The Lord of Imladris was in the saddle and riding hard at the head of the Elven force, with Tinuvil and Glorfindel close on his heels, when a blinding pain out of nowhere took him in the mind and squeezed hard about his heart. Only centuries of experience with the bizarre and unexpected kept him aboard his mount, but a great groan of anguish was peeled out of his throat, and the horse went masterless into an anxious, bugling circle of confusion as Elrond's hands fell from the reins and his body bent double over the creature's neck. With a cry of alarm, Glorfindel called for a halt and hurried to the side of his lord and friend, seizing the horse's reins and throwing down from his own mount, his face awash with concern and fright.

"My lord Elrond?" he called, and came to stand beside the now-quiet animal, a soothing hand to its neck. He was less sure of whether he should touch Elrond, and stood poised on the decision, leaning forward cautiously to ask: "How is it with you, my lord? What has happened?"

"The child," Elrond groaned on a heart-rending note of pain. "Ai, Elbereth, the child!" With those words, he slid bonelessly from the saddle and was only prevented from falling entirely to the ground by Glorfindel's arm about his shoulders. That worthy warrior eased the body of his master to the ground, shed his own cloak and pillowed Elrond's head upon it; the Lord of Imladris seemed to come back to himself for a moment, and he stared at Glorfindel in confusion. Then suddenly he curled onto his side, clutching his temples, his lips curled back in a soundless cry; shaking throughout his entire being, he remained thus for several long, anxious minutes, while the others milled about on their mounts, looking back and forth at one another.

The very silence of his inward struggle made it all the more harrowing for those who watched. Only Glorfindel, who had been through much with his lord and had some inkling of what was afoot here, seemed to be able to react; he kept a soothing hand on Elrond's brow, waiting, monitoring, until the Lord of Imladris should come entirely back to himself and tell them what this extraordinary situation could possibly be.

Everyone but Glorfindel was taken aback when Elrond suddenly went utterly limp before them on the ground, save for his powerful hands, which reached out to clench Glorfindel by the arm. "Water," he breathed, and Glorfindel took a flask from his pocket, unstopped it, and helped Elrond to sit up. The Lord of Imladris drank deeply, staring off to the southeast for a long while in silence; then with his friend's aid, drew himself up onto his knees and rubbed shaking hands over his face.

"Thranduil has been less than forthcoming about the sons he is raising," Elrond murmured presently, giving Glorfindel a shattered smile that never reached his troubled eyes. "It may be duress that causes it, or it may be that somehow, our good neighbor to the North has managed to breed back some of the ancient skills of our Race."

He seemed to shake himself somewhat, and when he looked up again, his eyes were back to normal. His eyes were also deeply angry, though at whom, he could not have said. Glorfindel was all calm and patience, knowing for certain it was not he toward whom Elrond's anger was aimed.

"Every moment brings more reason for haste, and less room for error," Elrond sighed at last, and took another sip from his friend's flask. "The child is in direct threat of his life - and the loss of his soul."

Glorfindel blanched. "His soul? Elrond, what have you seen?"

Closing his eyes against a daylight that now seemed wrackingly dimmed, Elrond allowed his head to droop forward, and began to speak in quiet tones of what he had seen.

"It was as if the boy was walking the wind, looking for me," he murmured, and when he raised his eyes briefly to Glorfindel's, they were almost all pupil like a cat in the dark. "Out of his body, like the Eldar used to do, searching - for me. He does not even know my name, but somehow we have become connected. He knows I am searching for him. He saw me - Ai, gods, Glorfindel! The child has Valar eyes, one moment dark as Mirkwood, the next shimmering like water in the heart of the sea! Never the same colour no matter how often you look!"

Glorfindel felt a shudder chase up his spine. "And then what?" he prompted gently.

"I told him -" Elrond swallowed hard, and began again. "I heard myself telling him to remember who and what he was, and not to give up, we were coming to his aid. Then he tried to reply, and it was like a Word of Power - he had no idea! You could see it in his face; he did not know he was more than making himself heard! He said I am being as brave as I can! I will cling to the Way of my people and make my father proud! Then he lifted his hands toward me, and that was when I fell."

Elrond stared through and past his friend. "The child was ridden down by a great figure all in black, on a huge and unnatural horse," he said, unbelievably calm. "It was a Nazgul, Glorfindel. It would appear the Nine have risen again to captain the Orcs for their dead Master, and the Shadow that Thranduil has dreaded since the Last Alliance is finally come home to roost."

He shortened his gaze to take in the worried face of his friend, staring at him in stunned silence; Elrond made a weary grimace, and shook his head.

"Legolas of Mirkwood is innocently at the heart of the storm, a victim of circumstance at which we can only guess. I can only hope now that my vision was faulty somehow, and the Black Rider has not in truth taken the boy away. If that child is imprisoned by the Shadow in Dol Guldur, he will never walk free by any art we can concoct."

He levered himself up on Glorfindel's arm and steadied himself; before he mounted once more, Elrond gave his horse an apologetic pat for the fright he had caused. Once back in the saddle, he took a moment to master himself completely. Then he gave orders that swift riders should make immediately for Lothlorien, and told them exactly what to say when they were brought before the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn.

For his part, Elrond had taken rein in hand and regained the trail he had momentarily lost when the bright soul of Legolas had called out to him in distress. The haste of the Lord of Imladris was no less than that of his messengers, the destination far more dark - and darkening more by the moment.

Hang on to your soul, little prince, he thought desperately into the void before him. May Eru Iluvatar keep you safe...