Disclaimer: I own nothing of the works of Tolkien, neither books, nor movies. Please send no balrog with whip and flame, I make no money, so don´t lodge a claim. If others make money from this story it was without my permission.

Chapter 1 Coming Home

It had been a long and tiresome journey. He had travelled for months, not only because of his duties as a ranger, but also because he could never really sit still. Not even for a minute.

But now, Strider, ranger of the north, or Estel to the elves, was tired. His mind was not occupied with his ranger duties or battles at the moment. All he had in mind was that he would, finally, get a decent nights sleep, in a warm and comfortable bed. His bed. He was home.

The beautiful realm of Rivendell spread beneath his feet as he stood upon a small hill, overlooking his childhood haven. Breathing deeply, Strider smiled slightly, inhaling the sweet smell of new flowers and the refreshing aroma of the waters that surrounded the Last Homely House. To be home felt so good. Once more taking a deep breath, the human re shoulderd his pack and directed his steps
towards his home.

A few weeks prior he had send a letter to his father, the Lord of Imladris, stating that he would be in the area and step by. Now, as he was finally there, Strider wondered what his two troublesome brothers had planned for him.

"Well, just hope its not as wet as last year", he thought with a slight grimace as he remembered the terrible twins last welcome home present. He had never ever felt that wet before. "No wonder, when the two excuses that call themselves brothers not only empty two buckets of ice cold water over your head but also deem it funny to drench all your towels in water too," Strider sighed as he remembered how he had taken a hot bath after the water attack, only to climb out of the tube and find not a single dry towel in his whole room.

But he had learned something that day. That revenge was best served ice cold. A wicked grin spread unnoticed over the rangers face as he remembered how he had taken his revenge. Oh, his brothers had paid for that one.

Lost in his musings the traveller reached the empty courtyard and realized for the first time that nobody was there. Well, except for him, that was.

Frowning, Strider stopped and stared at the huge front door of the Last Homely House. Slightly perplexed, he moved his head from the door to the left side, to the door again and from there to the right side. Blinking, he even turned and looked into the direction he had come from. "Strange," he thought. Actually, that was the first time that he came home and his family had not greeted him at the door. Or in the healing wing when he awoke from unconsciousness, he thought dryly.

"Hm, I wonder….., the twins," that must be the explanation. His brothers had of course known of his soon arrival and had planned something. Now even more suspicious than he had been before, Strider slowly made his way to the door.

As he stretched his arm out to turn the iron handle he suddenly stopped, and as fast as if he had been bitten by the handle, snatched his hand away. Why had nobody come out to greet him? Perhaps because it was not safe to open the door? Perhaps because the twins had prepared the door?

Strider took a tentative step backwards and eyed the door carefully. No strings at the sides. No signs that someone had worked on the handle. No traces of water, flour, sand, feathers, dust, grass…….Just, nothing. Everything looked perfect. As it should look. Giving the door one last suspicious look, Strider stepped forward, gripped the door handle, opened the door, took one step forward, held his breath, closed his eyes in awaiting of the prank and then….nothing.

Opening one eye the human looked around and only saw the empty entrance hall. The second eye soon followed the first and the ranger finally released the breath he had been holding.

Entering, he closed the door, confused. Now that was really weird. One glance around showed him that the hall looked the same as it always did. Clean and neat, every furniture at its rightful place, not traces of a prank at all. What concerned the human most, was that he heard no voices. Not even the normal bickering of his brothers.

Well, the house is more quiet when I am not around, Strider had to admit. But normally a servant here and there could always be heard. "Every maniac can enter here and do Valar what," the ranger thought. Followed by: "Well, perhaps the maniac has just entered," scolding himself for his own thoughts, Strider headed towards the next big door, the double door leading to the Hall of Fire.

He would try it there and if the hall was empty, he would try his fathers study next. So, he walked to the door, took the handle (not checking for water buckets this time, as the twins would not risk emptying a bucket onto Glorfindels head, or even worse, their fathers head) and resolutely opened the door.

With a start he realized that he had made a big mistake. As soon as the door opened, a shrill scream pierced the air, filling his rather sensitive ears and making him cringe. Instinctively he wanted to shut the door again, but his entry had not been unnoticed: "Estel!" two almost identical voices shouted, sounding surprised and embarrassed at the same time. Looking over to his twin brothers, Strider nearly bumped into Elrohir, who had stepped up before him as fast as lightening.

Hugging him in a rather sluggish and fast way, saying "Mae govannen, Estel. goodyouhavearrived.Haveyouhadagoodjourney?Elladan, I'm going to tell father!" the elf rushed past him and was gone before the ranger had even realized what had happened.

Turning asking eyes to his brother Elladan, Strider was spared a question as again, the shrill scream filled the air. This time taking a closer look at the scene before him, Strider saw not only Elladan, but also another elf, standing next to his brother, having clasped both his hand over his ears.

Now really surprised and as confused as a rabbit that was spared by a very hungry snake, Strider could only stare at the Mirkwood archer, his best friend Legolas Greenleaf. Well, perhaps maniac was not so wrong at all, Strider thought.

Why is Legolas in Rivendell? And what, by Elbereth sake, makes so much noise? In exactly this moment, his brother turned fully towards him, revealing the noise maker. Strider blinked, closed his eyes, shook his head, counted to five, opened his eyes again, and was tempted to repeat the procedure once more. Because there, in his brothers arms, lay a little baby.

Wrapped in green linens, only the head visible. And that was as red as a tomato, and crinkled in a very unpleasant manner. As if it had recently encountered a very, very bad person. Well, sometimes my brothers make someone feel like that, Strider thought, and made his way to his friend's side. Legolas, his hands firmly on his ears, turned towards the human and, presumably, greeted him.

Strider could not tell, because the moment the elf opened his mouth, the little being again screamed at the world, telling her that he really was not amused. The elf holding the baby, held it now at arms length,
his face turned away, eyes firmly closed, the face entirely tense and obviously in pain.

Elves had a far better hearing than humans and a screaming edan child was something that no one would describe with the words "silent" or "quiet". Strider was tempted to laugh at the sight, but on closer inspection he decided that that wouldn't be a good idea. Well, at least he now understood Elrohirs fast greeting and his even faster exist.

And there elves claimed to be superior to humans. Set them into a clearing with edan children and you will soon see how fast elves can run. Now really smirking Strider took a closer look at the bundle in his brothers hands.

The baby wasn't really a baby anymore, Strider would estimate him to be about a year old. The child was wrapped very tightly in the linens, unable to move much. The screams coming from said child became even louder and more and more shrilly.

Seeing that Elladan was loosing his grip onto the child, Strider quickly took the little human out of his brothers hands and settled the child onto his own arm. With the other free hand he unwrapped the bundle and released the small child from its prison. As soon as the little chubby arms were freed the terror voice died down.

Looking with eyes as big as apples at the human carrying him, the child went silent and starred curiously at the new human. Elladan opened his eyes, very timidly, and starred at his human brother in shock. Legolas, not wiling to take his hands from his pointy ears yet, stared open mouthed at the ranger. Both seemed at a loss of words. Strider bounced the little child on his arm for a moment, which elicited an amused chuckle from the little being and an absolutely bewildered sounding "Uhhh" sound from both elves.

Facing the elves Strider looked up: "What?" Sharing an unbelieving glance, the two elves turned towards the ranger. "How did you do that?" Elladan asked. "Do what?"

"That", pointing at the child in Striders arms, Elladan explained: "That….thing, is now here since a few days and not one minute was it silent. It screams when it is awake, and even when it sleeps. It is tormenting us. I swear, if I wouldn't know better, I `d said it is trying to kill us!"

Having finished his tirade, Elladan gave the child one last suspicious look. And truly, Strider could have sworn that the child had smirked when Elladan had finished. But, no. That couldn't be, of course.

Smiling at the little human in his arms, the ranger tickled the child, eliciting another merry giggle. He then stretched his right forefinger towards the child, which grabbed it into one of his own small hands. "First, my dear brother," Strider said, still facing the child, "this little human here is no "it". It is a child, a…." here he looked asking at the elves.

"A boy," Legolas, his hands now at his sides, helped out. "Aye, a boy. And second, that little man here does not need to be wrapped in so much linens. You need to be able to move, huh, little man?" Strider waggled his finger softly in the child's hand, who, as a response, giggled happily, looking with large eyes at the man.

Elladan and Legolas shared a glance with each other, both of them with similar raised eyebrows. That was a side they had never seen on Strider. Taking a deep breath Elladan said: "Well, at least it is silent now, thank the Valar for the little blessings in live."

A voice coming from the door interrupted the scene: "And, how exactly, have you managed that, Elladan?" Elrohir and the Lord of Imladris had entered the Hall of Fire.

A little embarrassed the older twin had to confess, that it had been his little brother that had tamed the small beast, and not he. "It is good to see you home again, my son. It has been too long since your last visit," Elrond greeted his youngest. "I would hug you now as I usually do, but if my very eyes do not wrong me, someone else has occupied that place."

Smiling, the Lord of Rivendell came closer to the ranger, watching how the child had nestled itself into the crook of Striders arms. "Hm, my son, it seems he is quite content there." "Well, I suppose everything is better than Elladan," the human teased his oldest brother.

As a reply he only received a "Humph" followed by something mumbled under the elf's breath, sounding suspicious like "Get an edan something muddy and smelly and he will love you forever. Gwaur nûr!" (filthy kin) Ignoring his brother for the time being, the ranger looked at the little child in his arms and saw how the boy stuck its finger into his mouth, chewing on it.

"Oh, my dear. Are we hungry, little one? Aye, sure we are, aren't we? Little boys are always hungry. Come, penneth. I get you something really yummy. Hm?" And with that, totally ignoring the assembled elves, the human took of into the direction of the kitchens, all the time talking to the child, who rewarded the ranger now and then with a happy chuckle.

The elves, on the other hand, stood as still as statues and watched the ranger, the slayer of orcs and wargs, walk away. "Ah, yes. Can someone please pinch me? I think I am dreaming," Elladan requested. Elrohir followed suit, pinching his brother in the arm. "Auw," by Elbereth, Elrohir! I said pinch, not main me for the rest of my life." "Oh, come one. Don't be such a baby." And with that, Elrohir fled the hall, his brother on his heels, yelling something that neither Elrond nor Legolas could understand. And to be true, they weren't sure if they even wanted to.

Getting in one of the twins fights was never a smart idea. So, the Lord and the archer just looked at each other for a moment and then turned simultaneously, Elrond in the direction of the kitchens to see to the humans, and Legolas after the twins, going to do something not very smart.

*~*

On the borders of the forest of Rivendell, a small group of men stood in a clearing, talking quietly. The hushed voices carried only slowly on the wind, as if the wind itself wished not to transfer the voices on.

The men in the clearing wore green and brown tunics, all similar to each other but at the same time very different. They wore all swords and some of them even a longbow, one of black wood and with black arrows.

Most of the men spotted darkened features. Not as dark as the Easterlings, but not as light as the people from the north. The most times brown hair was unkempt and the clothes filthy. The only clean things seemed to be the weapons, which was in itself not a good sign. When one took a look at the men, one would probably miss them, as they all stood very still, melting into their surroundings like shadows.

Or rangers. But they were neither of both. They were hunters. And their prey had evaded them, escaped them. With the help of a certain blond haired elf. Suddenly, as if on a silent command, the hunters stopped talking and quieted, all turning their heads towards one single man emerging from the woods like a ghost.

He was clothed as the other hunters, but he was taller, nearly as tall as an elf, and he wore a long sword, longer than any of the men. He had not brown hair, but blond hair, nearly white. His skin was weathered and his face had something strange, like another personality lingering under the surface.

He held himself high, proud, without acting so. It was natural to him to command, not to follow. And the other hunters feared him. He was their captain and they all knew about his battles and victories. They knew him to be strong and a skilled fighter, better with sword and especially bow than any other human on Middle-Earth.

They knew about his hunts and kills, and they knew that he seldom hunted animals. They knew from own experience that he was unforgiving and cruel. Relentless when he wanted something. But what they feared the most, was that they had to serve him. Yes, most of them were there voluntarily, but non of them had known under whom they had to serve when they entered into this contract. When they found out, it was already to late.

The leader of the men, Dagnir (Sindarin, means "Killer") his name, moved closer to his men, his eyes nowhere and everywhere at the same time. His hands folded behind his back, his shoulders straightened, the lead hunter viewed is men.

His subordinates stood before him, eyes downcast, like mice under the deadly stare of a hawk. And the eyes of Dagnir even resembled those of a hawk. They where golden, with a tinge of summerset red in them, clear as a winter lake, but intense as a fire. With this stare he looked at every single of the hunters, silent and waiting.

After what seemed like an eternity to the waiting men, he finally spoke, so silent that the men would have
moved closer to understand him, but did not, out of fear: "Whom, whom of you can I thank for the incident?" Swallowing, one of the men shifted his weight nervously from his foot to the other. He knew that that would come. And he already knew the consequences of his failure.

It had been his duty to follow the family and to make sure that they entered the wood, nut where not followed. It had been his task to eliminate any pursuers, the one way or the other.

He had failed. He had simply not heard the blond elf, nor seen him moving through the forest. When he finally realized that there was another being travelling in the forest and not even that, but travelling after the family, he had hoped that the family and the elf would not meet each other. And why should they?

Elves where strange. They did not often mingle with humans. So, by the Valar, why should an elf in this big forest encounter the only human family in said forest? But, alas, he had not thought about wolves. Those damn creatures.

If it had not been for them, the elf would never had rescued the family and everything would have been perfect, but no. It was not to be. Damn! Little droplets of sweat appeared on the mans brow and he resisted the urge to wash them away.

That would have been his death. No, perhaps, if he did not react in any way, Dagnir would not see it, and then, him. With a little luck, just a bit…. But again, the luck was not on the mans side. Dagnir had seen the shifting of the weight, and he had seen the sweat. But even if not, it mattered little.

Dagnir already knew who had failed, as it had been him who had chosen the men to their respective duties. And he also knew that two of the men had switched those duties. Smiling inwardly, he directed his gaze towards the sweating man, starring at him. Oh, how he loved what was to follow. This almost made the incident worth it, almost.

With stealth unlikely for a human being, the captain moved towards the by now heavily sweating hunter and stood unmoving before him. The hunter shifted his weight again, but did not look up. He felt the stare of his commanding officer, but he did not look up. Looking up meant confessing, and confessing meant certain doom. Dagnir, on the other hand, was enjoying this immensely.

He was angry, of course, because his men had disobeyed him and he was furious because the prey had been able to get away. But he loved doing this. This was why he was a hunter, after all. If he could not have the original prey, then a substitute would do for the moment. And so he waited for his prey to look him into the eyes.

The sweating hunter swallowed nervously. He would not back down now, he would not move. No, moving meant committing suicide.

Dagnir cleared his throat softly. No reaction. He repeated the process. Again only more droplets of sweat. This is going to be even more entertaining, the captain thought. And although he was only whispering, none of the other ten hunters had any problems hearing him this time: "Look at me."

The man swallowed. "Look. At. Me." Slowly, very slowly, the hunter lifted his head and did what he was told. He did not want to, but not heeding a direct command meant death, too.

He still had the faintest hope that he could somehow get away. Nevertheless, this hope was crushed when he saw his leaders eyes. They were not really golden anymore, but rather fire red. Like the eyes of a Balrog, the hunter thought.

He nearly missed the captains next words, so scared was he of what would await him: "So, you let them escape, did you not?" Swallowing, the man could only nod. "So, it will be you who will have to pay for this." The man nodded again, and knew that he had just bowed to death. He felt the blade entering his body, where his heart was and he felt the enormous pain and had the sensation of falling. But not for long.

Dagnir raised his dagger to his eyes and looked it over. He had enjoyed that kill. Not as good as killing an elf, but not that bad either. He studied the red crimson dripping down onto the green grass and out of his eyes he saw how his men shifted nervously away from their dead companion. Nobody wanted to be near to one of Dagnirs victims.

The leader moved a few steps away from his latest prey and addressed his men: "His mistake has made the situation more complicated. Our prey is now in Imladris. That elf has brought it to the elven city. We will get it back. I want no mistakes this time. And because of that, I will go to Rivendell myself. I will get our prey. You, will wait for me and await my orders. Understood?"

It was understood. Crystal. No one even thought of disobeying his orders. They all knew the hunter. They could run, but never hide. They nodded.

Dagnir, for the moment satisfied with what he saw, turned to his second in command, Bauglir (Sindarin, means "Tyrant"): "Baug, I want you to follow me to Rivendell. Maybe I'll need your skill." Bauglir only nodded. He was nearly as deadly as his captain, and he would follow him to Mordor and back.

Dagnir turned away from the men, dagger still in hand and waited until he heard the sighs of relieve coming from his men, before he turned around again. He studied the men for a moment longer and finally said in a low voice: "Before I forget….."

His men glanced nervously at him. They hated his low speech. And he loved it. He used his voice to make his men cower in fear. The low tone only had one intention, making his auditors listen. And listen, they always did. This time, they even hung at his lips.

Dagnir turned fully towards his men, dagger lazily at his side. "I do not tolerate any form of disobedience." Not even the switching of duties, he thought. At his last words he had already raised his dagger, fast as lightening and had thrown the deadly steel at one of the men. Eyes wide open, a suppressed shout on his lips, the man fell to his knees and then with a last gurgling sound to the ground, the dagger firmly embedded in his throat. "Absolutely none."

Chapter 2 (For disclaimer see chapter one)

Chapter 2 Nightly Visitors

Strider was sitting comfortably on a chair in the kitchen, the child on his lap and a bowl of sweet smelling gruel on the table before him. He had laid down his travelling pack, sword and bow and some of his numerous other weapons and was now busy feeding the young human. The little child was quite contend in playing with the spoon in the rangers hand and chuckled every time the man made a kind of somersault with it, before placing it in the child’s mouth.

The ranger was still tired to the bones, but the surprise of finding his brothers and Legolas with a human child had driven the tiredness out of his mind for a moment. He wondered why the human was in Rivendell, and more demanding, in his fathers care. It was not unusual that the Lord of Imladris sheltered weary travellers or merchants or people in need of aid, the Last Homely House was open for anyone seeking help. But an edan child, all alone, with no parents around? That was not something that happened every day. Sighing, both out of curiosity and weariness, the human again lifted the spoon high into the air, making the small bundle on his lap bounce with happiness.
As he heard soft footsteps behind him and the soft rustling of robes, he turned his head and asked the evident question: “Ada, what is this child doing all alone in Imladris?” Placing one slender hand onto the rangers arm that held the child, the elf took a seat on the table and began to explain. The child was the only son of a farmer and his wife. The farm of the married couple had burned down, leaving the family with nothing but ashes and dust. Having nothing left, the family had set out towards the farmers brother, who lived in Bree. The brother had agreed to take them in. On their way to Bree, the family had passed through a rather dangerous area and been attacked by wolves. Nobody had been injured, thanks to the help of the blond Mirkwood archer.
Legolas, on his way to Rivendell to deliver a message from his father, the King of Mirkwood, had heard the humans cry for help and had saved the family from the hungry animals. Deeming it not save to travel on with the little child, the humans had persuaded Legolas to take the child to Rivendell and to care for him until the couple could return safely with a larger amount of men, to bring the child unharmed to Bree. Legolas had refused, of course. He was no baby sitter, but a fine warrior and prince of an elven realm. But the look in the humans faces had made the archer change his mind. In the end he had agreed to take the whole family to Rivendell, get them a squad of elves and to make sure that they all reached Bree safely. The humans, however, had other plans. They were not afraid of elves, but a whole town of them? They were sure the elves would not harm the child, but they themselves felt not comfortable with the idea. To cut the story short, Legolas had in the end taken the child to Rivendell and the couple was on its way to Bree. The boy would remain with the elves until the family would be reunited.

