Half an hour later he found Legolas, as he had feared, submerged deeply in one of the hazardous green spots. Legolas was conscious and must have heard him, for he tried to turn his head, but he was too firmly stuck already to move more than a few inches.

"Don't move. Be still. I'll get you out, but you have to keep still!" Aragorn's voice betrayed his horror. Elladan and Elrohir had repeatedly told him that any movement would only hasten death when caught in a swamp. Hurriedly, but carefully checking the ground before every step he took, he surrounded the green area so that Legolas could see him, and hopefully draw strength from his presence. Also Aragorn needed to know exactly how much Legolas was seized by the deathly mire already.

When finally he was in a position to have a full view, Aragorn had to fight to not let his fear become visible. Legolas was submerged already so deep that his chin was touching the mud, but one arm was slung around a half sunken small deer. The marks on the surface of the swamp told Aragorn that Legolas had fought his current predicament long and hard, but to no avail. At least he had managed to hold on to the deer. That was most likely all that prevented him from having gone under completely by now. But the elven hand grasping into the thick hide of the deer was white, and trembled from strain. Also Legolas' breathe came in painfully short gasps. The mud was probably crushing his chest tightly. Soon he would suffocate from that, even if he did not drown first.

Horrified blue eyes met steadfast grey ones. Aragorn was determined to get Legolas out, even if he so far knew not how. Lips set into a tight line, he glanced around. A few long and thick branches lay nearby, and in haste Aragorn grabbed them, and shoved them towards Legolas. Upon seeing his intent, the elf wheezed, "No… do not… come near…"

Instead of answering, Aragorn asked, "Can you move anything at all? Your legs, or perhaps your trapped arm? Try only the fingers and toes, not more."

"Fingers… aye… Feet… numb…"

'Give him strength… give us both strength' Aragorn prayed silently to whichever entity would listen. It sounded bad. The loss of feeling in legs could indicate nerve damage from the pressure of the unyielding mud. But he would not voice his concern and could only hope that Legolas was not aware of that particular risk. Even more hastily he collected any kind of wood he could find, to strengthen the weak structure he was building.

Aragorn worked as fast as he could, but they were running out of time. Legolas still was sinking. The mud was now at his lower lip.

The shaky structure Aragorn had built to bridge the distance between them reached half the way to Legolas. But there was no more wood nearby. Horrified Aragorn looked around, and back into Legolas' face. How to span the distance, how to pull the elf out! He needed a rope – but he had it not.

With an angry shake of his head he drove the dark thoughts of Legolas' imminent death from his mind. Elrond had named him Estel. So then, to hope he would cling. He would not give up until Legolas was safe or truly lost. Rope or not, he would-

Sudden inspiration struck. That was it. In haste he shrugged out of his cloak and loosened the ties that held his trousers. Moments later he cut the leather into thick stripes with the orc scimitar he still carried with him. Then he strung the leather pieces tightly together and robbed on his belly towards the elf. When he reached the end of the wooden construct, he tossed one part of his improvised rope towards Legolas' hand, but missed the right spot.

By now Legolas could no longer speak. His lips were in the mud, and his breath came in desperate wheezes. In moments his nose would be also submerged and then any aid would come too late. Desperate, but not willing to give in yet, Aragorn threw his improvised rope again. And this time it landed exactly where he needed it, next to Legolas' fingers. There was no way the elf could see it, though. From his position, by now all Legolas could see was Aragorn. For the last minutes, the elf's frightened eyes had been constantly on the ranger.

Far calmer than he felt, the ranger explained, "Listen, Legolas. I'll retreat out of your sight and search for a stable position. When I tell you to do so, you have to let go of that deer and thrust your hand towards me. The rope is within your reach. You must do the pulling, though. I am not strong enough to get you out. You have to do it yourself."

By now the green mud was almost at Legolas' nostrils. They both knew that the next moments would decide if the elf would live or die. Giving Legolas a last encouraging nod, Aragorn hastily scrambled back on the branches, rammed a few of the thickest planks into the mud, and wound his end of the improvised rope twice around his wrist, to insure a secure grip. Then he flattened himself against the branches, and pressed his arms against the wood before him, to prepare a hold against the yank he desperately hoped would come.

Then he put his head against his arms, tensed his whole body, and cried, "Now, Legolas!"

One moment nothing happened and Aragorn feared the worst, but then an incredibly strong tug went through him. He was violently jerked against the wood, and needed all his strength to prevent being drawn into the swamp himself, and to not cry out in pain, for splinters drove deeply into his flesh.

It took hours before Legolas finally was out of the deathly trap. Hand over hand, with infrequent pauses, either due to pure exhaustion of either of them, or out of need to adjust their grips on their tiny resources, Legolas managed to free himself. Eventually, both lay on the branches, Legolas partly on top of Aragorn, and they were breathing harsh and uneven.

