"Sindarnóriello caita mornie, Elrond. Why did you answer the call? Why did you abandon all that you were?"

Rain wept upon the grounds trying to wash away the unwashable. Night blanketed the earth and he would have it remain that way forever. Lost in the heaviness of this moment he came close to making the choice of never leaving, of remaining here until his soul departed for the Halls of Mandos. Even the call of the Sea did not threaten to soothe his heart. He came from a people that had never seen the Undying Lands or the Trees. This place was not in his heritage as it had been for this man he held in his arms.

Tears made a solemn path down the bloodied cheeks of Legolas as he looked down on the Elf that his sword had just cut down. In the blue moonlight the Lord of the Valley made rest, looking pale and beautiful to the eyes of he who kept him. Elrond's hair hung black to the earth, mingling with mud and the blood of Orcs and of Elves. There was a poetic, tragic beauty in what had taken place just a few short hours ago. Elrond had built this place and it was he that had destroyed it. The house was still intact, but his sons would never return. No one would again come to this dirtied place. Its grace was as sullied as the lord who had once lived here; who had healed here and given wisdom from this place.

Wiping a trail of rinsing rain across his cheek, Legolas tried to brush away his weepings so he could see straight. But his tears would not cease. How could this have happened? How could this man he had looked up to-had loved, how could he have turned to the darkness? The story was not straight in anyone's mind, but it was known that somehow Elrond had found his way or been taken to Isengard and there communed with Sauron and chosen to become his servant.

Legolas laid a hand on the dying Lord's brow and rubbed softly, savoring the warmth as a chill breeze swept over their saturated bodies. "Meleth nín, where shall you go when the darkness falls?" he lamented. "Where is the soul taken when a creature of the Dark Lord dies? This is what giving up your grace has bought you."

The trees rustled around them and in the distance thunder rolled, the only sounds that filtered to the hearing of Legolas. The Orcs who now traveled away with the remainder of the Elven captives were long gone. They expected Elrond to follow. Disappointment they would find, but not grief. In a way that made the Wood Elf sad, for Elrond's last companions would not care what had befallen their captain. They would hear of his death and laugh. This is the company Elrond had chosen to surround himself with. He was as alone as he had ever felt.

Yet not alone. Legolas would be here until the end and possibly beyond. Aragorn would come and seek him, of that he had little doubt, but what would the King of Men find when he returned to his once home? Either he would find Legolas weeping over the body of Elrond, or he would find two dead Elves. That choice had not yet been made, but the temptation lingered. He did not want to leave, but nor did he want to remain. He wanted only to be where Elrond was and would be.

The man below stirred, groaning the evidence of life and the Wood Elf peered down at the wound he had delivered. The sword had struck Elrond's stomach, but not down the center as he had intended. Legolas had missed his mark and sent the blow sideways, prolonging life. He could not even kill his lord properly when it was needed. Elrond was in pain, but the other with him held little hope of finding the strength to pierce his flesh once more.

Legolas looked up the yard of Imladris at the dark house, once beautiful and now stricken with lifelessness and dirt. Elrond needed to be taken out of the rain. If he would die, it would be surrounded by what little warmth the younger could provide. And so the Prince of Mirkwood pulled up on his tingling, pained knees and bore the Lord of Rivendell with him to the entrance that stood wide open-a door broken off its hinges and ready to collapse and another already felled. Lightening lit the way, but this path Legolas knew well, even if indeed he had never traveled it with Elrond before.

The bedroom was neat and untouched by the Orcs, perhaps on orders it be left alone or by chance or fate. In the darkness Legolas stumbled, but was quick to catch his footing and find the bed. Elrond groaned when he was laid down and whispered softly something Legolas could not discern as he pulled back the drapes to allow moonlight in. The silhouette of the injured Elf Lord moved in the dimness, watched by loving eyes that needed sleep. "Am I left alone to die?" he whispered, half in search and half to himself by a disoriented tone.

The soft frailty of Elrond's hope fading with each word pulled at Legolas' heart, but he smiled despite the sorrow. He would be able to speak to his love before the departing and that was a gift worth all the ages. "Nay, Elrond. I am here with you."

Silence answered and that was well, for that this man knew he was not alone was the beginning of the emotions Legolas kept and was the most important of all the things he would tell. Lowering himself onto the bed, he reached for the brow of the Elf below and was startled when Elrond gripped his wrist halfway down. "Why are you here?" The coldness of that question made the Wood Elf exhale slowly. His wrist was thrown back.

