Chapter 2: Your fear serves your enemy, never you

"What tracks did you see in the area where Legolas was taken?" Conuion asked. He and his First Lieutenant, Tureden, along with the King's council, had listened to the warrior from the border relate the same story he originally told to Thranduil. Now they were hammering him for details.  

Thranduil left them to it. There was nothing better to do until the horses were saddled. He glanced at his office door while grasping the edge of his desk in an effort to anchor himself and to not pace. Or charge out to the barnyard to hurry the stable master. How long did it take to saddle a few horses?

Lindomiel sat in Thranduil's chair behind the desk, clutching the bloody strand of Legolas's hair in her hand. She appeared wan and much more somber than normal, but was calmer than anyone else in the room. Or at least quieter. Thranduil suspected that she was not so much composed as stunned. She could not seem to stop staring at the letter and arrow that the warrior had delivered. Both were on the desk in front of her.

Galithil perched on the arm of her chair, with his arm around her shoulders, looking distinctly helpless.

Thranduil could not bear to look at them. Doing so only drove home how powerless he was to fix this. Immediately. Or even quickly, he thought with another glance at the door.

"There were three sets of tracks," the warrior answered. "The first were made by three elves that had approached from the First Year's camp. Legolas, Anastor and Tulus, obviously. The second was from one elf that approached from the south. Then there was a pair of horses that approached from the plain." The warrior looked down and fidgeted with the strap of his sword belt. "The tracks around the horses--the people that dismounted from them--did appear to be elves also, as Tulus suggested, and they were the ones that carried off Legolas and Anastor." He hesitated and looked at Conuion, but the captain of the King's Guard did not wait for him to struggle through whatever was making him fearful to speak.

"Where did these tracks lead, the ones that 'carried off' Legolas and Anastor?" Conuion asked. "Where were they taken?" His tone was taut. Thranduil snorted softly at that, taking grim satisfaction from the fact that he was not the only one present with strained patience.

The warrior looked back down, brow furrowed, but he stopped playing with the strap. "The horse tracks returned to the plain, traveling east and south, and the departing tracks seemed more heavily burdened than the arriving ones, so we believe that is good evidence that Legolas and Anastor were taken on those horses..."

"Did your captain send someone to follow those tracks? Someone to help Tulus, since he is injured?" Tureden asked.

The warrior shook his head. "Tulus asked that no one else follow the tracks onto the plain..."

Thranduil's gaze snapped to the warrior. Engwe and Golwon both loudly expressed their opinions of that news, while Dolgailon and Celonhael muttered more quietly, though still disapprovingly.

"Tulus asked what?" Conuion demanded, speaking over them all.

"That no one else go out onto the plain...follow the tracks onto the plain." The warrior looked quickly between Conuion, Tureden and the king. "Tulus said that he wanted to pursue Legolas and Anastor carefully. He said that he did not want to scare anyone into doing anything stupid...which was apparently wise... "

Thranduil continued to glare at the warrior when he paused. Tulus's reasoning made some sense, he supposed. Warriors were not trained in the same way the King's Guard was trained. But, even so, Tulus needed help if he was injured.

"And besides," the warrior continued, "there was not really anyone available to go with Tulus. We could not leave that part of the border wholly unguarded and Tulus wanted my captain and several warriors from the patrol to escort Glilavan and the First Years back to the stronghold."

Thranduil exchanged a glance with Conuion in response to that.

"He wanted an escort for Glilavan?" Conuion repeated.

The warrior nodded. "He told my captain to take him back to the stronghold and to make sure he made a full report to Lord Dolgailon. We assumed that Glilavan wanted to go along with his father to look for Legolas and Anastor. He has to feel responsible, after all. But Tulus did not want him to go. Apparently he thought it more important to get the details of the attack back to the stronghold. At any rate, Glilavan and Tulus were arguing."

Conuion whispered some orders to Tureden, who nodded and hurried from the room.

Thranduil turned to Dolgailon. "See to it that you get that report then," he said quietly.

Dogailon only nodded. Thranduil's council continued whispering as Conuion returned to questioning the warrior.

"Did you see any evidence to indicate anyone was injured?" he asked.

Thranduil ground his teeth together, trying to remain silent. He understood that Conuion needed this information to plan to what degree Legolas would be able to participate in any rescue attempt, once he was found. Still, Lindomiel was right here, her eyes now wide and openly fearful in anticipation of the answer.

