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The rain ran in rivers through the wind-flattened grass and streaked like shooting stars through the darkened sky. The moon's soft glow was smothered by banks of black cloud, swirling and writhing constantly, but never once letting through a single beam of moonlight or the glimmer of one tiny star.

All was dark below. Dark, but not silent. The wind screamed, its agonised screech echoing through the trees and whipping up clouds of hammering rain before dropping them back to the ground with a hideous sound of drumming droplets drenching the world.

The trees clung to the earth, their age-old roots loosening, and some coming free from their ancient grip upon the earth as they were toppled, falling out of sight and causing a small earthquake with each falling giant. Young trees bent to the ground, leafy crowns pressing against the grass in a prayer to the Valar, begging them to stop the devastating onslaught.

Spiders clung to their webs as the delicate silk structures billowed in the wind, and the storm sent any creature caught in its path to a dark, wet and stormy grave.

The world was drowning, drowning in the flooding air.

Unfortunately for Legolas, he was one of those creatures. Caught in the torrential rain with no shelter and no real experience of the outside world, he ran, ran with nothing but the comforting whispers of the trees to guide him. And yet with those whispers came hideous screams and moans as the ancient sentries of the forest were toppled like matchsticks in the fierce gale.

And yet- he was glad for the wind. It was a reminder that he was free, and outside, albeit wet, cold and filthy. His fall into the river had, at least, and for perhaps one of the first times in his life, revealed his true hair colour.

Although still greyed and dirty from the years of imprisonment, his hair was finally clean enough to be seen. And not only had he never washed his hair, but he had never cut it.

Long, golden locks flew across his face, whipping his cheeks in a flurry of gold, as the wind's fingers snatched at the trailing strands, working free the knots and tangles.

It was completely unknown to Legolas that nature did not look so kindly on all beings of Arda. He didn't know it, but he was different. He was special.

And he was lost.

Wandering aimlessly for days on end with only the food the trees guided him to and a little water from the streams he came across, the elfling began to tire. It had been, he estimated, two weeks since he had run from Rivendell.

Legolas had eaten little since Aragorn was shot. Tinu and Îdhír had been too wrapped up in their worries for Aragorn to feed him, although they had given him water. He had run from Rivendell instantly. That was almost a month with just enough food to survive. Legolas had lasted longer, but that was sitting still, in a cell. In this month, he had travelled further than he had in his entire life, and with such a scarce amount of food, Legolas was slowly starving to death.

He grabbed at a handful of berries, but the whispers in his ears became louder. The trees were warning him.

Sighing, he tossed the berries into the howling gale and pressed on. Just keep moving away from Rivendell. Just keep moving away.

It seemed like the rain had been going for hours. Legolas stumbled over a twisted root, and fell to his knees. Frowning, he picked himself up. After only a few more steps, he fell again. This time, he could no longer find the energy to continue.

Lying face-down on the wet, muddy ground, the elfling slipped into tortured dreams of cold, pain and guilt.

✧ ★ ✧

That was how he was found, some hours later, by a scout sent out to navigate the storm. This was a warrior, and a heartless one at that. Hours out into the storm from camp, Munith had been about to head back when he had stumbled upon the body of a child, lying in the mud and half-covered in fallen leaves. He had, literally, stumbled upon him, otherwise even his keen elvish eyesight would have failed to detect the still form.

The boy was dead - no, unconscious, Munith discovered as he quickly checked the elfling over. He had been lucky. He was, remarkably, still alive, though by the look of it he had some serious fever and when he awoke he would probably feel as though he hadn't eaten much in a month - which he probably hadn't, Munith though grimly, staring down at the hollow cheeks and too-light frame. The child was lucky to be alive.

Scooping the boy up in his arms, Munith winced at the thought of how much pain that would be putting on the scratched, scarred and practically bare back of the elf. His tunic was in rags, dripping and dirty.

Munith didn't particularly care about the elves which dwelt near the forest. He had never known one of them, never even met one of them until now. If this even counted as a meeting. Even if it didn't, this was still the first time he'd ever seen a Noldor elf. They both puzzled and intrigued him.

Those elves could do what they wanted as far as he was concerned. So long as they didn't come after this one, that was. He didn't care whether they retaliated or just surrendered to the armed host secretly approaching. Some of them would die either way, and Elrond, he knew, was a major target, as well as his 'son', the human. What sort of elf takes a MORTAL as his son, anyway?