"It is not my wish that you should face death alone, my friend," he answered truthfully, ignoring Elrond's want to be left alone. Again he sent his hand in search and was this time granted passage to raven hair covered by darkness. Again Elrond was silent and what thoughts he entertained Legolas could not guess. He was content enough to touch and love, even when those feelings were not returned. Many times had he thought of laying in this bed with his hands on the Lord of Rivendell, caressing and learning, pleasuring. Many nights he had lain not three rooms away as a guest and wondered what punishment would meet him if he invaded this room to watch Elrond sleep. In a pale way his dreams were coming true.

The Elf Lord exhaled impatiently-tiredly, but endured the touching. "If you are going to trouble me until the last, then speak, Legolas. Tell me your grievances, that you will not carry them after I leave."

Perhaps there was a ray of light after all. Elrond's spirit searched for punishment for his crimes, but Legolas had other words in mind. A confession to make and Elrond's guilt would have to wait. "My grief is that your grace is gone, my lord. I understand, but..."

"Understand?" Elrond interrupted sharply, gasping as pain assaulted his shivering body. "You do not understand!"

Legolas sniffed and ran the backs of his fingers down Elrond's cheek softly. "No, but I will." He hesitated to speak his heart, but if Elrond wanted guilt, for the fear of Legolas he could have it. The prince leaned closer, stroking the warm face of his love and allowing tears to find his eyes again. "One day, if I remain here, I will be like you. I will grown older and wiser, but in my heart will be a shadow, for like you I will have known what it is to lose love to death. But unlike you, I will not have the hope of sailing across the sea to meet the one my heart desires. I will know for ages to come that he is ever unreachable, for the Lady of Light said he would never be allowed into the places where Elves go when they wither with sorrow or are slain in battle. And why should I pass to either if he be not there, Elrond? Why should I not try and seek him in whatever dark place the servants of Sauron go?" He exhaled and lay close enough that his breath could reach Elrond's face. "This is what you have bought for me, but alas, you did not know and because of that I forgive you your sin."

"Legolas," Elrond whispered low, pushing his hand away. His exhale was uncertain. "Legolas."

Shaking his head, the prince placed two fingers onto Elrond's lips. "Hush, Elrond. I have not spoken all. I will understand the darkness for you if I remain, but what fails me is this. You had the promise of her love waiting for you. Was that not hope enough to keep you from the shadow? Is this sin mine? Could I have given you hope enough to withstand what called you away had I but spoken my mind before?" He gently pressed his forehead into Elrond's temple and nuzzled the long, wet hair nearby. "When I saw you at Helm's Deep I knew I had dealt myself a grave wound by my inaction. When you kissed me there I thought perhaps the sin extended to hurting you and aiding your fall. Did you love me?"

The Lord of Rivendell turned his head from the closeness of the other as he replied coolly, "You did not cause my downfall. The choice was mine and mine alone. Speak not of sins and searching the afterlife for me. The future wills as it wills. You will sail to the Undying Lands and forget these fantasies. Now leave me be here and go seek Aragorn."

"Nay," Legolas whispered, cupping Elrond's cheek and bringing his face back. Holding himself over the elder, he joined their mouths as he had wanted for years, moved that Elrond cared enough to deny the blame and unwilling to allow him to depart without giving that gift once more. The kiss at Helm's Deep had been a twisted version of what may have come had he offered his love before and there Legolas had been unprepared to show love through the act. But here he could at will, binding this man to the knowledge that he was alone no more. The Elf Lord fought the kiss to no avail until finally Legolas had left no hot place untouched by his gentle want. By the end Elrond wept silently, his hand tangled in a mass of blood-spattered, filthy blonde hair. Those tears found the lips of Legolas, who kissed them away and rested his forehead against Elrond's with despair of his own. "I am sorry. You lay dying by my hand and I feel nothing but grief and regret, even if...meleth nín, how could I?"

Elrond drew Legolas' trembling arm over his chest and hugged into the warmth, saying, "Quiet. We both did what was necessary in the contest between us. Light prevailed by your choice, just as darkness would have by mine if it were I who had won. You did no wrong." He took a tired breath and groaned, shifting his position ever so slightly. "Now speak to me of other things than these, Legolas, for I am dark and selfish and would leave this life hearing your voice, even if I do not deserve it."