"Well," the warrior started to fumble at the strap again. "Tulus was injured...

"Besides Tulus," Conuion demanded. "You have already described his injuries."

"There was also blood on the ground near the forest edge," the warrior continued and glanced at the bloody strand of hair that Lindomiel held. "We thought that blood was probably from... But we could not really determine what caused...I mean, we never found another arrow and there was no evidence of a fight in that area. It is possible..."

Conuion shook his hand, cutting the warrior off.

Thranduil was grateful for that. Lindomiel did not need to hear speculation. The facts were bad enough.

"That was the only sign of injury that we found, but..."

"Along those lines," Dolgailon interjected, "What of the rest of the First Years? And the Sixth Years? Are we certain they are all accounted for?"

Thranduil turned his full attention to that question. It was an important one and one that he should have thought to ask long ago.

The warrior tensed and looked at Dolgailon sidelong. "I have been trying to get to that," he said. "The First Years are all accounted for, other than Legolas and Anastor. But two of the Sixth Years...the two that would have approached Legolas and Anastor's position first...we found them dead. Bundled in their own cloaks and obscured in some tall grass on the plain. Their throats had been cut."

Thranduil closed his eyes. Those elves had already killed. In a very brutal way.

Next to him, Lindomiel could not stifle a quiet gasp and Thranduil reached for her hand. His heart twisted in his chest when she clutched the hand he offered in both of her own.

Dolgailon stared at the warrior, his jaw hanging open. "I thought the Eastern Patrol found no evidence of anything out of the ordinary where the training exercise was supposed to take place. How is it that two novices are dead and two missing?" he all but shouted.

The warrior straightened. "The Patrol found nothing, my lord. Not even signs. No spiders or orcs or poaching men. For the last weeks. That area should have been safe. How would we know to look for elves?" he continued in a whisper. "And even if we knew to look, how can you distinguish an elf that would do something like this from any other elf?"

Dolgailon let out a long breath, his anger deflating along with it. He did not try to answer that question.

That was the problem, Thranduil thought, his hands clenching into fists. Elves did not do such things and Manadhien and her followers, who had become little more than orcs long ago, depended on that sort of innocence. Lindomiel tried to pull her hand away and Thranduil realized he was crushing her fingers in his grip. He glanced at her apologetically.

The office door opened and Hallion rushed through it. "Your horse is ready, my lord. Galuauth is holding your sword and bow for you."

Thranduil nodded at him. He had listened to the cacophony of questions and answers for long enough. The time for gathering information was now over. He bent to speak quietly to Lindomiel, raising her hand to his lips as he did. "I will return with him," he promised.

"Alive, Thranduil. Both of you," she whispered, squeezing his hand before releasing it.

He nodded, but could not promise her that. Then he straightened and looked at Conuion.

Before he could interrupt his guard's new line of questions about the Sixth Years, Dannenion and Dolwon rushed into his office. Their eyes were wild with fear.

"Is it true?" Dannenion asked, all but pushing Hallion aside to approach Thranduil.

"Did something happen at the border? During the training exercise?" Dolwon added.

"Where is Anastor?"

"And Noruil?"

Thranduil regarded them narrowly. When he heard Anastor had disappeared along with Legolas, he wondered what part such a young elf, one who was still a child, could play in betraying his son. He had no doubt Dannenion was involved. Seeing Dannenion and Dolwon now.... He remained silent, fearing that if he responded to them, he might do so with more than words.

Dolgailon stepped between them and the king. "Noruil is, for certain, on his way back to the stronghold with Glilavan and the other officers of the Training Program. I have confirmed that," he began.

Dolwon sagged forward, one hand over his face, the other stopping his descent to the floor by bracing against his knee. He released a relieved moan.

Dannenion reached for Dolgailon's arm. "What about Anastor?" he demanded as his grip twisted the fabric of Dolgailon's tunic. "We heard that some of the First Years were missing."

"You heard correctly," Dolgailon responded quietly. "Anastor and Legolas were taken by two, or possibly three, unknown elves."

Dannenion shook his head once as if refusing to believe it and he staggered back a step. "Elves?" he repeated, hoarsely. "Not orcs or men?" Then his gaze fell upon the arrow on the desk and his eyes widened. In two long strides he reached the desk and snatched up the arrow. "These elves?" he asked, voice high pitched, brandishing the arrow in his fist.