Bouncing the boy on his knees, Strider asked the name of the child. He couldn’t call it child or little boy all the time, could he? “His name is Taran, son of Torian.” “So, Taran is your name then. Hm, seems to suit you, Taran, son of Torian.” Although his fathers story sounded convincing enough, not all that had been said, or rather, not said. Made sense to the ranger. Perhaps it was his tired mind, but his instincts told the man that something was not as it should be. Why would a family leave their only child in the care of strangers? And why refuse a squad of elves and rather travel alone? It was something that came to the rangers mind, a mystery around the little boy that was not yet revealed. “Ada, it seems as if Legolas develops a habit of rescuing humans. Has he said anything else? Perhaps why the parents refused to wait for a squad?” “No. Legolas only mentioned that the parents of this child looked tired and haunted.” “I guess that is to be expected in a situation like theirs,” having said that, the ranger tried to suppress a yawn. From the look that came to his fathers face, unsuccessfully.

Elrond just raised an elegant eyebrow and turned asking eyes to his son. “Yes, ada, I have travelled through the night to reach Imladris today, and yes, I am tired, but no,” here the human shook his head, “I am not so tired that I need to go to bed now. And,” he added as an afterthought, “before you ask, I am not injured, or ill, or starved, or poisoned, or….” “Estel, stop that, I think I’ve got the point. But, my son, you might be not injured, but you are rather filthy, as usual. I recommend a bath.” Strider could have sworn that his fathers eyes had laughed out loud at that last comment, but his fathers face only showed a mild smile.

Looking at Taran the ranger recognized that the boy had stopped playing with the by now empty spoon and had turned his big blue eyes onto the rangers face, as if asking what was going on. His face looked as if the child awaited an answer of some kind. Smiling, Strider bounced the boy on his knees one more time and said in a low voice: “You know, Taran, I think he is right. I really need a bath.” With that the ranger tried to hand the child to his father, but as soon as he lifted the boy off his knees, the once handsome face turned into a twisted grimace and the wailing began anew. The little boy cried and wailed, his little hands balled into fists and tears streaming down his pink face. All in all it was a heartbreaking sight. Strider took the boy back onto his lap, facing him and tried to comfort him: “Hush, penneth. Al-nir (don`t cry). All is right. Shh, little one.” As the child just continued to cry, his face wet from tears, Strider glanced pitifully at his father. What could they do? When the Lord of Imladris merrily shrugged his shoulders, the ranger looked at the child again and sighed audibly. “Mae (good/alright). I won’t go away, penneth. I will not leave you alone….” The child immediately sobered up and stopped crying, “….with this prissy elves.” His last statement was rewarded with a definite snicker from the child and a raised eyebrow from his father.
Turning towards the Lord of Imladris, the ranger thought for a moment and then asked: “Ada, would you take care of Taran for a little while, while I clean myself up?” Elrond, his elegant eyebrow now nearly vanishing in his hair, just replied in an amused tone: “And how, my dear son, shall I do that with this little man here not wanting to be in the company of us “prissy elves”?” Strider, his head turned slightly to the side, looked Taran in the eyes and said in a conspirational voice: “You know, penneth, you are a big man already. You are stronger than those elves, hm? Would you do me the favour and stay with uncle Elrond here until I come back and fetch you? Could you do that for me?” The child, to both the humans and the elf Lords amazement, looked first at the ranger, than at Elrond, and then at the ranger again, his big blue eyes wide open. He then tilted his head in the same manner Strider had done only moments before and made a sound that sounded like an approval. The ranger smiled at the young boy, nodded and handed the child to his father. This time, the little man stayed quiet. “Hannon le, Taran,” Strider said to the child, and with a slight bow to his father he left the kitchens to finally get his hot bath, the questions over Tarans family momentarily forgotten. Having the child firmly in his arms, the elf chuckled softly. His youngest sons abilities with other beings were just amazing.

“Elladan, I swear, next time you try to strangle me I will tell Ada.” “Oh, Elrohir, don’t be such a…..” the elf never had the chance to finish his sentence, because an annoyed voice cut him short: “Elladan! Could you two not just stop it? Finally, after days, we have a few precious moments of peace from that little amlug (dragon), and you go and spoil it!” Legolas was frustrated and annoyed.

After he had left the Hall of Fire, he had gone to find the twins. Which wasn’t very hard. He just had to follow angry servants, nearly collide with an bewildered Glorfindel and then follow the loud screams that echoed through the gardens. And there, in the end, he had found the troublesome twins, engaged in a rather heavy fight, in which Elladan finally managed to tackle his brother to the ground. The near strangling was “just an accident”, when someone believed the older twin. Which no one did, of course.

“The little princeling is pouting, oh, what shall we do now, my dear brother?” Elladan teased. Elrohir, the strangling not yet forgotten, only smirked, “Well, if you ask me, I’d say we put you and him together in a room, seal the doors, and await who will survive. You know, `Dan, you cannot strangle Legolas so easily. He is faster than you.” Elrohir was pleased with his answer. But he had not counted on his older brother. “Ah, you are right, ´Ro. Legolas is really faster than you are. You are as fast as a snail.” “Hey!” Rolling his eyes, the elven prince just fastened his own steps, eager to reach the house again.

This bickering could go on for hours. He really enjoyed being with the twins, but sometimes…. The terrible twins bickering was not the only thing because of which Legolas wanted to reach the house rather sooner than later. Aragorn was back. He was home.

The prince had hoped to meet the ranger in Imladris, that was why he had volunteered to deliver his fathers message, but deep inside he had known how slim the chances stood to meet the human. Aragorn was not only at home in Rivendell, but in whole Middle-Earth. Everywhere and nowhere. To actually see his best friend now, was like getting away from his father, the King of Mirkwood, when he was in an extraordinarily bad mood. Legolas wanted to speak to the human, to learn where he had been, what he had done and how he fared.

Legolas knew from his own experience that the outer appearance of the ranger could be decisive. He could appear healthy and well, but collapse the next second because he had hidden some injury or another.

Although Legolas knew that Lord Elrond would have taken care of the human by now, he just wanted to make sure that all was as it should be. Even if that meant coming close to that amlug again.

Legolas hastened to the house, nearly running and sprinted up the front stairs leading to the Last Homely House. He turned in the direction of the kitchens, but was halted when he felt a hand on his shoulder: “No need to run, my dear prince. He is taking a bath. You can talk to him soon enough.” Startled, and very embarrassed that the Lord of Rivendell had been able to sneak up on him, which was not good for a warrior, the blond archer turned around and only replied: “Yes, hir Elrond.”
Involuntarily Legolas took a step back, when he saw what was sitting in the Lords arms. The amlug. Elrond raise his elegant eyebrow at Legolas behaviour, but said nothing. Children, they were all the same. Nodding, the elder elf turned and left for his study, the little boy securely in his arms. The child, however, looked over the elf’s lords shoulder at the prince and Legolas could have sworn to see an amused snicker on the child’s face.

Frowning, the prince nearly missed the chuckles coming from behind him. “´Ro, I think we should re name our friend here.” “Yes, I think Lornalas (Sleepy-Leaf) suits better.” Sighing, the blond archer felt the heat creep up his face. Uwh, they would never let him live that one down. Therefore, and to stop the twins snickering, he turned and left the hall, venturing in the direction of Striders room.

If the ranger was already done with bathing, they could continue catching up with what they had experienced during their long separation from each other. Therefore, the blond elf went to his friends room, the still chuckling twins in tow.

When he reached the humans door, he paused for a second and listened. He could hear nothing, which did not mean that Strider was done with bathing or not. Legolas knocked at the door. No reply. He knocked again. “Strider, are you in there?” Still no answer. After a quick glance to the twins and a shrug of both their shoulders, Legolas opened the door to his friends room.

Strider had opened the windows to let the sun shine in and to get rid of the old air that had settled in the room in the humans absence. The curtains were flowing in the soft breeze and the smell of sweet flowers had by now settled in the air. The elves could see that their brother and friend had indeed been in his room. His travelling cloak was draped over a chair, his dirty clothes in a corner on the floor. His sword and longbow were stored in another corner of the room, together with some very muddy and filthy travelling boots. The wooden door to the bathroom stood slightly ajar, and the fine noses of the elves could smell the smell of water and lavender soap. One of Striders favourite soap flavours.

The human himself, however, was not to be found in the bathroom, or the room itself. Frowning, the three elves entered fully and surveyed the room. The chairs and the bed were empty, no ranger in sight. “Perhaps he is already finished and downstairs somewhere?” Elrohir suggested.

The others nodded and they all went to leave the room again, when Legolas suddenly turned around again. Very silently he went to the door leading to the wide balcony. He pushed the already opened door a bit wider and peered outside. The twins could read from the princes face, that he had found the ranger. A huge grin had appeared on the Mirkwoods elf face.

Motioning for the twins to come closer, he laid a finger at his lips to quiet them. Elladan and Elrohir stepped to the prince and took a look outside. The scene before their eyes made them smile, too. Their little brother was nestled comfortably into a fluffy chair on the balcony, completely dressed in clean cloths, the dark hair still wet, and a towel still in hand. He must have dried his hair and fallen asleep on the spot.

Elrohir turned away from the balcony, only to reappear moments later with a blanked from the room, which he draped over his little human brother. It was not that cold outside, not in this late spring season, but with the still wet hair the elf felt saver with the blanket covering his brother. The elves retreated silently and left the room. Once outside, Legolas shook his head. “Humans.” “No,” Elladan corrected him, “Estel”.

The remaining hunters had positioned themselves in a camp just outside the borderline of Rivendell. Their green and brown tents fitted perfectly into the surrounding trees, only visible when someone took a closer look. The tall trees sheltered the tents and the men not only from rain and wind, but also from peering eyes. Those men knew their business. They had built some small fires and had set up guards around the campsite. There wasn’t much they could do at the moment, but sharpen their blades and wait. And waiting, they did.

Dagnir and his second in command had both changed their clothes and now wore soft brown and bright green. They had left most of their weapons behind, too, now only visibly equipped with a broadsword and hunting dagger each. Hidden under their cloaks and clothes the two men wore more deadly weapons. They had set out to get what they had come for, came what may. The hunters would deal with those nasty elves if they had to.

As they neared the city of Imladris and with it the Last Homely House, both checked their disguise one more time. They wanted to appear like travellers that searched for a few days rest and shelter. When they had found what they were looking for, they would leave as fast and soon as possible.

Dagnir drew his old cloak tighter around his broad shoulders and said: “I want to get in and out again in two days. No wasting of time, no idle talk. And only a kill if there is no other way. The last we need now is a dead elf and a horde of those creatures wanting our heads.” Bauglir nodded. He would do what he was told, as always. “Bauglir, did you hear me? No dead elves!” Dagnir pressed.

He knew of his second in commands loyalty. That was why he had chosen him. But he also knew that Bauglir tended to sometimes take his commands rather as “guidelines” and took the matter in his own, very often bloody, hands. Dagnir only tolerated that behaviour, because Bauglir had never failed him before. He knew what he did. This time, his second in command nodded and replied with a dark glance at the forest: “Aye, no dead elves.” Dagnir had not said anything about injured or permanently maimed elves.

When Strider finally awoke, he found that it was dusk already, the sun disappearing behind the golden shining trees of the elven haven. The second thing he realised was a blanket that was spread over his body. Someone must have found him asleep and provided the blanket. A little embarrassed that he had fallen asleep, and even more embarrassed that he had not awoken (he was a ranger after all), the human stood and made his way inside.

While massaging his stiff neck he tossed the now dry towel onto a chair and the blanket onto his bed. He sighed audibly and stretched his limbs. He has had a bath, a nap and now it was time for a proper meal. A proper and warm meal. In the desire to satisfy his stomachs rumbling, the human stretched one last time and then left his room and made his way to the hall for supper.

The hall was warmly lit as the sun had finally decided to go to bed for a nights sleep until it would rose again the next morning. Strider was not too late for dinner, which he registered with an inward sigh of relief. His brothers and Legolas were sitting at the large table, talking quietly with each other. When he entered, they looked up and greeted him: “Mae govannen, sleepy human!” Elrohir chimed in his brother greeting and said: “Aye, we thought we would have to empty a bucket of water over your head to wake you!”

Elrond registered amused, that first the prince of Mirkwood turned a rather interesting shade of pink, which was followed by a shade of even a deeper pink coming from the ranger and then in unison: “Oh, shut up you two!” When Strider had taken a seat at the table and poured himself a glass of wine with water, he noticed that the table had gone rather quiet, if not to say deadly still. Looking up sheepishly, the human showed a lopsided grin and asked for the second time that day: “What?” The elves smirked on command.

Elladan and Elrohir shared a glance and then both turned towards Legolas. Said elf only hung his shoulders and sighed heavily. Why had it to be him? What had he done to deserve that? A rather evil voice inside his head answered promptly: He had made the twins swear to not tell Estel anything about the Lornalas incident. The twins had agreed, but not without conditions, of course. One of their conditions had been, that it was Legolas duty to tell the human. Sighing in misery, which only caused the twins grins to widen, Legolas lifted his gaze from the table and faced Strider: “Uhm, Estel, I, I mean we, uhm, well we….” “Yes, you have what?” This could not end well. “Estel, we have decided that, as you can do so well with that little aml…. I mean with that child, we thought that it would be the best, if you would take care of it.” There, he had done it. It was out. Said and heard. No need to repeat it.

Legolas watched his friend intently. First he saw no reaction at all. Then, very slowly, the human turned to his by now snickering brothers: “What did you two do to him to make him say that to me?” The two elves only snickered louder. Legolas felt his heart leap into his throat. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. They would not dare. Ow, Legolas became even pinker. He knew the twins. They would. But perhaps, just maybe…..

“Oh, nothing Estel, really. We just promised him, if he told you that about that child, we would not tell you about his new nickname.” Elladan said. Estel turned a questioning glance at his friend and saw that Legolas resembled a tomato more than a Wood elf at that moment. “What new nickname?” It was as if the twins only had waited for that question. And Legolas know he was doomed. “Lornalas.” They answered in unison.

Elrond himself could later not tell who had laughed harder, the twins or Estel, but one thing he knew for sure. If Legolas had been able to vanish into thin air, he would have done so. When the twins had stopped laughing and wiping away the tears of mirth, the dinner was served. Elrond tried a few minutes unsuccessfully to feed the little human child on his lap, but the child refused to eat. Turning begging eyes to the ranger he silently asked for his help.

Estel, who had not even started eating yet, looked longingly at his plate and the delicious food that was placed on it. A well, later is enough time to eat, he thought. With that he took the child from his father and started to feed the child. Said human child smiled happily and munched on the vegetables that the man smashed on his plate. At least one happy human here, the man thought.

The rest of the meal went by rather normal. Well, as normal as with Legolas and Estel around was possible. Finally, after a long meal and after the family and friends had caught up a bit with each other, Estel declared that he deemed it time to bring the little man to bed, as he had already fallen asleep in his arms. Slowly the ranger stood to his feet and turned to left the hall.

Legolas and the twins followed suit. It had been a long day, but when the little boy was in bed, they still could go on with their conversation. When the elves and humans stepped into the entrance hall and just started up the staircase leading to the bedrooms, a loud knock rushed through the silence, startling them all. Who could knock that late at the door? Normally travellers did not arrive that late at night in Imladris.

Shrugging, Elladan went to open the door, Elrohir close behind him. Upon opening the huge double doors, the elves were greeted by the sight of two weary travellers. They seemed to have travelled all day and were partly covered in dust and mud. Must be a human trait, Elrohir thought.

“Mae govannen, Sirs. What brings you to the Last Homely House at this late an hour?” Elladan asked. The taller of the two men took a step forward and answered: “Mae govannen, Master elf. My friend and I have travelled long and far today. We seek shelter and a few days rest. We hoped you could provide us with both.” Elladan, standing in the doorway, blocking the men’s view into the hall, nodded. “The House of the Lord of Rivendell is always open for tired travellers. But I must ask you to hand over your weapons. You will not need them here.”

The two men looked at each other and then nodded. That would be no problem. Elrohir stepped besides his brother and took the two swords from the men. Then they entered and stepped into the hall. The taller of the two, the man who had spoken, looked around and upon seeing Legolas on the stairs, he seemed do stiffen a bit. But when his gaze turned towards Estel, who still held the child in his arms, his eyes seemed to lighten up and his jaw became more tense.

Legolas moved closer to his human friend. He narrowed his eyes and studied the two new humans. To him they looked, well, untrustworthy. Yes, that was it. He could not place it, could not say why or how, but he definitely did not trust them. And that had nothing to do with his natural dislike of the second born. No, this two meant trouble. He was as sure of that as of the fact that sooner or later every sane person near the twins became insane.

Furthermore, the prince did not like the look of the humans at all. Neither when they had looked at him, nor at Estel. Something wasn’t right there. However, before Legolas became a chance to say anything, the twins had ushered the two travellers on, in the direction of the guest chambers. They seemed to not have noticed Legolas uneasiness. Neither it seemed, had Estel. The ranger just continued on his way to the bedrooms, careful not to waken the little child. Legolas threw one last frowning glance at the retreating men and then sped up to follow the ranger.

When he reached his side he said in the grey tongue: “Estel, have you not noticed it?” “Noticed what, mellon nin?” “Their odd behaviour. They practically stared at you and me.” “Legolas, I have only seen two tired travellers, seeking shelter and rest. You cannot deny them that.” “I don’t. But they make me feel uneasy.” “Perhaps because they are humans, mellon nin?” The prince shook his head: “No. It’s not that. It is something else.” Shrugging Estel just said: “They have handed over their weapons, what could happen?” Legolas did not answer his friend. He, somehow, had the feeling that something could happen, and would.

After the twins had guided the two newcomers to their rooms and made sure that all was fine, they headed to the bedrooms and to their brother and friend. So eager where they to talk with their young brother, that they missed the dark look that passed between the travellers.

The twins finally found Legolas and Estel in the child’s room. To the elves dismay, with an awoken child that screamed at full power every time the ranger tried to leave the room. “Estel, quiet it, please!” “And how shall I do that, Legolas?” “I don’t care. Just keep it quiet.”

With and exasperated sigh the human again proceeded towards the little bed and the boy. As soon as the ranger was within sight of the child it stopped howling and turned big and frightened eyes at the man. Sighing, Estel bend down and took the child in his arms. The boy leaned his head against the rangers broad shoulder, contentedly sucking his thumb. Running his hand in circles over the tired child’s back, the ranger turned towards his friend and his by now arrived brothers, mouthing: “What shall I do?”

The three elves needed to throw only one look at the two humans to see that there was no chance the little boy would stay alone and, even more importantly, quiet. It seemed only the presence of the ranger could comfort the little edan. Displaying a crooked smile, Legolas motioned towards a fluffy armchair in one corner of the room. “Well, mae fuin, Estel.” (Good night, Estel.) And with that, the elves left the ranger and the child alone, ignoring Estels unbelieving look.

Ah, Elladan thought. One night with a decent sleep. Great. Elrohirs thoughts went in the similar direction and even Legolas could not deny that he looked forward to a decent nights sleep. A night without a crying child that kept the whole household awake. But, as Legolas bid the twins goodnight and entered his own sleeping chambers, he had the slightly nagging feeling that perhaps, this night would not be as silent and refreshing as he thought.

When he slipped under the warm covers of his bed, the prince felt sorry for Estel. Had he eaten anything at dinner at all? Would he be able to sleep tonight? Ah, well. That human can handle the little amlug well enough on his own and besides, he has slept through the whole afternoon. With this final thought, Legolas let his eyes glace over, wandering of into the realm of elven sleep.

In the neighbouring room, Estel seated himself into the chair, together with the by now sleeping child and spread a blanket over himself and the boy. That will not be the most comfortable night ever, but it is better than sleeping in the open, the man thought. It did not take the ranger long to find sleep.
~*~
One floor downstairs and a few corridors away, another door opened silently and was closed the same way. Then the door leading to the neighbouring room was opened and closed again. Inside, the two travellers looked at each other. They had made it. They had reached Imladris, entered the city and even found shelter. And not only that.

