Betrayal- By: Cassia and Siobhan cassia_a@hotmail.com and siobhancl2@aol.com

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Maybe for our previous stories... otherwise I don’t think so.

Disclaimer: We own nothing of Middle Earth or any of Tolkien’s worlds or 
characters. Everything recognizable belongs to JRR Tolkien, anything else 
belongs to us. We have no permission to use these characters and are receiving 
no money for this story. This story was written for enjoyment only.

Summary:

After a long absence, Legolas is finally returning home to Mirkwood.  But what 
will he and Aragorn find when they get there?  Trouble more severe than either 
of them could have ever guessed is stirring in the Wood-elves realm and 
treachery beyond imagining.  The resulting struggle may be more than either the 
elf or the ranger can handle... and if they can’t, then not only they, but all 
of Mirkwood is doomed.







Series: Yes, The Mellon Chronicles.

Previous stories in the series are: Captive of Darkness Hope First Meetings 
Change of Heart, Change of Mind Exile Return Mistaken Identity Vilya Black 
Breath Sickness And So The End &The Seventh Stone

(And still growing! LOL!)

This story will make more sense if you have read those first, although if you 
want to give it a whirl by itself, we try to recap and explain most of the 
references back to the other stories when they pop up.

Warnings: Character torture and angst. (come one, this is us, what do you 
expect?) :o)





Additional disclaimers: Please note that when Tolkien says that Aragorn was 
‘raised in the house of Elrond’ after his father’s death when he was a child, we 
have taken that to mean that Elrond was something of an adopted father to his 
long-distant nephew, Aragorn, and Elrond’s twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir were 
something like older brothers to the young ranger.   Please do not take offence, 
or flame us on this if you see it differently.  Thanks!

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





- Betrayal-

___________________________________________________________





~*PART ONE*~







Piercing pale rays of sunlight broke through the trees here and there at 
sporadic intervals.  The sun was warm when it touched the skin of the two 
travelers, but the air was chill and the signs that fall was fast fading towards 
winter were appearing everywhere.



Fat grey squirrels, their cheeks bulging with last minute provisions to 
stockpile for the winter ahead stopped only for a moment on their way to gaze 
down at the two companions.  The pair could not have been more different in some 
ways.  One golden-haired, slender and dressed in soft tones of green and brown 
that fitted him well, the other with shorter hair bordering on the shade of 
night, wiry, but more sturdily built than his elven companion.  The ranger’s 
dark, well-worn over-coat obscured whatever else he was wearing underneath.  But 
the easy talk and comfortable silences that flowed between them belied whatever 
differences the eye took in for the human and the elf seemed to be as close as 
brothers.



Unconsciously, Aragorn rubbed his arms, pulling his hands up inside the sleeves 
of his tunic and overcoat for some added warmth.  Their breath fogged and hung 
on the crisp air and the dense canopy of foliage above them kept out the warming 
rays of the sun.  The weather had been taking a decidedly nippy turn the past 
few days and Aragorn was feeling it, even if Legolas was not.  They had expected 
to reach Mirkwood much sooner in the year than they were now arriving and 
Aragorn had not come prepared for a winter journey.  However, the little 
side-track they had taken to Eowioriand and the events surrounding their failed 
attempt to retrieve the Palantir housed there had changed their plans quite a 
bit. 





“Winter’s coming early this year,” Aragorn remarked.  All the signs he saw 
foretold that it would also be an unusually harsh one.





Legolas glanced sympathetically at his friend.  The cold did not bite him and he 
barely registered the change at all, but he could tell that his human friend was 
beginning to feel the creeping frost of the winter that was nearly upon them.  
“We should make my father’s halls by nightfall Strider,” he encouraged the young 
ranger with a slight smile.  “If nothing *else* befalls us first that is,” he 
couldn’t help adding.





Aragorn laughed.  “It will be remarkable if something does *not*.  Truly, your 
father will think we kidnapped you I shouldn’t wonder!”





It had been more than a fortnight since they left Isengard and parted from 
Gandalf and Gwaihir.  By now autumn had all but fled away before them.





Legolas chuckled.  “Or that I ran away more likely.  He summoned me when it was 
yet summer and winter is all but upon us ere I return... I fear he shall not 
find my entrance timely,” the prince shook his head.  He was jesting, but 
Aragorn knew him well enough to know that there was a serious undertone to his 
statement.  Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the elf prince was not looking 
forward to his father’s reaction to his tardy arrival. 





Aragorn squeezed his friend’s arm, catching Legolas’ eyes and giving him an 
encouraging smile.  “He’ll understand Legolas, it’s not your fault.”





Legolas smiled softly and shook his head.  Aragorn would probably never 
understand how things were between the prince and his father.  Sometimes Legolas 
did not understand himself.  There was love, oh yes there was fierce love 
between them... but so often the details seemed to get in the way and make 
simple matters complicated. 





“Do not be surprised if he does not see it that way; my father is not your 
father Estel.  Thranduil is a king and he has the right to expect obedience from 
his subjects, including me; and when that does not happen... it’s not something 
to be taken very lightly.  But fear not, everything will be all right,” Legolas 
smiled quickly when he saw the concerned look growing on his friend’s face.  He 
didn’t want Aragorn to make more out of this than there was, that wasn’t what he 
had intended.  Indeed, he had not intended to speak of it at all, but the 
closeness that had grown between he and the ranger often led the prince to say 
things to Aragorn that he would not have mentioned to anyone else.  “I may be 
hearing about it for the next fifty years, but it will be all right,” he added 
with a rueful grin that made Aragorn chuckle.





“Don’t worry, if it’s any consolation I am certain to have the same thing happen 
to me if the snows fall early and close the high pass back to Rivendell too 
soon.  Elladan will never forgive me if I don’t come back and they don’t know 
why,” Aragorn quirked his head to the side in amusement.  “Of course, he’d be 
even angrier if I tried to make it through the pass in the snow... *and* I’d get 
one of those lectures from father, you know the one...”





Legolas’ grin widened knowingly.  “Oh yes, the ‘what were you thinking, you 
could have gotten killed, do you think you are indestructible and do you ever 
stop to consider of the consequences before you act?’ one, is that it?” the 
prince spoke as someone with much personal experience.





Aragorn laughed.  “Yes, that’s the one.  See?  Our fathers are more alike than 
you think!  Family...” he shook his head.





“Unique, isn’t it?” Legolas enjoyed the joking.  It was odd actually, how much 
he and Aragorn seemed to have in common sometimes, considering that they were so 
different.





“I see lights through the trees,” Aragorn stopped suddenly and pointed.  “I 
didn’t think we that close yet.”





“We’re not,” Legolas shook his head, glancing the way that Aragorn indicated.  
“That’s some of my people making merry, a hunting party it looks like,” he 
added, although Aragorn could see nothing but lights from here.  “Let us see 
what news they have.”





They turned aside towards the lights in the trees and Aragorn walked somewhat 
swiftly because the thought of being near a fire was a welcome one.  As they 
drew closer they could see that the light of the fire seemed to illumine a 
perfect circle around the wood-elves in the middle of its glow, one that did not 
move or extend any light further than their immediate area.  It was odd really, 
but Aragorn had been in the middle of such fires here before as Legolas’ guest 
so he did not think much of it.  He outdistanced the prince slightly in his 
haste, but before he could enter the circle of lights Legolas called his name 
and caught up with him quickly, holding the ranger back. 





Aragorn looked at the prince, puzzled, but Legolas just smiled and shook his 
head.  “It is not wise to walk into the middle of a wood-elves party unless they 
know you or you are one of their kind.  You would not be harmed, but I have no 
wish to have to wait around for you to wake up from the enchanted slumber that 
would come upon you.”





Aragorn blinked and nodded.  “Oh.”  It seemed there was always something new to 
learn about elves, even when you lived with them your whole life.  And the 
Mirkwood elves by and large seemed to be quite a bit different than the ones he 
had grown up around any way.  He sighed slightly.  “And I suppose one of these 
days I may be able to actually go somewhere and do something without nearly 
making an idiot of myself and sticking my foot in it completely.”





“Perhaps someday,” Legolas replied with a devilish grin that earned him a light 
punch in the shoulder from his friend.





They stepped into the circle of lights beyond the trees, Legolas in the lead.  
The low buzz of the wood-elves’ conversation stopped as they all looked up.  It 
was a small group, only half a dozen at most, and although they were eating and 
drinking a fine fare, the group seemed decidedly subdued and Legolas picked up 
on it at once.





“Your highness,” the hunters rose.  “You’re back!”  They were sincerely glad to 
see him, but several of the elves glanced at one another as they rose.  Legolas 
could not read what was behind that look, but whatever it was bothered him.





“Please, join us,” the elves offered quickly as Aragorn moved over to stand near 
the fire, rubbing his hands together over its warmth. 





Hot spiced wine was poured for the two newcomers who both accepted it gratefully 
as they settled down around the fire.  The road had been long and hard and their 
journey wearisome.





“Well it seems that the quality of our wine has not diminished during my 
absence,” Legolas smiled after he had drunk.  The wood-elves were all very fond 
of wine, and although they made none of their own, the stock they kept on hand 
was better than that kept anywhere else in Middle Earth.  “What news is there 
since I last walked beneath these trees Umdanuë?” he addressed the elf sitting 
next to him.  “How was the yèn festival?”





“It was well.” the elf called Umdanuë answered slowly.  “...your highness, have 
you met with your father?”





Legolas did not like the timber of that question.  “No, I have not yet been 
home.  Why?”





“No, I meant, met with him on the road.  He left to look for you some days ago,” 
Umdanuë informed.





“Left?” Legolas rose quickly to his feet.  “Why would he leave?  I sent Raniean 
with the news that we would be delayed...”  It didn’t make sense.





“I don’t know about that, but I know he’s gone... I had hoped he’d be with you,” 
Umdanuë shook his head.





Aragorn and Legolas exchanged looks.  What did this mean?  Could Raniean have 
not arrived?  And if so what had befallen him?





“Who is in charge during my father’s absence?” Legolas inquired.  “Lord 
Celemir?”  Usually the succession would have gone to himself and if he were not 
present then either to Raniean, as captain of the largest segment of Mirkwood’s 
warriors, or  Celemir, Thranduil’s most trusted advisor and member of the court. 





Umdanuë did not speak. 





“Nay, not Celemir,” one of the other elves said reluctantly, obviously reticent 
and somewhat confused.  “He appointed a different regent...”





“Who?” Legolas was getting tired of having to drag every scrap of information 
from these elves. 





“Your highness, you had better get home,” Umdanuë said quietly, his gaze locking 
with Legolas’.  “I don’t pretend to understand your father’s actions, however I 
will not speak against them either.  But I think you need to be home.”





A chill that had nothing to do with the weather ran up Legolas’ spine. 





“What do you mean?” Aragorn inquired, almost as disturbed as Legolas, but the 
elves did not want to answer and Legolas was already on his feet. 





“Strider I must make haste,” Legolas said, his face showing his concern.  He 
would not waste any more time here, obviously something was wrong and it was 
wrong at the palace.  Therefore that was where he needed to be, and swiftly.





Aragorn rose quickly to his feet.  “I’m with you, let’s go.”





Legolas’ gait was swift and Aragorn matched it.  “What do you think all that was 
about?” the ranger asked once they had left the other elves far behind.





“I don’t know and I’m almost afraid to guess,” Legolas shook his head in dark 
frustration.  “Raniean should have been back already... and why would father 
leave to search for me himself?  Always before he has sent our guard or some of 
our warriors... it does not make sense, neither does the ill ease I felt in 
Umdanuë and his companions.  They are afraid... but of what?”





Aragorn didn’t try to answer because he knew that of course, his friend did not 
expect him to do so, but he agreed that these events were disturbing.





When they finally came in sight of the palace it was a momentary relief.  
Everything looked deceptively normal and if there was ought amiss inside, it was 
not readily apparent to the eye or the senses. 





Legolas paused only a moment before the huge, magically sealed gates that 
guarded the entrance to his home, holding his hand up quickly and bidding them 
open.  “Edro!”





At his command the gates swung open and the two friends hurried inside.  At the 
entrance to the palace itself however, they were stopped by several guards who 
crossed their spears across the doorway to bar their path.  Legolas did not 
recognize any of them, which was odd because he thought he knew all the palace 
staff and guards to some degree.





“Halt, you may not enter without permission.  Who are you and what is your 
business?” one of the guards inquired.





Legolas looked from one elf to the next incredulously, to see if they were 
joking.  They were not.  “I am Prince Legolas and I will thank you to get out of 
my way so I may enter my home,” he said somewhat tartly.  “Who are you?  I don’t 
recall seeing any of you around here before.”





The guards exchanged looks quickly.  “Wait here,” they told the prince and the 
ranger while one of them hurried inside, leaving the other two at their posts by 
the door.





Legolas had no intention of waiting there or anywhere else, but when he tried to 
move forward the guards once again blocked his path.  “We said wait here,” they 
repeated darkly.





“I heard you,” Legolas was quickly losing his patience.  He did not understand 
what was going on and it was starting to frighten him, which was a feeling he 
did not like.  “But you have not told me who you are or why I should listen to 
you.  I would advise that you let me pass or you may not like the consequences.”





“Legolas, for shame... you’re too old to be losing your temper,” a voice from 
behind the guards interrupted.  A tall elf with a golden circlet upon his brow 
came into view and motioned to the guards who quickly pulled back to let him out 
into the courtyard.  The elf was fair-haired, but the gold of his locks was many 
shades darker than Legolas’, bordering on a somewhat ruddy light brown.  Yet 
Aragorn found that there was something uncannily familiar in the lines of his 
face... although he had certainly never seen this elf before.