Conuion stepped forward, grabbing the arm that held the arrow. Galithil pulled Lindomiel out of the chair and stood in front of her.

"These elves took Anastor?" Dannenion asked, oblivious to the reactions he had caused. "Where? What are they demanding? Have they...is there a message?"

Thranduil studied Dannenion for a moment. Then he reached for the note the warrior had brought him and handed it to Dannenion. "Can you read Quenya?"

Dannenion glanced at the runes, obviously recognizing the handwriting and making no pretense otherwise. He shook his head. "What does she demand?" he whispered.

"Nothing," Thranduil answered. "It says, 'Do not kindle anger in an immortal heart.'"

Both Dannenion and Dolwon loosed another moan. They obviously had history with that phrase, just as Lindomiel did.

Dannenion staggered back until he was leaning against the meeting table. The arrow slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor; the note slid onto the table's surface as he grasped it for support. "Why take my son?" he whispered. "Why my son?"

"Is that not perfectly obvious?" Dolwon whispered back, his tone bitter. Accusing.

Dannenion stared at him in disbelief for a moment before pushing himself away from the table to lunge at Dolwon, hands closed into fists.

Dolgailon, Celonhael and, after a moment of stunned immobility, the warrior stepped forward to pull the two elves apart. Engwe simply ordered them to desist and everyone else in the room exclaimed in surprise or outrage at such behavior.

Thranduil shook his head in disgust. Given Dannenion's reaction to this news and Dolwon's last words, he found his guesses as to how they and Anastor were involved were changing. Still, he had no tolerance for either Dannenion or Dolwon at the moment. He stepped around them, heading towards the office door.

"Where are you going?" Dannenion demanded, following him with his gaze while shaking off Dolgailon's grasp. "Are you going after them? Do you know where they are?"

Thranduil did not slow his departure. "Yes, of course, I am going to retrieve my son and destroy whoever dared threaten him," he said.

That silenced the raucous arguments and discussions in the room.

"No, I do not know where they are," Thranduil continued into the silence. "But I know where they were when they were taken. Carried off on horseback, apparently. That should leave a clear trail across the open plain."

"The open plain?" Dannenion repeated, taking long strides after Thranduil. "She took them east onto the plain? Into the Northmen's territory? Then she intends to give them..."

Thranduil spun around and glared Dannenion into silence. But it was not enough.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" Lindomiel whispered, understanding what Dannenion had been about to say.

"I am going with you," Dannenion declared.

"You are going no where," Thranduil replied. "Much less are you coming with me." He glanced at the warrior's still shocked expression and then stepped closer to Dannenion to avoid scandalizing the innocent even further. "I have no idea what part you have in this," he hissed into Dannenion's ear, "and I do not intend to find out while surrounded by you, your allies, and a group of Easterlings."

Dannenion gaped at him. "I have absolutely nothing to do with this, my lord. I swear it. I only want my son back, just as you."

"Then you will have to trust me to retrieve him along with Legolas. Your grief appears genuine, Dannenion. I will grant you that. But I am not willing to risk my life, and Legolas's, on that impression. You will not leave the capital. Understood?"

Dannenion stared at him in silence, mouth open, obviously debating what else to say. In the end, he only nodded and looked down.

Thranduil frowned at him. "See to that," he ordered, addressing Conuion. Then he turned and resumed his march out of his office.

Half the room followed after him.

"I am going with you, Uncle," Dolgailon said, coming up along side Thranduil as he walked.

Thranduil shook his head. "No, you are not." He turned to his other side, where Galithil had just flanked him. "And do not even think of suggesting that you should go. You are not a warrior yet and there is no possibility that I am risking you along with Legolas by taking you with me."

"He is my brother," Galithil protested. "We have been raised as brothers...."

Thranduil closed his eyes briefly and then stopped to focus on his nephew. "I know that, Galithil. I had a cousin, Ninglor, who was more of a brother to me than cousin. I watched him.... I understand what you are feeling. But I cannot allow you to follow me when I have no idea what we will face. It is too dangerous and it will not help me, or your aunt, to lose you both. Please do not argue with me."

Galithil leaned forward, ready to argue further. Then his stance relaxed marginally. "Very well, Uncle," he conceded with clear reluctance.

Thranduil fixed him with a stern look. "Give me your word that you will stay here," he insisted.

Galithil nodded quickly. "You have it. I will stay here."