An evil smile spread over Dagnirs face. The Valar seemed to love him. That was too easy. When he had seen the blond elf he had know that that must have been the one that had ruined his initial plan. The leader of the hunters had instinctively felt that. As soon as his eyes had seen the blond head amongst the sea of dark brown, he had smelled his chance. His smile becoming even more wickedly, Dagnir remembered the sight that had greeted his eyes after he had seen the elf. A human. Not any human, but from the look of it, a ranger of the north.

The hunter had been surprised to seen a human in the house and a bloody ranger for Valars sake. That creatures seemed to be everywhere. He had hunted enough of that kin to know that one must always count on the rangers. They were good fighters and had a great endurance.

Not as good as he, of course, but they could put up a good fight, if threatened. But there had yet one to come who Dagnir could not beat. What had thrilled the hunter, however, had been the sight of the rangers arms, or rather, the being in the arms. There, sleeping comfortably, had been the little child. Their prey. Their treasure. Their money. Dagnir had been hard tempted to not just pull out his sword, kill the elves and the human, and take the child. That would have been easy, but in a city full of elves and a house full of servants, the escape would have been difficult.

And as Dagnir had told his second in command earlier, they could not need any squad of elves wanting their heads. Speaking silently to his subordinate, Dagnir said: “I had not thought it to be so easy. Our prey is served on a silver plate to us. We will do it tonight.”

Bauglir nodded. As he had seen the child he had known that his leader would strike as soon as possible. No need to stay in Rivendell, when they could be on their way and miles away at dawn. And, he thought, the sooner they got that little nuisance, the sooner they would see the promised money.

Dagnirs hair shimmered white in the moonlight that streamed through the window and his eyes had turned a shade of orange mingled with red, as he explained his plan to his man. They would strike during night, when everyone slept. Silent they would be and fast. If everything went as planned, they would take the child and be leagues away before anyone even noticed that they had opened the door to wolves. Very determined and hungry wolves. When Bauglir turned to leave the room, his captain addressed him one more time in a low voice: “Baug, remember what I’ve said. I want no dead elves.” Bauglir nodded and left. It was time to prepare and to wait.
~*~
The night passed silently and a heavy mist had settled around the Last Homely House. In this late spring season, the mist came from the waterfalls that surrounded the house and crept over the valley and land, pathways and roofs, to turn everything a silver white with the smallest water droplets. There was no wind in that cold night and the stars were veiled by dark clouds. The moon only now and then broke through the cover and shed its eerie glow onto the lands of Middle-Earth. The stillness of the midnight hours was sporadically interrupted by the sound of an owl or another nocturnal animal hushing from tree to tree. It was in this ghostly hour that the doors of the guest chambers were opened quietly, two men stepping out, prowling their way through the house. The hunt had started.
~*~
A small rumbling sound could be heard in the otherwise peaceful room. It was followed by silence. And then there was the deep rumbling sound again, louder this time and more persistent.

The sleeping figure in the chair shifted its position, hindered only by another being in its arms and on its chest. When it rumbled again, the sleeping form opened its eyes. Estel first did not notice what had awoken him. The little child was sleeping peacefully in his, by now rather stiff, arms, nestled securely into a warm blanket. No, that had not awoken him. Wondering why he was awake then, Estel searched the room with his eyes. Nope, nothing out of the ordinary. Then, his stomach rumbled again.

The ranger looked down, frowned, and then remembered that he had not eaten anything at dinner. His time, and hands, had been consumed by Taran, who had been fed by Estel and then the boy had needed all necessary attention of the ranger. Otherwise the vivid child would have either fallen on the stone floor or turned the table with the food into a battlefield. Estel had planned to eat something after he had tucked the child into bed, but he had simply forgotten. His stomach, it seemed, had not.

Taking on look at the child and then at the door, the human contemplated rising and getting something to eat from the kitchens. He was hungry. Not just a bit, but truly starved by now. He had skipped the meals the last days more or less. Not because he had not been equipped with enough food, bur rather because he wanted to reach his home as fast as possible. And he had had enough of dry bread and berries. Not to mention lembas.

Risking one glance eat the young boy again, Estel made his decision. Slowly, so as not to wake the boy, he lifted himself out of the chair and with him Taran. As carefully as he could, the ranger tried to place the human in the prepared children’s bed. Well, he only tried.

When Estel had laid the boy down and taken his hands away, the little edan began to instantly turn in his blankets, his brow furrowed. The little hands were balled into fist and it seemed as if he would wake any second.

With reflexes fast for someone who had just woken from a deep slumber, the ranger bent down and took the still sleeping form into his arms. Taran nestled himself into the strong and protective arms and slept on. His hands unclenched and his face relaxed in peaceful sleep. Sighing inwardly, Estel accepted that the boy would not stay asleep, and quiet, he thought sarcastically, without him. Hm, well, Estel thought, at least my family and Legolas can sleep properly tonight.

He had seen from his brothers and fathers face, and even on the princes fair features, that they lacked sleep. Elves could go longer without sleep than humans could, but no sleep at all could make every elf’s features drawn. Sighing outwardly this time, the ranger changed his hold on the sleeping bundle and turned in the direction of the door. If he was the only one who could make the little one comfortable, then so be it.

Estel knew from own experience how good it was to feel secure and loved. He would stay awake night after night if it brought the boy peace. And his family and friends, he thought. It was a little price to pay for overall satisfaction. But inwardly, he hoped that it would not come to that. He longed for his own warm and cosy bed. Ranger or no. So, not suspecting anything wrong, the two humans stepped out of their room and made their way to the kitchens.
~*~
Dagnir and his second in command sneaked through the house on silent feet, as stealthy as any elf. They were good in their business. And they knew it. The hunters went along carefully and slowly, so as not to be seen or heard, least of all surprised by a servant. They did not know in which room the child was kept, but they would find it nevertheless.

When those two identical looking elves had left them, they had followed their way to the stairs with the eyes, unnoticed by the dark haired beings. So the two hunters assumed their prey to be upstairs. And how many rooms could their be? They would check every one, if necessary.

When they had reached the top of the stairs, they crept along the walls, searching for a clue as to where the child could be. The first door they came upon was closed, a storage room perhaps. The second one was unlocked and Bauglir opened the door silently. Inside, he could just make out a sleeping figure on the large bed. Wrong door. He closed the door again and held his breath and listened. Besides his own beating heart, no sound could be heard.

Dagnir went to the next door and pressed his ear against the wooden surface. No sound. He pushed the door open. A sleeping elf, laying on his side, back to the door, greeted him, so he closed the door with a silent sound. Waiting, no, nothing. No sound.

When the two hunters wanted to proceed to the next door, they both went unmoving and then, as if on a silent command, pressed themselves into the shadow of the wall, near a huge stature of an elf maiden. Someone in the room two doors down must be awake. They could hear soft footsteps.

Then, a door was opened and a tall figure stepped out, one arm around its chest. With the other the person closed the door again and then, without even turning in the direction of the two intruders, the form disappeared into the opposite direction. The rumbling stomach could be heard even from the distance. An evil smile played across Dagnirs face. Oh, this was just to good to be true.
~*~
Legolas could not tell what had woken him. He did not awake with a start. He did not bolt upright. He just, well, awoke. Not because of a sound or outer feeling. No. It was rather an inner feeling. As if, well, he could find no words for how he felt, but he felt as if he had missed something. Something deer to him. Something important. Something which he would miss sorely when it would disappear.

Frowning, the prince turned onto is side and faced the window. Outside the full moon was partially hidden by dark clouds, the stars were not shining their eternal light unto the misty lands. Sighing inwardly, the elf tried to go back to sleep. After a few moments Legolas still felt awkward. He could not explain it. To ease his heart, he sat up and listened intensely. Perhaps the little human had awoken him because he had screamed? No sound was carried towards the archers ears and after some more minutes of passing silence, the elf went back to his side and again tried to find the lands of the elven dreams.
~*~
Returning from the kitchens with a now rather stuffed stomach, Estel turned into the corridor the bedchambers lay in. He had found rests of the evening meal in the kitchens and had eaten enough to last until the next evening, if he was honest with himself. But, oh, the sweet and crunchy bread and the fresh fruits, the refreshing spring water. It had been so good. The most delicious meal he had had since weeks. And therefore, he had dug in.

Taran had not once woken, to the delight of the ranger. He had no appreciation of a wailing child this late at night. After his midnight snack, all he wanted to do was sit down again, snuggle up in the blanket and sleep peacefully until the morning came. Or longer, he would not mind that either.

Stifling a wide yawn, the man made his way slowly to his room, his feet more shuffling over the tiles than walking. He was so tired. Estel reached his door, took the doorknob, pushed the wooden door open and stepped inside, pushing the door closed in one tired motion, with his back to the room. When he turned around, he found himself face to face with a dagger at his throat. A sharp dagger that glistered in the sparse moonlight. When Estel lifted his gaze along the blade upwards, his silver eyes were met by almost glowing red ones. The ranger swallowed.
~*~
Legolas just could not sleep. It made him crazy. Why, by the Valar, was he unable to find sleep? He had tossed and turned in his bed for minutes, but for him it seemed as if hours had passed since he had woken. The prince tossed himself at his back, arms at his sides and starred at the ceiling, counting, again, the wooden beams there. He knew them by heart by now. Closing his eyes, the elf sighed audibly, and then, gave up. It made no sense. Whatever it was that kept him awake, either he found it or he would have to stay awake until morning. Legolas stood up and paced in his room for awhile. No, the feeling of uneasiness did not disappear. Argh! He was a Wood elf, a warrior, he was supposed to find sleep in every situation. Not walking around like a lunatic. Or Strider. Mumbling some curses under his breath, the elf went to his window and let his gaze wander over the misty landscape. Perhaps he could find peace this way.
~*~
“If you move, your dead.” Swallowing again, Estel tried to stop his racing mind. What was going on here? Who was that? How did I get myself into this one again? And how do I get myself out of this one?

With the blade still pressing at his throat, the ranger could not move his head the way he wished to do it, but was rather forced to slowly work his way upwards and then around to be able to see his opponent.

The man was tall, as tall as Estel himself and had broad shoulders and, from what the ranger could tell, strong and muscular arms. One glance was enough to tell the ranger that this man knew how to fight. And one look at his eyes told Estel that this man was willing to fight, if need be.

When the intruder moved a bit to the side and some rays of silver moonlight shone onto the mans face, Estel realized with a start that this was one of the tired travellers his brothers had welcomed in only hours ago. This man was the one who had spoken, the one, Legolas had warned him about. And he hadn’t listened.


With a voice like sharp glass but as low as a whisper, the red eyed man demanded: “Move away from the door. Slowly. And no tricks. Keep your hands where I can seen them.” Estel did what he was told. What else could he do? He had no weapons near him. He was at home, by Elbereth! In his own home! He should need no weapons here. The only weapon he carried was a small hunting knife he always carried. But, alas, in his right boot. No way he could reach it. Not in this situation. And not with a child in his arms.

The tall man lowered the knife a little bit, just enough for the ranger to breath easier. Then, as low as before: “Now, lay the child down onto the bed and then move away from it.” When Estel did not react, but only stared at the man, the eyes of the intruder turned a fiery red. Demon red. “I will not say it again, ranger.” The man spat the last word as if they were poison.

Estel still did not move. He wondered what the man wanted. If he have had the intention to kill him he could have done so earlier. He had stood with his back to him, facing the door. Enough opportunity to murder him. No, it must have been something else. His mind racing, the ranger tried to figure out what it was. He remembered Legolas words from the evening. This man had stared first at Legolas and then at him…. What if the man had not stared at him, but, yes, at the boy? Suddenly, the ranger felt his stomach turn. He wanted the child. He was here because of Taran! Without even realising that he did it, Estel shook his head. Oh no, he was not willing to give the boy away that easily.

His opposites eyes narrowed to slits at the rangers display of resistance. He moved closer and raised his dagger again. “We can do this the easy or the hard way, ranger. As you like it.” Pressing the child more fiercely at his chest with both his arms and turning to the side so that the intruder did not face the sleeping child directly, Estel starred at the man and said: “Then I think, I will chose the hard way.”

Estel knew he played a risky game. He could scream and alarm his family and Legolas and perhaps whole Imladris, but by the time someone would get here, he would probably be dead and Taran too. Or worse. He could only hope that someone would hear him sooner than that.

The other man seemed to have come to the same conclusion, as he moved even closer than before, the dagger still at the humans throat. “Now, ranger. Do as I say. Or you will regret it.” “I will regret it if I do what you say.” Estel answered, trying to hold his rising fear out of his voice. This could end pretty bad.

Estel stepped one step away from the man, eliciting a stare from the intruder. On that, the man had not counted. Estel more felt than knew that the other man would not harm him as long as he had the child in his arms. If the man wanted the child, and it seemed to be so, than he would not risk to injure the little being by attacking him.

Backing to the door slowly, so as not to startle the man and make him do something very stupid, and deadly for the ranger, Estel moved back, step by step. He saw how the eyes of the man narrowed even further, now nearly closed. But, the dagger was not longer at the rangers throat and Estel was halfway through the room. The other man followed him silently, dagger in hand, but he said nothing more.

When Estel had nearly reached the door leading to the corridor, he wondered why the man let him walk away that easily. He got his answer as he not heard, but felt the door in his back being opened and the next moment a heavy blow landed on the back of his head. Estel felt himself crumble to the floor, the child still in his arms, unable to stop himself from crushing the boy between his own body and the tiles.

Before he landed in a heap on the floor, he felt strong arms take the child out of his own limp hands. His vision had started to blur and the darkness was creeping in from the edges. He was not sure if he would win the fight with the shadows.
~*~
In his room, Legolas was still staring out of the window, when he meant to hear voices coming from his friends room. Tilting his head to the side, the elf listened carefully and after a few moments he was convinced to hear voices. Muffled by the walls, but still there. He could not discern the words spoken, but was sure to hear more than one voice. Frowning, Legolas turned towards the door. With whom should Estel speak? With the child? Yes, maybe, but that little human could not answer, right?

With every step the elf took, his feeling of uneasiness grew and when he had finally reached the bedroom door, he was certain that something was not right. Grabbing on of his long elven daggers, the archer moved to the door, then paused to listen. There, voices again, a little louder this time. The doorknob in hand, Legolas started to turn it, when he suddenly heard the sound of something heavy colliding with the floor. Eyes widening, the blond archer let go of some of his carefulness, opened the door and rushed out. If something had befallen Estel, while he had been awake, just a door away, doing nothing….

Legolas sprinted to his friends door, listening. He could hear no sound. No, that was not true. Now, yes, there, he could hear someone sniffing, and then a low howl. The boy! Why should the child cry when Estel was around? The next sound the elf heard made his heart clench in fear. He could hear someone groan. Estel! Throwing all caution into the wind, the elf rushed into the room.
~*~
Bauglir had only waited for something like this. Yes, it had been his task to stay in the corridor to keep an eye on the other doors, but when his captain had taken so long, he had become impatient and entered the room. And right on time it seemed. It had been such a good feeling to knock the ranger out. This feeling of power that surged through ones body when being in a fight, it was all he needed to survive.

After his captain had taken the child from the ranger, the little boy had woken and, it seemed upon seeing the ranger rather motionless on the floor, started to cry silently. What concerned the ranger, he was not yet unconscious, but half way there. And Bauglir would take care of the rest of the way. After all, his captain had not wanted any dead elves. No one had said anything about dead rangers.

When he moved closer to the crumbled form on the floor, his excellent hearing made out footsteps in the corridor. He moved into the shadows of the door as silently and fast as a cat at night and waited, a sharp knife raised. He did not have to wait long.
~*~
Legolas rushed into the room, one of his twin daggers in his hand. But he was not prepared for the sight that met his eyes. Estel lay on the ground, fighting to stay conscious, it seemed. Above him, a white haired man stood, a dagger in the one and the little crying boy in the other hand.

When the elf remembered with a start that the travellers had been two, it was already to late. Legolas felt a gush of cold air coming from behind him and then the biting feeling of a sharp blade entering his body. A scream would not come to his lips, there was no air to scream. By Elebereth, he could not even breath!

Legolas felt his grip on his dagger loosen and he heard the sound of his weapon falling to the floor. When he looked down on himself, he saw that the right half of his tunic had turned red. And the crimson stain grew and grew. As if separated from himself, Legolas saw how his own blood flowed down his side and dripped to the floor.

When the knife was been cruelly pulled out again, Legolas gasped in sheer pain and sank to his knees, unable to support his own weight any longer. Black spots danced in his vision. He felt the pain like hot fire lancing through his side. He wanted to scream, to yell, but all he could do was gasp for air. There seemed not to be enough of that precious life giving substance.

While Legolas desperately fought to remain conscious, he could hear voices as if from far away, but he was not able to understand what they were saying. When he felt his body collide with the tiles, he wondered how that could have happened. He had meant to save Estel, not being the one who needed to be rescued. Estel! The thought made Legolas raise his head again. He desperately tried to clear his vision.

After some moments of fighting, he managed to bring the world into focus again, if only for a short moment. What he saw made his heart turn cold. Estel was on his knees by now, face turned towards him, lips moving. But Legolas could not hear his friends words. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. His eyes were fixed on the man behind his friend. The man who in this moment raised his bloody knife, ready to strike the ranger down. Ready to kill his friend. Legolas wanted to warn his friend, to scream….but he could not. The last thing he saw before the darkness welcomed him, was the knife, drenched in his own blood, shimmering deadly red in the moonlight, that would probably end two lives in that starless night.

End of chapter 2

Chapter 3 (for disclaimer see chapter one)

Chapter 3 Flight in the night

 
“Legolas!” Estel was near a real panic by now. When his vision had cleared after the blow to his head, he had witnessed how a man from the shadows had attacked the elf from behind and had cruelly stabbed the prince. The blood pooling around the elf on the floor grew steadily and the ranger knew that the wound was serious. Otherwise Legolas would have risen by now. That he had not was evidence to his dire state.
 
What made the human’s heart hurt was the fact that his friend had rushed into the room because of him. Without a doubt his friend had heard something coming from the bedchamber. His good hearing made sure of that. In the elf’s haste to help, he had neglected his own safety and had entered the chamber with all haste. He never saw the danger lurking in the shadows.
 
His blood pumping through his veins the ranger got up on his knees and turned towards his friend, the other men momentarily forgotten. There was so much blood. When Estel saw the dimming of his friends eyes, the sparkle of consciousness and with it light and hope fading, he screamed his friends name again, willing him to listen and to stay with him. “Legolas, mellon nin. Dartho na anim!” (Stay with me). But to the rangers terror, the elf’s eyes dimmed even further and then, with a flutter, closed.
 
“No! Legolas!” Estel wanted to scramble to his feet, eager to reach his friend. Suddenly, he felt another heavy blow landing between his shoulder blades, sending him crashing to the floor once more, gasping from the pain that lanced through his already sour shoulders and back. As if from far away he could hear other voices, the voices of the two intruders.
 
“No, Baug. I said no dead elves and that includes friends of those creatures. Even if he is just a filthy ranger.” Dagnir had been hard pressed to stop the arm holding the knife, before his second in command would have killed the ranger. The captain did not mind killing the human, but the elves certainly did. So, not allowed to kill the ranger, Bauglir had resented to other methods of quieting the man. Kicking him hard, was one of them.
 
The little boy, Taran, who had been crying silently, turned wide eyes at the ranger on the floor. A panicked expressing crossing the tear streaked face. It took the child only moments to realize that his only friend and protector was hurt. Filling his tiny lungs with as much air as possible, the boy opened his mouth to scream loudly. His screaming would certainly wake every person dwelling in Imladris.
 
Dagnir, who carried the child, had followed the boys look and seen the movement of the boys rising chest. “Damn. Be quiet child!” The captain put his hand onto the child’s mouth, effectively preventing the little being from screaming, without hurting him. A wailing child was the last he needed now.
 
The boy tried to wiggle out of the hunters arms. To the child’s dismay the arms were strong and no positive progress could be made. Therefore the little and scared edan turned his head to the figure on the floor. Tears were running down his handsome face and he sniffed audibly. Stretching out his little arms to Estel, the boy begged to be held by the ranger. To be taken and comforted. To be rescued and to be safe again.
 