Through a pained smile, the Prince of Mirkwood did as he was asked, sitting up and looking Elrond over now that his vision had adjusted to the night. The chain links of the Elf Lord's mail-the same design that had covered him three thousand years ago, Legolas imagined-were cold against his skin and just faintly glinted when lightening filled the room. His fingers found the drying strands of raven hair once more as he said, "You look handsome." That drew a soft laugh from his love and Legolas savored the sound longingly. "I wish I could have seen you, riding with Isildur atop a great horse with the wind touching your hair, drawing it back. Or better yet, would that I have been with you in your youth, for I would have made you mine before any other could take you. I daresay you would have had little hope of turning me away."

A husky sound from below and a hand snaking into his hair made Legolas close his eyes and listen to the silence between them. It was precious and peaceful, tender until Elrond yanked him down into his mouth quickly. That act sparked a heated passion in the Wood Elf, who groaned his pleasure into a fiery, encompassing and dark kiss. "What makes you think you would not have been made mine?" Elrond hissed and the sound sent waves of need through Legolas's body.

Legolas dipped his tongue back into the heat for more, petting Elrond and desperately trying to conceive of how to get his clothes off. They could share this. They could take one moment to forget both dark and light and forge something in between, something grey. A moment to unite in love. But his lord would not allow it. Elrond brushed his cheek and pulled away, breathing, "Do not wed yourself to this. I am no being of light. I am less than even my human heritage and will die that way. There is only darkness for me and only light for you."

He respected Elrond's wish-however disappointing, and stopped his yearnings, lying down beside the Lord of Imladris, so close and so warm. "What shall I do?" he asked, wondering what Elrond would want and also asking himself what would come for him after the lord was gone. He could see only few paths ahead, all dark to his eyes in this hour.

"Hold me?" his lord asked gently, sounding vulnerable and weary. "I...I am afraid of what will happen after. Give me comfort?"

Silently now, for he had no strength to speak without fear of weeping, Legolas complied and drew Elrond closer. He would give this to his love, but who would comfort him when the shroud of grief fell over him? No one. He would die alone. If only time were not a quick hunter. If only this had never happened. If only...

The strongest must seek a way, say you? But I say: let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf, or over snow-an Elf."
-- Legolas, FotR pg. 328 'The Ring Goes South'


The birds chattered softly, the sun was shining, the sky was clear and nature hummed with the rhythm of life-for a time. For a blessed short time everything was peaceful. It was a welcome change after the High Pass and the watchful eyes of crows, and for the first time in days he felt a small amount of the tension abate enough for mental rest. Together they rode, Lord Elrond of Imladris who had the weight of 3,000 years upon his shoulders, his fair daughter and his seneschal Glorfindel. Their path was Lorien where Elrond would confer with the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood and leave his daughter to the safety found in the land of her grandparents. Unhindered, it promised to be a fairly quick trip and Elrond would see his home again in a week or so. Such trouble could be found these days and because of that he rarely traveled abroad, but when he did he found himself refreshed and thankful he could get away from the pressures of home.

Elrond inhaled deeply, thinking on the recently sojourning Fellowship, wondering where they were and how they fared. His fingers toyed absently with the ring upon his finger through which he could feel Gandalf's presense. "I do not care what Erestor says, my Lord," said Glorfindel suddenly and Elrond looked upon the steed bearing his long-time friend. The golden-haired Elf would know, of course, that which was on his mind and it made the Lord of Rivendell smile. "You did the right thing."

"Aye," he breathed with a single nod. "I believe and hope so. Still, Erestor is wise and this mission precarious no matter what path could have been taken. My foresight tells me this is the path." His daughter's eyes flashed hopefully at that and he knew well what was on her mind. Who was on her mind, more rightly put. And he second-guessed that choice as well, if not for the sake of the flow of time, for her. Had his price been too high? Yet even if Estel became king the debt would be too great. Elrond did not want his daughter to choose mortality. That was the pure truth of it. The idea filled him with despair and stubborn want for his own choices to reign. Not that he wanted her to be unhappy and not that Estel was unworthy as a being. Elrond loved her so and would deny her nothing. But to lose such a precious gift pained his heart. They said she was like Luthien reborn and in reference to her beauty he had taken pride at the comment, but now that her actions so closely mirrored the Elf-maiden of ages past that he was loathe to hear anyone say it.