Thranduil managed a smile, patted his shoulder and turned to move away.

Dolgailon stepped in front of him, preventing him from continuing down the corridor. "I am a warrior, Uncle. A very experienced one. And Legolas is every bit as dear to me as he is to Galithil. I am going and you will not stop me."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Here is how I will stop you," he whispered, mindful of Lindomiel's proximity, "If Legolas and I are both killed, I need you here." He pointed at the mithril ring that Dolgailon wore, the one he inherited from his father. "If Legolas and I both die, you are Oropher's last remaining adult heir. This realm needs you here." With that, Thranduil stepped around him, this time making it to the door of the family quarters before being intercepted by Celonhael, Engwe, and Golwon.

"For the same reason that Dolgailon must stay, Hallion must," Celonhael said softly, his hand on the doorknob, preventing Thranduil from opening it. "For that same reason, we cannot all come with you, though we all would like to. But Thranduil, one of us is coming with you." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "None of us will allow you to face what you might face alone. Choose one of us to accompany you."

Thranduil scowled and drew a breath to order Celonhael aside. He did not want company. He wanted to lay hands on the elves that took his son. Nothing more.

"I will not allow you through this door alone, Thranduil. Choose one of us," Celonhael said calmly.

Thranduil raised his gaze from the doorknob, where his focus had narrowed in the interest of leaving swiftly, to look at Celonhael fully. "You will not allow..." he began, fury rising.

Celonhael did not flinch. He did not give a hair's breadth. He simply looked at Thranduil expectantly. And in that calm facade, Thranduil saw the uncle that had stood by him through three Ages of this world and countless tragedies--through losses at Menegroth and Sirion. And the Dagorlad. This incident, whether it result in tragedy or not, would be no different. He reined in his temper and drew a breath to concede. To invite Celonhael to come with him. Then he paused and looked back at his office door. Lindomiel stood framed in it, watching him leave.

Thranduil took a step closer to Celonhael and spoke quietly. "I would rather you be with Lindomiel, should bad news return before I do. Or should I fail to return myself. And I would want Dolgailon to have the benefit of my full council's experience, just as I did. You would be of greater comfort to me if you all stay here."

Celonhael considered him a long moment and then glanced from Golwon to Engwe. They nodded. Celonhael frowned, but bowed to Thranduil as he opened the door.

Thranduil charged through it. Conuion issued several terse orders to the guard at the door as he passed through it, hurrying after the king.

*~*~*

Legolas tried to focus. Was the horse slowing to a stop or was that his imagination? A full day and the better part of a night riding across the back of a horse that alternated between cantering and a full gallop had been more like a full day and night of a beating as the horse's whithers drove into his gut with each stride. He bit down on the gag in his mouth to prevent himself from groaning in relief--the horse danced a few steps in place and then stopped moving.

The hand that had held him in place throughout the ride now gave him a shove and he slid off the horse, grunting when his shoulder made sharp contact with the ground. There was no possibility that he could do anything to control his fall. Even breathing hurt and Legolas wondered if his ribs were broken or merely badly bruised. Not that it mattered. He was certain worse things were to come.

He tensed in response to that thought. Between being blindfolded and the struggle to breath, he had lost all sense of direction during the ride. Where were they? Where was Anastor? What did these elves intend to do next? What should he do to lessen the impact they could have on his father? How was he going to get himself, and Anastor, out of this? Especially now that he doubted his ability to stand, much less run or fight. His mind raced with questions nearly as quickly as his heart raced with...he was not even ashamed to admit it...with fear.

Your fear serves your enemy, never you. Every one of the training masters repeated that phrase during their various lessons.

Doing his best to ignore the sharp stab of pain it caused, Legolas forced himself to take a deep breath and then to follow that by normal, regular breaths. That helped a little. The smell of dirt and sweet grass filled his senses. As his captors began exchanging greetings with whoever they were meeting, Legolas took advantage of their neglect to appreciate the cool, soft, stationary ground beneath him. And to listen to the odd birds that called around him. He did not recognize them, but their presence helped to center him just the same. To fill the silence left by the absence of trees.

A thump followed by a groan meant Anastor had just been dumped next to him. Legolas tried to raise himself up enough on one shoulder so that he could turn to face Anastor. His efforts were rewarded by a boot on the small of his back, pressing him down again.

