Not you, not you, not you...

The words were bouncing around over and over in Haldir’s head as his head was bouncing around over root and rock as the Orcs dragged him upside down through the forest. He had hit his head at some point and was sure it was bleeding badly. That was what came of not ever wearing a helmet, he supposed.

I’m in charge, Haldir, not you. I choose Legolas, Haldir, not you.

He was fighting to keep from unconsciousness, knowing that if he passed out, it would likely spell his death. As it was, he was going to have to fight three Orcs with no weapons and his head bleeding. Haldir did not want to die. He had already faced death once, at Helm’s Deep, and nearly lost. If Orophin and Rúmil had not carried him to Lady Galadriel, he certainly would have. He knew his brothers would be on the trail of him now, and hoped they would be faster than the Orcs.

Certainly Legolas would come after him as well, and the others would follow at his command. Even after all he had done to Legolas, he would come. Legolas was devoted to him. He was certain of that. And Ciendriel... would she come just because Legolas demanded it? Would she care if the Orcs slaughtered him?

He liked her. He liked her fire, and he liked that she didn’t cave in to him. He liked her passion. He remembered so vividly the way she had responded to him, even if she had been under the influence of the Amordalis. He didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed being with a female so much. He wanted to be with her again. He had spent most of the day scheming over the best route to her heart.

He couldn’t blame her for wanting Legolas. Legolas was everything that Haldir was not. He was tender, and he was kind. He was ethereally beautiful, even among other Elves. He was intelligent and thoughtful.

Haldir had almost loved him, once. But Haldir did not permit himself to feel love of any sort. For one thing, he had duties in Lothlorien and Legolas was Prince of Mirkwood. He did not expect either Galadriel or Thranduil to change things for the sake of this affection between them. And so he had cut himself off from it.

Still, he did not ever intend to let Legolas forget him, or the brand he had placed on the young Prince. Legolas would always belong to him. And now Haldir was determined to have Ciendriel as well. He wanted her to look at him in the way she looked at Legolas. He wanted her to love him.

He supposed such musings should wait until another time, especially since they were turning into hallucinations. He searched inside his chest for fear, needing to feel it, to keep himself awake, alive. But he wasn’t afraid. He had never feared death and could not fear it now, even with it looming.

Blackness roared before his eyes. He closed them as he bounced over another rock.

Hurry, Legolas...

***

Angelica heard Pippin shriek as the cart turned over, tossing them all beneath it. She had a flash of blinding terror as she feared landing on one of the others’ swords, but instead she found herself on top of Frodo, who was on top of Sam, who was on top of Merry and Pippin.

“Push it off,” Sam directed, remaining calm, as they untangled themselves.

“I think we’re safer under the cart!” Merry said.

“We have to fight,” Frodo said.

The five of them got to their feet and began to push at the edge of the cart, trying to free themselves. A moment later, pale hands lifted from the other side.

“Legolas!” gasped Pippin.

The Elf started helping them out of the cart one by one. His expression was grim. To Angelica, he looked almost frightening. Almost.

“The wheel is broken. The cart is finished,” Legolas told Frodo as he pulled him out into the meadow.

Angelica looked around as Legolas helped her out. All the Hobbits were shaken, but fine. She threw her arms around Pippin, who clutched her in turn. She turned to Merry, wanting him holding her, too, but he was simply staring at them...then he turned away. Angelica frowned. She didn’t understand his behavior, but at the moment, there were more urgent worries.

Dead Orcs lay everywhere in the meadow. She saw Orophin and Rúmil run into the woods, followed by Gimli. Ciendriel was running towards them, her face stricken with horror. And Haldir? Where was he? Had he fallen?

“Legolas! The Orcs took Haldir! We’ve got to go after him. I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to him!”

Ciendriel looked as if she were about to cry. Legolas’ face froze in shock. His blue eyes grew round. He looked as if he were stricken. He shook his head in disbelief, his mouth open. Ciendriel moved towards his and grabbed his hands. In that moment, Legolas composed himself.

“We must go after them. We’ll have to leave the cart.” He turned to address the Hobbits. “Gather up what you can of the supplies. We’ll put them on the horses. We’re walking from here on out. Running, until we find Haldir. If we are lucky, Gimli, Orophin and Rúmil will get to him quickly.”

Within ten minutes they were marching through the denser part of the woods. Angelica knew that this direction was leading away from the path they had been following. No telling how long it would take them to get to Lothlorien now.

She couldn’t believe that Haldir was dead. It wasn’t in her heart even to think he might be, despite the obvious danger he was in. She didn’t want him to be dead, the big jerk. It would bring ruin upon all of them. They would grieve more for him than he would for any of them, she knew it.

Pippin caught her hand as they walked. He looked over at her, and she knew he was worrying about her, so she smiled. He smiled back, and she wondered if her own expression looked as sad and false as his.

“Why’re we going after him anyway?” Sam groused. “Let his brothers help him. He is nothing but trouble, anyhow.”

“Don’t say such things, Sam,” said Frodo. “It would be wrong to abandon him, no matter what he may have done.”

Angelica saw Frodo glance over his shoulder at her. She nodded in agreement with him, and he gave her a half-smile.

“Legolas,” Angelica heard Ciendriel say. “I am sorry.”

“This is not your fault,” said Legolas. “Not in any way.”

“But, Haldir--”

“Do not worry. We will find him, Ciendriel.”

The Elf Princess fell silent. She kept pace easily with Legolas. All the Hobbits were breathing hard, and the two of them weren’t even winded. Angelica knew they could have traveled a lot faster without the Hobbits. She hoped Gimli, Orophin and Rúmil were making better time.