The moment he heard the voice, Legolas froze and Aragorn thought he almost 
visibly saw the color drain out of his friend’s face before the prince pulled 
his composure back into place once more.





The strange elf looked lordly enough and smiled at the two friends, but the 
smile was edged with flint and did not seem to reach his eyes.





Legolas regarded the newcomer with a mixture of shock and displeasure.  
“Doriflen.  I thought you were dead.”   The prince’s voice was carefully flat.





The elder elf laughed lightly, but Aragorn did not like whatever was dancing 
behind his eyes.  “My brother seems to have been remiss in your training since I 
left young prince, he should have taught you better manners.  Come nephew, have 
you no greeting for your uncle?”





Aragorn looked in bewilderment between the two elves.  He had not known that 
Thranduil and Legolas had any other family still living, although he realized 
that that was the familiarity of features he had felt when he first saw the elf, 
for Doriflen held a certain resemblance to Thranduil and Legolas that clearly 
marked them out as related.  Yet there was obviously something wrong here, 
because Legolas did not seem at all pleased to see his uncle.  In fact, if 
anything, Aragorn thought that he sensed his friend was alarmed and trying hard 
to hide it.





“What are you doing here?” Legolas did not respond to his uncle’s display of 
familial warmth.  His voice remained guarded and his eyes suspicious.  “Where is 
my father?”





Doriflen laughed again.  There was something in his tone that was just... wrong. 
Aragorn couldn’t place it, but it was beginning to make him extremely 
uncomfortable.





“Dear Legolas, always so serious!” Doriflen gave the younger elf a friendly 
little shake, but Legolas pulled away quickly, almost flinching at the elder 
elf’s touch.  Doriflen gave a show of looking hurt as he turned away.  “Ah well. 
It must be the strain of your journeys.  Come, come in and take your ease.  You 
and your friend surely must be hungry and thirsty and tired, come, come!”





“Doriflen, *where* is my father?” Legolas demanded again, his voice icy and 
edged with concern.





The elder elf rolled his eyes.  “Well don’t stand there looking as if I had done 
something to him!  Honestly nephew, where *are* your manners?  Living with 
coarse company has obviously made you uncommonly rude.”  He glanced at Aragorn 
when he said this and his meaning was entirely clear.





“Your father’s gone away for a while.  I do believe he went to look for you.  He 
was very worried,” Doriflen shrugged carelessly.  “I’m watching over things 
while he’s away, since he had no son to leave in charge,” the statement was 
pointed and meant to bite.





“Well I’m back now,” Legolas said flatly, trying to resist feeling the stab of 
his uncle’s barb.  “But why would he go looking for me?  I sent a messenger some 
time ago with the news that I had been detained, but was on my way home.  And 
where did you come from?”





Doriflen’s eyes widened innocently.  “No such messenger ever arrived to my 
knowledge.  As for me, I have been dwelling on the other side of the grey 
mountains, near Carn Dûmo and Forodwaith with my faithful companions here,” he 
nodded at the grim looking armed guards who surrounded Legolas and Aragorn.  “I 
decided it had been far too long since I paid my dear brother a visit.”  There 
was a hint of a malicious gleam in his eyes when he said that that made a chill 
run up Aragorn’s spine.





“You were banished from here Doriflen,” Legolas caught and held his uncle’s 
eyes. 





Doriflen’s smile frosted a little harder, but he remained pleasant.  “So were 
you as I understand it, nephew.”  The smile became a smirk.  “Must run in the 
family, hm?”





Legolas’ jaw muscles tightened, but he refused to respond to his uncle’s taunts. 





“But as you must know, my little brother revoked those laws to bring you home.  
They no longer stand and I may come and go as I please, here or anywhere else.  
Now, are you going to stand out there all day with this silly interrogation?  Or 
are you going to come in and be welcomed home?”





Reluctantly, Legolas finally allowed he and Aragorn to be escorted into the 
palace.  “We have had a long journey, Strider and I wish to wash up a bit.  May 
we go?” the prince glanced coldly at the guards who were flanking them on every 
side in a not very unobtrusive manner.





“But of course!” Doriflen gestured his men away.  “You may do as you wish 
nephew, this is your house and you are not a prisoner here!”





“I wish I believed that.”  Legolas nodded once and turned on his heel, walking 
away with Aragorn following closely behind.  The young ranger looked over his 
shoulder and saw that Doriflen’s gaze was following them.  A cold, dead glare.  
The Dùnadan shivered.  He did not like this at all.





Once they were safely inside Legolas’ quarters the prince shut and bolted the 
door, turning both catches. 





“Legolas what in the name of mercy was all that about?  Who *is* that elf?” 
Aragorn wanted to know.  “Is he really your uncle?”





“Yes,” Legolas sighed slightly.  “Unfortunately, he is.  Older brother of 
Thranduil, firstborn of my grandfather Orophir, and exiled from Mirkwood and the 
elven world these past two millennia.”





“Exiled, you mean...”





“Yes, like we were, although for a different reason.  Banished and forbidden any 
elven refuge... until now.  I had not realized when my father and yours struck 
down that law... that it would free Doriflen as well, but of course, laws must 
apply the same to everyone.  I doubt father considered it much either.  We all 
thought he was dead.”  Legolas explained, obviously greatly troubled by these 
events.





“But why was he exiled?” Aragorn wanted to know the full story.





“You recall that I said he is my father’s *older* brother?” Legolas wished to 
sum the tale up as simply as he could.  “Normally the eldest son would be heir 
to the throne, but from his youth, Doriflen had an... unstable personality,” 
Legolas tried to put it somewhat delicately.  “Sometimes he seemed perfectly 
normal, and then others... he could be very cruel and very twisted.  Orophir, my 
father’s father, was very concerned about his eldest son.  He tried to find a 
cure for whatever ailed him, but it was to no avail.  Orophir began to realize 
that should anything happen to him, he could not leave his people to the mercy 
of Doriflen’s changing moods and unstable disposition.  So he by-passed 
tradition and handed the title of heir-apparent on to my father.  Of course, 
this put Doriflen in a rage, but there was nothing he could do.  He and his 
friends and followers left Mirkwood altogether, vowing revenge.   This was 
shortly before the end of the last age, so I tell you as it has been told to me, 
I was not yet present to witness these things. 





Then came the Last Great Alliance of Men and Elves.  Orophir and a grievous 
number of Mirkwood’s best fell in that battle.  My father came home as King of a 
badly damaged realm.   It was then that Doriflen came back.  My father tried his 
best to make peace between them, for a time he even lived in the palace with 
us...” Legolas closed his eyes for a moment before continuing.  “But it was no 
use.  He stirred up the people, faulting my father and departed grandfather for 
leading them to ruin in the battle, pressing his own claim as eldest and, he 
thought, rightful heir to the throne. Quietly at first, but then more and more 
openly.  The people began to divide and civil war was eminent.  My father tried 
to reason with his brother, but Doriflen would be content with nothing short of 
the throne and that my father could not give him.  Eventually it did come to 
war.  A brutal, terrible thing that lasted many years.  Some of my earliest 
childhood memories are of watching war parties ride out the gates... many never 
returned.” Legolas’ voice was soft.  “It was not a safe world to live in, or 
grow up in.”   Indeed, it was that fact that had made Thranduil so incredibly 
angry at his young son for running away during the yèn festival that first time, 
so many, many years ago.  Legolas had not bothered trying to explain that to 
Maraen when he told her about the incident some time ago, but his father had 
been terrified at the thought that his brother might have gotten his hands on 
his son.  Unfortunately, through no fault of Legolas’, Thranduil’s worst fears 
had indeed been realized not long after.





“It was a war that not even children escaped,” Legolas continued his story with 
a far away look in his eyes.  “Eventually my father started to gain the upper 
hand as Doriflen’s unstable tendencies began to make some of his followers 
desert him and see him for what he truly was.  As a last resort, Doriflen... 
kidnapped me to use against my father.  I was still a young elf at that time.  
He threatened to kill me if my father did not hand over the throne.  He very 
nearly carried out his threat, but my father found out where he was hiding me 
and there ended up being a large battle.  Doriflen was captured and his forces 
surrendered. 





“Although he had more than earned death by his actions, my father could not 
bring himself to order the execution of his own brother, for they had been very 
close once.  Besides, the kingdom was still in an unstable state, and there were 
those who yet had serious doubts about Thranduil’s right to be king.  Killing 
Doriflen would only make him a bloody usurper in their eyes.  There had already 
been so much damage and so much war, my father merely wanted it to stop.  
Mirkwood needed peace desperately and he knew better than to give those who 
would like to keep the war going a martyr to rally around.  So instead he exiled 
Doriflen and his followers in disgrace, using the ancient law to ban them from 
all elven lands on middle earth.  In doing so he hoped to nullify the threat 
that letting his brother go free posed.  Doriflen and his people left and we saw 
no more of them.  Mirkwood recovered and eventually the entire conflict was all 
but forgotten as the people found what a just and wise king my father was.  
Many, many years ago we received news that Doriflen and his men were killed in a 
conflict with some of the wildmen, but obviously, that was not so.  Understand 
you now Aragorn, why his reappearance causes me such concern?” Legolas finished 
quietly.





Aragorn nodded, understanding completely.  Legolas’ obvious alarm over his 
father’s well-being upon finding Doriflen occupying the palace made frightening 
sense as well.  “Then what you mean is we’ve fallen into the hands of a madman 
who has reason to hate your father and yourself and yet has somehow managed to 
set himself up in the palace, playing regent, with the apparent cooperation of 
the people,” Aragorn summed their situation up with raised brows.





Legolas nodded, rubbing his temples.  “That’s about the shape of it.  However, I 
do not understand yet how this has come to be.  Or where my father truly is, 
although I fear the answer to the last,” deep worry plagued the elf’s 
silver-blue eyes. 





Aragorn squeezed his friend’s shoulder.  “Well then these are the things we need 
to find out.”









___________________________________________________________





~*PART TWO*~













Aragorn paced in small circles inside the prince’s chamber waiting for Legolas 
to return.  He had hated the idea of his friend going out into the palace 
without him but the elf’s argument had outweighed his fears.  Legolas could more 
easily and quickly make his way unseen through the interior of his house than 
his human companion.  And so the prince had charged the ranger with staying 
inside the room with both bolts locked and not opening the door to anyone but 
himself. 





Aragorn glanced back out toward the balcony marking off the sun’s descent in the 
sky; he would give Legolas only a few more minutes and then he would go looking 
for him himself.  The ranger did not trust the elf’s uncle and was eager to 
learn what had become of Thranduil in their absence.





A soft rapping at the door caused the man to jump and he quickly ran back to the 
heavy wooden entrance; pressing his ear against it he barely heard Legolas 
whisper, “Strider, it is I. Open the door!”





Aragorn quickly threw the bolts on the door, pulling it open.  Legolas squeezed 
in before he had the door half way open and immediately shut it behind him, 
relocking it.  The elf crept to the balcony opening and pulled the thick 
curtains across its expanse, shutting out the afternoon light and casting the 
room into semi-darkness, causing Aragorn to falter for a moment before his eyes 
readjusted to the lack of light.





“What’s going on Legolas?  What did you find?”





Legolas grabbed his friend and walked him away from the door, towards the 
bedchamber, and pushed his friend down in a chair opposite the bed.  He seated 
himself across from the human and leaned forward, his face marred with lines of 
worry.





“Legolas? What is it?”





“It is what I did not find that worries me.”  He whispered, glancing back to the 
large door.  “Aragorn my father’s servants are nowhere to be found.  Elrynd has 
not been seen in weeks.  The elves I did find were either guards that I have no 
recollection of ever seeing before or newly placed servants that are frightened 
out of their wits.  Few would even speak with me.  None did I recognize as 
having served in the palace before.  I do not know what evil is afoot but I know 
that my uncle has done something terrible.  There is no thinking that my father 
would leave and take his entire staff with him to look for me!  I am ages old, 
he has done nothing like that since...”  Legolas stopped thoughts of the past 
chasing fears of the present round his heart and mind.





Aragorn leaned forward and touched his friend, “We will find them.  They must be 
here somewhere.  Someone must know something.  Did you look everywhere?”





Legolas swallowed hard dropping his gaze to the thick carpet beneath his feet, 
“There is one place that I have not yet looked.”





“Then let us start there, perhaps we will find the answers we seek.”





“It is in the dungeons.” Legolas glanced back up at his friend.





Aragorn sat back slightly as the implications of what his friend spoke of slowly 
filtered into his mind.  “Well then if that is so let us start there.  Someone 
knows.”





“Yes and that someone is right now poisoning the minds of my people.” Legolas 
said with bitter frustration.





“All the more reason for us to be about this quickly,” Aragorn replied.





Legolas met the serious gaze of his friend with a sad smile, the ranger’s 
enthusiasm to always take his friend’s side and ever be of help warmed his 
heart.  “Strider listen to me, this is no game.  I am certain that my uncle will 
kill us if he finds us snooping around.  I fear he may have already done so to 
my father.” Legolas’ words were soft and he swallowed hard as he spoke around 
his emotions, “His one aim in life has always been to sit on the throne of 
Mirkwood and now that that goal is within his grasp once again, it will be of no 
consequence if he must shed more blood to do so. He has no qualms about killing 
and he will kill you as easily as he will kill me simply because you side with 
me and not him.  Do you understand?  He is capable of no small cruelty, he 
enjoys the pain of others and I would not see you fall into his hands.”  Legolas 
spoke from hard-learned personal experience. 