He looked down at the child in his arms. Munith wasn't sure what would happen to the child, but it couldn't be good. He was in for a hard time.

Glancing behind him, the scout made sure once again that he was not being followed. He was the most skilled among his fellow workers at the art of stealth and concealing his tracks, which was exactly why he had been chosen for this scouting mission.

Unconsciously, he pulled his hood further over his face. It was an old habit he had never bothered to break himself of. When he was upset or nervous, he pulled back into the shadow of his hood. It felt safer there, somehow.

And Munith was worried. The elfling in his arms felt light, too light, as though he was made of air. At least he was hardly a burden, meaning that the scout made good speed through the forest.

Upon reaching an open glade, Munith paused and glanced around, ensuring that he was alone before quickly and quietly darting across the open ground and into the relative safety of the trees beyond. Upon gaining the edge once more, he stopped, searching for somewhere to spend the night. He would reach camp tomorrow. He didn't want to wear his young charge out too much. Where was the fun in that?

Smiling wickedly at the boy, Munith climbed partway up a thick-trunked oak, slowly carrying the young elf up afterwards, trying to avoid breaking any branches and giving away their position. It wasn't easy, but the fair being was so strangely light that Munith had him settled against the trunk and tied securely to the tree in a matter of minutes. The bonds were party to keep the elfling from escaping should he wake, but mostly to prevent him from falling off the branch he was sitting on.

Munith stayed awake, keeping watch over the child and puzzling at his resilience. He was sure that no mortal could have survived such a long time with so little food, and the injuries decorating the younger elf's fragile body... it was a miracle.

And yet this elfling had survived it, unbroken and hopefully not permanently damaged. This elfling, who was so light he could hardly be felt, who felt as though he would shatter at the smallest jolt, had come away alive and, although injured severely, not mortally so.

Breathing in a deep sigh of relief once he'd checked the elfling over again, Munith settled back against the tree trunk, preparing for the long night ahead.

✧ ★ ✧

Bleary, piercingly blue eyes opened and took in the unfocused world surrounding the barely conscious boy they belonged to.

Stifling a moan, Legolas tried to figure out where he was. It was dark, and, he realised with a jolt of surprise and fear, he was bound. That was all that was needed to set them off again. The old fears.

A rush of panic flooded through the young elf's being and he began to struggle wildly, throwing himself again and again at the ropes which held him.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried desperately to suppress the rising tide of evil memories within him, to escape from this dark torment of swirling pain and fear.

Legolas fought his bonds with everything he had, fear and adrenaline holding back the pain and hopelessness of his situation. Clawing at the ropes, he strained to be free.

It only renewed his struggles when he felt something in the rope give beneath his attack. When one of the ropes began to pull free of the tight knot it had been in, Legolas leant forwards and tried to pull the rope free with his teeth.

He savaged the knot, alternatively pulling to try to untie the knot and merely biting it in a vain attempt to snap the rope; both to little effect. Whoever his captor was, he wasn't getting away that easily.

Worrying at the knot until his gums bled, the child spat out strings of frayed rope and blood. His throat had closed up in panic and his body was rigid with fear, every muscle tense. He felt as though if he couldn't escape soon, he would die of the fear and panic fighting within him. Legolas was exhausted, having been still weak from his many injuries and a lack of food and unprepared for the situation he had found himself in.

Trying to slow his breathing, the elfling forced himself to calm down. His breaths were ragged and shallow and his body had very little strength left.

Even so, when a pair of hands settled on his shoulders, trying to push him back into the trunk, adrenaline took over once more and he began to fight, kicking and screaming, biting at anything that came near him. He heard a bone crack with a small amount of satisfaction as he bit down hard on his attacker's finger.

Howling in pain and anger at the resistance this elf was putting up, the scout shoved a foul-smelling cloth over the elfling's face. Legolas tried desperately to hold his breath, but panic was making him hyperventilate and he plunged back into darkness the moment he took a breath.

✧ ★ ✧

The child had gone berserk. One moment he had been lying peacefully against the tree, the next he had been literally fighting thin air like a crazed animal.

Too stunned to move for a moment, Munith stared as the boy literally began to break the ropes apart with his teeth like a wild thing. Breaking out of his stupor, Munith placed his hands firmly against the youngster's shoulders, trying to subdue the boy.

