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Hidden Agenda  by sheraiah

For header and disclaimer, see chapter 1.

Legolas shifted restlessly, testing his bonds for the hundredth time. He had lost track of how long he had been a captive, his days and nights melding into a confusing whirl due to his almost constantly drugged state. His captors had discovered very quickly that he was far easier to deal with if he was groggy or unconscious and took care to keep him that way. They had also given him some food and water, but not nearly as much as he would normally have had, and he felt weak and shaky, far beyond what the drugs were responsible for.

He had discerned that there were four guards on him at all times, and that they changed regularly. He had also heard a voice of a certain authority and had concluded, in a rare lucid moment, that whoever was behind this evidently liked to take a personal interest in his lackeys’ performance. It had been some time since he had been given his last dose of whatever drug they were using on him, and its effects had begun to wear off. He had noticed that they invariably did that when the authoritative voice visited. Sure enough, he heard the condescending tone of the authoritative one. Abruptly, the door to the room he lay in opened. Footsteps crossed the room and Legolas’ pallet sagged with the weight of the authoritative one.

“Your friend, the king is very uncooperative, as is his bitch of a wife,” the voice commented peevishly. Legolas stiffened and gritted his teeth at the insult to Arwen. The voice chuckled. “You did not like that, did you? Elf, I have no particular axe to grind with your folk. You, yourself, were merely intended to be the means to an end, as was the queen, had she cooperated and been brought here to join you. As it stands now, you have become a liability that I can no longer afford to have.” Legolas went cold, knowing that in his current state he was unable to fend off any attempts to end his life. “Still, I am reluctant to have your blood on my hands and I do not trust those buffoons not to bungle things. What am I to do with you, then? I suppose I shall have to give you a sporting chance. I wonder if you will be able to get free of those ropes before you starve to death. It will be interesting to find out.” His weight shifted off the pallet and Legolas heard him walking towards the door.

A quick command and there were several men in the room grabbing him and forcing the vile drug down his throat again. He vaguely felt himself being lifted and carried and he struggled to hold onto awareness long enough to gain some information on where he was being taken. He felt them carry him up several flights of stairs and suddenly felt the cool night air on his face. He breathed deeply through his nose, trying to at least catch some familiar scent. One of the ones carrying him noted that he was still awake and a fist came crashing down on his head, sending him down into the pit again.

When he next woke, he could hear the sound of dripping water and the faint scurrying of scavenger rodents. The air felt close and dank and he shuddered as he realized that he was below ground, most likely in a cellar. He could hear no activity near, no sounds of humans at all. He fought his bonds and twisted his wrists until they bled freely to no avail. He tried to use the blood soaking the ropes to slip them off, but they were too intricately knotted. He tried to roll, but found that he was wedged between two immovable objects. He was still gagged, so calling out was not an option. Legolas kicked out, hoping to strike anything that might make noise. Failing that, he began to work the ropes again, ignoring the pain in his wrists. He would not give up without a fight.

 

 

 

“What did you find, captain?” Elessar’s face gave away little of what he thought or felt as he addressed the guard captain in charge of following up on the information gained by questioning the men who had attacked the queen.

“He was definitely being held there, my lord king. They likely moved him as soon as they knew the attempt on the queen had failed. We found his jerkin and boots, and the mithril chain that Lord Gimli made for him last Yule, but nothing else.” The captain looked as concerned as Elessar felt.

“No sign as to where they may have taken him?”

“No, my lord king, nothing. We’ve questioned everyone in the neighborhood, but no one admits to seeing anything. We’re continuing the search.” The captain bowed as Elessar dismissed him.

Eight days it had been since the queen had been attacked. The men in question had held out far longer than Elessar would have given them credit for, even under Thranduil’s icy glare. In the end, they had gotten the information they sought, too late. The traitors had gone to ground and disappeared into Minas Tirith’s masses.

The knowledge that at least one highborn person was involved had not been unexpected, but unfortunately none of the men in custody knew the identity of the one they called ‘His Lordship.’ Elessar refused to be reduced to looking over his shoulder every second, but had doubled the guard on his wife and had insisted on being well armed at all times, not only himself but Arwen and the rest of their guests as well.

 

 

 

 

Serai pulled her ragged cloak tighter around her thin frame. Fall had arrived, the days were cooler, and the nights were getting too cold to be without shelter. She would have to find someplace soon, before her condition began to show. She would need warmth if she was to survive the winter. She shivered, thinking of the small and shabby but warm home she was no longer welcome in. Her father had never been the same after her mother had died, but throwing his only child out into the street for becoming pregnant when his friend had forced himself on her was not something she would have thought him capable of.

The girl spotted a ruined building ahead of her that looked likely. The upper floors would not be warm enough, but the cellar had possibilities, if it was not already claimed. She had found and lost three places already, along with most of the few belongings her father had allowed her to take.

Serai stepped over the threshold cautiously, listening for any sign that the cellar was already occupied. Hearing nothing she continued, pausing every few steps to listen. Still she heard nothing, so she moved the last few paces into the dim, dank room. It stank, and she wrinkled her nose, but she could change that with a bit of cleaning. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the low light, and she began to look around in earnest. The room was not very large, but it would suit her needs and it was warm.

There was debris everywhere, left over from the siege. Abandoned buildings were last on the list to be repaired, especially on this level. Most of the inhabited buildings had been repaired or rebuilt in the years since the war had ended, even down this far, but there was still work to be done. Eventually, this structure would be razed but Serai hoped that it was after she no longer needed it. She stepped carefully over a pile of splintered wood and froze in shock. There, on the ground in front of her lay a body.