A huge smile split the human’s face and he was shaking his head as his friend 
spoke so seriously.  Leaning forward once again the man locked eyes with the elf 
and answered him softly, “I would think after all this time that you of all 
people would realize that your troubles are mine and that there is no way you 
can make me leave if I do not wish to, which I don’t.  I am your friend and I 
will help see to it that the throne is restored to you *and* your father who I 
have no doubt is alive somewhere if he is anything like his son.”  The ranger’s 
eyes sparkled brightly in the dim light, “Now, which way did you say the 
dungeons were?  I am afraid I have forgotten since the last time I was in your 
home.”





Legolas laughed softly and shook his head, “Strider what will I do with you?”





“I suggest taking me with you, because I am *not* sitting in this room waiting 
for you to come back for one minute longer!”





Legolas stood to his feet and held his hand down to the human pulling the man up 
next to him, “Very well my friend.  Let us hope that secrecy is on our side long 
enough to uncover what evil my uncle has done in my absence.”





The elf quietly walked back to the door, the ranger following him stealthily.  
Unbolting the heavy locks upon the door Legolas peered out into the hall.  With 
the slightest movement of his hand he directed the human to follow him as they 
made their way down to the lower recesses of the palace.





Aragorn felt a startling sense of dèja-vu as he and Legolas slid silently down 
the lush, stately palace hallways that now seemed charged with an air of unknown 
danger.  The last time they had been forced to sneak through Legolas’ home 
Aragorn had been accused of murder... but although everything had worked out 
well in the end, the young ranger did not care to remember that particular time 
just at the moment, the present seemed to hold enough mystery and danger all of 
its own.





If Legolas recalled that previous adventure as they stalked quietly towards the 
prisons near the cellars, he gave no sign.  His mind was too consumed with 
trying to find his father to give thought to much else.  Although on the outside 
it seemed that everything was normal, he knew it was a façade, he could feel it, 
something was deadly wrong here and somehow his uncle was behind it.





They encountered no resistance and indeed, no sign of life at all, which should 
have comforted them, but did not.  To Legolas the palace seemed altogether too 
quiet and empty, like a tomb. 





Silently, Legolas led Aragorn around the turn where the passage leading to the 
dungeons branched off from the main corridor, which continued on towards the 
cellars.  A soft sound behind them made the elf jerk and whirl around, hand 
going automatically over his shoulder for his weapon.  Grabbing the intruder he 
pinned the elf up against the wall with a knife to his throat faster than you 
could blink.





The prince stopped when he found himself staring into a startled elven face that 
he knew well.





“Galion,” Legolas sighed as he backed off and re-sheathed his weapon, not having 
realized he was so on edge.  “You surprised me.”





The butler allowed himself to breathe again as Legolas released him.  Older than 
Legolas, the elf had served the prince’s father for many, many millennia.  “So I 
see,” he rubbed his throat slightly and smiled for a moment, but his face was 
troubled and it was not because of Legolas’ actions.





“Your highness, I’m so glad you’re here, what is going on?” the butler shook his 
head, obviously disturbed.





“I wish I knew Galion,” Legolas shook his head, glancing back at Aragorn.  “I 
was hoping you could tell me, you’re the first friendly face I’ve seen since I 
returned home.”





“Aye, it’s a bad business,” Galion responded grimly.  “The King going off and 
leaving us like this, and everyone else seeming to disappear shortly 
thereafter... I haven’t seen half of my helpers in days, the cellars are in 
terrible repair, I can’t see to all the barrels and everything down there by 
myself... and Tarius... he’s not come down to join me for a drop and a tale in 
over a week!”





“That is unusual,” Legolas could not help smiling slightly.  Tarius, the head 
jailer, and Galion were fast friends and it was no secret that they frequently 
enjoyed ‘taste testing’ the wine that came to be stored in the cellars.  Yet it 
was not surprising news that Tarius was absent from his post.  If what Legolas 
suspected were true, Doriflen would have had to replace all the jailers.  He did 
not like the fact that they seemed to have simply disappeared though.  Those 
were disturbing tidings.





“Galion, when did my Uncle come back?  What happened?” Legolas needed answers 
and he trusted the butler to tell him truthfully.





“Several weeks ago, brought a whole passel of his people with him.  Said that 
his long exile had given him time to think and come to his senses, said he 
wanted to make amends with your father for all that had happened.  The King 
accepted him as a guest, which is more than I might have done...” Galion said 
softly, glancing around somewhat nervously to see that he was not overheard.  
“Then... then I don’t understand what happened at all.  King Thranduil seemed 
right wary of him at first, but a few days later what does he do, but up and 
take off looking for you and leave the Kingdom in Doriflen’s care while he’s 
gone.  A ‘symbol of trust’ they says.  I won’t speak ill of your father’s wisdom 
your highness, but I’m not comfortable with this at all and I don’t mind saying 
so either.”





Legolas nodded slowly, it was much like he had expected, and feared.  “Did you 
see my father do all this Galion?” he asked gravely.





“Nay, not I, but I’m not often at court you understand,” Galion shook his head. 
“But he has the King’s seal right enough and everyone saw the search party 
leave.”





“Listen carefully now Galion,” Legolas glanced around cautiously.  It was 
apparent that Galion had told all he knew and now the prince wanted to move on 
quickly.  “Something ill is in the wind and I fear things may sour swiftly.  Be 
careful.  Stay clear of Doriflen, keep your people away from him as much as you 
can without seeming to do so.  I am not at all convinced that he has any legal 
reason to be acting as regent.”





Galion’s eyes widened in alarm at the prince’s warning.  “I knew something was 
not right about all this!  I knew it!  What can I do?”





Legolas squeezed the butler’s shoulder.  “Be wary, be watchful and don’t believe 
that anything is as it seems.  Be cautious, but ready.  Ready to act if you are 
called upon.  You will know when the time comes whatever it is you need to do.  
Now go, you must not be seen talking with me or you may fall under suspicion.”





Galion nodded in understanding.  He lingered a moment longer, before accepting 
the duty Legolas had placed on him and hurrying back down the passage, towards 
his station in the cellars. 





While the two elves were talking, Aragorn had ventured down the hall a little 
and now Legolas quickly caught up with him. 





Elves treated their prisoners well as a rule, and the dungeons were not foul, 
nor horrible places, but they were grim and dark and the fear of what they may 
find there made both friends tense. 





The first row of cells turned off to their right, while a second branched off at 
an angle to their left.  Legolas paused, a deep frown on his face. 





“What’s wrong?” Aragorn asked, whispering without realizing it.





“There’s no guard,” Legolas looked around suspiciously.  “There ought to be a 
guard here on watch.”





“Well it makes our job easier this way.  Perhaps Doriflen doesn’t have the 
manpower to keep all the guard stations operational since it seems so many of 
your people have gone missing?” the young ranger hazarded a guess, but he had to 
agree with Legolas, it felt wrong.





“Perhaps... but it’s almost too easy.  I don’t like it...” the elf shook his 
head, hesitating in indecision.





“What do you think we should do?” Aragorn looked around them, searching for any 
sign that things were not as they appeared, but all looked in order to his 
untrained eye.





“We must go on.  We have got to find an answer to this puzzle, no matter how 
dangerous,” Legolas concluded at last, and they chose to begin with the right 
hand passage. 





Each thick, wooden door had a closed window set in the middle of it to allow 
those on the outside to look in and pass food and drink to the prisoners, as 
well as a small, barred peep-hole near the top of the door that admitted some 
light and enabled one to look in without being seen in return by the occupants 
of the cell.  Walking silently between the double row of cells the two friends 
split up, Legolas taking one side and Aragorn taking the other.  They used the 
small, unobtrusive peek-holes to peer inside each small prison in turn.  Legolas 
suggested they do this because he did not want anyone who might be in here to 
accidentally give away his and Strider’s presence, and it was well, for if once 
the occupants of the cells knew that their prince was down there, the clamor 
would have been loud indeed.





Normally the dungeons stood all but empty and unused, for crime was not a common 
thing among the elves and since Mirkwood had fallen into darkness there were 
very few intruders who ventured here from the outside world to worry about. Yet 
such was not the case now and Legolas’ heart twisted at what he saw. 





Each cell, every single one, was filled to capacity, over capacity actually, and 
the conditions were appalling.  Legolas recognized almost all the faces he saw 
through the narrow, slatted bars.  Friends, warriors, nobles, palace workers... 
it was an eclectic mix that was thrown together down here.  Tarius was among 
those Legolas spotted, and doubtless, this was where all of the people who had 
disappeared recently must reside.  The prince felt guilty at looking in on their 
sorrow and captivity without even letting them know he was there, but he knew 
that he dare not risk discovery yet.  This was obviously something that Doriflen 
wanted to remain a secret and he and Aragorn were treading on dangerous ground 
now.





They reached the end of the tunnel and took the turn off back towards the 
left-hand one, searching it as well, but to no avail.  Amid the many faces that 
they saw who should not have been there, the Elvenking was not one of them. 





Aragorn looked slightly awed and somewhat ill when they were done.  It was a 
travesty to see all these merry and noble elves locked up and kept in darkness 
like this, in such crowded and inhumane circumstances. 





“We’ve got to get them out...” he whispered softly to Legolas.





The prince nodded, touched that his friend had obviously been as affected as he 
was by the sight.  “We will, but we need keys and we need a plan.  And we have 
got to find my father.  Come, there is one more place to look.”  Legolas led 
Aragorn swiftly down the passage towards the cellars once more, taking a small, 
ill-lighted turnoff that the ranger had almost not realized was there. 





“There is an especially deep, dark cell down here, reserved for the most 
troublesome of prisoners.  It is highly likely that that is where Doriflen would 
have put my father,” the elf explained quietly as they made their way to the 
cell door at the end of the hall.





The door was different than the others and had no peep-hole in the top, so 
Legolas lifted up the larger food grate at the bottom of the door, peering 
inside into the gloom.  He did not find his father there.  But who he did find, 
he would never have expected. 





Unlike the others, this cell held only one prisoner.  Indeed, it was so tiny it 
hardly could have fitted anymore.  The way the cell was built, the actual floor 
of it was five or six feet lower than the floor of the passage, and a sharply 
slanting stone slope ran up to the door.  The fair-haired elf sitting against 
the wall in the small, flat area at the bottom of the slope looked up when the 
grate was opened.





“Ran?” Legolas whispered softly in shock, not wanting to believe what he saw.  A 
short chain connected heavy manacles around Raniean’s wrists and similar bonds 
with slightly longer chains about his ankles kept him shackled to the wall 
behind him. 





Raniean’s head snapped all the way up at the sound of his friend’s voice and 
there was a soft rattle of irons as he pulled himself as far up the slope as his 
fetters allowed. 





The elf warrior in the cell stopped with his face a few inches from the grate, 
when the chains about his ankles pulled tight.  Legolas and Aragorn both had to 
resist the urge to wince.  Raniean was shirtless, and even in the dim light it 
was painfully obvious that he had been scourged, and badly so. 





“Ran...” Legolas breathed in horror.  “Ran what happened?  How...”





“Legolas get out of here, now!” Raniean interrupted his friend urgently, 
gripping the bars.  “You are not safe.  Your uncle-”





“I know about my uncle,” Legolas said darkly.  “But I don’t understand what has 
happened or how.  Raniean, you must help us, what is Doriflen up to, why did he 
do this to you?”  The prince’s eyes blazed at the sight of his friend’s pain. 





“Us... Strider is with you?” Raniean tried to peer around Legolas to see the 
ranger. 





“I’m here Raniean,” Aragorn dropped down into a crouch next to the prince so 
Raniean could see him.





“It is well,” Raniean said softly.  “And Trelan?  Is he safe?”





“He’s not with us, I did not see him in the other cells, more than likely he is 
not yet returned.  Detouring back to Rivendell must have lengthened his trip,” 
Legolas assured quickly.  “But what of you?  Ran, please... I need to know what 
happened.”  The prince realized that his friend seemed to actually be avoiding 
the subject slightly.





Raniean dropped his gaze.  “After we left you and Strider outside Adirolf, 
Trelan and I headed back towards Rivendell, as we said we would.  We split 
company before we reached it, he continuing on to deliver your message to Lord 
Elrond, and I turning homeward to deliver it to the King.  I came as swiftly as 
I could, but encountered several delays and only returned five or six days ago. 
I should have known something was amiss right away, but I was disturbed that I 
had been delayed so long and wanted to get your message to your father as 
quickly as possible.  The servant outside the throne room said the king couldn’t 
see me at the moment, but he’d take him the message...” Raniean swallowed hard 
before continuing, his gaze fixed on his hands, refusing to look up at his 
friend’s face. 





“So I told him,” the warrior’s voice was quiet and filled with shame.  “Then 
Doriflen came out of the throne room... And I knew something was wrong, but it 
was too late, he had heard me talking about you.  He wanted to know more, more 
about you and your friends, who did you trust?  He wanted me to lead my men to 
follow him because apparently not all of them trusted him and his regency... but 
I wouldn’t.  He pressed very hard, but I wouldn’t do it and I swear your 
highness, I swear I told him nothing more...” Raniean’s throat squeezed off as 
he shook his head slowly, begging the prince’s forgiveness.  “I did not mean to 
betray you to him Legolas,” the other elf’s voice was soft and sorrowful.  “I 
swear I did not.”





Legolas’ eyes stung and he quickly reached through the bars, wrapping his hands 
around his friend’s forearms and giving him a comforting squeeze.  “You didn’t 
Ran, I would have bumbled in here, same as you, whether he knew I was coming or 
not,” the prince assured quietly, gently touching the other elf’s flushed cheek, 
his voice asking Raniean to meet his eyes.  Raniean did, reluctantly. 