Estel was fighting with unconsciousness again. His shoulders burned, both from sitting in that chair the whole night and from being kicked. His head, which had hit the floor unceremoniously, throbbed with every heartbeat and sent jerks of pain down his back. Breathing heavily the human tried to clear his vision. Blinking, Estel regained control over his breathing and slowly, painfully slowly, lifted his head.
 
The sight before him had not changed much. Only the sea of crimson blood had turned bigger. Legolas golden hair that cascaded around his head, was by now soaked in his own blood. It was glued to the floor. His green tunic was red and only his left side seemed untouched by the red substance. Loosing so much blood was nothing that could bee easily restored. Not even by an elf.
 
Estel tried to get to his feet one more time. He needed to help his friend. To stop the bleeding. Before he had even more than lifted his arms of the floor to stem his body to his feet, a heavy booted foot crashed down on his back and pressed him to the cold floor, his face scraping over the wooden tiles.
 
“You’re going nowhere, scum.” The boot pressed down harder and Estel gasped from the pain. He could not get enough air. His chest was slowly being crushed and every time his lungs tried to fill with oxygen he had the feeling of breathing mud. He gasped again, dark spots appearing in his line of vision. This was not good.
 
“Stop it. You’re killing him.” Dagnir wanted to leave. He did not need any games to be played with that ranger.
 
Bauglir looked at his captain and then down at the helpless ranger. Smirking cruelly, he lifted his boot and let it crash down with all his might at the back of the ranger. With satisfaction Bauglir heard the definite snapping of a rib, followed by the painful gasp of his victim. Oh, he enjoyed this.
 
Dagnir resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew his second in command good enough to know that the man was not finished yet. He had not heeded his command, but Dagnir had no time to waste now to reprimand him. And Bauglir knew that. And took advantage of that. The captain hated the thought that one of his men knew him well enough to know when he could overstep the borders. But it could not be helped at the moment. Turning his fiery stare at his second in command, he hissed: “We will leave now. Get it over with.”
 
Bauglir grinned, lifting his knife again. This was going to get better and better. Perhaps he could not kill the ranger, but there where enough ways to silence the ranger and have a little bit of fun. Bending down, the hunter positioned his knife under the mans chin and lifted the head by adding pressure to the blade.
 
Estel winced when he felt the cool steel at his face. He still had problems breathing. When the boot had landed on his back, he had felt one of his ribs snap. Others were sure to be badly bruised. Pain shot like fire through his side and he tasted an iron taste in his mouth. This was not good, he thought again.
 
Unable to do much to hinder the man from playing with him, Estel confined himself to only stare at the other men. If he was lucky the man would let him live and then leave. Unconscious of course, but for Estel the only hope he had. His survival could mean Legolas survival as well.
 
It was still a few hour till dawn and nobody would miss Legolas until breakfast. None of the other elves would come looking for them. But if the ranger survived, there was a chance that he would awake sooner than dawn and therefore be able to help his friend. Taran could be helped later. The men did not seem willing to hurt the boy.
 
The cold steel wandered from his cheek southwards, nearing his throat. Gulping, Estel felt his chances of survival thin.
 
Crying silently, the boy struggled even harder to get out of the mans arms. With the hand still on his moth, he was not able to scream out loud, but muffled sobs and wails came through the hand. Leaning away from the hunter and towards the ranger on the floor, Taran stretched his arms as far as possible. Sobbing.
 
The blade pressed on Estels throat. An evil gleam had appeared in the hunters eyes. Gripping the knife harder, he let it press down a bit stronger and was satisfied to draw first blood. In small droplets it found its way down the mans throat. This made the whole trip worth for.
 
 
Bauglir was a lonely man. He hated company. But what he hated even more, were those filthy rangers. More then once had one of those gotten into his way, spoiling his plans. This one here, would think twice before stepping in his way again.
 
Meant slicing the throat of the ranger and letting him bleed slowly to death killing him? To Bauglir, it was a matter of definition. The initial blade stroke would not kill the man. The man would kill himself by pumping his life out of his  own body. And that meant, acting according to his captains wishes. And even if not, what should his captain do about it now?
 
Bauglir pressed the knife further down, drawing more blood. Aye, he felt good.
 
Dagnir saw how his subordinates eyes glimmered with the anticipation of the coming kill. Even if he had ordered the man not to kill the ranger, they needed to leave. Rather sooner than later. Killing went faster that knocking out.
 
A heavy shuffling in his arms brought Dagnirs attention back to the boy. Without the man noticing, the screaming had turned louder and more desperate. Frowning, Dagnir looked at the boys outstretched arms, then at the ranger.
 
Another squeal came from the boy and Dagnir had to strengthen his hold on the child to keep him from tumbling down. What was it about that child? Annoyed, the hunter shook the child lightly, trying to quiet it. If the boy kept that wailing up, he would wake the household.
 
But the boy only turned big and watery eyes at the hunter and then at the ranger on the floor again, tears flowing down the pale cheeks. He sniffed and sobbed, begging the ranger to hold him.
 
Sighing, Dagnir turned to his man. By now, Bauglir had created some intricate patterns over the rangers throat, from left to right and back again. The cuts were bleeding lightly. They were not serious. Yet.
 
“Baug. Let him go.” Not even looking up from his victim, Bauglir asked: “Why? Its so much fun.” “We need him.” “What for? This scum is good for nothin´.” Taking one step towards the two men, Dagnir told his man: “He will quieten the child. Let. Him. Go.”
 
Estel could not believe his ears. Had he heard correctly? Where they really going to let him live? Living meant a chance for Legolas. The cuts on his throat ached the human, but not as much as his chest burned. Lifting his eyes up to the man called Baug, Estel searched for the mans eyes and when he had found them, he saw a wave of disappointment in them.
 
Swallowing, Estel knew the man was angry because he had not been able to kill him. Well, that’s  a way to begin a new day, Estel thought sarcastically. Making new friends.
 
The knife was pressed at his throat one more time, leaving another cut in the soft flesh and making the ranger wince. When the hunter released his hold onto the ranger, Estel sagged to the floor again, breathing heavily.
 
His chest burned like fire with every breath he took. The pain spread out from the broken rib like the rays of the sun, but the human could not taste any blood any more. Taking this as a good sign, he struggled to his knees. Carefully, so as not to alarm the hunters, he lifted his gaze and looked around.
 
The two men were towering over him, staring at him. And for the first time Estel heard the wailing of Taran. He had not noticed before, but the child was upset and afraid, crying and sobbing constantly.
 
Then Estel´s  gaze travelled to his friend. The elf lay motionless in his own blood. Not a muscle twitched. The ranger could make out no reaction at all. That was not good.
 
Shouldn’t there be a rising of the elf’s chest? A movement around his body? Anything that indicated that his best friend was still among the living? Estel did not again try to move to the elf’s side, knowing that any attempt would be halted immediately. But he had to do something.
 
This was Imladris. This was his home. This was his friend. And these two had no right to hurt his friend. Or his family. Anger boiled up inside the man. Perhaps he could not change what had happened, but he would take care that these two would pay for what they had done. But first, he had to get out of this mess. And soon.
 
“Get up.” Estel only stared at the man. “I said get up. Or do you prefer Bauglir here to assist you?” The red eyes of the man were burning into the rangers. Estel could see no pity in them, only calculation. Taking a brief glance at Legolas again, Estel slowly made it to his feet, one arm pressed tightly around his injured ribs, staring at the speaker defiantly.
 
“I give you a fare chance, ranger,” Dagnir stated matter of factly. “I will let you live. For now. You take the child. We will take our leave together, and perhaps, your friend will live. Understood?” The last word was more a command than a question.
 
So they wanted him to still the child. But what about Legolas? Estel wasn’t even sure if the elf still drew breath. He could not leave him here to die. No, no way. It did not matter to the human what the intruders did to him, but he could not leave his best friend. He would not.
 
Making eye contact with the leader, Estel challenged boldly, knowing it was a high risk to do so: “I will go with you. I will not fight you. But only, if I can see to the elf first.”
 
Dagnirs lips curled into something that resembled a smile. He wiped it of his face before it could be recognized. That ranger had guts,* he had to give him that. One look in the rangers eyes told Dagnir all he needed to know. He nodded.
 
That ranger would put up a fight. He would not back down from his condition. Dagnir saw that the rangers eyes lit and then, faster than the hunter had thought possible with at least one broken rib, the man rushed to the elf’s side, kneeling down and whispering softly into the elf’s ear.
 
The scene made one more thing clear for Dagnir. That ranger meant trouble. More trouble than he wished for. As soon as they were out of Rivendell and in the woods again, they had to get rid of the man. Well, at least Baug would be happy then.
 
Estel rushed to Legolas side, examining the still form briefly, before putting a slightly trembling hand onto the elf neck to feel for a pulse. At first he felt nothing but then his fingers detected a weak and erratic pulse.
 
A wave of relief washed over the ranger and he send a quick prayer to the Valar, thanking them for sparing Legolas life. Gently, so as not to hurt his friend, Estel rolled Legolas onto his back. Parting the ripped tunic, the ranger ran his eyes over the wound.
 
It was deep. Deeper than was good for the elf. This was not merely a flesh wound. It was serious. A wound of this depth could easily have caused internal bleeding or have hurt some of the elf’s organs. With skilled fingers, Estel pressed down onto the wound to check the blood flow. The wound seemed to have slowed in bleeding, but the blooded that flowed over the mans fingers was still enough to worry the ranger.
 
Looking around the room, Estel sought for something that he could use as bandages. Spotting a suitable cloth he stood and fetched it, ignoring the impatient look of the captain. And Legolas potential murderer.
 
Pressing the cloth onto the wound, the ranger tried to stop the bleeding. When he did so, a pained moan floated to his ears. “Legolas? Legolas, turo le henio nin?” (Can you hear me?) Legolas eyes fluttered but did not open. “Legolas, mellon nin. Please, come back to the light.” The ranger pleaded with his friend. It seemed the elf was too far in the darkness to hear him. He would not wake.
 
“Legolas, please. It would ease my heart to see you awake, mellon nin.” No reaction. His friend did not even stir. He would just not react to anything the ranger said. Bending low to the elf’s white face, Estel tried again: “Legolas, do you want your new nickname to become truth? My brothers and I will never let you life that one here down if you stay a Lornalas.” When the elf remained silent, Estel felt tears prick at his eyes.
 
Unwilling to let his tears fall and even more unwilling to let them fall in front of the two other men, the ranger pressed the cloth down harder, giving his hands something to do. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but were only a few long moments, the blood flow thinned and eventually stopped.
 
Inspecting the wound, the healer in Estel screamed at him to clean the wound and to use herbs on it to prevent an infection. Alas, he had no clean water or herbs at hand. Asking the two men would not succeed. Estel was sure of that. Therefore he bandaged the wound as good as he could and then tried once more to rouse his friend: “Mellon nin. It is time for you to wake. Please, Legolas, you need to wake.”
 
“That is enough. Step back. Hands at your side.” The rough voice from the leader echoed of the walls as he commanded the ranger to his feet. Time was up.
 
Estel still knelt on the floor. He still had his knife in his boot. He could take it now. He could fight. The thought of fighting, of resisting flashed trough Estels mind. It was a possibility. Maybe he even had a chance. He could fight.
 
But Legolas, and the child, could not. A fight could result in himself being killed. And that would minimise the chances of his friend and the boy. Later, Estel thought. Later.
 
Rising to his feet, hands spread out at his sides, the ranger turned towards the two men. If they thought he would back down, they were wrong. He would get his opportunity. And when that time had come, he would fight. He would take revenge for his friend. That much was certain.
 
Dagnir, impatient by now beyond words, pushed the child into the rangers arms. As soon as the boy was encircled in the rangers arms, he quieted and leaned his head onto the mans broad shoulder, sniffing softly. The little arms had found their way around the rangers neck and held tight. And most important of all, the child was silent. Dagnir noticed one more thing that pleased him immensely. Both arms of the ranger were occupied with holding the child. He could not move them without letting the boy fall.
 
Smirking in satisfaction, Dagnir nodded to his second in command. Bauglir moved quietly to the door of the room, thereby stepping over Legolas, and opened the door a crack to peer outside.
 
The men nodded once and then disappeared from view as he stepped onto the corridor, as silent as any elf could. With the blink of an eye, he was gone.
 
Dagnir held his dagger firmly in his hand. He motioned with it to the ranger to move forward in the direction of the door. “And no tricks, boy. Or you are dead.” Dagnirs voice hissed in Estels ear.
 
Hugging the still frightened boy close to his chest, Estel moved. Holding the child made his ribs protest against the pressure, but the ranger ignored it. It was not important now. Legolas was important. And getting him the help he needed.
 
Estel considered screaming for help. Bauglir was outside. If he yelled for help now, there was a chance to be heard and helped. Elladan and Elrohir were sleeping only a few doors down the corridor. They would hear him. But would they be fast enough?
 
All the rangers thoughts were cut short as he felt a known pressure at his neck. A dagger. Dagnirs dagger. He would be dead before he even had drawn his breath to scream. Shutting his eyes briefly, the ranger felt all hope for a rescue vanish into thin air. No. No one would help him now, because no one could. They did not know. And would not until the next morning.
 
Stepping over Legolas lifeless body, the ranger hoped that that would not be too late.
 
A few minutes later three tall dark figures sneaked over the  misty courtyard, stilling the sounds of night for the time of their passing, walked over the stone bridge and then melted into the blackness of the forest. Like shadows. The mist had silenced their steps and no trace was left to indicate they had even been there. They were gone. The nocturnal sounds arose again, as if nothing had disturbed them.   
 
~*~
 
Elladan moved in his sleep. The elf had thrown himself from side to side, not really sleeping but not awake either. Another turn on the bed, a tangling in the covers, then a short sigh, and Elladan awoke fully. Rubbing his tired eyes with his hand, the elf tried to arrange his thoughts.
 
Why was he awake that late at night? Had something awoken him? He let his gaze travel through his room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Wait, was there a sound coming from outside? Soft footsteps? Listening more carefully, the older twin tried to catch the sound again.
 
After a few moments of futile listening, Elladan shrugged his shoulders and turned onto his other side. No, there was nothing to worry about. Within moments, Elladan was fast asleep again. How could he know that his best friend lay bleeding and unconscious only a few rooms away?
 
~*~
 
The night was cool and misty, even in the thick forest. The grey waves of watery mist hung around the tree trunks, making the world look hostile and evil. The sounds of night were strangely subdued and the nearly non existent wind let the leafs rustle softly. An owl screeched and the sound of small feet running over dry leaves floated on the air. Not only human hunters were out tonight.
 
Estel and the other two men had wandered through the forest for nearly two hours in complete silence. No words had been spoken. On and on they went, always heading south, deeper into the dark forest.
 
Estel, still hugging the sleeping child to his hurting chest, had tried to find a way to escape. He knew the woods around his home by heart. But every time he had thought of an escape route that he could take, the two hunters had changed the direction shortly before the turning point, effectively spoiling the rangers plans.
 
Because of the mist, the rangers clothes had become damp with water. When they had sneaked out of the Last Homely House, there had been no time to grab a cloak or even a leather over tunic. To be honest, Estel was freezing. His skin felt cold to the touch and his dark hair was wet from the million water droplets the grey mist had placed there.
 
What concerned the ranger more, was Taran. Sleeping at his shoulder, Estel tried do shield the boy from the cold and the wetness of the night, but without even a cloak, it was a futile attempt.
 
Little children were even more delicate to illnesses than adults and the rangers healer instincts had kicked in long ago. His question concerning the matter had only caught him another hard push into his back.
Holding the little edan tighter that before, Estels thoughts wandered back to his friend. All the time he had prayed to the Valar to let his friend live. To send Legolas help. To do something. To keep him safe and protected.
 
As much as Estel feared for his best friends safety, so more was he relieved that Legolas was not with him now. He did not know the hunters intent, but from what he knew already, Estel had learned that they needed him. The elf, on the other side, would have only been an unnecessary threat. Furthermore, he felt relieved at the fact that at least his brothers were unharmed. Or so he hoped. He did not know how long the two intruders had been sneaking through the house. All he could do was hope. Hope and pray to the mighty Valar to listen.
 
He was startled out of his sombre musings, when the man called Dagnir suddenly stopped. They had not reached a campsite or even a clearing. The man had just stopped in the middle of the black forest.
 
Dangir made eye contact with his subordinate,  thereby nodding curtly, and then Bauglir slowly stepped up to Estel, smirking cruelly. Then, Estel noticed the knife in the other mans hand.
 
Gulping, the ranger knew his time had run out. Too late. No more plans. The last grain in his hour glass had fallen, Estel had won and lost. Legolas probably lived, but he was doomed. He had fulfilled his duty of keeping the child calm. No one would hear Taran scream this far from Imladris. With a sarcastic note, Estel realized that no one would hear him scream either.
 
~*~
 
Bauglir enjoyed this immensely. All the time he had been waiting for his captains command. Now, he was allowed to have a little fun with that filthy scum. Oh, and fun he would have. He could not have that elf, but the ranger would do, too.
 
He had of course known that Dagnir would not keep the ranger forever. The man was just baggage. Trouble. All rangers were. So, while wandering through the still night, he had already thought about all the wonderful painful things that he could try on the boy. Inhaling deeply, Bauglir gripped his knife harder. Time to play.
 
~*~
 
Estels breathing did not even increase. He knew he had lost before it had even begun. If he had to die in this starless night, so be it. He had no weapons he could use, no way to escape. He was all alone, already injured. But he would not give Bauglir the satisfaction of making him scream, or run, or hide or do something else foolish. If he had to die, he would die proudly like the man he was.
 
Estel switched his gaze away from the coming tall human, to the small human in his arms. No need for Taran to see all this. Bouncing the boy lightly, the ranger woke the child. When the big blue sleepy eyes of the boy met his own, Estel forced a smile onto his face: “Hey, penneth. Don’t be afraid. All is well. Be a good boy, will you? All will be well.” Estel placed a hand onto the child’s cheek, stroking it softly. Then he handed the boy to the outstretched arms of Dagnir. The man rudely took the boy into his own hands.
 
Estel looked Taran into the eyes. The boy stared back, frightened. He did not understand why he had to leave the ranger. He had felt safe there.
 
Tarans eyes, big and deep blue, filled with tears as Estel stepped back. Smiling again, the ranger made eye contact with the little edan once more saying gently: “Close your eyes, Taran. You don’t have to see this. Oltho, penneth (Dream, little one).”
 
Finally stepped back fully, Estel took a deep breath and turned to face his murderer.
 
~*~
 
Dagnir was stunned. How did that ranger do that? The one moment the little boy was wailing like a balrog and the next tame as a sheep. Never had Dagnir seen such a gift. Considering his task at hand, the captain came to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, the ranger could come in handy.
 
They still had a long way to go before the task with the child was finished. It would take some time to get a save distance away from the elven realm, then contact the child’s parents, the ransom, the deal, all needed time.
 
When the ranger took care of the child, he had one more man free for other tasks. And as long as the ranger was with them, the boy would stay calm. Furthermore, the ranger was perhaps his life insurance. The elves would probably not care for a human, but if that blond elf survived, he certainly would. The elves would not attack, knowing the ranger was with them and there was a chance to hurt, or even kill the human. If the elves ever found them, that was, Dagnir thought.
 
Making the decision to let the ranger live was one thing, telling Bauglir was another. The captain had seen the devilish glint in his mans eyes. Bauglir wanted to hurt that filthy ranger. To hurt him painfully and then kill him. Slowly, so as to relish in the kill. Sighing inwardly, Dagnir turned to his second in command.
 
Bauglir had advanced on Estel and was standing only a few feet in front of him, knife raised. The sparse moonlight glinted of the steel and gave the weapon a deadly appearance. The hunters eyes had opened fully and an evil sparkle could be seen.
 
Dagnir stepped forward and cleared his throat. When he had the attention of his man he said emotionlessly: “No killing him yet, Baug. We still need him. That is a command.”
 