A slow drizzle started, and daylight gave way to night, but they moved not. They were spent, bodily exhausted almost beyond their limits as well as emotionally drained from their ordeal. Aragorn's arms, chest and legs were bleeding sluggishly, and he shivered from cold. How Legolas fared he had no idea. He was aware that the elf still lived, but that was all. Before finally the by now almost welcome darkness claimed him, he meant to hear voices, familiar voices. Thinking that he was hallucinating in his exhaustion, he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * * * *

When he came to, he was moving in a way that reminded him of riding, and strong arms were around him. He tried to speak, to move, but lacked the strength.

"Stay calm, Estel. I have you. All is well… rest…"

A familiar voice again… and pain… pain so great that it swallowed him whole… once more all went black…

* * * * *

His next awakening was easier. The pain had lessened, and he was lying rather comfortably – on linen? It smelled of herbs, and the sounds around him reminded him of home. They had been in the Misty Mountains north of Imladris… and then he remembered the familiar voices. It had sounded like Elladan and Elrohir. Aragorn jerked his eyes open.

And indeed, above him was the face of a smiling dark-haired elf. Aragorn grinned back in relief.

"El…"

More he could not manage yet, but it was enough. Elladan grabbed his hand, and his eyes twinkled.

"Welcome back, Estel. I am so glad to see you again... but I really prefer the view of you in your trousers over that of you out of them, little brother."

A chuckle escaped Aragorn, but then he remembered what had happened. He tried to rise, and gasped out, "Legolas! How…"

Elladan pressed him back down, and calmed him, "Fear not, he lives. Thanks to you, if the tracks we saw are any indication. That is a tale I truly wish to hear, but for now you have to rest. You were very ill. Here, drink this."

Weakness and a need to cough – harsh hacking painful coughs – robbed Aragorn of the little strength he had, and he managed not more than a sip from the mug Elladan was holding against his lips before he was asleep once more.

* * * * *

Later Aragorn learned that it had taken him over a week to recover sufficiently to understand the situation he was in. He had many wounds on his chest, legs and arms. Several of the injuries were infected from the swamp. His brand wound had worsened, too. On top of that pneumonia held him in a firm grip for days. Elrond had to use all his skill to save him. In fact his life had been far more endangered than that of Legolas.

From a few half whispered conversations Aragorn overheard he knew that Legolas also had been unconscious for a day, and for a while it had been uncertain if he would be able to walk again or not, but by now Legolas' body had recovered almost completely.

Aragorn still was bed-bound, though. The fever was under control, the wounds were healing, and the cough slowly subsiding. But he was weak as a kitten, and even drinking broth and teas was draining him of the little strength he had. Either Elrond or one of his sons kept a constant vigil at his bed. For the first days they only bantered lightly with him, showed him how happy they were to have him back in more or less one piece, and avoided any further discussion of what had happened during the last weeks.

When Elrond sat down one evening next to Aragorn's bed with a grave face though, the ranger knew that the time for some serious talk had come.

"Aragorn, I need to know about what happened. Are you up to speak about the pains Legolas inflicted on you?"

Aragorn frowned slightly at the choice of words, but nodded in relief that finally he would hear more about how Legolas fared. Elrond's controlled way of talking told Aragorn that the elf was upset, "He claims responsibility for the death of three humans, one of them a ranger, a friend of yours. Also he said he killed two elves, father and son. And he told me he tortured you, that the brand at your side was his doing, and that he is responsible for your other injuries also."

For a moment Elrond stopped, gave Aragorn time to answer, but when the young ranger said naught, he went on, "From the little more Legolas said, from the marks on his body and from a few feverish comments you made, I know the whole truth is not as simple as he tried to make me believe. I have placed Legolas under house arrest-"

No. This was not right. Interrupting Elrond, Aragorn said urgently, "You can't punish him for what he did! I know it sounds horrible, but he had his reasons! He…"

Elrond's gentle smile made Aragorn stop his agitated words.

"Oh Estel. I missed your caring heart, and your quick tempers, while you were gone. But listen now, please, and let me finish what I want to say, for I fear there is not much time."

Surprised, Aragorn quieted down, and expectantly looked at Elrond, who seemed much relieved.

"I have placed Legolas under house arrest to protect him. Not from any elf here, let me assure you, but from himself. When no condemnation from my side was forthcoming, Legolas insisted that he needed to leave for Mirkwood, instantly. His body is healed, but I do not trust his mental strength yet. I would not have him travel alone right now, and he refuses any company I ask him to take.

"Placing him under house arrest was the only thing I could think of to delay his departure. I need to know more before I can decide what to do. Tell me what happened, Aragorn. Tell me all of it."