“You did well, and we’re going to get you out of here,” Legolas assured; he had 
no idea how, but somehow they would.  He had known Raniean since childhood, for 
as long as he could remember, and it burned him to see his good friend hurting 
so much, locked up in the dungeons of the prince’s own home. 





Legolas was thinking fast, but it wasn’t getting him anywhere.  “We need those 
keys!” he swore in frustration, once again irked that they had no idea where 
Doriflen had disposed of them.





“Maybe, maybe not,” Aragorn was apprising the lock.  “I think I could get in if 
we had a pin or something like it...”





“You know how to pick locks?” Legolas raised his eyebrows as his friend nodded. 
“And dare I ask which of your brothers taught you *that* useful little skill?” 
he could not resist a slight smile as he quickly searched his clothing to see if 
he had such an item.  Aragorn was always full of surprises.





“Actually, it was my father, but don’t tell anyone,” Aragorn grinned.





“Lord Elrond?” Raniean’s incredulous voice from inside the cell made them both 
chuckle.





“He said you never knew when it might come in handy,” the young ranger shrugged.





“Obviously he was right...” suddenly Legolas stopped dead still, listening. 





“Legolas, someone’s coming!” Raniean said suddenly in a hushed whisper, his 
sharp elven ears picking up the same sound as Legolas had.  The prince and the 
ranger were in a dead-end passageway here; it was not a good place to be 
trapped.  “You’ve got to go, now!”





Aragorn was already alert and on his feet, straining to hear what the two elves 
had.  Legolas half-rose, but hesitated, hating to leave his friend down here a 
moment longer.  He gave Raniean’s hand one last, firm squeeze.  “I promise we’ll 
be back and get you out of here Ran, you have my word!”





“I know, I know you will, just hurry!  Go!” Raniean urged them, returning his 
friend’s squeeze before releasing the prince’s hand and urging them on. 





Aragorn and Legolas fled silently up the passage.  The way seemed clear when 
they peered out, but both of them could feel that something was wrong as they 
crept stealthily forward.  That notion was confirmed when they turned the corner 
into the main prison and nearly walked smack into Doriflen and half a dozen of 
his guards. 





“Hello Legolas, fancy running into you here.” Was it Aragorn’s imagination, or 
did Doriflen’s mocking smile hold a bit more ice and steel than it had earlier?





The two friends pulled up short.  Aragorn glanced over at Legolas, but the elf 
prince’s face was a façade of calm. 





“Indeed?” the elf prince replied with calculated carelessness.  “The last I 
recall I was perfectly free to wander where I wished in my own home.”  He was 
going to play Doriflen’s cordial game for as long as he could and as far as it 
would get them.





Unfortunately, Doriflen was not in the mood to play anymore, not when he did not 
have to do so.  His smile would have frozen the sun.  “But you should be more 
careful young prince, the dungeons are a dangerous place... people get hurt down 
here.”





Aragorn was suddenly aware that another platoon of Doriflen’s elves had come up 
behind them and felt a ring of alarm building inside him.  He and Legolas 
exchanged a glance; they were trapped here, between the two groups and every 
instinct in them was screaming for them to run... yet there was nowhere to go.





“Your concern is touching,” Legolas’ voice was as frosty as a February morning. 
“We’ll be leaving then.”





Doriflen laughed, but made no move to get out of the way, in fact the guards 
moved in closer, until they were almost touching the two beings caught between 
them.  Aragorn smelt an acrid, distinctive odor that he recognized at once and 
tensed.





“You’re a very good actor nephew, but the human reeks of fear.  And you know 
what?  He’s the smart one.”  Doriflen gave an almost imperceptible nod and the 
guards behind Aragorn and Legolas grabbed for them suddenly, attempting to press 
thick, drugged cloths over the friends’ faces, that was what Aragorn had 
smelled. 





The two friends were ready for the attack, but in such close quarters and 
against these numbers that helped them little.  If their enemies had been orcs, 
or men, or dwarves... but these were elves and even Legolas had very little 
advantage over them in speed or cunning.  The struggle was fierce, but short. 





Aragorn thrashed and gagged as he was thrown back against the wall and held 
there, a strong hand against his throat nearly cut off his airway as another 
struggled to get the cloth over his face.  The elves were far stronger than he 
and he couldn’t move at all inside their iron grip; it was a frightening, 
suffocating feeling. 





A sharp blow caught Legolas in the stomach as half a dozen hands struggled to 
pull him down.  The prince landed hard on his knees and was struck again to keep 
him there; the sheer press of bodies kept him from rising.  From the corner of 
his eye Legolas saw Aragorn drop senseless to the ground as his captors released 
him. 





The rough, stinking cloth was shoved against the elf prince’s mouth and nose.  
Legolas struggled and squirmed, gagging on the stench of the drug, twisting his 
head around violently and attempting to escape.  He could hold his breath a long 
time and had no intention of inhaling the fumes if he could help it.





The other elves swore as they tried to hold him down.  Twisting their hands in 
his hair and attempting to hold his head still, one of them kicked him viciously 
in the ribs, forcing the prince’s breath to leave his body in a rush.  Inhaling 
was automatic and with a thrill of horror, Legolas felt the acrid rush of the 
drug entering his lungs and a moment later the world went black.















Go To the Next Section >>





___________________________________________________________





~*PART THREE*~













When Legolas opened his eyes his head was pounding and he could still taste the 
lingering bitterness of the drug in the back of his throat. 





The first thing he noticed was that he was alone in a room he did not recognize 
and that neither Aragorn, nor Doriflen where anywhere to be seen.  The second 
thing he realized, was that he was kneeling between two waist-high posts, held 
up by short chains that connected his wrists to a ring in the top of each post. 
He had been stripped to the waist and no longer had any of his weapons.  None of 
this boded any good at all.





He tested the strength of the chains and the fit of the manacles about his 
wrists.  Unfortunately both were more than adequate for their job.  Resigning 
himself for the moment, the prince turned his attention to the room around him. 
It was puzzling because he did not believe his uncle could have taken him out of 
the palace without attracting attention, and yet he knew every inch of his home, 
or so he had thought, and this room was not familiar, not even as part of the 
dungeons.





He did not have long to wait or wonder, for a few moments later the door opened 
and the person Legolas wished to see least in the world entered.





Legolas glared at his uncle as several guards filed in after him.  “Where am I?”





He didn’t actually expect an answer, so he was surprised when the older elf 
replied.  “Someplace no one will ever look for you,” Doriflen smirked.  “Out 
there, just down the passage outside that door,” he motioned back the way he had 
come, “are the storage halls and access tunnels for the lower palace... but no 
one knows about this place, or the passages beyond.  Nor will anyone ever find 
you.  They won’t even be able to hear you scream.”





Legolas’ gaze was hard and he tried not to let Doriflen see his apprehension, or 
the cold shiver that ran up his spine at those words.  It was not the first time 
he had heard them from the older elf, and the last time was a nightmare to 
recall.





“Are you surprised nephew?” Doriflen walked slowly around Legolas, regarding the 
chains that held the younger elf on his knees between the two posts with 
satisfaction.





“No,” Legolas shook his head with icy dignity, despite his position.  “It was 
only a matter of time before you started showing your true colors.  You’re a 
cruel tyrant Doriflen, that much I learned about you when I was young.  It’s 
amazing anyone could be near you and not know that.”  Legolas glanced around at 
Doriflen’s guards when he said that. 





Doriflen leaned quite close to the younger elf and grinned at him.  “But they do 
know it,” he whispered with a pleased, malicious tone in his voice.  “That is 
why they do not dare to do other than I say.  Believe me, 2,000 years is a long 
time to make a people understand what it means to get on my bad side.” 





Doriflen laughed.  It was a very unpleasant sound.  “You on the other hand, dear 
nephew, have not yet begun to understand what it means.  Something I intend to 
remedy.”





One of the soldiers brought in a bundle and Doriflen took it from him, unrolling 
the contents on the table in the corner.  Legolas could not see what it was from 
his position, but Doriflen’s voice behind him kept him aware of the elder elf’s 
position. 





“Do you like to play games Legolas?” Doriflen asked as he gathered up a handful 
of thin, pointed spokes from the pile that was contained inside the bundle, 
walking around and letting his chained nephew see them.  Half a finger in 
length, sharp as a needle and about four times as thick, the tiny spikes were a 
puzzling thing, but Legolas didn’t have to wonder too long what they were for.





Doriflen circled around behind the prince once more and Legolas resisted the 
urge to flinch when he felt the sharp jab of pain that accompanied Doriflen 
pressing one of the spikes into the soft flesh of his back.  Doriflen repeated 
the procedure until he had used up his handful.  It was painful, but not nearly 
intolerably so, and Legolas just set his jaw, staring stonily ahead.





“You know I’ve spent some time creating these toys just right,” Doriflen 
continued to talk pleasantly as he worked, obviously enjoying what he was doing. 
“Not too bad right now, are they?  No, I didn’t think so.  But...” Doriflen 
grabbed Legolas’ chin from behind and twisted his nephew’s neck up and around 
until Legolas was looking at him over his shoulder. 





“But each of these little spikes have been treated with a special mix I created. 
Very ingenious little potion.  Doesn’t do a thing... until it gets near fire.”





With that, Doriflen released Legolas’ head and rose.  Taking one of the candles 
from the stand behind them, Doriflen held the flame uncomfortably close to 
Legolas’ cheek and the younger elf turned away from the heat, much to his 
tormentor’s twisted amusement. 





Carefully and deliberately, Doriflen set fire to one of wooden spikes sticking 
into Legolas’ back.  It burned unusually slow and hot as the fire worked its way 
down towards his flesh.  The instant the hot flame touched the elf a 
surprisingly unbelievable wave of pain radiated out from it.  Suddenly it didn’t 
seem small and localized at all, but felt as if someone were holding a heated 
iron across the prince’s shoulders. 





Legolas drew his breath in sharply and clenched his fists, making the chains 
binding him clank dully as he shifted against the sudden onslaught to his 
senses.  It seemed impossible for so tiny of a thing to hurt so incredibly much. 





“Surprising, isn’t it?” Doriflen smirked, far too pleased with himself.  “I 
worked a long time to get this just right.”  He lighted another spoke and 
contentedly watched Legolas squirm as it burned down.





“Poor little Legolas,” Doriflen mocked.  “Poor little pampered prince.  Leading 
the good life while your dear uncle was stuck out in the cold in some forsaken 
wasteland that couldn’t even support a crop of grass!”





Doriflen was moving methodically now, lighting a new spoke as soon as the last 
one had burned down, giving Legolas no break, no respite from the searing pain 
working at him.





Legolas closed his eyes tightly shut and tried to focus on breathing deeply and 
tuning out the pain and his uncle’s taunting words.  But it was becoming more 
and more difficult as each torturous moment ate away at his strength and 
tolerance a little further.





“But all that’s changing now, isn’t it?” Doriflen’s voice had begun to acquire a 
slightly crazed, excited tone.  “I’ve come back into what was rightfully mine 
and you, dear nephew, have many long and difficult lessons to learn.  For I will 
teach you to know pain as I have known it, to know fear the likes of which you 
have never felt and to endure things a hundred times harder than you can bear.”





With these words, Doriflen lit all the remaining spikes at the same time, 
rocking back on his heels and watching smugly as Legolas’ body tightened and 
jerked when the flames reached him. 





The elf prince’s breathing sped up until he was nearly hyperventilating and he 
rocked back and forth in his bonds as the searing waves of pain raced over him 
again and again, as if someone had pressed his back into a bed of hot coals and 
just kept turning up the heat.





Doriflen laughed as he watched Legolas clench his lips tightly and squirm under 
the pain he was inflicting upon the younger elf.  “You might as well go ahead 
and scream boy.  You will sooner or later.  Your father did.”





Legolas’ eyes sprung open quickly and he fixed a burning glare on the elf 
torturing him.  “What did you do to my father?!” he demanded through his teeth, 
hissing sharply as another two burning spokes reached his flesh, adding to what 
was already becoming nearly unbearable agony. 





Doriflen just smiled infuriatingly and went back for another handful of spikes. 
“What I’m doing to you.  And worse.  Like I shall do to you,” he said almost 
carelessly.  “Nothing he didn’t have coming for everything he did to me.  And 
your pain, my dear prince, is just beginning.”





The mad elf twirled one of the insidious little spikes between his fingers.  
“Now... shall we do it again?”









*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*









Legolas leaned forward, letting the chains on his wrists support his trembling 
body.  He jerked and hissed as Doriflen pulled the charred spikes roughly and 
methodically from his back with a small, pliers-like tool.  Five times Doriflen 
had applied and removed his insidious little creations, and Legolas’ body had 
long ago kicked into pain-overdrive.  His back shrieked helpless waves of 
burning pain at him even when no one was touching him now.





Doriflen finished his task, but didn’t go back for another set of his toys this 
time, he was tiring of this game and wanted to move on to something new.





“But this isn’t very much fun alone... Wait here nephew and I’ll go find a 
playmate for you,” Doriflen said, running his fingernails cruelly across 
Legolas’ hurting shoulders on his way out.  The elf prince was almost in too 
much pain to notice, but Doriflen did not go out the way he had come in, rather 
he exited through another door in the opposite corner of the room.





Legolas snatched the moments alone to try to re-gather his strength, but there 
wasn’t much left to find.  Letting his head sink down to his chest he drew in 
the deep, sobbing breaths that he had avoided when Doriflen was present, because 
his air intake wobbled and hitched when he inhaled deeply and he wouldn’t let 
Doriflen see that weakness in him.  He had held his own thus far and denied 
Doriflen the pleasure of hearing him cry out, but he knew it was only a matter 
of time if things continued like they were.