Estel was as surprised at these words as Bauglir. That was not what he had expected to hear. Turning big eyes at the leader, Estel noticed the change in Dagnirs eyes. They were still red and scary, but no longer deadly. They seemed calculating. As if the man knew something that only he could understand.
 
From his front, Estel could hear the other mans voice, sounding irritated, and much to Estels delight, angry. “What do we need that boy for? He is scum. We will be better off without him.” “Aye, maybe. But we will keep him. He will care for the child.”
 
Estel could see the short fight that was fought between the two hunters. They stared at each other, none of them willing to back down. It would have been fascinating for the ranger, had it not been a fight about his life.
 
After another moment, Bauglir cursed under his breath and averted his eyes from his captain. Dagnir, had won.
 
Looking at the ranger, Dagnir gave the boy back. “No tricks. I warn you. One false move, boy, and you will wish I had let Bauglir kill you now,” the captain said, his voice cold as ice and sharp as glass. There was no room for arguing. Estel nodded.
 
After he had settled the still crying boy safely into his arms, wiping away the tears on the boys wet cheeks, Estel whispered some comforting elvish words into the child’s ears, willing him to calm and get back to sleep. As before, Taran snuggled closer to the mans chest. He gripped Estels tunic tightly in his small hands, and closed his eyes, sniffing.
 
Bauglir and his captain shared a brief glance, unnoticed by Estel, and Dagnir formed a word with his lips, never speaking it. Only one word. But it lightened his second in commands mood and produced a wicked grin on his face. “Later.”
 
The journey went on, through the stillness of the night. Soon, the rangers steady heartbeat and rhythmic breathing had lulled the boy back to sleep.
 
* (A/N: sorry if this is too vulgar, but my dictionary says so ;-) )
 
End of chapter 3

Chapter 4 (for disclaimer see chapter one)

Chapter 4 Cruel Awakenings

The first rays of light slowly warmed the earth and chased away the mist that still hung about the ground. Early birds had already begun their morning songs and beautiful flowers peeked their heads out of their sleeping quarters to welcome the new day.

Various smells floated through the air. Hot bread and freshly baked pastries combated with the scent of roses and lavender.

The sky was an ocean blue, deep and smooth, the small fluffy clouds adding to the perfect day. All seemed nice and peaceful in the soul haven that was Imladris.

Then a frantic scream pierced the morning air. A yell full of unsuppressed panic and horror. “Legolas!”
Running feet could be heard, followed by a shocked gasp and another frantic scream that reverberated throughout the halls of the Last Homely House: “ADA!”

Elladan had awoken as usual with the first rays of the sun. After washing his face and combing his long brown hair, he had donned some clean breaches, shirt and tunic. After braiding his hair as he did every morning, he had gone to see if Legolas was already awake and ready for breakfast.

Upon finding his friends room empty, the curtains still closed and the bed unmade, the sheets crumbled, Elladan had gotten a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly he had remembered the last nights events. Past night he had woken, thought he had heard footsteps, but he had just dreamed that. It had only been his imagination. Or had it?

Turning away from his friends empty bedroom, his feet had automatically carried Elladan to the room Estel had slept in. He had knocked. No response. Upon taking the door handle, he had looked down, and there, right before his eyes, he had seen it.

Blinking, Elladan had felt how his heart had stopped beating for a second, only to take up its duty with double speed. The hair on his neck had stood on end and his hands had become sweaty. His breath had caught in his throat, choking him for a moment or two. He could not take his eyes away from what he saw.

Because there on the floor, right beneath his feet, a puddle of red blood had pooled out onto the corridor from under the still closed door.

The shock lasted only a moment. When it was gone, Elladan threw open the door, looking around frantically. He nearly tripped over Legolas lifeless body, laying wasted on the ground.

Elladan heard a piercing scream in his ears, not comprehending what he saw and not realizing that it had been his own voice that had screamed his friends name. Falling to his knees, the older twin took in his friends pale features.

Legolas skin was white as a sheet, it felt cold and clammy to his soft touch. The elf’s blond hair clung to his forehead and had been glued to the floor by the elf’s own dried blood. Elladan noticed the bandages around Legolas side and wondered for a short moment what they were doing there.

When he saw Legolas face, he felt a chill run down his spine. Legolas face, his eyes. The princes eyes were closed tightly. With a trembling hand Elladan searched for a pulse and felt a wave of relief wash over his senses as his shaking fingers detected a weak but steady pulse. He was alive.

Another voice yelled something beside him and Elladan felt the presence of his brother near. Elrohir must have heard his call and come running to the room.

Kneeling down besides his brother, Elrohir also took in the still form of his friend. “By Elbereth, Legolas. What has happened here?” Looking around the room, Elrohir`s eyes widened even further: “Elladan, where’s Estel?”

Only stillness answered his question and the two twin brothers shared an anxious look. That Estel was not in the room and Legolas condition could only mean one thing. Something had gone really wrong.

Both elves could hear their fathers hasty steps on the corridor and Elrohir yelled: “Ada! Where’re here. Hurry!” Seconds later the tall figure of the Lord of Imladris appeared in the doorway.

It took Elrond only a short moment to take in the scene. Crouching down next to the prone figure of the blond archer, he looked the elf over, noticing the amount of blood and the bloody bandages around the elf’s side.

With a skilled hand he felt Legolas pulse and put a hand over the elf nearly unmoving chest. His eyes widened and a concerned frown appeared on his face. Looking to the twins he harshly gave out orders: “Elladan, go to the healing wing and prepare everything I will need. Elrohir, go to my study and fetch my supplies. Hurry boys.”

If the twins had needed any encouragement, this had been enough to let them fly to Mordor and back. Their father never bade them to hurry. Never. That he did so now, served to show the twins one thing. Legolas´ life was at risk.

After the boys had hurried of to their tasks, Elrod studied Legolas from head to foot. The bleeding had stopped some time ago, but the amount of blood on the archers clothes and on the floor showed the severity of the injury.

So much blood, the elf lord thought. So much. Hopefully not too much for the prince. Legolas pulse was steady but weak and the elf’s breathing was laboured and uneven, as if a heavy weight was crushing down on Legolas chest. Cold sweat had formed on the elf’s forehead, making his hair cling to the cool skin.

Elrond whispered soothing words to the fallen elf, trying to reach the elf, but Legolas did not stir. No sound escaped his closed lips and no movement went through his still body.

Sighing inwardly at the elf’s grave condition, Elrond focused on the situation at hand. He would have to bring Legolas to the healing wing where he could care for him. But first, he needed to know what had happened. Moving the prince without knowing of the injury could very well mean the archers death.

Carefully, the elf lord bent over the lifeless form on the floor and examined the bandages that wrought around the archers chest and side. They were coated in dried blood and not white anymore, but a deep brownish red. Again, Elrond´s mind raced at the thought how much blood the young elf had lost.

Lifting the bandages with his hands, the healer saw the wound that marred the archers soft flesh. A stab wound. From a large knife or dagger. It was deep and the elf lord could almost see the white of one of Legolas ribs shining through the red flesh.

Dry and coated blood clung to the wound and the bandages had pasted themselves into the wound. Removing them would be difficult and painful. The wound was not washed and not clean. No herbs had been used on it and the lord could already make out the first signs of infection.

Replacing the soiled bandages, the stricken lord turned to face the unconscious elf. Placing a slender hand on the elf’s brow, Elrond sighed heavily. “Oh Legolas. What have you two gotten into this time?”

Elrond slid his strong arms under the weightless figure of the prince, and lifting him effortlessly, started to head into the direction of the healing wing. They had to hurry to help Legolas. To save his life.

And Estel´s, Elrond thought. He knew that his son had placed the bandages onto Legolas side. No one else other than Estel used to make double knots when he badaged wounds. It was his kind of identification mark.

Elrond´s stomach draw together at this thought. A cold feeling washed over his senses, making him shiver. Estel had taken care of Legolas. He had helped the elf survive this night. That he had not alarmed anyone and that he was not present at the moment could only mean one thing. He could not. Something prevented him from being here. Elrond did not want to know what, or who, prevented his son from being at Legolas´ sight.

Thinking about that now would make him go mad from fear. Perhaps his son needed him now and he could not help him. But he could help Legolas. And Legolas could help them find Estel.

~*~

“Elladan, give me that cloth. Elrohir, get more water to boil.”

When Elrond had finally reached the healing wing, his sons had already been waiting for him. They had prepared the room, lighted a fire, set water to boil, set the bandages and needed cloth ready and had organizes the needed herbs and various potions.

After placing the unconscious from of the Mirkwood prince onto a nearby bed, the three healers had set to work.

The elves had removed the princes tunic, revealing the deep wound. It took them a long time to take away the clustered bandages. They needed to wet them with water to make them move and every time they pulled on a yet dry part of the bandages, it brought a painful moan to the archers lips.

Nevertheless, he did not wake once. For nearly two hours they had worked on the prince, trying their best to help him. The flesh around the wound was red and tender to every touch. Infection had begun to set in.

What worried the elves even more was the fact that Legolas mumbled and tried to speak in his unconscious state. None of them understood the tumbled words, but some were clearer than others. More than once they had understood the name of their missing human brother, Estel, and then the words “No” and “Please, don’t.” It worried them. It worried them very much.

Legolas´ skin was not longer cold and clammy, but became warmer from minute to minute. Fever was setting in and the three elves sped up their efforts to save their friend. By now, the archers head was lolling from side to side, caught in fever dreams.

He moaned and withered around, speaking words no one could understand. Elrond´s sensitive heart constricted in his chest as Legolas spoke again, this time louder, pleading with an unseen enemy to let Estel live. Something horrid must have happened.

“Sh, Legolas. Where’re here. Be still. All is well.” The elf lord soothed the agitated elf. It would not help the prince to spend so much energy into his futile struggle. He would need all his power to survive the next few hours.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a look and then set to work again. Elladan could not believe his father had really said that. Nothing was well. His little brother was missing, together with the boy, Legolas had been attacked and had lain bleeding and alone in a room only a few doors down his own, fighting for his life. All alone and without any hope at all to be found and rescued. And even now, after they had found him, he still had to battle with darkness and fight for his survival. No, nothing was well.

Elladan knew his father was only trying to help their friend. To calm the struggling elf and to save his energy. Closing his eyes briefly, the elder twin took a deep breath, calming his own troubled thoughts and trying in vain to control the feeling of guilt that raged through his body.

He had heard something last night. He was sure of that now. Perhaps he had even heard Legolas. But he had done nothing. He had gone back to sleep. What kind of brother and friend was he?

A soft touch on his shoulder startled Elladan out of his thoughts and looking at his shoulder he found his brother starring at him. Elrohirs deep brown eyes were clouded with worry and fear, but they also held hope and a calmness Elladan did not feel.

Squeezing Elladan´s shoulder again with his hand, Elrohir looked deep into his brothers eyes: “All is not well, gwanur, but it will be.” Elrohir held his brothers gaze a moment longer, then released his hold onto Elladan´s shoulder and set to work again.

Sighing, Elladan nodded and turned to his own task of placing wet and cool pieces of cloth onto his friends forehead. Aye, his brother was right. All would be well. It would be. It just had to be.

Even after all the work they had done, Legolas condition would not improve, on the contrary. A high fever had set in, sending the archer in and out of consciousness. Legolas would not lay still, which caused the deep wound to reopen and bleed again freely.

The lord of Rivendell tried his best to keep the elf down and unmoving, but nothing seemed to work. The elf wound on the bed, gasping from pain and exertion.

Pressing a cloth down onto the injury, Elrond felt how his calm façade began to crumble. Since they had found the prince, the lord of Rivendell had stayed calm and had acted like a proper healer should. But now, as he looked down onto the young elf, his heart hurt.

So much blood. Legolas has lost so much blood. Elrond could not keep from repeating that phrase in his mind over and over. So much blood. Too much blood. Please don’t let it be so. Elbereth Gilthoniel, please don’t let it be so. Please don’t let him die.

Taking his eyes away from Legolas´ face, the healer closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to be strong. He could not let Legolas down now. There was always hope. Always.

Pressing down harder, the lord finally stopped the bleeding. After cleaning the wound, he washed it again with a special lotion made from camomile and kings foil to stop the infection.

Turning to his sons, Elrond saw how pale they were. Legolas´ grave condition had not gone unnoticed by them. After a moment of silence, Elrond spoke in a soft voice: “My sons. Legolas condition is grave. We must get his fever down. The next few hours will decide over his fate.”

Elladan and Elrohir only nodded. Both were skilled in the healing art, if not as well as Estel. They had noticed Legolas dire state. All they could do now was wait and hope.

~*~

Hours had passed by, slowly and painfully. Legolas state had not turned to the better. He had stopped mumbling in his sleep, but his complete stillness was even more terrible to the elves than his mumbling had been.

Still and unmoving lay Legolas on his bed, his chest moving slightly with every breath he took. His blond hair clung to his feverish forehead, making his face look even more sick and vulnerable.

Although Elladan and Elrohir had relentlessly wetted the elf’s face and body, the fever was still raging in his frail body, stealing away the archers strength.

Elladan, seated beside his friends bed in a chair, looked over the unmoving form of the prince to his brother. Elrohir looked pale and exhausted, his fair skin marred by sorrow and worry. Elrohir seemed to feel his brothers stare and looked up, meeting his twins eyes.

No words were needed. They knew that the fight for Legolas life was not over yet. In unison they turned back to their friend, and waited for him to get better and wake.

~*~

When the darkness of the night had settled over the city of Rivendell, two watchful figures still kept their vigil at their injured friends side. Never had they stood or left. Never had they told of their worries. But many a time they had been near losing hope.

The fever had spiked many times, causing the blond archers muscles to convulse in painful spasms. His face had been covered in sweat and the wound had reopened in the afternoon again, after another heavy seizure.

Lord Elrond had been forced to give Legolas a sleeping potion, despite the blood loss. It had sent the archer immediately into a deep sleep, from which he had yet to wake.

With the sinking of the sun, the fever had begun to decrease, too. For the first time since waking, the elves felt their heavy hearts lift. Legolas was over the hill, it seemed.

The night crept further, and when the moon stood full and bright at the firmament, a soft moan floated through the healing wing. It was soon followed by another moan and then gentle voices encouraged the hurting voice on.

“Legolas, mellon nin. Please wake.”
“You have slept long enough, my friend. It is time to come to the light again.”
“Legolas, can you hear me? You need to wake, my friend. We are waiting for you.”

Another moan escaped the injured elf’s lips. Legolas eyelids were fluttering. It seemed that he tried to wake, but that the hold the darkness had over him was still too strong to be easily defeated.

Elladan and Elrohir, standing beside the bed, watched as their father rushed to their side. Elrond bent over the struggling prince, feeling his forehead. A relieved emotion flittered over his still tense face. The fever had broken.

“Legolas. Come to the world of the living again.” Elrond had seated himself on the side of the bed, his right hand placed firmly on the elf’s chest. Again the lord pleaded with the hurting being and asked him to return: “Legolas, saes (please). Come back to us.”

Slowly, very slowly, the eyes of the elf on the bed opened, only to reveal pained and worried blue orbs, full of sorrow and despair. It broke all the elves hearts to see their friend hurt like this. And they did not even know the cause for Legolas hopelessness.

~*~

He hurt. He hurt everywhere. That was the first thing he noticed upon returning to consciousness. If he had only one word to describe how he felt, he would have used “great”, in a very, very sarcastic tone. If not even ironic.

Legolas mind tried to find a way through the foggy mist that had settled around his mind. It was all grey and white, and at the same time black and inky. He was confused. Where was he? Why was he wherever he was? And, by the Valar, why did he hurt so much?

It seemed to Legolas that a very nasty orc had deemed it funny to make an elf-on-a-stick out of him and roast him over the fire. His side throbbed painfully, sending tendrils of horrid pain through his body every time he moved. So, Legolas decided, moving is not a good idea.

But not only his side hurt, but his head, too. The more the darkness lifted, the more Legolas felt his head pound in the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Legolas sighed inwardly, great.

When the mist lifted around his senses, he could make out voices that drifted in and out of his mind. Was someone talking to him? Who?

Legolas tried to ignore the pain in his body and focused on the voices. They were nearer now and clearer. He knew those voices, but who was it? Struggling to hear more, Legolas concentrated harder. Then, he knew.

The twins. That are the twins. Why are they so worried? He heard the two voices again, pleading with someone.

“Legolas, mellon nin. Please wake.”
“You have slept long enough, my friend. It is time to come to the light again.”

Ah, Legolas thought. Great. They are worried because of me. When his body decided to let him know of its hurts again, he knew why the twins were so alarmed. He must have been hurt badly. From the signals his body sent him, by a spear or dagger. Probably during a hunt? Or while he was on his way to Rivendell?

Another voice spoke up near him. The Lord of Rivendell, Elrond. Elrond bade him to come back. He sounded so pained. Was he hurt that badly? He had been injured before. Nothing the matter.

Legolas grew irritated. Why were they all so concerned? It was not that bad, was it? He could still breathe and feel. Well, just great to feel now, a rather annoying part of Legolas mind threw in.

But, was there not something missing? Or rather someone? In this split second, it all came rushing in to him, and Legolas opened his eyes.

~*~

Another few hours had passed and the Lord of Rivendell had been forced to give the distraught and injured elfling another sleeping potion. Despite the heavy blood loss and the exertion Legolas had underwent due to the fever, the blond archer had been reluctant to go back to sleep again.

After Legolas had woken, he had told the Peredhels everything that had occurred in the night. Beginning with his fruitless attempt to find sleep, to his last moments of awareness. The telling and reliving of the terrible events had unsettled the young elf even more.

Legolas had asked about Estel from the beginning of his awakening, but the lord of Imladris had bade him tell his story first. So, the archer had started to speak. Finally, after revealing the circumstances of his injury, he had turned asking and frightened eyes at the three older elves surrounding him, facing each in a turn. Elladan and Elrohir both averted their eyes and looked at the floor or at their hands.

It made Legolas heart jump in his throat. He swallowed and faced the elf lord. “My Lord, where is Estel?” Elrond sighed and also looked away from Legolas for a moment. “My Lord, please. I need to know.”

Sighing again, Elrond turned troubled eyes at the archer. “We had hoped you could tell us where Estel is.”

Frowning, Legolas tried to comprehend what he had just heard. He? That meant Estel was not in the house. And that meant, that meant he was not dead. Relief tried to steel itself into the elf’s heart, but then the other meaning of the elf lord’s words registered in the princes mind. He is not here. He is missing.

“What about the child?”
“We do not know, Legolas. He has vanished, too.“ Elrond confessed. Legolas head fell back at his soft pillow. A frown adorned his brow and his thoughts tumbled over one another in his head.

It makes no sense. Why have they tried to kill me, but not Estel? Why am I here, but he is not? They had hurt Estel, he had been near unconsciousness. So why have they attacked him, only to let him live and kidnap him?

Elrohir had described how his brother had found him in the child’s bedroom and he had told him about the bandages that Estel had placed there. So, why had Estel helped him, and then just vanished?

It made no sense and Legolas felt his head spinning with every thought he had. It made his vision blur at the edges and he felt light-headed. No, he had to find a solution to this mystery. Estel was somewhere out there. Alone with two killers and a child. Without weapons or help. For nearly 24 hours now.

Legolas began to feel sick. When Elrond tried to get him to drink another potion, he refused, claiming that he needed non, but after a stern look from the healer and two identical stern looks from his friends, he had reluctantly taken the foul potion and drained it in one gulp.

It took the potion only a few minutes to work and soon the injured prince fell into a deep healing sleep.

~*~

Estel was shivering. The night had been cold and eerie. The sparse wind had made the mist drift in waves around the tree trunks and the thick clouds had finally completely hidden the moon. The forest had been darker than a deep pit and the moving in the woods had become difficult.

Estel´s hair and clothes were wet with fog and myriads of water droplets. His skin felt clammy and cold, his breathing was laboured. He was freezing.

For hours they had wandered in the inky blackness of the woods surrounding Imladris. Turning left and right, and sometimes the ranger thought to have seen a tree trunk twice. He did not comment on going round in circles. What good would it do? And perhaps they would get lost and then there would be a possibility of escape.

