BEFORE you solved the spell, is that correct?"

"Well...he DID solve the spell." Elrohir supplied helpfully.

Legolas silently rolled his eyes, and flopped down on the couch, giving Logan a rather underserved dark look. "We haven't really accomplished anything, Elrohir."

Elladan sighed, and sat down beside Legolas. Silently, all three elves turned their attention to the TV. Logan, who was used to them arguing in their own language by now, merely shifted in his seat to better see the TV.

On 20/20, Barbara Walters was doing a piece about transient singers in some city called New York.

Elladan cocked his head as the camera zoomed in on a male with long, reddish hair, and delicate features. His brow furrowed, as he tried to figure out why this man looked so familiar.

Elrohir was doing the same, he was certain he had seen that face before, somewhere.

Legolas simply grunted, "That man looks almost like an elf."

His comment rung through the room, echoing through Elrohir's ears. .

//flashback//

"Ada, wait!" Elrohir's short legs struggled to keep up with his father.

Laughing, Elrond scooped up his younger son. "Come my son, someone is here at the door to meet us!"

Elrohir chortled in delight, and swung his chubby legs gleefully. "Presents?"

He, of course, associated visitors with the many friends of Elrond's who had shown up since the twins' birth 8 years before. They often brought presents for the elflings, and congratulations to Elrond and Celebrian.

"I don't know, Elrohir. Maybe," Elrond chuckled. He still found himself frequently enchanted by his sons' chubby cheeks, and bright grey eyes, and the way their little cupid's bow lips pursed just so.

Elrond settled the toddler on his hip, and pulled open the door.

His mouth dropped open in shock, standing before him was an elf with long, reddish hair. His clothes were ragged, and he carried no visible weapons, only a harp slung over his shoulder.

"Maglor?"

//end flashback//

~*~

Thranduil strained against his bonds.

He had been tied up for awhile now, his arms bound behind him to a metal post that rose up to his shoulderblades. Across the post was a crossbar, his elbows were stretched over it, and then tied beneath.

All in all, it was a most uncomfortable position, and Thranduil wished he had something to distract himself with. Time had lost all relevance here in this dark pit, the moments were disjointed, and made no sense. He truly had no idea how long he had been bound in this unpleasant fashion, but seemed like centuries.

His companions had long since given up struggling, only Thranduil continued on. Since his encounter with the former Queen of Gondor, his soul had been filled with hope, and though he tried to pass it on to her kinsman, they would have none of it. They seemed to wallow in the darkness, unable to do anything else.

Thranduil found himself confused by this, for they had all fought against the darkness long before he had been born. They had succumbed rather easily, in his opinion.

He'd tried everything to share the light Arwen had kindled in him with Elrond, Celeborn, and Glorfindel. He'd even tried cursing at them in every language he knew, and as King of Mirkwood, he had been required to know almost every dialect on Arda.

Sighing, he shifted his stance a little, trying to ease the strain on his aching shoulders, and prepared to try again.

As he opened his mouth to speak, a door on the far end of the chamber opened, and a single man, accompanied by two orcs appeared.

The orcs were carrying several large crates, they set them down, and stood quietly in the doorway.

The man continued to the center of the room alone. Squinting against the sudden light Thranduil tried to make out his features. They were unremarkable, dark hair cut close to his scalp, dark eyes, and a goatee decorated his chin. He was attractive, but not unusually so, and most decidedly human looking.

His dress was strange, he wore a simple white shirt with buttons up the front, and a narrow strip of silver cloth hung down his chest and stomach. Overtop, he wore a black jacket of sorts, that ended just below his hips. The odd ensemble was completed by long black trousers and unusually shiny black shoes.

Elrond, Celeborn and Glorfindel watched his progress silently, not making a single sound. Thranduil chose to speak for all of them. "Who are you. Why are you doing this to us?"

The strange man laughed, the sound sent chills down Thranduil's spine. "I want answers, my lords."

He spoke their titles mockingly, the taunt obvious. Thranduil chose to ignore it, "What answers do you seek from us? We are not the great Lords we once were, we have no knowledge of the world outside Valinor."

"Oh, I think you do." The man caught a strand of Celeborn's silver hair, and twirled it absently between his fingers, the former Lord of Lothlorien didn't move. "I'm interested in how you can resist me yet, Oropherion. These three have succumbed to my power, yet you do not. Why do you continue to hope for rescue? It will not come."

"It will, to give up hope is folly." Thranduil glared at the man, he was now beginning to understand who was tormenting them so. "You are the dark lord, aren't you. Not Sauron, but the one who came before, Melkor."

The man laughed again, Thranduil winced visibly as it echoed painfully through his skull.

"I am Melkor, I'm impressed you knew me, youngling." Melkor reached into one of the crates, and pulled out a strange looking object. "I have been studying humans these past few days, their history since I was cast into the Void. I have missed much, it seems."

Releasing Celeborns hair, Melkor walked across the room to where Glorfindel was bound. He raised the object into the dim light of the room so Thranduil got a good look at it.

It was simply a bar of iron, with a two pronged fork at either end, and attached to a leather collar by means of a short chain. Thranduil couldn't fathom any use for the strange item.

Seeing the confused expression on the Silvan elf's face, Melkor smiled, revealing a row of straight, white teeth. "This is called a 'heretics fork', it was used as a means of discovering 'witches' by humans, about 1500 years ago. Allow me to demonstrate it's use."

Melkor wrapped a hand around Glorfindel's golden hair, and yanked his head backwards, revealing a wide expanse of neck and chest. The balrog-slayer grunted in pain, and tried to pull away instinctively, but Melkor gave him no quarter.

He jammed one end of the fork directly into Glorfindel's sternum, Thranduil winced as he heard it actually imbed itself in the bone.

Glorfindel groaned, but was cut off as Melkor adjusted the angle of the fork, and forced captive's chin on the other end of it.

Thranduil lost sight of the Gondolin elf a moment, as Melkor neatly strapped the leather collar under the iron one Glorfindel still wore, but he could hear the elf gasping for breath, and grunting painfully.

When Melkor stepped back, Thranduil could only stare in shock. Glorfindel's head was now forcibly held up at such an angle it was nearly impossible for him to breathe, while blood trickled out of the painful looking wounds on his chest and chin.

"Now, you will tell me how you are managing to fight my power off so effectively, Elf." Melkor stood directly in front of Thranduil, so he could smell the foul odor that the Being emitted. "Tell me, or you will be subject to the same treatment."

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tbc... heh heh heh Reviews make me write faster!