A few moments later Doriflen re-entered with a smug grin and Legolas’ heart sank 
as he realized the meaning of his uncle’s words to him a few moments ago.





“I brought you a friend Legolas, now we can have twice as much fun,” the elf 
said as his men followed him, dragging a resisting Aragorn between them.





“Leave him alone Doriflen,” Legolas demanded, desperately trying to keep the 
pain tremor out of his voice.  “You have no quarrel with him, he has done you no 
wrong.”





Doriflen smiled cruelly as his men shoved Aragorn to his knees opposite the 
prince.  “But he’s your friend Legolas.  And that makes him my enemy.  Besides, 
humans are so *fun* to play with.  So much less resilient than our kind.”





As if to try to prove his words one of the guards kicked Aragorn in the ribs, 
doubling him over.  A second guard twisted the young ranger’s arm sharply behind 
his back, pushing Aragorn down until his face nearly touched the floor, stopping 
just short of dislocating the shoulder.  The first guard grabbed a set of 
manacles out of the corner, but did not try to put them on the prisoner.  
Instead he held both ends in his hand so that the long chain was doubled up and 
dangled from his fist.





Aragorn had his face pressed barely half an inch above the cold stone floor, 
bent double over his own knees.  His dark, unruly hair had tumbled forward 
around his face, further obscuring his view and he couldn’t see what was going 
on, but Legolas knew what the guard was up to the moment before it happened.





“No!” the prince twisted his already sore wrists harder inside their restraints 
as the guard brought the looped end of the chain down sharply across his 
friend’s shoulders.  The force of the blow slammed the young ranger’s face down 
against the floor, causing Aragorn’s nose to start bleeding.





Unprepared for the blow he couldn’t see coming, Aragorn gave a half-checked cry 
of surprise that he choked off quickly, swallowing the pain and holding his 
breath as a second blow from the chain slammed into his throbbing shoulders and 
smashed his head down against the floor a second time.





“Stop it!” Legolas’ face was fierce and stony as he glared up at his uncle.  He 
knew this was probably exactly the kind of reaction that Doriflen wanted out of 
him, but could not stand by and watch them hurt Aragorn like this merely because 
the ranger was his friend. 





“Stop this Doriflen!  What does it serve you to do this to him?” Legolas’ eyes 
burned as the guard chain-lashed Aragorn again.  Aragorn groaned softly, biting 
his tongue hard to keep from crying out. 





“Your grievance is with me and my house uncle, why should this one suffer for 
things that happened long before he was born?!” Legolas’ anger mounted and 
mingled with anguish as another blow elicited another soft hiss of pain from his 
friend.





Doriflen laughed, but raised his hand, signaling the guard to halt a moment.  
Really it was only because he didn’t know just how much the human could take, 
and didn’t want the young ranger passing out until he’d served his purpose.





“What’s the matter nephew?  Don’t you know what it means to be royalty?  Haven’t 
they taught you how you sometimes have to sacrifice others to save yourself 
because, after all, you are so much more important than they,” Doriflen sneered. 
“So he suffers instead of you for a while, until you recover.  And you can’t do 
anything but watch.  Not a fun feeling being this helpless, is it?  Well get 
used to it!”





Doriflen back-handed Legolas sharply, then walked back over in front of Aragorn 
who was still pressed close to the floor, shuddering slightly as he drew in 
painful breaths.





“You choose nephew, what should I start on with him?” Doriflen grinned evilly at 
Legolas, giving Aragorn a small kick in the shoulder as if the ranger were a dog 
he was going to enjoy tormenting.  “The needles?  Or maybe a few more rounds 
with the chain, he does seem to be enjoying that, doesn’t he?” Doriflen kicked 
Aragorn again, less gently this time. 





“Or maybe,” a cruel idea flickered into Doriflen’s eyes.  “Maybe you’d rather 
watch me take him apart slowly.  Yes... yes I think I’d like that.”





At a signal from their master, the guards flipped Aragorn onto his back and 
yanked his arm out to the side, pinning the young ranger down firmly. 





Doriflen pulled his sword and let the tip rest against Aragorn’s palm.  The 
elder elf looked to Legolas with a malicious grin.  “Maybe start with the 
fingers and work my way up...” he demonstrated what he meant, lightly running 
the razor edge of his blade first across Aragorn’s fingers, then his wrist and 
then further up the Dùnadan’s arm, drawing imaginary lines.  “And then start on 
the other side... He won’t live long, but it will be plenty long enough for his 
screams to become forever burned into your memory.”  Doriflen spoke as one 
familiar with what he described.





Aragorn couldn’t help going slightly wide-eyed, so he clenched his eyelids 
tightly shut instead, icy fear gripping his heart in its clammy fist.  It was 
not a way he would have chosen to die.





Horror clutched at Legolas’ heart.  “Leave him be Doriflen!” he demanded 
desperately, hating his helplessness.





“You forget dear prince, you are not in a position to be giving orders,” 
Doriflen purred wickedly.  “Try asking nicely. Try pleading for his life and 
maybe I’ll think about it.”





“Please Doriflen, let him go, please!  I’ll beg you if that’s what you want to 
hear, but let Strider go!” Legolas ruthlessly shoved his pride aside.  He hated 
having to play Doriflen’s twisted games, but if Aragorn’s life were the stakes, 
then he would play them.  His own life he would gamble with, but not his 
friend’s.





Doriflen smiled.  He liked the power the young human gave him over his nephew.  
Legolas obviously cared very much for this half-grown upstart, although the 
elder elf couldn’t imagine why.





“Hmm... no.” Doriflen pretended to consider it and then shook his head, turning 
back to Aragorn and lifting his sword.





“Coward!” Legolas’ wrists were beginning to bleed from pulling against the cuffs 
that trapped them.  “Are you so afraid that you aren’t strong enough to break me 
yourself, that you settle on tormenting children to make yourself feel 
powerful?” Legolas spat the words at his uncle with the full force of his rage 
behind them. 





Legolas was no fool.  He knew exactly how his uncle would react to such an 
affront.  He was counting on it. 





Aragorn’s eyes popped open and he turned his head, looking at Legolas in 
surprise and fear as Doriflen turned away from the young ranger and stalked back 
in front of his nephew. 





“You’ll never break me uncle.  Never.  And you know it,” Legolas threw the bold 
words up in Doriflen’s face.  “You couldn’t when I was a child and you can’t 
now, because I’m stronger than you are.  Just like father was.  You lost 
Mirkwood because you were insane and weak and you still are!”





Legolas’ heart was pounding wildly in his chest, and his throat had gone so dry 
it was hard to get the words out, but he didn’t let Doriflen see that.  He knew 
his uncle would make him pay dearly for those words, but that was the point.  If 
he made Doriflen angry enough, the wicked elf would forget Strider and turn his 
attention back on Legolas.  He didn’t have to pretend any of his scorn or 
contempt though, that was very real.





Aragorn, still pinned on the floor, couldn’t believe his friend was being so 
foolish.  Didn’t Legolas realize what his uncle would do to him for being so 
brash?!





Doriflen scowled darkly at Legolas.  He slapped the younger elf roughly, his 
face twisted with rage.  He hit his nephew again and again until blood ran down 
the corner of Legolas’ mouth and chin.  Twisting his hand in Legolas’ hair, he 
jerked the prince’s head up, placing his own only a few inches away.  “You’ll 
pay for that Legolas,” he threatened.  “Your father should have taught you some 
respect, as well as some sense.  But never mind, I’ll teach both to you now and 
it’s a lesson you won’t soon forget!”





Grabbing the looped chain from the guard still standing over Aragorn, Doriflen 
walked behind his nephew.





Aragorn saw the fear on Legolas’ face that his friend was trying to hide, but he 
saw something else momentarily flash through his friend’s eyes.  Success?  But 
what...  Suddenly Aragorn understood and he felt immediately ill.  Legolas had 
done that for him. 





“Legolas!” Aragorn shook his head.  “Don’t-” a sharp kick from one of the guards 
stole his breath and choked off his sentence.





“Shut up Strider!” Legolas snapped, fear and pain making him sharp.  The last 
thing he wanted was for his uncle to think of making him pay by turning his 
attention back to the ranger.  Legolas wanted Doriflen to forget Aragorn all 
together.





Aragorn did not seem ready to accept that sacrifice on his behalf, but Legolas’ 
eyes met and held his for a moment and the fierce warning in the elf’s gaze 
actually backed the ranger down a little as he realized that anything he said 
would probably just land Legolas and he in more pain at this point.





Doriflen brought the chain down across his nephew’s shoulders with the full 
force of his rage behind it.  Legolas gasped between grit teeth as the punishing 
metal links dug into his already abused back.  A second blow fell lower, curling 
partway around his ribs, and a third followed quickly in nearly the same place. 
Legolas’ bare skin caught between the thick links when they twisted on impact, 
causing the chain to brutally pinch and bruise the prince wherever it made 
contact.





Legolas sagged forward against his bonds as his uncle’s rage fell full upon him, 
working him without mercy.  His breath started coming in ragged sobs that he 
couldn’t control as the pain overwhelmed him.





Aragorn had been allowed back up to his knees, but the guards held him firmly 
back against the wall, forcing him to watch helplessly as Doriflen visited his 
brutal rage upon Legolas.  Tears stung the young Dùnadan’s eyes and he struggled 
with his captors despite the many cuffs and blows it earned him. 





In places the force of the beating and the repetitious blows broke Legolas’ 
skin, causing blood to trickle down his back.  When Legolas couldn’t take the 
pain in silence anymore he cried out, but only softly, and he begrudged his 
uncle every single sound that was torn from his trembling lips. 





At first Legolas had been aware of Aragorn’s emotional anguish in the corner of 
the room, but his world quickly funneled down into one long tunnel of pain that 
kept growing narrower and narrower until it seemed to be blocking out all the 
light around him.  Legolas’ head fell forward as consciousness slid away from 
him and his senses fled into the release of temporary oblivion.





When Doriflen noticed the change he stopped, dragging Legolas’ head up by a 
handful of his long, tangled golden tresses and gazing dispassionately into the 
pale young face.  “I told you nephew,” he whispered.  “My lessons are not easy 
to learn.”





Doriflen turned his grey blue eyes on Strider and smiled slightly.  “Next?”  He 
questioned softly.





Aragorn eyes were fixed on Legolas, looking for hints that the elf was only 
unconscious and not dead.  He knew full well a beating like that would more than 
likely have killed a human.  It would be a wonder if the prince had no broken 
ribs from the force with which his uncle had lashed him.





When Doriflen spoke to him the ranger barely glanced up.  As angry as he was, he 
feared more what the insane elf might do to the prince if he challenged him.





Doriflen shrugged and moved away from Legolas, rounding the poles that supported 
the elf’s weight, he slowly stalked towards the ranger.





“I have no fondness for rangers, or any human for that matter.” Doriflen played 
with the chains in his hands, idly running his forefinger down the metal length 
and smearing the blood that stained them around their circular links.





One of Aragorn’s guards grabbed the man by his hair and jerked his head back, 
holding him still while Doriflen stepped in front of him, blocking the ranger’s 
view of his friend.





The insane elf touched his bloodied finger to the human’s cheek and drew a line 
on the man’s face with Legolas’ blood.





It took every ounce of strength Aragorn had to submit to the elf’s touch.  He 
did not even try to constrain the anger in his eyes. 





The human’s frustration humored the elf and he stepped away quickly allowing the 
ranger full view of the prince.





“Pretty don’t you think?” Doriflen swept his hand back and indicated Legolas as 
though he had done something worth applauding.  He turned back to the man and 
tipped his head slightly in thought, tapping his lips idly with his finger.  
“You know I was going to practice on you next but...” Doriflen glanced back at 
Legolas, “Somehow I just don’t think it would be any fun with out my nephew here 
to enjoy it.” 





Aragorn couldn’t help flinching as the elf stepped quickly closer to him, “I 
think I’ll just wait and save that for later.”  A malevolent grin spread across 
the fair being’s face as he stared down into the dark eyes of the human.





“Tie him to the post Legolas is chained to. Make sure he is able to get a good 
look at my handiwork.”  Doriflen ordered the guard on Aragorn’s right.  “It’ll 
give you a small idea of what I have in store for you when I come back.”  The 
elf lord smiled at the ranger before leaving the room without a backward glance.





Aragorn was pulled up to a standing position and drug to Legolas’ side.  The 
guard on his left kicked the human’s feet out from under him and pushed him 
roughly against the post, holding him against the wood as the other guard tied 
his hands to the ring Legolas was manacled to.





They had just finished securing the ranger when Doriflen stormed back into the 
room. 





“My lord?” the two guards bowed, slightly confused.





“I was thinking.” Doriflen glared at Aragorn, “I don’t imagine you’ll stay put 
and wait for me will you?  You’ll probably make a very resistant captive and it 
wouldn’t please me if you escaped before I was able to spend some more time with 
you.”  The elf walked back towards the door and stopped, swiveling on his heels 
he smiled gleefully at the human, “I have an idea!”





Doriflen stepped towards the guard nearest the ranger and pulled the elf’s sword 
from its sheath.  Without hesitation he drove the point of the blade deep into 
the man’s thigh, dragging it down through the muscle just enough to create a 
jagged tear. 





Aragorn cried out and arched back against the pain, struggling with his bonds, 
trying to escape, but it was useless.  Doriflen waited until the ranger had 
stilled himself, his head falling against the wooden post, before he removed the 
sword from the human’s leg.  Aragorn tried unsuccessfully to stifle a moan, he 
was panting heavily to keep from passing out.





“There that’s much better.” Doriflen crouched down next to the man and looked 
into the pain-filled eyes. A smile widened once more on his cruel face, “Much 
better indeed.”





