The four companions fled from the tunnel, hearing shouts behind them. In the pale moonlight, Thranduil saw figures struggling together at the beginning of the mist. The steel of weapons glinted. Fleeing in the opposite direction of the fight, Thranduil grabbed Rueben's shoulder as they entered the mist bank, knowing without the human to drag him on he would sink into the mist and sleep until death. The drowsiness hit him again as the mist swirled around him, glowing with rays of moonlight but this time the tiredness was worst then before. His feet stumbled over the bones he could not see. He felt Rueben jerking him and Legolas and Landion along with urgency in his tugs.

Thranduil stepped out of the mist into clear air, the last tendrils of milky some sliding off the bloodstained cloth of his chest and dissolving back into the fogbank behind him. His head cleared and the pain in his body, dulled by the mist, roared back to life, tearing a small whimper from his lips. Beside him, Legolas's eyelids slipped closed and the elfling sank to his knees, his head rolling. He jerked awake as Thranduil fell down by him, his shaking legs refusing to take one more step.

"We cannot stop!" Rueben said desperately, glancing around himself at the shadowy trees.

"And I cannot continue," Thranduil said, fighting the darkness of unconsciousness threatening to drown him. "Escape with your own life, if you can."

From behind him a figure burst from the mist, sword drawn. Thranduil instinctively tugged Legolas into the sanctuary of his arms, willing to use his own life to protect his son. Even the threat of death fueled no strength in him.

With a naked blade, the figure drew nearer at a run, revealing himself to be Lord Katar armed not only with a sword but with a wicked sneer. Rueben's sword flashed into his hands but the young human was nervous. With a single swipe of his blade, Lord Katar disarmed the human and turned his full attention to Thranduil.

"You thought you could escape!" he hissed. "But no one escapes me! No one!" He raised his sword above Thranduil's head. "And now you die!"

Thranduil closed his eyes, his ears pricked up in fear for the swish of the sword, undoubtedly the last sound he would hear besides Legolas's small sobs. He heard a scream and glanced in confusion over his shoulder in time to see reuben retrieve his fallen weapon and cast himself on Lord Katar. Lord Katar easily disarmed the boy again, shoving him back. Rueben tripped over a tree root and sprawled on the ground, his eyes wide as Lord Katar approached him with his sword. Thranduil heard the sound of running feet.

Harune burst from the mist behind Lord Katar, his usually gently smiling lips drawn back in an angry snarl. His calm, peaceful eyes blazed with hate, and his tender hands held a sword blade. Moving past Lord Katar's attacks with deadly elven speed, his ducked the human's thrust and plunged his own blade deep into his heart. Lord Katar let out a yell, stumbling back, his sword dropping to the dirt. Without a sign of pity in his eyes, Harune cut off the man's head. Dropping the hilt of the weapon, Harune skidded to his knees beside Thranduil. His eyes riveted on Rueben and he began to rise.

"No, ada," Thranduil mumbled. "He helped us . . ."

As Harune turned back to look at him, the trees swam before his vision, moving far away until they were tiny dots. Thranduil blinked, his vision dimming as though his were going blind . . . Harune sounded far away as darkness slid over him. His pain faded into a dull ache and diminished further into nothing. He swam in a sea of black where he felt nothing and nothing mattered.

Thranduil cracked his eyes open. Everything before him looked hazy and noises sounded far away. He let his tired eyes fall shut. With his weak arms, it was difficult to hold his precious son to him. Legolas shook with fever and fear, moaning and voicing pleas in his fitful sleep. His weakened body still bled, as did Thranduil's, from injuries inflicted by past tortures.

Thranduil heard a hollow bang and the sound of screams. But he must be dreaming. The screams of his tortured son echoed in his head, haunting him. The noise seemed to grow louder. He heard the creak of the cell door opening with a loud angry crash that filled him with fear.

Lord Katar approached him with a cruel grin. A hand reached for him—no—Legolas. Thranduil cling to his son with all his strength, begging, "No! Please leave us to die! Let us die together. I beg you!"

Legolas was jerked away.

"No!" Thranduil howled. "NO!"

OoOoOoOoO

Thranduil's eyes flew open to dim light. Legolas! Oh, valar, Legolas! He struggled to move under the heavy weights crushing him, screaming for his son but a strong hand held him back. The voice yelling frantically sounded . . . familiar.

"Thranduil, please stop! Lie still! You are hurt and you will hurt yourself—Thranduil, ion nin, relax. Please relax. Know you are safe and with those who love you."

"Harune? Ada?" Thranduil croaked, his voice dry and rasping.

"Yes, yes, ada is here. Ada is here and you are safe. Lie back."

Thranduil let his tense body sink back into the soft pillows. He struggled to focus his eyes on Harune's blurry face. "My son . . . I want my son. Please."

"Beside you," Harune said softly, squeezing Thranduil's hand in his own strong grip.

Thranduil turned his head, pain exploding in his chest. But the price was worst it for the reward was the sight of Legolas's face on the pillow beside him, pale but alive, his gentle breath stirring the tendrils of hair beneath his face.

"Death came near to taking both of you from me," Harune said, his voice choked. "But I have been assured you will both live."

"Lord Katar?" Thranduil asked, needing to reassure himself the man had not risen from the grave.

"He is dead. We burned his body though he deserved worst," Harune said, his level voice bitter. He stood up and, leaning over the bed, tucked the blankets around his son and Legolas. "Rest now, Thranduil. When you are well, we will talk."

Thranduil closed his eyes with a sigh. He rested a hand on Legolas's forehead, the smoothness of his skin disrupted by swollen bruises, yet comforted by knowing his son lived.