"Stay right where you are," a voice growled at him as he tilted his head back enough to glimpse Anastor from under the edge of the blindfold. His friend was breathing hard, his face contorted in pain as he rolled slowly onto his back.

"Have you seen him yet? Is he near?" Demil asked someone.

"No," another voice answered. This voice was not one of the two riders dressed in blue that had helped Demil. Legolas had heard enough conversations during the day's ride to recognize those voices. This was a new person.

"Did you have any trouble?" the person asked. Demil must have only shook his head, because next the voice said, "Good." Then a brief laugh. "And Tulus?"

Legolas held his breath. They had not discussed at any point on the ride how they had left Tulus. Having seen the arrow passed with the note, he did not trust that Tulus was still alive. Indeed, he spent most of the ride fearing that Tulus was dead.

The three elves laughed. "We sent him back to Thranduil with our note," one answered. "Not without a few injuries, but alive enough for Thranduil to finish him."

Legolas quietly released the breath he was holding. That, at least, was good news.

"You are sure he did not follow you? No one followed you?" The new voice was a little nervous and angry as it asked these questions.

"No, Fuilin, no one followed us," Demil answered. "I sent Lagril to double back on our own trail several times to be sure of it. All we have to do is keep ahead of whoever Thranduil sends after us once he gets word of this. But he is only hearing it now, at the earliest. It was a full day's travel back to the stronghold from where we took them. It will be another day before Thranduil makes it there to pick up our trail once he gets the news and another still before he follows our trail here. We are well ahead of him."

Legolas's mind began to race again with that information. He knew Tulus and his father well enough to know that these elves were very wrong in a good many of their assumptions. Tulus would make sure his father heard of this swiftly and he would come after him immediately, as long as he were capable of walking. He would not be far behind. And his father would leave the stronghold immediately, with all of his guards, and not stop riding until they found him.

But more important was the name Demil had just given. Fuilin! The new voice was Fuilin. Next to Manadhien, he was the conspirator that the king most wanted. If Legolas did not already have enough evidence to show that this was a very bad situation, that would have done it. But if he could somehow get enough control over this situation to help capture Demil and Fuilin...

"Good, let's stay ahead of him," Fuilin continued. A foot lightly kicked Legolas's calf. "How badly injured are they? I do not want their value diminished and neither does the lady."

"They are both unscathed," Demil answered. Then he laughed again. "I suppose the ride here might have been a little harder on them than it was on us."

"Hmph," Fuilin snorted. "Well, let's get them up. I want them presentable when he gets here. And that should not be long."

Before Legolas had even a moment to contemplate who 'he' might be or what Fuilin meant by his 'value,' a hand grabbed his collar and pulled him roughly to a seated position, causing him to groan involuntarily in pain. Anastor's muffled protests indicated he was receiving the same treatment. They were dragged back to back and propped up against one another. A moment later, Legolas heard Anastor make a spitting noise and suck in a few quick breathes through his mouth.

"Cowardly dog!" Anastor finally rasped. "When I..."

Legolas heard a sharp slap and Anastor fell back against him, gasping. Count on Anastor to never know when to keep his mouth shut. Indeed, Legolas wondered if whoever hit him had struck him unconscious in order to render him silent.

Something cold--the flat side of a knife--slid between Legolas's cheek and his gag. With a sharp twist, the gag fell free.

"Do you have anything smart to say to me?," Demil asked, his face right next to Legolas's. Legolas could feel Demil's breath on his ear as he spit out the gag and the wad of cloth they had stuck into his mouth. Legolas made no sound at all. He did not move.

"Too bad. I would enjoy making you shut up," he said, giving Legolas a slap across the face with his open hand.

Legolas winced as pain radiated along his cheekbone.

"Give it to him," Fuilin said, and Legolas heard another slapping noise, this one more like leather.

Something was shoved against his lips and cold began to soak his chin and tunic front. A waterskin, Legolas was stunned to realize. He quickly closed his mouth around its lip and sucked down as much water as he could, all the while half-choking. He did not care, even if coughing was excrutiating. The gag had left him completely parched. All too soon, the waterskin was pulled away and Anastor began spluttering as he struggled to drink.