Still, of this she said nothing. She would not cause her father grief needlessly by mentioning that which her heart desired and for that he was thankful. He could still pretend that she would be his little girl forever. He, on the other hand, seemed to excel at causing himself grief needlessly. Elrond sighed, the beauty of the afternoon dimmed by his thoughts. Arwen gave him a smile and reached from her horse to take his hand. "Shall we picnic, Ada?" Such hope reflected in her eyes despite all the evil things he knew of in the world that waited to destroy peace. He nodded.

"Aye," Glorfindel agreed. "Your father has been long from the back of a horse, child. A short span of rest will do nicely." Elrond shot him a wry expression. "Indeed? Am I so old to eyes older than my own?"

The seneschal looked up through innocent sapphires. "Hmm? Oh, I was speaking on behalf of the horse. Your seat is all wrong and by the expression I would guess he finds the self-imposed weight upon your shoulders a bit hefty to bear."

His daughter came to his rescue, or so he would have thought until the words were completed. "Oh Glorfindel, do not tease my father so. The weight is not that tangible. It is the sighing that drives the animal to look so forlorn." Her eyes glinted beneath a batting of her lashes and Elrond smiled through a mock-pained expression.

He gave his mount a soft brush of his hand and addressed it rather than they. "It is as though I am not even here sometimes, my friend. The weight of the world upon my back and they jest." The horse nickered and shook its head in reply.

The seneschal motioned off the road and urged their horses into the woods to a clearing within sight where he dismounted, looking the area over. "Yes, this will do well for us. Excellent choice, my Lord. You should be proud."

Elrond knit his brow and pet his horse absently. "I still do not understand your recent fixation with making decisions and crediting them to me in blatant defiance of truth, Glorfindel. Have the ages diminished your wits?"

Glorfindel removed a pack from his horse and took it too a fallen tree branch, looking up with humor in his eyes. "Ever do you inspire me, my Great Lord. My ideas can only be your ideas." Glorfindel gave him a smile to show he meant no mockery or disrespect, only friendly fun.

The Lord of the Valley swung his leg over his saddle and hit the ground, musing, "The strange people in my life."

Arwen sidled up beside her father with a bright smile and took his offered arm as they joined their companion. "We only wish you to relax, Ada. We know the gravity of what you have counseled, but we also know the need of you our people have. They will need you rested and peaceful."

"I am peaceful, my child," he told her seriously, clasping her hand in his. "And shall be even more so when we leave these woods into the safety of Lothlorien. I like not the feel of this place now."

Nor had he ever, not within the last age, not since before Celebrían had been attacked in the Misty Mountains on her way home from Lorien. It breathed of ill-favored stirrings even now during such a peaceful day as this. His daughter looked into his face chidingly as she sifted through the telltale subtleties signaling his concern. She was right, of course. He put so much thought these days into what evils could be that his mood was far too often taxed beyond the worth of his worry. He wondered when this had become his customary approach to inner thoughts and praised his gone wife that his daughter was instilled with her sense of hope. Arwen watched him and he touched her face, wondering if she thought now of her mother or if she had perished to the thoughts of Evenstar all together. Certainly that was not true.

Arwen lowered her chin and shook her head with a cocked eyebrow as she joined Glorfindel in spreading food onto a blanket. It seemed since the Fellowship had departed his mood had been driven asunder by such thoughts and ill remembrances as what passed through his mind today. He knew, too, why that may be. He was feeling his age now. Feeling the tide of the events since Sauron fashioned those rings lapping against his feet. His life had ever been tied into the weight of kings and of the One Ring. Now the fate of all he had wrought would be decided with the counsel he had given by his wisdom. Yet they were right. He thought too much on these things. The choice had been made and time flowed as it would. He would put it from his mind until it was called for.

Which was easier said than done. They ate, they spoke and still thoughts clouded with finality within the back of his mind, waiting for something to remind him of what events had brought him to this life he led. And Glorfindel waited as well, ready to try and needle his Lord until the poison of his mood could be drawn out as soon as Arwen left them to pick flowers. Elrond watched her go, feeling abandoned to what was sure to be an honest conversation with his seneschal. Glorfindel eyed him thoughtfully. "You will drive yourself mad with your pesky second-guessing, Elrond. You are wise."

The Lord of Rivendell lifted his wine and took a good drink. "A wise man is humble and is shown thus by that he realizes he is not infallible. I cannot afford to make a mistake in this business concerning the Ring, Glorfindel."

"Nay, that you cannot, my Lord." The golden-headed Elf leaned back on his hands and slit his eyes in the sunlight. "But you have made your choice and cannot unmake it now. Be confident in your wisdom."