Cuddling the sleeping child more firmly to his chest to keep the little edan warm, Estel moaned softly. After hours of carrying the human, his arms on the one hand felt completely numb, but on the other side they prickled and hurt every time he moved them.

To make matters worse, his chest was burning with fire by now. The broken rib had not penetrated his lung, but it hurt more than usual. Furthermore, Estel had begun to feel his throat ache. He just hoped that he would not catch a cold or another illness.

The little boy would then be stricken by the illness, too. So close they had been the last days. Estel shifted the weight in his arms, wincing slightly. He was glad that the hunters could not see his face in this darkness. It would just increase their good mood.

When the sun had appeared in the sky and had chased the clouds of the night away, they had all stopped for a brief rest. The hunters had given him and the boy water and bread to eat, but neither Estel not little Taran were hungry.

Taran was pale and had not even lifted his head fully when the ranger had spoken to him. It seemed the little child knew exactly what was going on. The boy was afraid of the hunters and would not leave the rangers arms.

He nestled himself in the crook of Estel´s arm, sucking at his thumb and staring with big watery eyes at the woods. The different sounds of the animals made him jump from now and then and Estel would bent down to him and whisper soothing words into his ear to calm the boy.

After the short break they had moved on, Dagnir in the front, Estel in the middle and Bauglir bringing up the rear. Their pace had slowed somewhat, but after a sleepless night and all the walking, Estel felt tired.

With every step it became harder for him to move and his feet felt as if they were made out of lead. Despite his weariness, he kept his head high and his strides wide, not wanting his captors to know how tired he really was.

So they walked on, the whole day and a good part of the next night, until finally Estel could spy a fire through the woods. It seemed, they had reached their destination.

~*~

After Legolas had fallen asleep, the other Peredhel had left the healing chambers and had moved to the library. Elrond had taken care that one of his best healers watched over the elf while he slept. He and his remaining sons needed to talk. Alone.

Very unlikely for the otherwise calm and prudent elf lord of Imladris, Elrond was pacing in the library, unable to sit still. He had his hands on his back, the only way to stop himself from wringing them constantly.

He was worried. Now that the immediate worry for the prince’s life was over, he shifted his worry from Legolas to Estel, his human son. Of course he knew that the ranger could look after himself, but there were still so many things they did not yet know.

Legolas statement of Estel´s injury, for example. The elf had told them that Estel had been lying on the floor, almost unconscious, when Legolas had first stepped into the bedchamber. This could only mean that Estel had been ill treated, if not been badly hurt. On the other hand, they had found no blood other than that from Legolas in the room, no traces whatsoever that Estel had been bleeding.

He could still have internal bleeding, Elrond thought. And if he had…. The elf lord sighed. Why did this have to happen? Estel had just returned to Imladris after so many month of his absence. His son had been tired and travel weary, that had been plain to see.

Estel had sought shelter in Rivendell. A pause from the outside world, from his queries and worries. He had come home to escape the life for a time and to enjoy that he had a family that cared for him. He had come home to be Estel once again, not Strider.

And now, he was gone. Vanished like the day that made way for the night. More than likely being Strider once again, to save his life and the life of the boy.

After they had found the injured elf, Elrond had send out a party of elves to search for the two nightly travellers and for the two missing humans. After hours of searching the party had returned. Empty handed and non the wiser. They had found no trace of the humans after they had entered the forest.

Elrond knew that his son could be as stealthy as an elf and leave no traces of his passing, but the two others…. And even if Estel could do this, why should he in a situation like this? Would he not leave a trail for them to find?

Having reached the opposite wall, Elrond turned and started off into the direction of the other wall. He was so drowned in his own thoughts that he had not heard the twins call his name. Only as Elrohir suddenly stood in front of him, did he realized that he had called his name.

Elrond looked up, his hands still behind his back: “Pardon, what did you say, Elrohir?” Elrohir moved to sit next to his brother on a couch and said: “Ada, I think we should go and search for Estel.” Elladan nodded and said: “Aye, Ada. We cannot just sit here and wait.”

It was exactly what Elrond had thought his sons would say. And it was what he himself wanted to do. But they could not. Not at the moment.

He turned to the twins, a sombre expression on his face: “My sons, I understand what you feel, and believe me, I feel the same. But now is not the time to go. Wait at least until morning. In this darkness of the night you will see nothing. And you two need to sleep first. You have been up all day and night, boys.”

A disappointed expression crossed the identical faces. They wanted to go now, seek Estel and help him. Revenge Legolas. Now. Not tomorrow, not in a few hours. Every hour that they waited could mean Estel´s life. Sharing a quick look with his twin, Elladan turned to his father and wanted to answer him that they would leave at that very moment, no matter what Elrond would say.

Elrond beat him to that: “My sons, please, boys. Let my heart know that I send two healthy and well rested sons into the unknown.”

None of the twins had the heart to argue with their father. So they retired to their sleeping rooms and prepared for their morning departure. Although they tried, neither Elladan nor Elrohir found sleep that night.

End of chapter 4

Title: Delw yomenie (Deadly encounter)
Characters: All Peredhils, mainly Strider, Legolas……and something/someone deadly….
Timeline: Before FOTR
Rating: K+
Warnings: Cruelty and maniacal behaviour. WIP.
Summery: Our Middle-Earth friends encounter something deadly…..
Feedback: YES! Please! *looking-like-little-Estel-when-he-wants-something*.
A/N: Many thanks to Trinilee for her fast beta work. Thank you! ;-)

Chapter 7 Pursuers and Traps

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Disclaimer: I own nothing of the works of Tolkien, neither books not movies. I make no money with this story. I just borrow the characters and try to give them back in one piece later. Please, do not sue me.~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Legolas stood stock still as he heard a sound in the corridor that was behind the door leading to the healing chambers. He held his breath and listened intently. Soft footsteps could be heard, but to Legolas’ relief, they were heading away from the door he was hiding behind.

Slowly, the elf cracked the wooden door open and peered outside. Turning his head left and right, he observed the hall and, upon seeing no one, opened the door wider and stepped out into the corridor.

Only a few minutes prior, the sun had set. During the afternoon, the prince had carried out his plan and had managed to get his clothes. It had not been very difficult, as they had been stored in a cupboard near his bed.

Legolas had dressed after the evening meal, as all the healers and even the Lord of Imladris had left him to get some sleep. He had pretended to be tired and exhausted the whole day. In part it had not really been a lie. He was tired and exhausted, but he was also determined to help his friends. If that meant deceiving the Lord of Imladris, so be it. There would be enough time later to reprimand him for his disloyal actions.

So, as the sun had ended its way over the horizon and had gone to bed, the agile archer had slipped out of his own, donned his clothing and was now on his way to his chamber to retrieve his weapons.

Carefully, Legolas peeked around the corner and then rushed along the hall in the direction of the stairs leading to his room. One hand pressed firmly on his wound and the other near the wall to stabilize himself just in case he became dizzy, Legolas hastened up the stairs and then towards his room.

The few steps during the day in the healing chamber had helped him regain some of his strength, but he still felt the painful throbbing of the wound, and his legs felt weak underneath him. Luckily, the prince had not experienced any form of light headedness or dizziness since the early morning. It encouraged him that he was indeed on the mend and able to do what he had planned.

Legolas reached the door to his chamber, and after a quick glance down the hall, he opened the door and slid into his room. The room looked the same as it had done the night when all this had started.

But, it seemed, some servants had cleaned the room in the archer’s absence. The bed was made, the curtains and windows open. Fresh clothes were draped over a chair and new candles were lined up along the wall.

But Legolas did not deign to look at it. After closing the dark wooden door softly behind him, he moved to the corner of the room where his weapons were stored. Making sure that his assortment of weapons was complete, the elf turned to his cupboard, taking out all the clothes he would need during the trip.

He then took his elven cloak, threw it around his slim shoulders and shouldered his bow and quiver, wincing slightly as he pulled the stitches. Legolas grimaced as he imagined Lord Elrond’s face if he showed the healer torn stitches. That could be more deadly than his quest.

Shaking his head, the blond archer sheathed his twin knifes, closed his cloak as much as possible, took a last look around the room and headed to the open window that would lead to the wide balcony.

On his way he passed his desk, contemplating for a moment if he should leave a message to the Lord of Imladris explaining his absence and his behaviour. But, on second thought, once he was gone and the elven Lord found his weapons gone too, Elrond would sure come to the only explanation that presented itself. Namely, that Legolas had left Imladris like a thief in the night to go on some foolish rescue mission, alone and injured, weak and easy prey for the creatures of the night, whether they be animals or humans.

Sighing, the archer shook his head again. Those thoughts would not help him now. He was determined to carry out his plan and nothing he thought would change his mind. So, he passed the desk without stopping, opened the door leading to the balcony and stepped out into the cold night air. He gripped the railing and swung his legs over it. Taking a deep and steadying breath, Legolas closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer to the Valar to help him, then he let himself fall to the dark ground so many feet below him.

Below the balcony, the prince’s feet touched the wet green grass, faltering slightly. No sound had been made by them and Legolas was pleased with himself. Like a cat in the darkness he sprinted over the courtyard, his feet making only minor sounds. From the courtyard, he crossed the stone bridge and did not stop running until his swift feet had carried him safely and undetected into the forest that surrounded the Last Homely House East of the Sea.

He stopped a few feet into the forest and leaned against a huge tree. His breath came in short gasps and his heart was beating fast in his chest. He closed his eyes and waited until his heart had calmed and his breathing steadied. Then the elf opened his eyes and took a look back at the courtyard and the house. A pang of guilt erupted in his heart, but he bit his bottom lip and shook his head resolutely. No, he had come so far, he would go on.

He turned, shifted his bow and quiver into a more comfortable position on his back, so that they would not stress his side, and headed out into the night.

~*~

At the same time the young blond archer began his track through the dark forest, a few leagues away, a black and dark clothed human rider set out to obey his master’s order and deliver a message to a certain man in Bree.

~*~

It had all happened so swiftly. They had not even noticed that they had entered a trap until they had been attacked from behind. And then, it had all gone so fast.

Elladan had fallen first.

The beast that had attacked him from behind and threw him to the ground, placing his big paws on his shoulders to make sure he could not get up. Its heavy and furry body had pressed the slim elf to the ground, making it impossible for him to move more than a few inches.

As soon as Elladan had hit the ground, the other wolves had attacked from all around them, snouts snarling and paws slashing. Elrohir had managed to let fly a few arrows, before the wolves had been too close to use his bow.

Switching to his sword and hunting dagger, the younger twin had slashed and stabbed left and right, over his back and straight before him, trying to kill as many beasts as possible and at the same time protect himself and his brother. It was more than even a son of the mighty Lord of Imladris was capable of doing. The beasts had been numerous and Elladan trapped under one of them, was unable to help his brother in the fight, but was fighting for his own precious life.

To the younger twin time had stopped. All he was focused on was fighting, fighting to survive. They were only wolves, not even wargs, but the animals seemed to be extremely hungry, probably due to the long and cold winter, and there were many of them. Every time the elf killed a beast, two others filled the gap and advanced on the fair being.

Soon, many cuts and bruises marred Elrohir’s arms and legs, signs that the wolves had found holes in his defence and used them.

Elladan was doing no better. The wolf on his back was still trying to hold him down, his big paws on his shoulders, the sharp claws digging through the elf’s tunic and into the soft flesh. Elladan could feel his blood tickle down his arms and wetting his shirt and tunic.

It seemed the wolf had noticed the blood, too, because it howled and then tried to bite the elf’s neck.

In the last moment, Elladan pushed his head to the side, avoiding the razor sharp teeth on his neck. It took the elf all the strength he possessed, but after a long time of winding and kicking with his legs, he managed to turn onto his side, then his back.

That did not help his situation much, as the wolf’s hairy face appeared in his line of vision. The snout was near his face, the lips drawn back over the teeth, exposing the deadly objects to the elf. Saliva was dripping on Elladan’s face as the creature moved forward, paws still on the elf’s shoulders, pressing down hard. Swallowing, the older twin racked his brain for a solution, for a way out of that situation. Nothing presented itself. No way out. No escape plan.

The beast crept nearer and the elf could feel it’s hot breath on his fair skin. Elladan’s eyes wandered around restlessly, he had to do something, and soon. Suddenly, when the wolf’s snout was only inches away from his face, Elladan’s eyes fell on something shining.

Metal that reflected the sunlight. Fast as only an elven warrior could react, Elladan stretched out his hand, gripped the metal object and rammed it deep into the wolf’s vulnerable snout.

The beast howled with pain and stepped away from the elf, leaving behind a trail of red blood. Gasping for air, the older twin looked down at his hand. It held a hunting dagger, red with blood. It was an elvish dagger, his brother’s dagger, to be precise.

With eyes as big as the moon, the older twin lifted his head and looked into the direction he had last seen his younger brother. His heart nearly broke at what he saw.

Elrohir was lying on the forest floor, unmoving, eyes closed. Around him numerous slain animals were scattered over the ground, but it seemed the two remaining wolves had succeeded in bringing the elf down.

As Elladan watched, one of the wolves sniffed at his brother’s motionless form, then snarled and opened its mouth to take its bite. Elladan screamed in fury and pain and before he even noticed what he was doing, he was on his feet and had thrown the dagger at the wolf.

The animal collapsed where it stood, the dagger protruding from its throat, sending dark, hot blood everywhere. The other beast turned to look at the advancing elf and made itself ready to take the elf down.

It crouched into a position near the forest floor, ready to jump. Elladan drew his sword and without so much as stopping to get into a better fighting position, he rammed into the wolf and slammed the shining blade of his sword deep into the animal’s belly.

Blood flowed over his hands and covered his tunic; it mingled with his hair and dropped onto his boots. But Elladan paid no attention to it. He threw the dead wolf away from him, disgusted, and then turned around to face the last remaining attacker; the wolf that had him pinned to the ground. It stood at the edge of the forest, it’s snout bleeding heavily. Black beetle-like eyes were fixed on the older twin and the wolf seemed to contemplate his next move.

Elladan gripped the bloody handle of his sword tighter. He was ready. But, the wolf did not charge. It took a look at its dead companions, then at the elf. It howled again, deep and menacing, then turned and left the gruesome scene before it as silently as it had entered it.

It was over.

Elladan let his sword fall to his side. His blood was pumping fast through his veins and his breathing was rash and loud in his own ears. After only a second of standing frozen to the spot, the elf turned on his heel and hastened to his brother’s side.

Kneeling down beside the unmoving elf, Elladan took in the many cuts and gashes that marred his twin’s soft skin. ”Oh, Elrohir, Elrohir, I am so sorry.” Elladan gently turned his twin over onto his back and looked at his face.

Elrohir’s eyes were closed and his skin was paler than usual, but he was breathing regularly and deeply. Elladan could find no deep wound on his brother’s body and was beginning to wonder over the cause of his brothers unconsciousness. Then, a slow trickle of blood flowed down the side of the younger elf’s face.

With trembling fingers, but as gently as he could, Elladan brushed back the dark silken hair and revealed a gash just over his twins pointed ear. It was not deep, but a heavy blow to the head could of course have caused the younger elf to loose consciousness. Elladan placed his sleeve onto the wound and called his brothers name. Finally, when Elladan’s hollow feeling in his stomach returned, Elrohir’s eyelids fluttered.

“Aye, brother, come back to me.” Elladan pleaded, and only moments later his twin opened his eyes. “Welcome back, gwanur nin.” Elrohir blinked, and then took in his brother’s form.

“Are you all right?” Elladan could not help his relieved smile that spread over his face.

After Elladan had made sure that his brother was not seriously injured, he and Elrohir had cleaned their wounds and bandaged them. It had been a good decision to take so many healing supplies with them, and Elladan wondered for a short moment if he had inherited his father’s gift of foresight. He had never felt as if he had, but the herbs and bandages that Elladan had used to help his twin seemed to be an evidence for that.

Shrugging, the elf abandoned that thought and instead helped his twin to clean the many wounds. Whatever had caused the older twin to take so many healing utensils with him, it had helped them now. It had taken the twins the better part of the afternoon to take care of their injuries and when the sun had disappeared behind the treetops, they had left the deadly scene before them and set out into the night again.

~*~

Elrond walked down the hall leading to the healing chambers. His soft velvet robes were trailing behind him and is brown hair was resting in intricate braids on his shoulders.

The night had just begun, but the lord had a feeling that this night would turn out to be a long one. Quickening his steps, Elrond turned a corner and walked towards the big wooden door leading to the chambers of healing and therewith the room of the prince of Mirkwood.

The whole day Elrond had taken the time to now and then look in on the prince, making sure that he was well and resting. To Elrond’s delight and worry equally, the young elf had appeared to be very still and tired the whole day.

Legolas had slept through the afternoon, not even questioning if he was allowed to sit up or get up. As Elrond thought about it now, a voice inside him told him that this was very odd behaviour for the Mirkwood Prince.

Normally the young prince would not stay abed a moment longer than absolutely necessary, and of course not when his friends were in danger. Elrond took a deep breath, furrowed his brow and quickened his steps even more. No, Legolas had truly behaved very oddly.

Another thought entered his mind, unbidden and unwanted. What if the young archer had...But, no, he would not do something like that, the lord thought. He would not? Are you certain, Elrond? Another part of his mind asked him, causing the Lord of Imladris to close his eyes for a second and sigh deeply.

Of course Legolas would, he just hoped that he had not.

But when the Lord of Imladris entered the healing chambers and then Legolas’ room, when he saw the empty bed and the crumbled sheets, Elrond let his head fall and closed his eyes in defeat, all hope lost.

Legolas was gone.

~*~

Night had stolen itself over the hunter’s camp, making the tents disappear from sight and the fires shine more brightly. A few minutes ago a black clothed rider had left the camp and since his departure, the camp had stayed quiet and still.

Nightly sounds could be heard, the shrieks of owls, the low chirping of nocturnal insects and animals. The stillness was interrupted now and then, by the crackling of the fire and when a branch in the fire cracked it seemed to be the loudest sound at all.

The hunter’s were crouched near the warm fires, rubbing their hand together to keep them warm, some of them eating the remnants of the evening meal. None of the men smoked, it would just make them good targets in the night, a lesson most of them had learned the hard way.

Inside one of the tents, a ranger was sitting against the strong tent pole, his head resting against the wood, eyes closed. His breathing was not as deep as it normally was, his face was pale and stood out starkly against the dark hair and the red welts on his neck.

He seemed to be asleep. In truth, the ranger was trying his best to stay awake. The whole day he had been alone in the tent, no Dagnir, no Bauglir, for which he was very grateful. But, as much as he liked to be alone, the fact that no one had come to him had meant no water to drink, or food to eat.

Over the day Estel´s throat had began to hurt more fiercely, sending sharp pain through his neck every time he swallowed or took a deep breath. His breathing had not bettered, either. His chest by now did not only hurt, it ached terribly. The broken rib caused him to sit as still as possible. Being bound to a tent pole was a great help for that, but with Taran on his lap or in his arms all day, his rib had been pushed and jostled more than once.

Furthermore, Estel felt every breath he took deep in his lungs, every time eliciting an itching feeling causing him to suppress a cough. He had had pneumonia more than once during his childhood. Enough times to know that it was not pneumonia, but something very similar. When Estel had come to that conclusion, he had felt even more miserable.

He was a good healer and could deal with most human illnesses and prevent them from manifesting themselves, but in the situation he was in, it was highly unlikely that he would get the needed herbs and supplies to do so.

The ranger’s heart had become heavy as he had thought about the little adan in his arms. Taran was so young, so cute, so adorable and so vulnerable. If Estel should fall ill, it would only be a matter of hours until the little child fell ill as well. And Estel highly doubted that these hunters knew how to deal with an ill child.

Therefore, the ranger had tucked the blanket more carefully around his shoulders and the boy, speaking softly to the bundle on his lap, telling him stories the whole afternoon to keep him occupied and quiet. The speaking had not helped his aching throat but only served to make it even more sore, but at least, the boy had been enchanted by the words and the tales, listening with big eyes. When the sun had neared the horizon, the child had fallen asleep and Estel had let himself relax in his bonds and had rested his head against the wooden beam.