A hand closed around Legolas's chin. "The elves your adar had escort me to Rhun gave me water," Demil said softly, speaking into his ear again. "And food. Enough so I would not starve. And they gave me a fine beating the times I tried to escape them." His fingers squeezed Legolas's jaw. "I hope you try to escape. I want to make sure you receive all the same treatment that I received on this journey. It was you that prompted your adar to send me to Rhun, after all. And your testimony about my bow that inspired him to do it. I have the right to avenge the wrongs done to me, you know."

Legolas kept his mouth shut. If Demil wanted an excuse to mistreat him, Legolas certainly did not intend to give him one. But given how absurd Demil's accusations were, he did not really need a provocation. If Legolas were responsible for anything related to the punishment his father had served on Demil, it was to prevent the king from executing him on the spot. If anyone had the right to be complaining about that decision at the moment...

Soft snickering closed in on Legolas from his other side. "It took us years to find and recover our brother." Fuilin said into his other ear. "Do you think your adar will demonstrate equal concern over you? Will he search for you as we searched for Demil? He will not. Quickly, he will give up and return to the forest to maintain his control over it. He will have to unless he wants to forfeit his realm to us entirely. You are about to make a significant contribution to our efforts to usurp your adar. But never fear, in a few years, we will hint to him what we did with you. Make sure it stays fresh in his mind. We would not want the loss--or the pain--to fade entirely."

The hand on Legolas's jaw released him with a shove. "Do not even think about moving," Demil growled. Then four sets of footsteps moved off to Legolas's right.

Anastor drew a breath.

"Be quiet," Legolas whispered to him sharply. Much to his amazement, Anastor did what he said. He remained quiet.

Legolas opened and closed his jaw a bit and moved his tongue around in his still too dry mouth. Fuilin and Demil were insane and they had no hope of usurping his father's rule, he told himself firmly. But still, what did they mean by the question of whether Thranduil would search for him? Did they not intend to lure his father here? Likely they did not, Legolas realized. No, what they wanted was for his father to suffer the loss of his entire family, as Demil said before he was exiled, so they had no plans to kill Thranduil yet. And if that were so--if Demil and Fuilin did not want him as bait for the king and they had captured him rather than simply killing him, what did they intend to do with him? A cold foreboding settled over Legolas like the black mists in the southern forest. What did Fuilin mean when he referred to his value and when he implied that they were waiting for someone?

'He' they had said, so it was not Manadhien that they awaited. It was also not the king or Tulus, since they thought them both far behind them. Possibly their remaining brother, Mauril? But Legolas could not imagine why he and Anastor needed to be 'presentable' for him. Or why being injured might reduce their 'value' to Mauril. Who else could they be valuable to other than Thranduil? A frightening possible answer to that question surfaced in his mind.

Legolas strained to listen to the whispered conversation Demil, Fuilin and the other two elves were having, to see if they would confirm his fears, but he could not hear them well enough to distinguish their words. It sounded like they were several dozen paces away. The horses were nearer. Legolas could hear them breathing heavily from the day's exertion and munching grass relatively nearby. If his suspicions were correct, an escape sooner rather than later was preferable. He tested the strap that bound his hands. It was still plenty tight and cut into his wrists as he tried to twist them. The motion made Anastor fumble first with his own bonds and then feel for Legolas's.

"Do you think we can untie each other?" Anastor whispered, turning his head in the opposite direction from the whispering voices of their captors.

"Probably," Legolas whispered back. "The problem is, they have bows and we do not. Even if we can get to those horses before them, they can just shoot us off them."

"They are elves, Legolas. They will not shoot us."

"One of those elves held a knife to your throat, Anastor. Demil shot Tulus. They will shoot us."

Anastor said nothing to that. Legolas turned his face forward again and thought. They needed a distraction of some sort. Something to draw away some of their captors or at least slow their reaction time.

"How do you know these elves, Legolas?" Anastor whispered as Legolas was trying think how he could possibly create a distraction. His voice trembled slightly.

Legolas hesitated, considering how to answer that question. Anastor knew nothing of Manadhien, her servants or Dannenion's association with them. "I know Demil and Fuilin, two of these elves, because they have been enemies of my adar for literally Ages of this world," he finally answered. "They, and the elleth they serve, have pursued both my adar and my daeradar Oropher since the First Age."

"You cannot be serious!" Anastor exclaimed, whispering so loud that Legolas winced, certain it would attract Fuilin's attention. But their captors' voices continued buzzing in the background.