Elrond watched him over another drink, then nodded. "Yes. My wisdom. My wisdom that kept me from wresting the Ring from Isildur. My wisdom that could not save..." He trailed off, unwilling to continue, and turned his head. The wound was long closed, but the choices he could have made still taunted him with what he thought he had done wrong. This place was too full of grievous memories for him. "Four young Hobbits, two Men-one with a heart of gold and another that tries, but thinks with his pride. A Dwarf that has a grudge against Elves and young Legolas. I have sent babes into a war that could have been finished had I but made other choices."

Glorfindel waved his hand. "Legolas is nearly half your age, Elrond. He is most wise and skilled. Estel has been gifted by your raising and is tempered by your wisdom. The Dwarf is a fighter, strong of will, and Boromir of Gondor is bound by honor. And they have Gandalf the Grey to guide them. The Hobbits have long sufferance matched only by...their appetites."

"But they could have been spared this."

The seneschal knit his brow and took up his own glass for a drink. "Honestly, Elrond, battling you is harder than battling a Balrog. And trust me, I know something of that."

Elrond laughed, then exhaled. "I am sorry, my dear friend. I truly mean not to sound so uncertain of my choices. I believe what I sent them to do was for the betterment of all and by far the wisest. I sometimes need to think through my worries with the help of a close friend who will keep me grounded."

The other Elf grunted. "Nay, I think instead that it is your over-fondness of that voice of yours. You enjoy making certain we are in wonder of your skills in articulation."

After a final sip, the raven-haired Elf-lord nodded, his mood increasing to fairness. "I am ever your inspiration, Glorfindel. I must maintain a certain mystery and awe."

Glorfindel smiled at his lord. "Aye, that you are, Elrond. Mysterious and awful." And innocence feigned perfectly came over him at the Lord of the Valley's dry glance. "Full of awe, my Lord. Awful."

"You, Glorfindel, are overmuch fond of your wit," Elrond pointed out, feeling more relaxed. He inhaled a fresh breeze as it sailed over them and looked into the pretty trees. "Still, I wonder if I should not make a side trip to Mirkwood. Thranduil surely knows the worth of his son, but he may wish to hear my reasons for allowing Legolas to go on this dangerous quest."

"And to question your wisdom personally," the Eldar added.

Elrond gave a nod and a quick, tired look. "Aye, there will be some of that, I am certain. But he even as I am learning to look past the differences we have had. He will not question me too sharply, or else he will be deconstructing that which we have strove for this past age. Legolas is good of heart, strong and quick. He is more than aged enough to be called a man in his own right."

Glorfindel watched him thoughtfully. "Aye, that he is. Quite old enough for many things." This particular conversation had come up before and the Lord of Imladris exhaled and remained silent, unwilling to open the matter for discussion. Glorfindel was perceptive, as perceptive as truth itself, but he was wrong about this. There was nothing blatant about the senschal's musings concerning the young Elf, but Elrond knew a suggestive tone when he heard one. It was not so long ago he had heard whispers pointing him towards the bed of Gil-Galad. But this, Elrond surmised, would stay a mere musing of Glorfindel's rather than become something more than friendship with Legolas. Still, Elrond was not without a sense of fun. "Yes, that he is, my friend. Perhaps it is time you do something about your attachment to him, hmm?"

Glorfindel inhaled, looked skyward, then shook his head. He remained silent and for that Elrond was grateful. But peace would not remain with them for long. All thoughts of merriment, love and good things were ripped from the Lord of Imladris with a scream that pierced the air. His heart in his throat, Elrond got to his feet and yelled sharply, "Arwen!"

He and his seneschal bolted in the direction of her voice, leaving the horses behind and drawing weapons to defend with. Thoughts of Celebrían filled his mind with a sudden vividness that had only saw his attention during that dark period in his life after her attack. He saw the face of his wife clearly again, so tormented and grieved, so unreachable by his love and over that he saw Arwen's lovely eyes melding into those of her mother's. As they stormed the brush he frequently had to remind himself that this was not then, Arwen was not his wife and this situation would not hold the same outcome. "Lady Arwen!" Glorfindel boomed and was answered by a scream of his name.

When they found her she was caged by four Orcs, her sword on the ground and her blue eyes flashing at a beast that advanced on her with a laugh. Elrond knit his brow and instinct took over his senses. Chaos broke out as he charged the creature and his seneschal joined in. The sounds of steel and fighting filled his ears as he defended his daughter and ultimately his friend and himself as well. The dirty smell of the Orcs took him back to another time 3,000 years passed and filled his blood with anger again. How dare they do this? How dare they try and put their hands on what was his again?