This time when he left, Doriflen’s guards followed him out, leaving the two 
prisoners alone.









___________________________________________________________





~*PART FOUR*~













Aragorn concentrated on breathing, trying to shut out the pain.   He needed to 
get loose and get them out of here.  Doriflen was right about one thing; he had 
no intention of waiting for that madman to return.





“Legolas?”  Aragorn twisted in his bonds and kneeled next to the post, carefully 
easing his wounded leg out from under him.  He leaned forward to try to catch a 
of glimpse of the elf’s face but the prince’s hair had fallen over his 
shoulders, concealing his features where he hung. “Legolas!  Come on, wake up.” 
The ranger glanced at the elf’s back and drew his breath in in a sharp hiss.  
Legolas’ back was welted and bruised.  Burns marks lacerated his skin in odd 
patterns.  “Damn, what did he *do* to you?” 





His binds weren’t as tight as they should have been and the human began to work 
the rope back and forth against itself, straining at the knots until they began 
to ease up.  He ignored the ache in his wrists as the rough hemp dug into his 
skin.  Grabbing one of the loops with his teeth he pulled the knot slowly apart. 
Within moments his hands were free and he rubbed them gently, trying to ease the 
pain his escape had caused.





Silently he moved in front of Legolas and awkwardly crouched down near the elf. 
Slowly easing his hands up the sides of the elf’s face he tipped the prince’s 
head back, brushing the long strands of hair easily out of the way.





“I have to get you out of here.” He whispered to his unconscious friend.





He had no weapons and none had been left in the room.  Legolas, unlike himself, 
had been staked between the two poles and secured with manacles that were 
attached to the wood.  Frantically he searched the ground for something, 
anything to help him free the elf.  His fingers closed about a small thin tine. 
Doriflen had dropped one of the tiny torture devices earlier and hadn’t noticed 
its absence.  The spoke’s needle-tipped point was perfect for picking the locks 
on the manacles.





Limping back to the post, Aragorn attacked the locks desperately.  The small 
spine was perfect and Legolas’ right wrist fell free of its bondage.  The elf 
crashed to the ground, suspended by his left arm only.





Aragorn quickly moved around the prince and picked him up off the floor.  
Gently, the ranger rested the elf’s head on his shoulder, pulling his friend 
against him, trying to ease the pressure to his still manacled wrist.  Aragorn 
carefully brushed away the blonde stands of hair that fell into his eyes so he 
could concentrate more easily on the lock.  He could feel Legolas’ light, 
shallow breathing as he held the unconscious elf, and he hoped that his friend 
would be all right.  The seconds dragged by as the ranger fought with the cuff, 
it seemed like it took forever for the lock to release its hold on Legolas.  
Limply, the prince leaned into the human as Aragorn compensated for the extra 
weight, pulling them both unsteadily into a standing position.





Bending down, Aragorn tucked his head against Legolas’ side and shifted the elf 
onto his shoulder, holding the prince’s legs as he stiffly stood from the 
crouched position. His wounded leg buckled under him, threatening to collapse 
and send them both back to the floor but the ranger quickly shifted his weight 
and was able to maintain his balance.  He limped towards the opening of the room 
and peeked around the corner, glancing both ways.





No one was around and no sounds echoed through the passage.  Carefully and 
quietly he edged out into the hallway and moved back up towards what he hoped 
was Thranduil’s main palace and somewhere familiar where he could hide.  He 
needed to find a place out of the way, someplace safe so he could see to 
Legolas’ wounds and his own.





He walked uneasily up the tunnel and through a doorway that looked as if it had 
been recently made in the wall that he walked through.  Rubble and stones 
littered the floor as he moved through the opening but he didn’t take the time 
to ponder what it meant. Moving into a passageway that he recognized from 
previous visits he passed a storage room, marking the door in his mind and 
continued on.  Testing the doorways along the way the ranger kept searching for 
any place where they would be unnoticed.  Legolas’ weight under normal 
circumstances would be a small thing to deal with, but with the wound to his 
thigh, Aragorn was almost out of strength to continue their flight. He grimaced 
in frustration, realizing that was exactly what Doriflen had in mind – to 
cripple him.





He pressed in a door on his left, the dark room was barely lit but for a tiny 
shaft that cut through the rock to the surface.  The sounds of water dripping 
somewhere in the recesses sounded oddly in his ears and the room was filled with 
a moldy scent.  There was no telling how long the chamber had been left 
unattended, unopened, overlooked.  Crates lined the walls and stacked in rows 
into the interior of the room.  It was perfect.  They could hide behind the 
boxes and never be seen.





Glancing back down the hall to see if their escape had been noticed Aragorn 
edged into the room and quietly shut the door behind him, throwing the bolt in 
place.  He squeezed between the boxes and pressed for the back of the spacious 
closet.  Water dripped down the wall of the limestone, ponding in a small pool 
before leaking out a crack in the floor.  It was here near the back wall that he 
finally dropped painfully to his knees and lowered Legolas gently to the floor, 
careful not to let the prince fall on his wounded back.  He propped the elf 
against a nearby stack of boxes and quickly shrugged out of his overcoat, laying 
the long leather jacket on the floor before easing Legolas stomach down onto the 
worn coat.  He gently pulled the elf’s arms out from under him, trying his best 
to make the prince more comfortable.





It was cool in the chamber. Aragorn rose unsteadily to his feet, stepping 
towards the crates hoping that there would be something useful in them.  The 
first carton produced nothing he could use and he dug into the next one.  There 
were furs stuffed into the wooden box and below them was a bolt of fine cotton 
spun for dressmaking – it would do.  He pulled the furs out and stacked them 
near Legolas’ head, dragging the cotton down with him as he re-seated himself 
next to the unconscious elf.  His fingers shook slightly as he brushed locks of 
stray hair away from Legolas’ face.





“Legolas?”  Aragorn bent close to the elf and stared at the pale face.  The 
prince did not move.  He placed his hand gently between the elf’s bare 
shoulders, careful of the red welts that decorated his back, “Don’t worry, 
you’ll be fine now.  I just have to get you cleaned up.”  He quickly began 
tearing the cotton into strips.  Dipping one length into the pooling water 
behind him, he cleaned the ugly burn marks on his friend’s back, gently removing 
the ash and soot left by the burning tines.





His own leg had begun to throb unmercifully and he grabbed a length of the 
fabric and wrapped it tightly around his thigh, stopping the blood flow and 
closing off the wound.  With that taken care of Aragorn turned his attention 
back to Legolas.  The elf was breathing more easily now and the ranger began to 
carefully clean the deep, bruising welts that crossed his back and wrapped 
around his ribs.  He hissed in sympathy as a soft moan escaped the prince. “I’m 
sorry Legolas.  Shhh...I’ll be more careful.” He quieted the elf, gently laying 
his hand on Legolas’ head and speaking softly.





When the elf’s wounds had been seen to, Aragorn bound the worst of them with 
strips of cloth and laid a barrier of the fabric over the prince’s back before 
piling the furs on top of his friend to keep him warm.  He sat for moments in 
the dark silence, closing his eyes and just allowing the stress of the whole day 
to roll off of him.  He hadn’t realized that Doriflen was quite as mad as he 
was.  The elf truly was insane. Pushing himself stiffly to his feet he limped to 
the door and cracked the entry slightly open.  He needed to find some clothing 
for Legolas and some food for both of them.  It wouldn’t be much longer before 
Doriflen’s men found that they had escaped and came looking for them.





There were no sounds in the long passage and he crept out of his hiding place, 
stealing back down to the storeroom he remembered passing earlier.  Aragorn was 
relieved when the door opened with no resistance.  He pressed inside and quickly 
rifled through the provisions stacked there.  Dried venison was stuffed into his 
pocket and he grabbed a small stack of newly prepared tunics on his way back 
out.  He moved quickly towards the room where he had left Legolas, surprised and 
grateful that their absence had gone unnoticed thus far.





Stealing back into the forgotten storage room that served as their hiding place, 
Aragorn quietly shut and locked the door behind him, sliding the bolt into place 
so the door could not be opened from the outside.





He was taken off guard as someone lunged at him from behind.  His attacker 
grabbed his head, one hand under his chin forcing the ranger’s head painfully to 
the side, a slight twist emphasized his captor’s seriousness and he groaned 
softly against the abuse.





“Where have you taken him?”  A dangerously low voice whispered in his ear.





“Legolas?”  Aragorn glanced out of the corner of his eyes trying to get a look 
at the person behind him.





“Aragorn?” The elf let up his strangle-hold on the human and staggered back.





Turning quickly the ranger saw the way prince stumbled and he dropped the 
tunics, catching his friend before he fell. “What are you doing?”





“I didn’t know who you were.”  Legolas grabbed onto the human, allowing the man 
to steer him to the back of the storeroom, “How did we get here?  Where are we?”





“Calm down.”  The ranger gently seated his friend on the pile of discarded furs 
and gingerly knelt in front of him, careful of his own wounds.  He took the 
elf’s face in his hands and held him still, “We are safe for now. We are not far 
from where Doriflen kept us, but they will not suspect we are here.  I got us 
free and found some food and extra clothing.”





Legolas eyes were huge in the semi-darkness as he listened to his friend. He 
wrapped his slender fingers around the man’s forearms, concerned about what may 
have happened after he passed out. “Did he hurt you? Did he torture you?”





“I am fine.” Aragorn smiled at the worried elf, “I got a little scratch that is 
all.”  He glanced down at his leg, a crimson stain had spread across the lightly 
colored fabric that he had bound the wound with and he grimaced slightly.





Legolas followed his glance and started, “That is no scratch Strider!”





“Hey!” The human whispered fiercely at the elf redirecting his attention, “It’s 
fine.” He emphasized his words slowly and nodded his head at the prince.  “You 
are the one I am worried about.”  He carefully pulled the elf forward, allowing 
his friend to lean against him as he inspected the wounds on the elf’s back once 
more. “What did he do to you Legolas?”





The prince closed his eyes tightly shut and shook his head, moving away from the 
ranger.  Tears spilled over the brims of his eyelids and he pressed his fists 
hard against his eyes trying to shut out the emotions, trying to suppress the 
images and the pain.  He felt like an idiot for being this weak, but no longer 
seemed able to control himself.  Memories from his childhood mingled with the 
present and made everything harder.





“No. It’s all right.” Aragorn pulled the elf against him and held him there 
until he stilled.





“It’s not all right.”  Legolas didn’t move, he just relaxed against his friend. 
“He said he did the same thing to my father only...” the elf’s words choked in a 
sob and he stopped speaking.  Aragorn shut his eyes tightly trying to control 
his hatred for the elf that had done these things.  Legolas continued softly, 
“He said he did the same thing to my father only worse.” The words were barely a 
whisper. 





“Legolas I am so sorry.”  Aragorn tried to comfort the prince, “We’ll find your 
father I promise and together we’ll take back the throne.  He won’t hurt any of 
you again.”





There was no response from the prince and Aragorn gently pushed him back to 
stare into the glazed silvery blue eyes.  “Hey, you with me?”





Legolas nodded slightly and met his friend’s gaze. When he smiled Aragorn pulled 
him back towards him, resting his forehead lightly against the elf’s as he 
spoke, “I brought food and clothing.  Let’s rest up here for a bit and then we 
can go find your father.  Sound good?”





The elf nodded against him and finally returned the smile.





Aragorn stood to his feet to retrieve the bundle of tunics he had dropped, when 
the door was roughly jerked against its bolt from the outside.  He crouched back 
down next to Legolas and peered around the crates.  The sounds of conversation 
could just barely be heard beyond the heavy door.





“It’s locked.”





“Break it in then!” Doriflen’s angry voice could be heard yelling above that of 
his men.





“Begging your pardon my lord but that door is always locked.  A cave-in caused 
by an earth shake sealed it off, the room hasn’t been accessible in years.”





Legolas stared at Aragorn in surprise.  The voice of the elf that had just 
spoken belonged to Brenyf, captain of Raniean’s guard.  He had just lied to 
Doriflen; the two escapees held their breath hoping it would work.





It was quiet for several moments out in the corridor, “Very well move on. But 
find them or it will be you I put in those stocks!” Doriflen screamed at the 
guards as they moved off down the hall.  He slammed his fist hard against the 
locked door before stalking away.





Aragorn let his breath out in a rush as the hall outside quieted once more.  He 
glanced at Legolas as the elf sat back down, closing his eyes and breathing 
heavily.  It had been very close but Brenyf had just bought them a few extra 
hours.





Shakily, Aragorn stood once more to his feet and retrieved the tunics he had 
dropped near the door.  He pulled out the venison and handed a few strips to the 
prince as he reseated himself, unwading the clothing and looking it over.





He passed a dark green under-tunic and a darker brown over-shirt to the prince, 
“These look to be your size.”





Legolas took the proffered shirts and laid them in his lap, tearing off a bite 
of venison.





“You are shivering.”  The elf observed.





“No. I think that last encounter just shook me up a bit.”





“No, you are shivering.” Legolas laughed lightly at the rangers denial and 
pulled a fur out from under him where he sat, passing it to the human.





Gratefully Aragorn wrapped the fur around his shoulder and nodded, rolling his 
eyes, “Fine, I was shivering.”





“I know these things.”  Legolas took another bite of the jerky.





“Oh yeah, you know everything.”





They both laughed lightly, the tension easing as their safety, momentary though 
it was, settled in.





“Well there are some things I don’t know.” Legolas responded softly.  His eyes 
drifted down to the fur beneath him as his thoughts drifted to his father once 
more.