"Shush," he replied. Then he decided to be more detailed. Anastor needed to know how important it was to curb his tongue. "Adar exiled them. For treason. For plotting to kill my naneth. They arranged for her and my aunt Amoneth to be taken by Dark Men. My adar stopped them, but not before two of our guards were killed. More recently, it was them that arranged the attack that killed my daeradar and daernaneth..."

"I thought they were killed by orcs," Anastor interrupted, his tone doubtful and panicked at the same time.

"No. By Demil and Fuilin's mistress. By an elleth named Manadhien. Adar caught Demil and questioned him about it. Demil admitted it and said their intention was to kill all of my adar's family one by one. You need to understand--these may be elves, but they have killed other elves before. Do you remember my adar telling you about the Noldor's attack on Menegroth and Sirion? The day he caught us playing with his long knife?"

"Yes."

"These elves were amongst the ones that participated in that attack. Demil admitted that to my adar. I heard him say it myself. They are not playing games with us. I am honestly astonished that they have not killed us already and the only reasons I can think of to explain why they have not...well, they are very bad. If you get a chance to escape, take it. Do not hesitate. But, be certain you can escape before you try, because they will kill you if they catch you trying. And do not, under any circumstances, do or say anything to antagonize or provoke them. Just obey them and be as respectful as you can while doing it. Understand?"

Legolas felt Anastor's back press against his as he took several long breaths, but he bumped heads with him as he nodded his agreement.

Legolas frowned. He did not like scaring Anastor. The day's events were certainly enough. But he had to know. The wrong behavior could end his life.

"So..." Anastor said after a moment. "If they want to kill you and your adar...what about me? Why me?"

Legolas shook his head. "I do not know. But they mean to do evil things. That is why I said do not hesitate to escape if you are sure you can."

"Why did the one elf call me by name, Legolas? How did he know me or know that I would be with you? I was not supposed to be."

Now Legolas had to make a conscious effort not to tense. Anastor would feel him do it since they were leaning on each other. "I do not know," he replied. Now did not seem like the time to tell Anastor that Dannenion once allied with these elves, especially since Legolas was not certain that was the reason Anastor had been taken. He suspected that, obviously. Just as he suspected that this attack was the reason for Glilavan's sudden change in assignments.

Anastor let out a long breath and sagged against Legolas a little more.

"Why you, Anastor Dannenion?" a harsh voice voice snarled from above them. It was Demil.

Legolas felt Anastor go rigid and he barely managed to remain sitting up when Anastor was pulled to his feet.

"To teach your traitorous adar a lesson, that is why," Demil continued.

Legolas felt Anastor's legs jostle against his back as Demil apparently shook him.

"Traitors are made to pay and you are the payment we extracted from your adar. Hope, for your sister's sake, that your adar learns quickly."

Legolas gasped in pain as he was pulled by his tunic front to his feet as well. "As for escape," Fuilin said, speaking into his face. "You are in no position to try. I would not recommend it. Lord Balchthor here sets a severe penalty on escape attempts."

A calloused, broad hand grasped Legolas around the throat and jaw and pulled him from Fuilin's grasp.

"You did not exaggerate the beauty of this one," a voice said in rough, strongly accented Westron. Hot, putrid air in his face was enough to make Legolas gag. Broken, jagged fingernails scratched his cheek as his blindfold was pulled loose. Legolas blinked to clear his vision and found himself staring into a swarthy face with a filthy black beard.  

*~*~*

"Shhh. Shhh." Dannenion soothed, as he led the stomping horse from its stall in the warrior's stable. He produced an apple, stolen from the larder in the stronghold and thrust it under the horse's nose.

It snuffled at it a moment before chomping down on it.

"Good," Dannenion whispered, taking advantage of the horse's distraction to slip a headstall onto it. He buckled it quickly. "We are going for a nice gallop. You will like that," he said, jumping onto the horse's back.

It danced around a bit, but then trotted peacefully enough out the barn door and onto the path directly behind it.

Once Dannenion was out of sight of the stronghold, he turned the horse off the path and cut south eastwards across the forest, following no path. There was none to where he was going. 

*~*~*

AN: I edited this to add a change to make it clearer that Thranduil does take guards with him when he goes after Legolas. I didn't mean to give that impression and I agree Conuion would never let that happen, but several reviewers here and elsewhere commented on it. Since it might make people anticipate the wrong sort of things, I thought I'd better change it, even though the chapter was already up and read by some. Sorry for the confusion and thanks for the help/concrit!