An advancing Orc glared him down with shiny eyes that took in his face and form hungrily. "Pretty Elf, you think you can stop this? Your fighting will make you all the more fun when I hold you down." His sword slammed into Elrond's relentlessly and he hissed in perverse pleasure.

He did not dignify this beast with a reply, but merely defended two thrusts and a swing aimed towards his right side. Behind he heard something hit the dirt and fought the urge to turn. Arwen did not call for Glorfindel, so he knew the male Elf was still living. But if Arwen had fallen he knew Glorfindel would say nothing while his lord battled, nothing that would cause Elrond distraction. That in itself was a distraction, but Elrond fought himself not to look as the Orc bore down on him again. He took a surprise kick to the hip, but maintained balance and fought off a sword-stroke that could have taken his life.

But remaining upright was his undoing quick enough, for the Orc attacking him used his defense to grab at his raven hair and turn him. His sword hit the ground and he had no choice but to take to the weapon he kept within his robe. He saw now that Arwen lived and fought by the side of Glorfindel with her reclaimed weapon and satisfied, he struggled to thrust his dagger backwards into his captor. The Orc gave an unholy howl when Elrond's weapon met its thigh, but wouldn't give up on its prey so easily. It yanked Elrond back into its arms, breathing down his neck as its steel found the Elf-lord's throat. By chance Arwen saw her father now in the arms of their enemy and yelled, "Ada!" as she advanced.

"Uh-uh, little girl, or I'll kill him!" the Orc hissed, fighting to wrap his arms around Elrond's. Glorfindel fought his final foe with all the more rage and once the Orc was down, turned to defend his lord. "Fight me, sun-haired Elf. Fight me and see him dead at your feet!"

"They will kill you, fool, if you kill me," Elrond growled, reaching for the hilt of his sword. He succeeded in driving it further into the flesh of his enemy, but his cage of flesh and bone would not be broken by pain.

What had begun as a beautiful day was now spoiled by death and danger and evil. He heard stirring within the forest and inhuman sounds that no mortal nor Elf could make. He saw it in the eyes of Glorfindel and his daughter as time rushed past them. "Save Arwen," was what he was sure would be his last order and his seneschal delayed only mere seconds in indecision. How had it come to this so quickly? This felt unreal and as a nightmare would feel. Again he thought of his wife and what she had suffered. It was painfully apparent to him that these things were, in fact, real. No one expected them, but they happened.

He would carry her voice with him into the Halls of Mandos, he knew, as Glorfindel grabbed her and tore her away from her father. "Ada!" she screamed terribly, her sapphire eyes filling with tears. She ripped away from the blond-haired Elf and made for him again even as he struggled to meet her, but more Orcs joined the group, so many that Elrond prayed they would ignore his safety and run. All that mattered now was getting to her Lothlorien. She could not suffer as her mother had.

Glorfindel glanced at him through glassy eyes as he grabbed Arwen and yanked her away, bolting with her into the woods that they could escape. He would have defied Elrond had they been alone, even unto his own death, but not with her life hanging in the balance. He would honor Elrond's wishes that she survive if he could not. Her voice carried through the trees as Orcs gave chase. Yet some remained in interest of what had been left behind. The formed a circle around the Orc holding Elrond captive and now that the danger of him being rescued had diminished he was shoved down into the dirt in the middle of them. The coldness of the earth seemed sharp as his pale fingers raked through it. They would kill him now, or beat him or worse.

His captor pulled the Elvish dagger from his thigh with a great shout, then tossed it away and glared down at his prey. "I told you that you could not stop this, arrogant Elf! Now you will find death for your pride!"

Elrond looked up through a darkened expression, pushing from his hands to crouch on his knees so he could prepare to defend himself to the death, but another horrible voice stopped what would have been his murderer from taking his life. "Ghazuk, look at him, you fool!" Elrond saw a tall figure move into the scene. It looked down with intelligent, calculating eyes. "His clothes are very fine. Kingly. He is worth something to someone. Important. What is your name, Elf?"

His reply was nothing more than a defiant glare, for he knew he was dead anyway. It mattered not. Death would come as a friend. The large Orc laughed deeply and awarded him a kick. "Keep your secret, then. The White Wizard will know what to do with you." His massive arm swung in the direction of the south. "Bring him. You won't die tonight, Elf, but I promise you'll beg for it."