So he had sat for nearly two hours now, the last half hour fighting to stay awake. He did not want to sleep for fear of the hunters, and what they could do would they find him so inattentive. Furthermore, he had no desire to show them how he truly felt. It was enough to be handled like a sack of grain; they need not see that he was injured and most likely ill.

Therefore, the ranger concentrated on the sounds of the night and thought back on the days, only a few days ago actually, that he had sat under the blanket of the stars, in the forest, on his way home, before a crackling fire that had warmed him, alone in the world and content that it was so.

Estel listened to the nightly animals, the soft murmur of a nearby stream and so occupied were his ears with this sounds that he nearly missed the sound of boots on the wet grass before the tent. When he noticed them, he opened his eyes and eyed the tent flap, only to see it being opened and one of the hunters entering. It was the same man from the morning, who had brought him something to eat and some water, and again the man carried bread, water, milk and some fruit.

He placed it before the ranger, gave him a disgusting look and then exited the tent, leaving the flap slightly open so that a gush of cold night air swept in. Estel shivered and sighed. It was just his luck. Only moments before he had considered being finally warm enough to feel all right. Now, the cold wind that embraced him made him shiver.

At least he was truly awake now. Straightening himself in the bonds that held him, he gently shook the sleeping boy awake. Taran yawned widely, then blinked with tired eyes at the world around him and, seeing the food, gave a happy whoop and tried to grab the bread with his small hands.

Again, Estel fed the boy the bread that he drenched in the milk and some of the fruits, until Taran was finished nibbling away happily. The ranger himself was not very hungry.

Sighing, Elrond´s youngest son took the rest of the bread and took a bite, chewing it carefully before swallowing. As soon as the bread entered his throat, such a sharp pain exploded in his neck that it brought tears to his eyes. While holding his breath, Estel swallowed the bread completely, leaving him trembling slightly and with cold sweat on his brow. He chanced a deep breath and felt his neck constrict painfully. With a shaking hand he replaced the bread on the tray the man had brought and instead took the water.

The clear liquid would hopefully ease the pain. After only a small sip, Estel decided that drinking was as bad an idea as eating. Nevertheless, the ranger knew his body needed the water and he forced himself to drink it all.

When the tall man who had brought the food returned to the tent and found the uneaten bread and fruits, he gave Estel a wicked grin and left. The ranger had the foreboding feeling that in the morning, there would be even less bread and fruits. But, actually, Estel did not mind as long as there was enough for the little adan.

The tired ranger nestled the boy into the blanket once more, making sure that he was completely covered. Estel rested his head against the wooden tent pole, trembling slightly from the cold that sneaked up his body, closed his eyes and although he tried to fight it, he soon fell asleep.

~*~

Bauglir was sitting near one of the small fires. His head was turned in the direction of the licking flames, but his eyes stared unseeing in the distance. The man was holding his evening meal in his hands, a bowl of sweet smelling stew, made from berries, nuts and edible roots.

He had not even tasted it and slowly but surely the stew turned cold, but Bauglir had no thoughts for that. His mind was running in circles around one topic. How to get away from his captains scrutiny and to the ranger?

Actually, it was not that difficult. Dagnir stayed in his tent most of the day, not mingling with his men. Today Bauglir had had many opportunities to pay the ranger a visit, but with his captain so close it had been too dangerous.

One of the man’s hands went down to his leg, massaging it slightly. He had washed and cleaned the injury, bandaging it carefully. It had not been deep, only a reminder for Bauglir. It had made the hunter furious to be treated like one of the other men under Dagnirs command. He was his second in command; he needed no ‘reminder’.

A hateful expression flitted over the man’s face and he looked even darker and crueler than he usually did. For the other hunters around the fire it was a sure sign that they should stay quiet and out of Bauglir’s reach for a time. One never knew how the captains second in command would vent his anger, or on whom.

Bauglir thought about the next few days. Dagnir had ordered that they stayed in the camp until the rider was back from Bree, then they would pack up and move on, further south and therewith out of the immediate reach of the elves. The open plain would not cover them enough from any pursuers, so they would head into the direction of the Misty Mountains, seeking shelter and enough cover to move on undetected.

Perhaps, the hunter thought, there would be some opportunity on the way to the mountains, or later, when they were hidden by the huge masses of stone. With a crooked smile, Bauglir came to the satisfying conclusion that his captain could not have his eyes and ears everywhere.

Once the plan went on, Dagnir would have his hands full with the setting of the trap for the father of the child. Certainly his captain would want to do the handing over of the boy by himself. Bauglir snorted with that thought. If the father of that child really thought he would get his boy back with a bit of money, he was more stupid than a cave troll. Bauglir had no illusions over the fate of the little boy. His captain would never give the boy back, never. Not for all the money in the world.

Dagnir was not interested in the money, but in other things, revenge one of them. And he would have his revenge on the boy’s father. Bauglir did not know exactly what had happened between the two men, that had been before his time, but whatever it had been, Bauglir had no doubt that his captain had something else in mind than money. The ransom they would get would be for the other hunters; their payment.

Bauglir shifted his position slightly and turned his eyes from the fire before him to the dark tent some feet beside him. And that ranger, that would be his payment. He would make sure of that.

And who knew, perhaps he would even get that blond elf in the end.

End of chapter 7

Tbc asap

Chapter 8 In the Night

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Disclaimer: I own nothing of the works of Tolkien. Neither books, nor movies. I just borrow them and try to give them back in one piece later. I make no money with this story. Please, do not sue me.

Title: Delw yomenie (Deadly encounter)
Characters: All Peredhils, mainly Strider, Legolas……and something/someone deadly….
Timeline: Before FOTRRating: T
Warnings: Cruelty and maniacal behaviour. WIP.
Summery: Our Middle-Earth friends encounter something deadly…..
Feedback: YES! Please! *looking-like-little-Estel-when-he-wants-something*.
A/N: Many thanks to Trinilee for her fast beta work. Thank you! ;-)

Chapter 9 – Sending for help

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Disclaimer: I own nothing of the works of Tolkien. Neither books, nor movies. I just borrow them and try to give them back in one piece later. I make no money with this story. Please, do not sue me.
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Leaning against a tall oak tree, Legolas closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He was tired. For long hours his feet had carried him through the nightly forest, leading him south and towards his friends. But now, in the ghostly hours of the morning, his feet were sore and his shoulders ached.

The elf was not fully healed, and his body had not hesitated to tell him that over and over again. After his near deathly encounter with the lone wolf, Legolas had set out with fast steps, eager to reach the twins. But only an hour later his legs had begun to wobble dangerously beneath him and he had had to take a short rest.

Where he had thought in the beginning that the rest would be the first and only one, his legs had forced him to stop frequently and to make longer and longer stops. A feeling of defeat had begun to settle in his stomach and with every rest he took, he felt lonelier.

Time was running through his grip like water was running in the Anduin and Legolas knew that his plan of catching up with the twins was ruined. He would be lucky if he made it back to Imladris on his own.

But although he had faced all these obstacles, the prince was not willing to give up yet. He had come so far already, he would go on. Legolas had sworn that even if the Valar sent him more wolves or thunderstorms or ice and snow, he would go on, come what may.

Sighing inwardly, Legolas pushed himself from the tree trunk and was about to start out again, when his sensitive ears caught a sound. He tilted his head to the side and listened with his breath held. There, the sound came nearer. And it was quite loud now after the hours of complete stillness in the forest.

Legolas knew that sound. He had heard it so many times in his life, almost daily, that he came to the conclusion that he was no longer alone. With the speed and agility of his kin, the blond archer climbed up the tree he had previously leaned on and crouched down on one of the branches.

From here he had a good look at the forest below him. He saw the underbrush, the wild flowers that would rise as soon as the sun would wake them and he could see the little stream of crystal clear water below him.

Since the clearing that he had crossed only a few hours after he had departed from Imladris, the stream had been his constant companion and the elf had wondered whether the hunters had used the stream as an orientation mark.

All his thoughts were driven from the archer’s mind, however, as the sound drew nearer to his hiding place. Taking his bow from his shoulder, the elf notched one of his yellow fletched arrows, directed his bow at the way below him, secured his grip on the branch and waited for the sound to reach him.

*

He slowed his horse and let his gaze travel over the surrounding trees. It was early morning, the hours where the world decided to wake or sleep on. The trees were looming like black statues over him and the forest floor was wet with moisture. The animals of the night had hurried back to their quarters and the hunters of the day had not yet woken. It was the hours of ghosts.

The man was tired and exhausted, as was his black horse. Both had thundered through the night to reach their destination but the muddy forest floor had forced them to ride slower than the rider wanted.

The flanks of the horse were heaving and white foam had wetted its mouth and face. The mane of the animal was sweaty and clung to its head as if it had rained for hours. The beast was tired and now and then the horse tripped over roots and branches. It was time for a brief rest, for both, rider and horse.

Slowly and cautiously the rider approached the stream before him. The water seemed to call to him to drink it and the rider felt, for the first time that night, how thirsty he was. Another quick look at the trees around him told him that he was alone.

With tired limbs the dark clad man slid from his horse, took the reigns and led the thirsty animal to the gurgling river. The horse, sniffing the refreshing water, stepped eagerly onto the small bank and, bending its head down, drank with big gulps.

The rider, however, loosened his water flask from the saddle and drank from it, his eyes never leaving the trees and the dark underbrush. He was cautious and he had all cause to be so. The mission the rider had set out to fulfill was crucial to his captain. Loosing the note he had to deliver meant failure and failure meant certain death for him.

~*~

The arrow tip never left the man on the ground. Legolas moved his bow and with it, he accurately aimed at the rider. He saw how the man slid from his steed and then loosened his water flask to drink. What sparked the elf’s interest was that the rider never stopped searching the surrounding forest, as if the man expected something or someone to attack at any moment.

To the archer’s relief, the rider had spared his hiding place only a cursory glance, concentrating more on the lower bushes and scrub instead of the green treetops. For the hiding elf it was a sure indication that the man had either little experience with elves or was not thinking that someone would attack him from the treetops.

Whatever it was, for Legolas it meant an advantage, should he decide to attack the man or the man decide to kill the elf. For now, the prince had no reason to let his arrow fly. Nothing the man had done indicated that he was more than a weary traveler.

A small voice inside Legolas whispered words of warning, but Legolas paid it no heed. Not as long as the man did nothing more than refresh himself and his horse. So, the blond elf followed every movement of the stranger and waited.

~*~

After some minutes of loud gulps and swallows, the tired horse had drunken enough and lifted its head. Its ears flickered slightly and the steed turned its head into the direction of the forest behind it, as if it had heard something the man had not.

Patting the horse on its flank, the rider tightened his dark cloak around his broad shoulders, and then bent down to refill his water flask which he had drained in his thirst. The water below him was dark and at the same time clear and glittering, reflecting the fading stars from the early morning sky.

The cool water slowly flowed into the flask and the rider let it cool his hand and fingers. The long ride had made them stiff and achy. When the flask was filled, he stood up, corking the flask in his wet hands. He turned to his horse, then turned back to the river and crouched down again.

He frowned, but nevertheless put his hand into the cold water once more. It seemed as if he were trying to cool it or wash something. In truth, when the rider had turned into the direction of his steed, his watchful eyes had caught a reflection in the water, a movement in the trees above him. The rider had bent down again to take another look and to make sure that, whoever was sitting in the tree, would not suspect anything.

After glancing in the dark water for several more moments, the rider smirked slightly. It was an elf. A damn elf was sitting in the tree, watching him. With his one hand still in the running coldness, the rider opened his dark cloak with the other. He felt inside the cloak for some moments, and then his hand reappeared with a dark object clutched in it. As he was crouching with his back to the elf, the rider was sure that the elf had not seen the object.

Smirking again, the man stood to his feet.

~*~

The tree he was sitting on whispered silently to him. It warned him. It bade him to be careful, but because of what, Legolas did not know.

The human beneath him had refilled his water flask, and then he had turned to the water again to wash his hands of perhaps sand or sweat. That was nothing out of the ordinary. Just because this human seemed to be cleaner than his ranger friend did not mean that the man was behaving unusually.

Legolas shifted his position slightly and watched how the human at the river stood up and turned towards his horse and therewith towards the archer’s hiding place. The man walked slowly to his horse.

Narrowing his eyes, the elf tried to identify what the man was carrying in his hand. It was black and had the size of one of Lord Elronds larger books, but what it was Legolas could not tell. Some clouds had flown before the moon that was still in the sky some moments ago, shutting out the light that it was casting upon Middle-Earth.

More cautious now, Legolas saw how the man approached his steed. Suddenly, the man whirled around, the object raised and in this very moment the clouds released the imprisoned moon. In the silver light that fell upon the ground and the trees, Legolas saw what the man held in his hand.

It was a crossbow and it was aimed directly at Legolas’ heart.

With reflexes born out of thousands of years of training, Legolas let his own arrow fly at the exactly same moment he heard the crossbow sing. He released his hold onto the branch and let his body fly backwards, down from the branch and away from the tree trunk. Like a cat he turned in mid air and landed, unharmed, at the bottom of the tree, a new arrow already notched and ready to fly and save his life.

But it was not necessary anymore. When Legolas straightened his back and looked at his opponent, he found him lying on the ground near the river, his eyes open and unseeing, staring into the sky above him, an arrow protruding from his chest, near his heart.

His blood created forms of little red flowers on the riders tunic and mingled with the fabric. It was over. The human was dead.

Legolas slid the arrow back into his quiver and shouldered his bow. His wound was throbbing slightly, but the elf was pleased to feel that the intensity had lessened somewhat. Approaching the man that was already on his way to Mandos, Legolas wondered why the man had attacked him.

To get some answers, the elf kneeled down and searched the human’s pockets. In one of them, an inner pocked which was sewed shut; Legolas’ hand felt a message cylinder. The elf, curious about his find, took his small hunting knife and opened the pocket to reveal a brown leather tube, from the first view, a messenger tube.

Now even more curious than before, the elf opened the tube and saw that a piece of parchment was folded neatly into it. Taking it out and opening it, Legolas began to read in the silver moonlight. His eyes widened and a small gasp escaped his lips. It was not possible. Not believing his luck, Legolas read the letter a second and then a third time.

Then, with his eyes directed into nothingness, he let his arms sink to his knees, still holding the letter in his hands. His mind was racing, contemplating what he should do now.

Some moments later, the elf shook himself out of his musings, stood and folded the letter again to place it back into the cylinder. He knew what to do. It was clear to him, now, the only way that presented itself.

Letting his blue eyes wander over the trees and the grass, the elf sought for the man’s horse. The animal stood at the edge of the river, eyes wide and scared, nostrils flared. The ears of the beast were pressed tightly at the head, indicating that the horse was ready to flee.

With soft steps and an even softer voice, Legolas neared the animal. “It’s alright. I won’t harm you, mellon. It’s all right, sh, sh.” The prince soothed the horse while approaching, and some moments later the horse lost its scared look and even took a tentative step forwards.

Smiling now, the blond archer reached out and patted the horse’s head. To Legolas’ delight, the horse sniffed at his tunic and then nuzzled his shoulder gently. Legolas knew that he was not as good with horses as Elrohir was, and this was not even an elvish horse, but he had to try.

The elf bent down and whispered into the animal’s ear, soft and gentle, until the horse nuzzled his shoulder again and shook its head, neighing approvingly. After securing the message tube to the saddle, Legolas ripped a small part of his tunic and placed it beside the tube, securing it tightly.

Another encouraging word, another neigh and the horse sped away, northwards, into the direction of Imladris. When the horse had disappeared from Legolas’ sight, he took another look around.

He could do nothing for the human at his feet. There was no time to bury him and the elf had no means to do so. All he could do was leave him where he was. Taking a deep breath, the elf turned around and headed in the other direction, in the direction the rider had come from.

All he had to do now was follow the horse’s tracks. The moon slowly disappeared behind the trees and a grey light appeared in the east. The sun was rising and with it, hopefully, help from Imladris.

~*~

The sun was shining weakly from the sky, not really warming the cold earth but lighting the mood in all depressed souls. Every being cherished the sunlight, because it meant that the harsh winter was finally over and therewith the long dark nights and the cold that crept into the bones.

But as much as the birds twittered and the sunny rays sparkled on the fountain in the courtyard of the Last Homely House, the Lord of Imladris felt trapped and alone.

Estel was gone, his twin sons were gone, and his charge, the prince of Mirkwood, was gone too. And all the mighty elven Lord was able to do was sit around in his protected house and wait. It was a task that was easily done but it cost the elf enormous strength and will power to not mount his own horse and ride after his sons and Legolas.

He had been busy during the morning, signing papers and finishing important letters, but now, in the early afternoon, no duties awaited him, no messages to complete, no papers to sign.

To find peace for his aching heart and worried soul, the Lord of Imladris had come to his favorite spot; the balcony that lead to the front of the house, overlooking the stone bridge and the courtyard.

How many times he had already stood there, Elrond did not know. From this place, he had seen many things. Hundreds of times he had seen his twin sons arrive in Imladris, coming over the bridge and then into the courtyard, being safe and at home again.

From this place he had seen the twins bring Estel to the Last Homely House, a small child, cuddled in Elladan’s arms, sleeping. The Last Homely House had soon become Estel’s home.

Elrond had seen his sons leave for missions, for hunting trips, for adventures and he had seen them come back battered, hurt and more often than he liked to admit, near death. Many memories flooded to his mind, some nice and beautiful, others dark and painful.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that he nearly missed the clatter of hooves on the bridge. Startled, and with a painful jolt of hope in his chest, he looked up and to the stone bridge, hoping against hope that it was one of his sons, or all of his sons and Legolas, returning.

His eyes met no elf, but only a dark horse, alone and rider less, walking exhaustedly over the bridge leading to Imladris and then entering the cobbled courtyard before the house. Elrond turned and hastened to the yard, his robes flying behind him and his brown hair whooshing over his shoulders.

When the lord arrived before the house, a stable hand had already taken the horse’s reigns, calming the animal and looking it over. The horse was not injured, only tired and exhausted.

One closer look told Elrond that this was no elvish horse and no horse that he had seen before. According to the sweat and the heaving sides, the animal had run through the morning and perhaps even throughout the night. Wondering why a rider less horse would stumble into his courtyard, the elven lord examined the horse carefully.

Finally, his eyes found what he had been looking for. A leather cylinder was fastened to the saddle, a messenger tube. When Elrond untied the tube, a green piece of clothing fell into his hands. Elrond needed no second look at it to know that it was part of Legolas’ tunic. No one in the whole of Imladris wore that color of green. It was the green of the Wood Elves and the color of the prince of Mirkwood. Legolas must have sent the horse.

Opening the tube with slightly trembling hands, Elrond took out the parchment and read it. His eyes widened and he could not believe his eyes. This was the explanation. This parchment told him why his son had been kidnapped. It was the key to getting Estel back.

Elrond sprinted back to the house, bewildered eyes following his passing. No one had seen the elven lord sprinting along the corridors before. It was most unusual behavior. But Elrond did not mind, neither did he care. He had found the answers he had been waiting for since that fateful morning they had found Legolas and discovered that Estel was missing.

Bursting through the doors of his advisors study, the Lord of Imladris came to a halt before Glorfindel’s desk and held out the piece of paper to his friend to read. Stunned, the other elf took the parchment, and read:

Torian, My old friend,

Long has it been since we last met. I am sure you remember our last encounter. I remember that day as if it had been yesterday; you, me, a sword, your betrayal. You were a coward. And cowardly were your actions. You told our captain about what I had done. It was you who told him that I had taken the money and killed the guard, you who told him where to find me. It was you who was sent to kill me and you, my so called friend, who tried to murder me. But, as you know now, you did not succeed. And, cowardly as you are, you fled.