And Aragorn did. He gave Elrond a quick overview about everything that had happened. While he spoke, Elladan and Elrohir entered. They shared a short glance with Elrond, and Elladan sadly shook his head as if to answer an unspoken question of his father, but they said nothing, just sat down quietly next to Aragorn's bed, and listened.

Aragorn finished his tale and murmured, "I had thought, after he built that bow, that his will to live was back. But it seems I was mistaken."

Elladan said, "No, I do not think so. My guess is that indeed he chose to live again, otherwise he would not have come out of that mire. But he claims responsibility for your condition now, no matter what father and we tell him. He sees himself at fault, his mere presence a hindrance for the wellbeing of others. The only solution his guilt-ridden mind can come up with is to remove himself from us, to protect us."

Elrond was silent for a long time. Then, with a sigh, he said, "Elladan is right. This is even worse than I feared. I am very proud of you, Aragorn. You showed considerable wisdom, and kept your head clear, under extremely difficult circumstances. But now I am really at my wits end concerning Legolas. The stubbornness of that youngling is legendary…"

Elrohir snickered, despite the seriousness of the situation. Aragorn caught a glance that was shared between his two brothers, and knew they must have met Legolas before, and that that encounter surely would make for an interesting story. A story he one day would extract from one of Elrond's sons. But it certainly would not be today.

Something else he asked, though, "How old is Legolas?"

Elladan answered, "He is one of the youngest elves on Arda. The youngest in Mirkwood. He should be around 500 years by now, give or take a few decades."

Elrohir chimed in, "Legolas' mother died when he was still an infant. That makes him the only son of a stern king whose realm is in constant threat of being overrun by deathly forces. Legolas' life was not comfortable, and the duties laid upon him on a daily basis were not light, nor carried easily. But he never complained. He loves his home, his father and his people. He would die for them. The question is: will he live for them as well?"

Elrond smiled fondly at Elrohir, but his eyes were sad. Abruptly, Aragorn sat up and said, "I want to see him. I feel well enough, and I promise to rest afterwards, but I need to see him, now."

Elladan answered, "I do not think that wise. When he first regained consciousness, your well-being was his first concern. He knows you are healing, but he refused to come and see for himself. In fact, Legolas no longer speaks. We tried, just before we came here, but he ignored us."

Again Elladan and Elrond shared an anguished glance they tried to hide, and Aragorn knew that Legolas' state was even worse than they had made him believe so far. His face a set mask of determination his family knew well enough to not try and stop him, he slowly came to his feet, tugged a blanket around his shoulders and stumbling made his way to the door. He exited his room and limped towards the guest room, knowing he would find Legolas there.

* * * * *

Legolas lay motionless on the bed, curled onto his side, face hollow, eyes closed, and the glow all but gone from his skin. Except for his shallow breathing, nothing indicated that the wood-elf still lived.

Pacing agitatedly, Aragorn was thinking hard, but he had not spoken yet. He was sure Elrond and his sons had already used every clever argument there was, had tried any way to convince the elf that he was not guilty in the sense he felt he was. But obviously nothing of it reached the wood-elf. Aragorn thought back to all they had talked about in the cave and on their flight. There must be a way to bring Legolas out of his withdrawn state, he just had to find it.

And then he knew what he had to do. He limped to the desk, let the blanket slip from his shoulders and took the long elvish dagger that was lying there. Moving next to Legolas' bed, he hardened his glance and his features, and sharply said, "Legolas Thranduilion. You asked for punishment. And now I – Strider of the North to the humans, Estel Elrondion to the elves, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn to the Dunedain – I shall tell you your sentence, for Hilmar's death, for the death of the two Rohirrim, and for the death of your two fellow elves. Do you hear me?"

Legolas' eyes opened. Keeping his face stern and his posture erect, Aragorn stared hard into them. When he was sure he had the elf's full attention, he commanded, "Get on your feet!"

While Legolas climbed out of bed, Aragorn purposefully played with the dagger in his hand. He waited until the elf was standing, and then another minute. Finally, while slowly pulling the dagger out of its sheath, he asked, "Do you swear to succumb to the punishment I place upon you without refusal or resistance?"

Legolas sighed, and it sounded almost like a sigh of relief. With lowered head, Legolas murmured, "I swear."

"Then hear me, Legolas, son of Thranduil. You shall live a year for every life you took. A day of each year you shall spend servicing one race you took a life from in any way you see fit. After five years you are free, either to fade, or to continue living, whatever your choice will be."

Legolas' head shot up. He opened his mouth, and closed it again. Then he angrily spat out, "You deceived me!"