Serai was no innocent, not anymore. She remembered the siege vividly and she was no stranger to death, but there was something strange about the body before her. As she stared, it twitched and a slight moan escaped it. Biting her lip, she moved closer, trying to get a better look. A wave of pity rose in her as she saw that the person was blindfolded and gagged, as well as bound. Long, fair hair hid the person’s face. Kneeling next to the unfortunate, she started, shocked beyond measure as she took in the tip of a pointed ear peeking out from the filthy tangle of hair.

Her eyes darted around fearfully. Anyone who would do this to an elf would not hesitate to kill an insignificant human girl. She should leave and put as much distance between herself and this building as possible. She rose and began to move quickly away but the memory of the elf’s crumpled form rose before her and she stopped. She could not walk away and just leave. One of the few happy memories that she had since her mother’s death involved elves.

Serai had been trying to purchase enough food for a meager dinner for herself and her father. By purchasing the slightly bruised or wilted vegetables, bones with little meat on them, and the ends of loaves, she could usually manage on what she could salvage from her father’s pockets after he came home from the tavern and stumbled to his bed. As she was leaving the market, a horse had gotten spooked and had gone wild, knocking her off her feet and her food into a large puddle. She had been able to salvage the vegetables, but the bread had been soaked and a stray dog had run off with the bone she had bought. She had felt like weeping at the loss, but refused to in public. Suddenly, there was a pair of fine boots in front of her.

“Are you hurt, child?” A musical voice had asked. Serai had looked up into a pair of silver eyes and a face so fair it took her breath, framed in long, braided, dark hair.

“I do not think she is injured, brother, but she has lost most of her dinner,” another musical voice answered the first and Serai’s mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of a mirror image of the being in front of her. Elves, she thought giddily, they’re elves!

“Here, child, let us help you up,” the first said, gently taking a hold of Serai’s elbows and lifting her to her feet. “Since it was our horse that caused you to lose your purchases, it seems only right that we should replace them,” he finished, smiling at her. He was so charming that she could not help smiling in return, which he evidently took for assent.

In short order, Serai’s basket had been filled more than twice as full as it had been and the elves were gone before she could form thought enough to thank them. She and her father had eaten for nearly a week because of the elves’ generosity and Serai had never forgotten it. In a way, she reasoned, she could thank her elves by helping this one. Her decision made, Serai set off at a run for the nearest guard station.

 

 

Captain Malrel had just finished his morning mug of tea and was settling his cloak around his shoulders when the girl burst into the guard station he commanded.

“Please, I need someone to come with me! He needs help!” She was agitated enough that she was not making much sense and Malrel gripped the girl’s shoulders, enough to steady her, but not cause her any pain. She flinched away from his touch and he released her. He stepped back and raised his hands to show her that he would not harm her and would respect her boundaries.

“Peace, child! Slow down and tell me what’s happened,” Malrel kept his tone soft and calm, not wishing to frighten her further. She took a deep breath.

“The building on the corner, the one that had a red roof?” He nodded his understanding and she continued, “In the cellar, past the wood pile. There’s an elf there. Someone’s hurt him. He’s all tied up, blindfolded, and gagged, but I saw him move. He’s alive and you’ve got to help him!” She saw the captain’s eyes widen and he turned, shouting orders to his men. He turned back to her.

“Child, I’m going to need you to come with us. There’s a lot more to this than you know, and I’m afraid that it’s too dangerous for you to be on your own right now. Do you understand?” Malrel locked eyes with her and she nodded, terror filling her gray eyes. “Good. Now, first we’ll go and see to the elf and then we’ll take a ride up to the Citadel. You can ride with me. I’ve a daughter about your age and I’ll let no one harm you. All right?” She gulped but, visibly steeling herself, nodded. “Good girl. Let’s go then.”

Malrel placed the girl behind him on his horse, reasoning that she would probably feel less threatened there than in front. As the troop paced down the cobbled street, he turned to his second in command. “Lorran, you fought at the Black Gate with Lord Legolas, didn’t you?”

“Aye, Cap’n, that I did,” his second replied, frowning. “He’s a fine fellow. Him and Lord Gimli saved my neck during the battle.”

“You’ll have point then. I’ve only seen him from a distance and we‘ll need someone who knows him to identify him for certain,” the captain stated.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

The troop stopped in front of the building that the girl had described and dismounted. Malrel placed the girl in the care of one of his guardsmen that he knew had daughters and made his way into the cellar.

The air was close and rank in the dark room. Malrel allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom and then located the woodpile. Stepping over it, he spied the prone figure on the ground several feet away. He moved quickly to the elf’s side and removed the blindfold and gag before cutting away the bloodstained ropes that bound him. Gently, he eased the elf onto his back and placed his fingers on the pale neck, seeking confirmation that he was indeed alive. Sighing with relief when he felt a slow, but steady pulse, he motioned Lorran over.

“Aye, Cap’n, that’s Lord Legolas. Wish I had five minutes alone with the ones who did this,” Lorran commented darkly, doffing his cloak and wrapping it around the unconscious elf prince. “With permission, Cap’n, I’d like to take charge of him. Like I said, I owe him my life.”

“Permission granted. Let’s get him to the Citadel.”

 

 

 

 

 





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