Angelica glanced over her shoulder at Merry, who was trailing behind them. He was looking down at his feet as he walked, his expression unfathomable. For the first time that day, she became aware that something was upsetting him.

She hated the thought of Merry being unhappy, and she would have done anything to soothe it, but in this moment, she could not. Pippin squeezed her fingers. Angelica squeezed back, and kept walking silently.

“Up ahead! There are the others!” Legolas called out.

“Is Haldir with them?” Frodo asked.

“No.”

***

When Haldir regained consciousness, his first thought was one of relief. He was still alive. He had also stopped moving. He opened his eyes, but they were caked with blood and dirt. He tried to get up but quickly realized that his feet were still being held by a stinking Orc.

“Oi! Krislantz! It’s moving again!”

“String him up, you idiot!”

“Why can’t we just kill him? I’m starving!”

“Soon enough! Now string him up.”

Haldir tried to resist, but he was weak from loss of blood, and soon the two Orcs had him suspended upside down from a tree branch. This made it worse, as all the blood rushed to his head. He realized that the one called Krislantz was the leader of the three -- all that remained of the pack, but Orcs were stupid, thick creatures as well as disgustingly smelly, so it wasn’t worth trying to reason with them. Still, even though they had not killed him right off, this couldn’t be called an improvement.

Once he had been strung up, Krislantz tied Haldir’s hands behind his back. Haldir managed to get off one roundhouse punch before he was subdued, knocking the Orc leader on his rump. He bared his dirty, brown teeth at Haldir and growled.

“You’ll pay for that, Elf! Prepare for a long and painful death before you grace our dinner plates!”

Haldir spit at him. Krislantz bashed him across the face. Haldir’s vision went blurry again for a long moment. He closed his eyes as the Orc began to walk around him in a circle, staring at him appraisingly. He rubbed his filthy hands over Haldir’s body, squeezing and pinching him, and laughed.

“Build a fire, boys! Tonight we feast! After three days and nights hard march and the loss of our companions, we deserve it!”

It took everything inside Haldir to fight his rising despair.

***

Three days and three nights they had been marching. Soon, Legolas knew, they would have to stop. The Hobbits could not go much further. They were certainly on the trail of the Orcs, and Legolas was certain they had not stopped moving yet. This gave him hope that Haldir still lived.

Rúmil and Orophin were excellent trackers, and Legolas let them lead the way, scouting ahead. He concentrated on keeping track of the Hobbits, and trying not to read the sadness in Ciendriel. They spoke little. She seemed robbed of her light spirit. He wondered if she was still blaming herself, and wondering why she did. After all that had passed between Ciendriel and Haldir, the fact that she prayed so hard for him to be found alive amazed him a little bit.

He did not know how he would handle it, himself, if the worst came to pass. He had already grieved for Haldir once. To find he had lived after Helm’s Deep had seemed a small miracle, until his unconscionable trick with the wine. Legolas did not dare to think about it. He thought only of moving forward, of keeping the party safe.

Suddenly Rúmil and Orophin burst through the trees, running towards them, looking wild-eyed and excited.

“Come quickly, Legolas,” Orophin said. “They have him, and he is alive, but will not be for long. We must ambush them.”

“Gimli, stay here with the Hobbits,” Legolas directed the Dwarf. Gimli nodded, and the Hobbits looked grateful to be able to rest at last. “We must be swift. Ciendriel--”

“I am coming.”

The look in her eyes dared him to stop her. Legolas nodded. The four Elves hurried silently through the brush, drawing their bows. He knew the Orcs would be warned at the first shot, and he hoped they would not be wise enough to use Haldir as either a bartering tool, or to take revenge upon him first.

In moments they arrived at the clearing where the Orcs had set up their camp. They had set up a great roaring fire, and the leader of the three was screeching at the others to pile the wood higher. Legolas saw that Haldir hung upside down from a tree limb like a rack of meat. He wasn’t moving. Beside him, he heard Ciendriel gasp softly.

Legolas took the first shot. It went right through one of the Orcs building the fire. He roared with pain, alerting the others as he died. The four Elves jumped forward out of the bushes. A volley of arrows flew, and the Orcs had not even time to draw their swords before they fell. The big one, the leader, stumbled into the fire, igniting himself into a fiery torch, his death wails chilling.

Ciendriel dropped her bow and ran to Haldir. She pulled out a dagger and cut him down. He fell to the earth with a thud and she cut his hands free. Turning him onto his back, she lifted his head into her lap.

“He lives!” she cried with a relief that stirred jealousy in Legolas. Quickly he tamped it down, and threw himself onto his knees beside them.

“He is filthy,” said Orophin.

“Even more filthy than at Helm’s Deep,” Rúmil agreed.

“Thank you, dear brothers,” Haldir said thickly. He opened his eyes, but his expression was one of pain. He looked at Legolas and Ciendriel. “Legolas...Ciendriel. You came for me.”

“Of course we did, you bastard,” Ciendriel muttered.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Haldir said. Legolas could see the teasing light in his eyes, but Ciendriel didn’t and she turned red. Still, she didn’t push his head out of her lap.

“Are you hurt badly?” Legolas asked Haldir in a calm voice.

“Not so badly,” Haldir said, but his grimace of pain said otherwise.

“We’ll take you back to where the Hobbits are and make camp,” Legolas told him. “We will stay there until you are well enough to travel.”

“Very well. It should not be long,” said the Marchwarden. “Please, help me to my feet.”

“We can carry you,” said Orophin.

“None of that, little brother. I am not so badly wounded as I look.”

“Let us hope not,” said Legolas. “For truly, you look awful.”