“Why don’t you get some rest?”  Aragorn reached out and touched the prince’s 
shoulder gently, “Get into that clothing and rest a bit. I’ll stay up and 
watch.”





“No, Strider we need to press on, who knows what that madman is doing or has 
done to my father, we need to find him.”





Aragorn held the elf’s gaze unwaveringly, “I agree, but not with Doriflen’s men 
hunting us.  We are safe now,” He kept talking as Legolas tried to interrupt, 
“your father would want you to stay that way and besides,” he smiled wickedly at 
his friend, “I am not carrying you another step of the way!”





Legolas laughed and shook his head, stiffly shrugging into the tunics Aragorn 
had brought him.  “Very well.  You have a point.”





The ranger leaned carefully back against the stone wall, as his friend gingerly 
laid down on the furs, easing onto his stomach with a soft groan.  The man 
draped a thick fur across the elf’s shoulders, “Sleep Legolas, I’ll wake you.”





With a slight nod the elf fell fast asleep, the stress from his wounds and the 
abuse to his body overriding his desire to begin the search for his father.  
Strider was right, it would do no good to be recaptured, Doriflen would not 
allow them a second chance at life.









*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*









“Show me where it was that Doriflen kept us.”  Legolas glanced back at Aragorn 
as the man quietly closed the door of the storage room behind them.  They had 
sheltered in the forgotten closet for a few hours while the prince regained some 
of his strength, but he had grown anxious to find his father and they had heard 
no sounds in the hallway for quite some time.  Thinking the passage safe, they 
set out to find Lord Thranduil.





“I am *not* going back there.” Aragorn whispered fiercely, glancing over his 
shoulder as they stalked cautiously back into the bowels of the palace.





He bumped into Legolas who had stopped and was glaring at the human. “Strider, 
that room that my uncle had us in...” he thought through all his long years in 
the palace halls, shaking his head softly, “I have never been there before and 
yet Doriflen claimed we were just beyond the storage rooms.  There is nothing 
beyond the storage rooms, they are a dead end.”





“They aren’t a dead end any more.”  Aragorn edged around the elf and took point, 
leading them towards the storage area.  “You'll hate it in there.”  The ranger 
glanced back at the elf with a cryptic smile on his face.





“What does that mean?”





“Well for a race that hates caves you sure have carved out a series of tunnels 
that resembles them quite well.”  Aragorn turned left at fork in the hallway and 
stepped cautiously back into the room with the broken wall.





“Strider!”  Legolas glanced at the high, airy shafts that decorated the tunnels 
they walked in, lighting the large passages and causing the white stone walls to 
seem more spacious than they were.  “This is my home.  How can you possibly 
compare the palace to a cave?!”





Turning back towards the prince, Aragorn stopped him.  “You haven’t seen it down 
there, I have.  Whatever that section of the palace is, it’s not like here.”  He 
waved his hand above them indicating the air and light vents.  “It’s...it’s evil 
Legolas, it’s dark.”  He was frowning as he thought about the tunnels he had 
passed through on his way out of the lower dungeons.  Casting his eyes to the 
back of the storage room they stood in he quietly continued, “Come on, you'll 
see.”





Stepping around the supplies that commandeered most of the space in the small 
room Aragorn pressed towards the back wall.  He picked his way around the rocks 
and debris that littered the back half of the room; the huge break in the wall, 
obscured from view by the crates and boxes, loomed darkly in front of them.





Legolas stopped walking and carefully looked over the ragged hole that had been 
made in what he had always been certain was nothing more than a dead end.  He 
fingered the jagged edges of the makeshift door that had been broken into the 
wall.  The soft rock that had concealed the passage easily crumbled in his 
hands, nothing more than a well concealed patch.  The floor beneath his feet was 
littered with rocks and rubble and he looked about him in confusion.





“What is this place?”  He turned huge, confused eyes on the man that stood 
quietly off to the side, listening for any sounds of approach.





“I don’t know.”  Aragorn shook his head.  If Legolas did not recognize it, then 
certainly the human had no idea.





Anger flared through the prince igniting his resolve with hot flame.  “We have 
to find my father.  Doriflen must have known about these tunnels all along.  
There is no telling what else he has done to the Kingdom.”





“Legolas...” Aragorn’s arm on the elf’s sleeve caused the prince to glance back 
at the human, “it truly is more like a cave than your home.”  He tried to warn 
his friend.





With a slight nod the elf stepped into the passageway behind the storage room.  
Indeed the ranger had been correct.  Here the air and light vents were few and 
far in between.  The air was old and held a slightly stale scent to it that he 
had not noticed when he had been with Doriflen.  The walls and floor were 
rougher, they did not resemble the smooth, fair quality of workmanship that the 
elves were famous for and Legolas found himself halting quickly after he walked 
only a short way.  It was true, the very place felt as though a great evil had 
been worked here, whether recent or simply a remnant of another age, the elf 
could not tell.





“You are right Strider.”  Legolas glanced about them in the dank passage, “It is 
more like a cave, like the passages in Eowioriand.  But... but I have never 
heard of this place.  Why would it not...”  His words were cut short as Aragorn 
grabbed him, shushing him quickly and dragged him farther into the strange 
tunnel. 





He pressed himself into a deep recess, pulling Legolas back with him and turned 
his back to the hallway, hoping his dark overcoat would blend in with the 
blackness around them. “Someone approaches.”  The ranger whispered quietly into 
the elf’s ear.





Legolas listened, throwing his awareness out into the hall behind them.  Sounds 
of hurried footsteps reverberated on the rocky floor and voices floated to them.





“I don’t care what you heard, the king and his son are not returning.  Doriflen 
is your master now. You would do well to obey him.” A harsh voice warned.





“I will never call him lord.” Another answered in an icy, clipped tone.





“Listen to him,” a voice that held ages of weariness interrupted the 
conversation, “It is not wise to cross Doriflen.  You will not survive it.  Just 
do as he says and ask no questions. Come on now all of you.  Let's collect those 
supplies Lord Doriflen asked for and leave this place. I do not like the way it 
feels here.”





Their voices grew distant as they passed on through another adjacent tunnel 
oblivious to the presence of the escaped prisoners.





Aragorn let out a deep sigh of relief - it had been so close.





“Did you hear what they said?”  Legolas stared down the passageway.





“I did. But it’s a lie.”  The ranger tangled his fingers in the sleeve of the 
prince’s tunic and pulled him in the opposite direction. “Come on, I’ll show you 
that room.”









*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*









Legolas stared hard at the two pillars that decorated the now empty chamber.  
Dried blood on the ground had stained the roughed rock a dark ominous color.  He 
swallowed hard, knowing the black drops that stained the floor had come from 
him.  He couldn’t repress the shiver that overtook him as he thought back on his 
time here.





“Let us be gone from this place.  It is not good to be here.”  Aragorn stood 
near the rear exit.  He glanced back in at his friend, following the elf’s gaze 
to the reminders of his torment.  “Look there is another entire section of 
passages that lead off from this one.  Let us try some of them. It may be that 
we will find your father there.”





Legolas nodded absently, the whole turn of events was almost more than he could 
handle.  His father had been taken hostage by his uncle, an elf known for his 
cruelty, and was being held somewhere in a labyrinth of tunnels that the prince 
had never even known existed.  Everything was wrong and he had no idea if he 
would ever be able to right it again.





“Legolas?”





The elf turned to follow but was stopped as a dark figure filled the doorway 
behind him.  Legolas swiveled on his boot heels in time to see the captain of 
Doriflen’s guard step into the room, surprise was written on the guard’s face as 
he took in Mirkwood’s prince unbound and ready to flee.  “Stop!”  He yelled at 
them before leaning back into the hallway and calling for help.





Legolas fled out the back door, grabbing Aragorn and pushing the human in front 
of him.  “We have been found!”  He explained as he pelted up the passage, 
adrenaline lacing like fire in his veins.  He had no wish to be caught by that 
madman who called himself his relative.





The ranger ran behind him, slowed by the injury to his leg.  Spurred by the 
sounds of their pursuers he did not relent to the deep ache the wound caused him 
as he followed the prince through the unfamiliar halls, weaving in and out of 
different rooms, both large and small.  The interconnecting tangle of passages 
confused the human but he would rather be lost in the bowels of Mirkwood’s 
palace than be caught by their tormenter.





Aragorn raced down the darkened tunnel Legolas had turned into, the injury to 
his leg was causing him to move more slowly and stiffly now.  He grew frustrated 
with himself as the elf rounded a corner out of sight ahead of him.





“Legolas wait up!” the ranger called down the hallway.





The prince skidded to a stop and ran back towards his friends, “Strider, are you 
are all right?”





“Yes.”  The human had stopped and was standing in the middle of the hall.  He 
bent over and gripped his thigh hard above his knee trying to still the pain, 
“It just aches. I can’t keep up.”





“Alright, slower then, but we must leave this area.”  The elf cast his eyes 
behind the man and listened intently down the tunnel, “We are not safe here.  
Doriflen’s men are still near.”  Legolas stepped forward, intending to help 
Aragorn, allowing the human to lean on him, but a low grinding noise stopped him 
as the shriek of metal on rock filled the shaft and an iron gate fell between 
them, its pointed tips driving hard into the stone floor.





Legolas barely had time to move out of the way before the grate clanged down 
against the stone, separating him from the human.





Aragorn lunged forward, grabbing the steel bars with his hands.  He pressed his 
body against the gate and tried to move the obstruction up.  Legolas threw 
himself against the metal bars on his side and added his strength, but the steel 
door didn’t budge.





The sounds of feet running in the hallway behind Aragorn echoed along the stone 
shaft.  The ranger glanced behind him, there was no way out.  Legolas reached 
frantically through the bars, grabbing the human’s tunic.





“Aragorn!”





Panic swept through his heart as Strider turned back to the elf. He pulled away 
from his friend’s grip and shoved the prince backwards away from the gate, “Go!”





When Legolas didn’t move the man grabbed the bars and pressed his face closely 
against them, whispering fiercely at the elf, “Go Legolas!  Get out of here.  
They can’t get you again.”  Aragorn knew that Legolas was the one Doriflen 
really wanted, and the young ranger couldn’t stand the thought of having to 
watch Doriflen get another chance to visit his cruelty upon the prince.





“I can’t leave you.”  Legolas shook his head vigorously, desperately searching 
for some way that they could both get out of this together.  He couldn’t let 
Aragorn be retaken! Who knew what twisted things his uncle would find to do to 
the ranger?  For no other reason than because he was Legolas’ friend!  Anguish 
squeezed the elf’s heart tight as he tugged desperately at the bars separating 
them.  It was to no avail.  





“You can’t stay.  Quickly, before they find us.”  Aragorn’s eyes were huge as he 
begged his friend; he fought the fear that pounded at his heart with every beat. 
His captors were almost upon them. “Please go.”





Legolas stepped forward, pressing his forehead against the steel bars, barely 
touching Aragorn’s. He wrapped his hands behind the ranger’s head and held the 
man against him for a second, closing his eyes as he fought the despair in his 
heart.  He couldn’t believe this.  Not again.  Not again!  It reminded him of 
Moria all over... his friend was trapped and he had no choice but to abandon him 
to what he knew was going to be a cruel fate.  The prince had sworn he’d never 
be in this position again, he had sworn it!  Legolas felt helpless, anguished 
frustration sting his eyes. 





Aragorn’s hands gripped his forearms tightly, “Go!  Please Legolas.” He 
whispered once more.





“I’ll be back my friend.” The elf’s voice was strained. “I promise.”





Aragorn nodded against him, closing his eyes as Doriflen’s men rounded the bend 
in the passage behind him, “Just make it soon.”  His voice trembled as he pushed 
himself away from Legolas and spun around, pressing his back against the metal 
door. If they wanted him, they would have to take him, he wouldn’t go willingly. 
He heard Legolas pelt up the passageway as the warriors fanned out in front of 
him. One of them leaned around to catch a glimpse of the elf prince as he passed 
out of sight.





“You’ll come along with us now.” Amon, the captain of the guard threatened.





“I don’t think so.” Aragorn’s voice was hard and dangerous as he viciously 
quashed the fear racing around inside him.





The commander of the elves laughed slightly, “Oh really?  You want it to be 
rough then?  Lord Doriflen is waiting for you.  He won’t tolerate your 
tardiness.”





“Lord Doriflen can sleep in Gorgoroth for all I care. I am not going with you.” 
The ranger stepped into a defensive posture and balanced his weight, ignoring 
the pain that shot up his leg; he had no intentions of making his recapture easy 
on the elves at all.









___________________________________________________________





~*PART FIVE*~





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Are you listening? Sing it back... I'm still running away. I won't play your 
hide and seek game.

What a dizzy dance...

What a dizzy dance...

--“Sweetness” Jimmy Eat World

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~









Legolas stopped a fair piece up the tunnel, just beyond the bend and listened. 
He needed to know where they would take Aragorn.  He hated to leave his friend 
behind to his uncle’s warriors, but the human had been right, they had had no 
choice.  Leaning back against the cool, stone wall he listened.  Because once 
again, that was all he could do.





He closed his eyes tightly shut as the sounds of the scuffle echoed down the 
hall to him.  The ranger was not going easily.  Legolas banged his head softly 
back against the rock behind him, the elves would just treat the human worse if 
he fought them, but he knew that under the same circumstances he would not go 
willing either.





Shouts rang down the hall and he heard Aragorn cry out, followed by the sound of 
a body dropping hard to the floor.





“Pick him up and bring him back.  Make sure he can’t get away this time.”  The 
words of the captain floated to the elven ears. 





“Oh Strider.”  Legolas eased down to the floor and brought his knees up to his 
chest, “I’m sorry.”  The sound of the iron gate being slowly raised alerted the 
prince that he had better be on the move again, and quickly, if he hoped to keep 
his promise to his friend.