Aragorn knew that he had robbed Legolas of the one way the elf saw as sole solution in his desolate state – death. He had done it in full awareness of the possible consequences, and yet, now that he was at the receiving end of Legolas' disappointed anger, sorrow hit him like an axe. Aragorn could only pray that Legolas would find his will to live once more. His hope for friendship with the wood-elf was gone, though. With slumped shoulders, Aragorn walked to the desk, let the dagger drop on it, and murmured tiredly, "Yes, I guess you could call it deceit. I'd ask your forgiveness, but to be honest, I'd do it again if I had to, so it would be a lie if I said I am sorry."

Then he turned around, looked into Legolas' eyes once more, and said softly, "You swore. Don't forget that."

Without waiting if Legolas might say more, Aragorn walked out of the guest room and back to his own, where he promptly lost consciousness the moment he closed the door.

When he woke again the next day, Elrond told him that Legolas had left Imladris during the night. "Before Legolas left, he bade me to give you a message, 'Tell Aragorn that I will keep to my word. I will not forget – nor forgive,' he said." Elrond gently explained.

Aragorn needed a month to recover enough to be fit for travel, and despite Elrond's continuous reassurances that he had done the right thing, it was a subdued ranger that finally took his leave from the Last Homely House.

* * * * *

Twenty months later

Naomer, Meothen and a third man sat around a merry fire, but their mood was far from happy. Their supplies were at an end, each of them had wounds from a skirmish with a band of orcs, they had lost three companions on that day, and all of their horses. They were exhausted from the fight and long hours of hasty flight, but dared not to sleep, in case the orcs were still nearby. It had been a dark day, and their future was very uncertain. The fire was born out of need to cauterize their wounds, and now they took a few minutes to recover from that unpleasant experience.

Quietly, Naomer said to Meothen, "Do you remember when we were prisoner to the orcs? Then we were even further from hope and from home, and we made it. Do not worry so much, it will work out in the end."

Meothen sighed. His fears were not erased so easily. But Naomer meant well, he knew, so he smiled weakly, and said, "You are right, it ended well. Nordrim might even be out with us on our next patrol – if my daughter allows it, that is."

The two men chuckled, while they thought about their stubborn children, who had lived through the horror in that cave together with them. Then Naomer mused, "I wonder what happened to that surviving ranger and the torturer."

Meothen gave a half shrug, while their silent companion shrank deeper into his cloak and began to douse the fire with sand and stones. Then Meothen said, "Well, I hope Strider killed him. Would have served the elf right, after what he did to us."

The man dousing the fire closed his eyes for a moment as if in pain and seemed to retreat into himself even more. Naomer said, "I think otherwise, my friend. That elf did not deserve to die. I know, I argued differently then, but I had time to consider all that happened. Do you not remember how he pleaded with the oldest of the elves a few times during the first days? I cannot shake the feeling that he was asking for his death. And what if he had died? Do you honestly think the orcs would have shown us any mercy then, or treaded us better? And surely the elves could have killed that elf, if they had thought that a good idea. But obviously the elves, and also Strider, who did save us in the end, believed that he must survive. I wonder who that elf is though and if he still lives…"

Each one of them deep in their thoughts, they spoke no more, and soon they packed their sparse belongings, to begin their long and perilous march home. But their going was slow, their wounds hindered them, and hunger weakened them further. In the evening they had travelled only half of the distance they had planned, but they were exhausted to their limits, so they decided to rest at the next opportune place. Half an hour later they stumbled upon a small creek, and there stood three magnificent elven horses, each with packs of food and blankets secured to their backs, and one of them also with a pouch full of healing herbs strung around his neck. Tied to the pouch was a note.

After having recovered from his surprise, Naomer tried to catch that horse, but it shied away from him. Meothen also had no luck in getting hold of it. But surprisingly, when the third man tried, a stranger to Rohan who only recently had joined their group and called himself Thorongil, the horse allowed him to touch it. With shaking fingers Thorongil untied the note, and haltingly read aloud, while translating the elvish words into Westron in his head, "Men from Rohan, you need not worry further about the group of orcs you met yesterday, they are all slain. Please take horses and supplies as small recompense for what I once did to you. Signed: the Torturer."

Naomer and Meothen stared in wonder at each other, and both missed how Thorongil turned away from them to hide his watering eyes and read the postscript on the note once more.

It said 'There is nothing to forgive, and it is I who needs to apologize. Thank you, my friend.'

- - - - -

The End

- - - - -

A/N:

The Lauderdale: Good point - and even with a solution to fix it :-). I admit, I had a vague feeling of something not being right (several things in fact ;-), this would have been comparingly easy to solve though), but I hadn't figured out what exactly made me uneasy, especially since in my head - and in a earlier different version with plot-parts I deleted in the end - the question was adressed at some point (not from Aragorn himself though, but he could have witnessed and understood its meaning, and the reader alongside), I just didn't show it here. Thanks a lot for mentioning this, and for the link, I'll go there and check it out.

Many thanks to everyone who reviewed, and of course to everyone who read it :-). I hope you had fun with this little beast.