He could see the panic in the child's eyes, the fear of something terrible, Munith didn't know what. Right now, he did know that he had to get the child under control before he started to make any noise and gave away their hiding place.

Unwilling to use the drug in the elfling's current state, Munith tried to literally hold the elf down, but every time he got close, the boy lashed out with his hands, his legs, Valar, even his mouth. Munith scowled and cursed as the fair being began to shout at him, calling him over and over by a name he could not make out in the storm.

He could not even begin to imagine the horrors the boy must have survived for something as simple as bonds and darkness to garner this sort of a reaction from him. Right now, he really didn't care.

However, he did care about stopping the boy. Grabbing for the child's face, he was rewarded with a sharp bite on his finger, accompanied by a searing pain and a loud crunch of bone. Swearing to himself, he grabbed a cloth soaked in a strong drug and quickly covered the boy's face.

The young elf was unconscious in seconds, instantly silent. Munith could only hope that their position had not been discovered by the other elves. Stars, that creature was wild. He would have to be more careful with it in the future.

✧ ★ ✧

When Legolas awoke again, he was bound so tightly he couldn't move and being carried roughly by a strong elf who looked to be around 2500, although with other elves it was hard to tell; he had hardly met any, let alone known their ages.

The bonds were unnecessary. Legolas' body hurt all over; he honestly didn't think that he could move, although he hated the helpless position he was in. Legolas couldn't bear to be vulnerable after the horrors of what Thranduil had put him through.

At least it wasn't dark any more. When it was dark he was back in that small, cold cell, where he could not tell whether it was day or night, or how long it had been. The young elf had a huge fear of dark, underground places.

Shuddering at the memories and whimpering softly, Legolas tried to figure out which direction they were heading in. He wasn't doing very well with it, he knew that. His head pounded from the overdose of drugs he had been given the previous night and the directions simply would not stay in his head.

Still slightly delusional, the elfling moaned as the sky above him flickered brightly through his awareness, the light hurting his eyes. The sound was not lost on his unknown captor, who glanced down sharply and realised that his young charge was awake.

Any tiny amount of sympathy he may have had for the boy was now utterly gone, he thought as he looked ruefully at his bitten finger. The injury was now beginning to swell up and was turning a nasty purple. He had, of course, treated the wound that night, but that did not by any standards mean that it was not both extremely painful and horribly annoying.

His attention was redirected to the child once more as the boy's eyes flickered closed again and he passed back into unconsciousness.

Legolas woke again at sunset. His head still throbbed and his body still ached, but there was something distinctly different about this than when he had awoken before.

It took him a few moments to realise what it was. Then his senses registered the fact that the steady, bumping rhythm had stopped. They were no longer moving.

Legolas wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried at the revelation. Forcing his eyes to open, he glanced around. He and the older elf who had kidnapped him were still alone.

So why had they stopped?

When he realised that the child was awake, Legolas' captor spoke softly to his prisoner.

"Look, boy, we're here now, ok? So you better behave yourself or you'll just make it worse for you and more amusing for us. Got that?"

When Legolas nodded, although he had no intention of 'behaving himself' as the man had called it, he continued.

"My Lord most likely wants something with you, otherwise I wouldn't bother bringing you here. Now, what's going to happen is this. I'm going to take you in, you're going to be a good little elfling and STAY SILENT," he slapped Legolas across the face as he said this, "and not cause any trouble." He glanced at his finger. "Not cause any more trouble." He amended. "Sound like a good plan? I think you'll like it in there," he mocked. "You might even make friends."

Legolas' face was completely devoid of emotion, portraying no sign of the terror churning inside of him.

As the boy was dragged to his feet, his bonds were cut enough to allow him to stand and walk and he stumbled forwards, half dragged by his captor into an open glen.

"Well well well, isn't this a familiar sight?" An all too recognisable voice jeered.

Legolas froze. Pure terror rushed through him and he attempted to run backwards, but was blocked by the man behind him.

Not you. Not you. Anyone but you...

Before him stood an elf he had hoped to forget, to never see or hear of again. An elf who had haunted his nightmares his whole life.

An old enemy.

Sorry this update's a bit late! I've been super busy with my awards (the Winter Wolf Awards 2019)! If you haven't already entered or aren't judging, please do! Judges still desperately needed!

Also this chapter is my longest ever at 2874 words!

Next Chapter: Legolas faces his old enemy.

Oh, don't forget to vote :P