~*~





Aragorn woke to find two large elves quickly binding his hands together in front 
of him with rope.  He had put up quite a struggle, injuring one of their party 
and taking another elf out completely before they had overwhelmed him.  He 
kicked out at one of the warriors before him and was rewarded by a swift punch 
to his head from the other, causing sparks to dance before his eyes; an odd 
ringing echoed in his ears.





“Damn human.”  The elf finished securing his wrists and kicked the ranger hard 
in the side.  A sickening pain shot through Aragorn’s awareness, clearing his 
mind momentarily as he painfully curled into a ball, trying to protect himself.





“Don’t kill him Nynd.  If you do Doriflen will have *you* hanging in that room 
of his.” Amon spoke harshly to the elf.  He leaned down and grabbed Aragorn by 
the hair, jerking the human’s head back so the dark, pain filled eyes were 
forced to focus on him.  “Don’t worry about your friend. As soon as we deliver 
you, we’ll go find him.”  The elf grinned wickedly at the man, letting go of his 
head with a hard shove.





Aragorn’s head banged down against the stone floor, the rough rock cutting 
deeply into his temple.  He winced, unable to stifle the small cry the injury 
incurred.





“Get him up.” Amon growled and turned, pushing through his men back towards the 
room where Doriflen waited for them.





The human was drug roughly to a standing position and hauled back down the 
passage. Unable to get his feet underneath him, his wounded leg twisted and he 
cried out under the rough treatment.  His escorts merely laughed and turned into 
a small room, dragging their prisoner in with them.





Doriflen stood in the center of the room, looking down into a gaping pit with a 
satisfied smile on his face.  He glanced up casually as his men entered, hauling 
the ranger with them.  His glee turned wicked and he motioned above their heads 
to a wooden bar suspended over the pit. 





Two elves stripped the ranger to his waist, cutting his tunic from his body and 
hefted the human up so his feet were not touching the ground as Amon threaded a 
rope over the bar and started to loop it through Aragorn’s bonds.





One look into the hole below him and the ranger panicked.  He lashed out with 
his feet, catching Amon in the chest and pushing the elf back against the far 
wall.  The two elves holding the struggling human fought to maintain control of 
the man without falling into the pit themselves. 





The ranger’s frantic struggle was stilled as the crack of a whip split the air. 
The fiery pain of a thin leather thong raced between Aragorn’s shoulder blades 
and he arched against his captors, crying out at the intensity of the touch.





Amon stood from the side of the room and slowly approached the prisoner, anger 
flashing in his blue eyes.





“Now behave yourself and let Amon finish, then you and I will have some time 
together - alone.” Doriflen laughed softly where he stood behind Aragorn.  
“Won’t that be fun now?”  He spoke quietly as the warrior finished tying the 
ranger off to the bar.  He jerked the ropes taut, eliciting a soft groan from 
the man.





“Let him go.” Amon growled at the elves holding the ranger. 





Aragorn shut his eyes tightly shut and moaned as he was dropped, his weight 
catching on his wrists and lancing pain between his shoulders, tightening in a 
breath-stealing bind around his chest.





A sharp blow to his midsection caused what little air was in his lungs to expel. 
He tried curling into himself unsuccessfully, trying to ease the pain from the 
blow and allow his diaphragm to breathe in.





“Now Amon,” Doriflen chastised the elf lightly, “that wasn’t very nice.”





“Sorry my lord.” The elf laughed cruelly.  “If you need any help with this 
whelp, please let us know.”  He motioned with his head to the entryway of the 
room and he and his men left.





“Now where were we?”  Doriflen turned his attention back to the ranger, his grey 
eyes lighting on the man’s.  The twisted glee in their depths scared Aragorn 
more than anything he had endured so far.









*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*









The human hung limply from his bonds. Red stripes decorated his back and arms, 
his clothing was shredded from the repeatedly searing kiss of the leather 
thongs. 





Aragorn had stopped struggling long ago.  He concentrated only on breathing as 
the tip of the whip bit across his thigh. A small whimper escaped his lips but 
he did not open his eyes this time.  Consciousness was threatening to leave him.





“Legolas.”  He whispered his friend’s name in a fevered semi-aware state. He had 
slipped into speaking elvish as the struggle to remain awake gripped his mind, 
“Legolas where are you?”





Doriflen slapped the handle of the whip against his leg as he walked around the 
ranger, “Your little friend isn’t here right now. Not just yet anyway. Are you 
still listening to me?” He asked, cracking the pommel of the whip hard against 
Aragorn’s split temple as the human allowed his head to fall forward.  The 
cruelty was rewarded with a soft moan but the ranger did not fight him or look 
up. 





“Well I think our little session is over.” Doriflen had grown bored, he easily 
grew bored and his mind raced ahead to finding Legolas. He had quite a treat in 
store for the elf prince.  The smile that spread across his face banished all 
thought of the ranger that hung suspended before him.  “I need to go spend some 
quality time with my nephew.  I have something rather delightful in mind for 
him.” He refocused on Aragorn, “But don’t worry I’ll come back and we can pick 
up where we left off.”  The insane elf’s laughter echoed off the rounded walls 
of the room, entering into Aragorn’s darkness and it seemed as though the pit 
beneath him swallowed him whole as he finally fell into unconsciousness.









*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*









Legolas whirled around, his hands clenched tightly into fists since he had no 
other weapon... but there was no one there.  He let his breath out slowly and 
told himself he had to stop being so jumpy.  Thus far he had evaded the search 
parties looking for him, but he was no closer to finding out where his friend 
had been taken.  His every step was hampered and his every move anticipated 
before he got there like some sort of dizzy, off-kilter dance.  It was 
maddening.  Now he seemed to find himself alone in the strange, unknown 
passages, but the silence was almost more oppressive then when he had been able 
to hear his pursuers. 





The prince’s keen eyes tried to pierce the darkness around him as he hesitated 
in an arched doorway, considering the path before him.  A series of archways 
dotted the hall, but there were no turn offs.  The air was getting warmer and 
denser, so he thought he must be descending deeper into the earth, although the 
floor did not slant.  Unfortunately, even Legolas could not see very far in the 
thick semi-gloom that seemed to cling to the passages like fog.  His own home 
had been turned into a weapon to ensnare him and it made the prince more than 
furious.





Suddenly the chains that held up the gate set into the archway above his head 
gave with a clanging groan and the sharp, spiked iron rods rushed down at him.  
The elf barely had time to jump forward.  The next instant he saw the gate set 
into the second archway, directly in front of him, crashing down as well.  Not 
willing to become trapped between the two like a rat in a cage for Doriflen’s 
amusement, Legolas sprung forward, throwing himself to the ground and rolling 
under the second gate before it slammed down into its groove, only seconds after 
he cleared it. 





Springing to his feet easily once more, Legolas glanced back at the 
spear-pointed gates that could have killed him.  With a shiver he realized that 
Doriflen knew exactly where he was.  His uncle was playing with him.  He was 
forcing Legolas to go where he wanted him and there didn’t seem to be much the 
prince could do about it, except to not go anywhere.





“I’m not going to play your game anymore Doriflen, do you hear me?” Legolas 
shouted at the cold, empty walls, feeling sure that somehow his uncle could hear 
him.  “Come down here and face me or let us go!  I will play your twisted games 
no longer!”





Before Legolas could draw another breath, the floor beneath his feet disappeared 
without warning as a trapdoor he had not realized was there, fell away, sending 
him tumbling downwards.  The prince tried to catch himself, but the pit he found 
himself falling into was too large and the sides too far away for him to reach 
in time. 





For a few moments the stomach-stealing jolt of dropping into nothingness took 
part of Legolas’ breath away as he fell straight down into empty darkness.  
Seconds later he hit something slippery and slanted.  The elf banged down into 
it sharply, slithered a ways, rolled, and banged into it again, but it did not 
seem to slow his decent.  Rather, it seemed that he had fallen into a huge slide 
that twisted and curved downward at a sharp angle.  Legolas pressed his hands 
against the sides of the narrowing passage he found himself shooting down, but 
only managed to slow himself a little.  The friction tore at his hands and made 
them burn.  Above him the trapdoor slammed shut once more, locking with a bang 
and plunging his rapid descent into utter darkness.





Moments later he spilled out the bottom of the drop and free fell the last part 
of the way, landing in a less than orderly fashion, although he got back on his 
feet quickly enough.  Straightening his tunic and holding his sore hands, 
Legolas found that he was still in the dark, in yet another area of tunnel work 
that was totally unfamiliar to him. 





Legolas set his jaw.  Obviously, not moving wasn’t going to do the trick either, 
Doriflen seemed to know his home even better than he did and had everything 
planned out far too well for the prince’s liking. 





Legolas walked cautiously through the dark, feeling the tunnel walls with his 
hands.  The rock was rough here, not at all like the tunnels that he was used 
to, or even the unfamiliar ones that he had been in earlier, and a strange smell 
clung close to the sides as though the very air had been burnt here at one time. 
The elf's feet crunched on the gravely floor and he bent to touch it, wondering 
curiously what it was made of.  The ground was rough, hard and uneven as he 
brushed his fingers lightly across it.  His hand touched a wall immediately in 
front of him.  The obstruction startled him. He thought for sure he had been 
deposited in another one of the underground tunnels, but this passage, if 
passage it was, turned into a dead end.  Feeling his way along the length of the 
wall he followed the roughed stone in a complete circle.  He was not in a hall 
at all, but a large, circular chamber of some sort.  His fingers bumped the rim 
of a metal grate that sealed over a hole in the thick wall. The metal was hot to 
the touch and he jerked his hand back from it.  He was walled in and the only 
way out seemed to be hanging many feet above his head.  However, he doubted that 
even the way he came in would work as an exit, since the trapdoor was most 
likely not intended to open from the inside.





A gnawing anxiety began to eat at the back of his mind; he should know this 
place.  Something about it struck a chord in his memory... but what?  Bending 
down again to the ground he kicked at an uneven spot, loosening the dirt, and 
grabbed the rock, bringing it close to his face to smell it.  The realization of 
where he was hit him full force, the fear of it dropping like lead into his 
stomach.  He breathed in deeply, testing the air; it was acrid, old and the 
stench of fire still lingered.  Frantically he searched for the chute he had 
dropped out of, trapdoor or no trapdoor - he was in a thermal vent. 





The Forest River wasn’t the only thing that flowed beneath their feet here. 
Thranduil's palace had been built into a hill that was situated over a catacomb 
of thermal pools.  The pools were naturally occurring vents in the earth’s crust 
that allowed magma to spill to the surface in tiny, controlled amounts.  They 
were deep beneath the earth and had long ago been safely capped off by nature 
and the ingenuity of the elves.  However instead of sealing them over, the 
original builders had decided to utilize the natural heat that constantly rose 
from the pools.  They had built grates over the magma fissures that could be 
rolled back to allow the magma to seep into repositories located deep, deep 
within the bowels of the palace during the long winter months.  When the rooms 
were partially full, vents above the liquid earth allowed the heat to be drawn 
up into the castle.  At times the magma rooms were also used as waste 
receptacles, to burn unwanted or hard to dispose of rubbish.  Legolas was 
shocked to realize that that was exactly what he had fallen down, some sort of 
trash disposal.  Waste sent down the chutes was immediately destroyed when it 
touched the fiery pit.  Every so often teams were sent down to break the cooled 
magma up and carry it out.  The dense black material was put to many uses by the 
elves.  There was a crawlway that led to these vents from the main halls, near 
the cellar, but in all his years Legolas, partly because of his aversion to 
tight, dark places, had never been to the magma repositories, and he had no 
desire to be here now.  He needed to find the chute he had fallen from and try 
to get out and he needed to do so now.





Fear shot through him as a low groaning rumble filled the room.  Warm, yellow 
light spilled in, followed by a wave of intense heat.  The elf turned to the far 
wall - the magma grate was ponderously rolling away, allowing the slow moving, 
liquefied rock to enter the hollow that he was trapped in.





Legolas pressed himself against the wall behind him and tried to calm his 
breathing, he needed to think clearly if he was going to get out of here alive. 





Sweat beaded on his brow as the room instantly heated to well beyond comfortable 
and was edging towards intolerable. In minutes he would loose consciousness as 
the oxygen was heated beyond what his body could endure.  As the lava rolled 
slowly in, gaining speed as the grate opened more fully, Legolas was able to see 
his surroundings clearly, lit as they were by the fire that poured in behind 
him.  He turned and glanced above his head.  The edge of the chute, set into the 
wall, was directly above him, he could just barely grip it with his fingers if 
he stood on the tips of his toes.





The fire hissed and spit behind him. He didn’t dare look back for fear of how 
close the lava was to his position.  Hooking his fingers on the edge of the 
smooth chute he pushed off the ground and vaulted up, pressing his feet against 
the roughened walls of the magma container.  He barely held his grip as the lava 
washed against the wall beneath him, throwing small particles of heated liquid 
rock up the side of the cavern.





Slowly the elf walked his feet up the uneven wall, careful of every inch he 
moved - one misstep would be all it took and he would be unable to escape.  He 
could feel the sweat roll down his back between his shoulder blades, pooling at 
the base of his spine above his belt, stinging his injuries viciously.  He tried 
to blow the hair that matted against his face away from getting into his eyes.





Within seconds he pulled his upper body into the chute and braced his feet 
against the sides of the sharply slanting circular tunnel, standing to a 
crouched position with his palms pressed flat against the interior rock.  The 
chute was incredibly slick and it was a struggle to remain where he was.  
Climbing up would be even more difficult, besides the fact th