It is time for us to end our little game of hide and seek. For months I have tracked you and now, finally, I have found you. You cannot hide any longer, you cannot escape me. I have your son. If you want him back, alive, that is, bring as much gold as you can. Go south until you reach the end of the forest of Rivendell, then east towards the Misty Mountains. You will not find me, but I will find you.

There, we will end this, once and for all. If you do not come, your son will pay in your stead for your failure and your betrayal.

Dagnir

Glorfindel read the letter a second time, and then his eyes sought out those of his friend. Before he could question how Elrond had come to have the letter, the elven Lord told him of the horse and the piece of green tunic he had found. Elrond told him of his suspicions that Legolas had sent the horse and that the letter came from the ones that had kidnapped his son.

It all made sense now. The family that Legolas had met on his way to Imladris, the parents of the child, must have been in fear that something like this would happen. Therefore they had entrusted Legolas with their son, to keep him safe and from harm.

The two nightly visitors had kidnapped the child to get a ransom and revenge. That was why they had been in Imladris and that was why they had taken the child. Elrond’s eyes were gleaming as he and his advisor sat down and began to discuss their course of action. Because now, they knew where to find the men that had taken Estel.

~*~

As the sun neared its midday position, one of the hunters entered Estel’s tent, and to his great delight, he was untied and let out into the game of shadow and light that the sun created between the high trees. Although the sun shone, the air and the forest floor were still cold, therefore, the ranger was glad that the man led him to one of the fires and pushed him down onto a large log.

Most of the men in the camp were sitting around the fires, talking quietly, but some others were positioned at strategic points to guard the camp. All the guards had long swords and bows and every single one of them looked as if he knew how to use his weapons.

Neither Dagnir nor Bauglir were in sight, but Estel suspected that they were near, probably in one of the tents, discussing some matter of importance.

The short walk from his tent to the fire had shown Estel that his legs were stiff and his muscles ached from lack of use. His shoulders and arms were nearly numb and ever time he moved them; thousands of little needles pricked his skin and made it feel as if it was on fire. His headache that had worsened over the time that he was in the tent, seemed to ease as soon as he was in the fresh air, but his throat did not like the coolness of the air and every breath the ranger took brought the chilly air deep into his lungs.

Taran, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the little trip outside and his blue eyes followed every movement they could detect. The boy watched the men walk around, the trees swinging in the wind, the dancing of the leaves and the flames of the bright fire before him. In the ranger’s arms he felt secure and he used his freedom to explore the little world that lay before him.

To Estel’s relief, they had not bound his hands again, neither had they bound his feet, but in a camp as small as this one, with guards at the edge of the forest, it was highly unlikely that he would escape. But, to the rangers mind, this was probably the best opportunity he would get. And he would use it.

He leaned back, slightly massaging his sore arms, waiting for his chance of escape. The only problem was that he could not take the child with him. It broke his heart to leave the child behind, but alone his chances were simply better.

The boy would slow him down and if he had learned anything during his short stay, then it was that the hunters, and especially Dagnir, needed the child alive. So, if he fled, they would hunt him down and try by all means to stop him. That included the use of weapons and Estel did not want to bring Taran any danger.

A flight was never a safe thing and if the men shot at him, then there always was the possibility that they would hit the boy instead of him. Estel would not risk that. If he escaped, and made it back to Imladris, his brothers and a party of elves would track the men and free the boy. That was better that risking the boy’s life unnecessarily.

So, the ranger let his gaze travel over the camp, searching and waiting for his chance.

~*~

The trees surrounding them were not standing as close as before and the dense green foliage was slightly decreasing. Birds were singing overhead and the little wind that rushed through the forest played with the dry leaves on the ground.

Elladan and Elrohir were nearing the edge of the forest. The sun had accompanied them for the whole of the day and the golden rays had warmed their cold bodies. During the night the twins had made sure that they were still heading in the right direction. They had followed the tiny river that they had crossed earlier and both felt that the hunter’s camp must be near.

Estel and the two other men had one and half days head start, but the elves were surely traveling faster than the humans had done, due to their elven strength and endurance. Of course, their little meeting with the hungry wolves had cost them time, but the edge of the forest was near.

More cautiously, Elladan and Elrohir moved on, their eyes searching for guards or other signs that they were not longer alone.

Who knew, perhaps they would even meet their little brother soon.

End of chapter 9

Tbc asap…

A/N: Many thanks to Trinilee for her fast beta work. Thank you! ;-)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Disclaimer: I own nothing of the works of Tolkien. Neither books, nor movies. I just borrow them and try to give them back in one piece later. I make no money with this story. Please, do not sue me.

A/N: I welcome all kind of reviews!
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The fire was pleasantly warming his legs and his whole body reached a warmth Estel had not felt in days. Taran was sitting in his lap, playing with some sticks he had found on the ground and babbling joyfully.

Estel was half dozing, half fully sleeping beside the fireside. His eyes were half lidded and he appeared to be resting peacefully. Behind this masquerade, Estel kept watch on all the hunters that walked around in the camp. The whole day he had waited, waited for his chance of escape.

Now, as the sun stood low in the sky, a few hours before sunset, most of the guards were slightly dozing and the other hunters were not paying any attention to him. When he was first brought out into the open, the hunters had watched him carefully, never letting him out of their sight, making sure that he did not attempt anything.

He had not. He had sat near the fire, warming his hands and limbs, holding the little boy close and enjoying the warmth. Not once had he risen or made one false move. Nothing at all that could indicate that he had something planned.

Now, as the shadows grew longer and the hunters more tired, the time had come. Estel knew that he could not wait until the night came, because he was sure that Dagnir had planned on tying him to that tent post again. If he wanted to try anything, he would have to do it soon.

His best chance of flight presented itself almost an hour before dusk. The guard that patrolled the outer rim of the camp had gone into the bushes a moment prior and Bauglir and Dagnir were no where in sight. It seemed perfect.

Slowly, Estel bent down to Taran. He had to tell the boy to be quiet and not give him away. It was a crucial point and Estel knew that parting with the charming adan would not be easy.
“Penneth, lasto anim (Little one, listen to me). Don’t be afraid. No one will harm you, but I have to leave you for a little while.”

It was as if the child understood every word. His eyes turned to the ranger and they filled with shining tears as Taran sniffed softly. His heart went out to the boy, but Estel took a deep breath. “Ahh, Taran. All will be well. I promise. I will come and fetch you. I promise, little one. But, saes penneth (please, little one), be quiet. Urin nallon (do not cry). Sh, don’t cry. I have to go to get help. Do you understand?”

Big eyes stared at the ranger. Another small sob, followed by a sniffle was the only answer Estel got, but he could wait no longer. He placed the child before him on the ground, stroking the cheek softly with his thumb as he did so. After giving the boy a last reassuring smile and receiving another sad and tearful sniffle from Taran, Estel breathed deeply and then, after making sure that no one looked his way, the ranger crouched down low and sneaked to the edge of the forest.

His heart beat heavy in his chest and his lungs worked slightly faster than usual. The blood that was pumping so fast through his veins made his head spin a little and his own footsteps sounded loud in his ears. His breath was still steady and measured, although his throat was itchy and he feared he would have a coughing fit any minute now.

Despite all odds, Estel made it into the forest undetected. No one had heard him, neither had anyone seen him. The camp lay quiet and still behind him; nothing stirred. When Estel felt the trees surround him and the shadows give him cover, he stopped and turned around to look at the camp.

When his eyes found the fire he had been sitting before, he nearly turned back. The sight hurt his heart and made him wish for another solution. It was painful to turn away from the scene and to head out into the forest.

Taran was sitting near the fire, tears streaming down his handsome face, eyes big and blue in their sadness. When Estel had watched him, he had turned his head in the ranger’s direction, facing him, his bottom lip shoved over the upper lip and crying silently. He had not screamed; Taran was not giving him away, although it obviously broke the little one’s heart to let the ranger, his protector, go.

Vowing to come back and rescue the child, Estel vanished into the green foliage around him and was gone.

~*~

A loud and alarmed yell sounded in the camp, shattering the stillness and arousing all the hunters. It was obvious what had happened, the ranger was gone. He had escaped, leaving the child behind.

No one knew how long the man had been gone, but it did not matter. In moments, Dagnir had set up a group of his best hunters to find their prey and bring it back. He could not let the ranger flee; he was too precious for the captain to loose.

So, only a short moment after the ranger’s own departure, five hunters sped into the darkening forest to hunt.

~*~

Estel heard a loud scream coming from the direction of the camp he had left only a few minutes before. The men must have discovered his absence and were now surely following his tracks.

Quickening his steps, the ranger burst through another tangle of bushes and through the trees. His heart was hammering in his chest and his lungs already screamed for air. Gasping and jumping over a fallen log, Estel soon noticed that his lungs were not functioning as well as they normally did.

Every breath he took burned in his throat and his chest felt constricted and compressed. He knew that he had to find shelter; it was impossible for him to outrun his pursuers as he would have normally done.

Looking left and right, dodging branches and vines, struggling over dead trees and crunching leaves under his feet, Estel ran and searched for a place to hide, something that would give him shelter.

His eyes found nothing and soon he heard the sound of his pursuers behind him, coming nearer and nearer as he ran through the approaching darkness. Cursing under his breath, Estel quickened his steps once more. This was his only chance of escape, his only chance to free himself and help the child. It was now or never.

With his heart racing in his chest and his lungs breathing liquid fire, the ranger flew over the forest floor and into the woods.

~*~

“Elladan, did you hear that?” Elrohir was whispering to his twin. He had stopped in his tracks, his head tilted to one side, listening carefully. He was sure that he had heard a sound, something or someone running through the woods.

Elladan took a long look around and then, frowning slightly, nodded. Aye, whatever it was, it was nearing their position. The two elves shared a meaningful look, then both dived into the underbrush, took their bows from their shoulders, notched an arrow, and waited.

They did not have to wait long.

But what met their eyes when they finally glanced the source making the noise, both were stunned and for a very short moment, paralysed. They had not been prepared for the sight that met their eyes.

There, only a few feet away, separated from them only by the short stream and some low bushes, was their little brother, running as if Sauron himself was on his heels, his dark hair trailing behind him and his feet causing unnaturally loud sounds on the cold forest floor.

Estel had almost sped past them, when Elladan and Elrohir both stepped out of the bushes, their weapons lowered. “Estel!”

~*~

The little run had exhausted him already and he was now more than sure that he was indeed ill. He was a ranger and since his childhood he had been able to run long distances without getting as tired as he was now. It was just not normal.

His legs hurt and he felt dizzy. The trees were swimming slightly before his eyes and sometime he had the feeling that they were blocking his way on purpose. A few moments ago he had jumped over a small boulder; more accurately, he had tried to.

His foot had caught on the stone and only sheer luck had prevented him from falling flat on his face. His instincts told him that the hunters were not far behind him and although he could not hear them, he was sure that the distance between them thinned rapidly.

He was running beside the small stream when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Something or someone was standing in the low underbrush. The next second, Estel heard someone call his name. Moving his head in the direction while he ran, he saw his two brothers standing there, bows lowered, wearing utterly perplexed, but at the same time relieved expressions.

This expression changed, however, almost the same second, as Estel, not stopping in his steps and not paying attention to where he went, collided with a low hanging branch, scraping his forehead and crashing to the floor, lying there, unmoving, all air pressed out of his lungs as his body had hit the ground hard.

Two yells filled the air and soon the twins knelt by their brother and turned him onto his back, feeling his pulse and searching for signs of injury.

“Estel, pedo, saes! (Estel, speak, please!). Estel!” Elrohir’s voice sounded alarmed and he had begun to shake his brother slightly to wake him, although Estel was not even unconscious. It seemed the younger twin was so relieved to see his little brother alive that he completely ignored that he was, partially, unharmed.

“‘m, ‘lright, Elrohir. Stop shakin’ me.” Estel felt his brother’s hands stop immediately and when his head stopped whirling in circles, he opened his eyes. Two pairs of deer brown eyes, deep as the sea and worried as only brothers could be, looked down on him. Before either Elladan or Elrohir could utter another word, Estel righted himself and got to his feet; which was more difficult than he liked to admit.

Risking a glance over his shoulder at the way he had come, the ranger said: “We have to hurry, they will be here soon.” Looking confused, the older twin asked: “Who will be here soon, the men that took you?”

There was no need for Estel to answer, as in the same moment he opened his mouth to respond, the green foliage behind the three Peredhels parted, spitting out three very angry looking hunters, swords in hand, and ready to use them.

The two skilled elves rushed to stand before their human brother to protect him with their own bodies. Elladan drew back the string on his bow, aiming at the hunters, his brother doing the same. It was three armed men against two armed elves. It would be easy for Elladan and Elrohir to take down the humans.

The men did not seem frightened, nor willing to surrender. They did not move forward, towards their prey, but neither did they back away. They glared at the elves, eying them from head to toe, then, as if on a silent command, they began to shout at them.

Curses flew from their mouths as well as threats and louder and louder the humans became, until they had scared all animals in a wide range and caused the birds to quieten.

Frowning, the twins stood their ground, unmoving, following each of the men with their eyes and the tips of their bows. What were these humans doing? Elladan thought. Did these men think that an elf would flee because of some curses? And honestly, Elladan himself had heard worse curses come from himself or his brothers or Legolas. What was this all about?

Similar thoughts were running through his twin brother’s head. When the shouting and screaming did not end and instead turned louder, when the men started to sidestep and to move into different directions, Elrohir came to the conclusion that the hunters were trying to distract them, so that they were able to single the elves out or to cordon them off.

Suddenly, a painful scream filled the air, hovering over the scene and quieten the hunters immediately. Both elves spun on their heels and what they saw made their blood run cold. With a shocking clarity they discovered that, indeed, the hunters had wanted to distract them, but not to cordon them or to single them out.

There, lying on the cold forest floor a few feet before them, lay their little brother, a black arrow sticking out of his leg, his breeches already turned red from his blood. Between the dark trees stood a man with a crossbow and above the ranger towered a dark haired man, a wicked grin on his face and a shining broadsword in his strong hand. It was a man the twins had seen before; in Imladris, together with the white haired one.

Silence spread over the scene, and when the tip of the sword grazed over Estel’s neck, both elves knew that they had failed.

Not only had they not been able to help their brother, but they had now given the hunters two more hostages.

~*~

The walk back to the camp had been agonizing painful and incredibly long. When the camp finally came into view, Estel felt exhausted and to his great shame, almost relieved. The camp meant a place to sit down, to take the weight from his injured leg and to lie down.

As soon as the twins had lowered their bows, the hunters had searched them for other weapons and finding a lot of them, they had searched the twin’s packs too, making sure that they contained no further knives or daggers. After tying the hands of the elves behind their backs, the hunters had pushed them wordlessly in the direction of the camp.

Of course, the elves had resisted, not wanting to leave without their little brother and not without making sure that he was all right. Bauglir, seeing this, had only sheathed his sword, smiled gleefully at the twins, and had then kicked Estel with such a force at his wounded leg that the ranger had cried out in pure agony, closing his eyes tightly and rolling over onto his side.

Enraged, Elladan had started forward, towards Bauglir, ignoring the hands that tried to hold him. Elrohir had watched, he himself securely gripped by two of the hunters, how his twin had started in the direction of their brother.

The dark haired man had only raised his booted foot, an evil smirk on his face. Elladan, understanding the gesture, had stopped in his tracks, consenting himself with glaring daggers at the man; he did not want to cause his brother more harm.

Bauglir, however, seemed to have other ideas. Although Elladan had stopped a few feet in front of the two humans, the booted foot crashed down a second time, this time at the exact spot where the arrow had pierced the leg, snapping the black shaft in several pieces and ramming the tip deeper into the flesh.

Estel gasped in pain and sweat appeared on his brow. The scream that rose up in his chest never came as the pain drove all air out of his lungs, leaving him gasping and writhing on the leaf covered ground.

Grinning, Bauglir had ordered that the elves shall be taken away and, after some pleading words from Elrohir, Elladan had let the men take him away. It made his stomach churn to leave his little brother out of his sight, but he knew to obey to the hunters’ wishes was the only way to prevent Estel from getting hurt even more.

Bauglir, still grinning like a maniac, had gripped Estels arm and, hauling him to his unsteady feet, had pushed him in the direction of the camp.

Of course Estel’s leg had buckled under him, sending him crashing to the ground once more, pain lancing through his leg and causing the ranger to feel sick. Nevertheless, Estel kept from crying out again. He gritted his teeth, pulled his legs under his body and stood, albeit on wobbling legs.

The walk through the forest cost the ranger most of the strength his flight had not yet taken. Every time he stumbled on his sore leg, Bauglir would push him or kick him, making Estel stumble even more. And every time the hunter did that, the ranger gritted his teeth even harder, unwilling to let the scream of agony which was desperately trying to escape, pass his lips.

Estel did not want his brothers to do something foolish. Not when they were unarmed and surely not when they were bound. To his relief the hunters did not seem very interested in the two elves; they only pushed them forward every time one of them stopped in his tracks to look over his shoulder at Estel. Never did one of the hunters hurt them or threaten to kill them.

When they finally reached the campsite, Estel sighed inwardly. His leg hurt even more than before, the wound still bleeding and saturating his trousers with red crimson blood. For a while, the ranger did not exactly know for how long already, his head had felt dizzy and the trees had shifted in and out of focus.

The cramped feeling in his chest had not lessened and his lungs burned like fire every time he took a breath. But beside all this, the ranger did not utter a single word of pain. Staying strong, or at least, pretending to be strong, would help his brothers and perhaps even him-self. Giving in to the pain meant accepting his fate and Estel was not ready to do so, yet.

Night had settled over the small clearing the tents stood in, and the red and gold fires illuminated the trees and the surroundings. It was almost peaceful, had there not been the remaining men, all armed with swords or bows. They stood still as statues, only their eyes moved, following the arriving group, never leaving their frames.
When Bauglir pushed Estel again and the ranger stumbled near one of the fires, nearly falling into it and preventing to do so only in the last second, another man entered the scene, his hair as white as the clouds on a stormy day and his eyes gleaming red in the fire light.

He stepped up to the two elves, gave them a cursory glance and then moved on to stand before the bound ranger. Eyeing the man up and down, no muscles twitched in Dagnir’s face, no emotion could be seen on it. Had Estel known him for longer, he would have noticed this as a very bad sign.

“So,” Dagnir hissed, his anger boiling under his calm façade. “If my memory does not deceive me, I told you not to try anything, ranger.” Still, the voice was low and measured, but it was only the quiet before the storm.

Gulping, Estel did not answer. He knew that whatever he would say now would only anger the captain further and if the gleam in Dagnir’s eyes was any indication at all, the man was already angered beyond control.

Furrowing his brow, eyes turning even redder, Dagnir told the ranger: “Answer me, did I, or did I not, tell you not to make one false move?” The captain’s voice was almost sweet now, dangerously sweet and much too calm.

Sweat trickled slowly down the youngest Elrondion’s back and he could feel his injured leg tremble under his weight. The blood that still flowed slowly from the wound made its way down the leg, the warm liquid drenching his clothes. Swallowing, Estel did not break the eye contact he had with the hunter and said nothing.

The changing of the gleam in Dagnir’s eyes was all the warning the ranger got. Before he knew what happened, before he had even so much time as to blink, one of Dagnir’s hands had seized the rest of the arrow shaft that still protruded from his leg and, turning the arrow in the wound, pulled it out in one fluid motion.

Estel, not expecting this, could only gasp in shock and pain. All strength left his body at once and his legs crumbled under him, sending him to the ground and halfway into the burning fire he had stood beside. In his state of pure pain, the ranger did not realize that hungry flames were licking at his cloth and skin, burning his tunic and reddening his skin.

His eyes only him showed dancing spots of red and black and his ears seemed to have stopped working properly and all he heard was the beating of his own heart and the rushing of his blood.

Slowly, his mind registered a new sensation, a new pain that spread up his left arm, covering it and wrapping it into a neat blanket of pain and heat. His vision narrowed even further, leaving only some space for red and black and swirling masses of colour.

When Estel found himself drifting into the dark abyss that he knew so well, his ears heard agitated voices, shouts and screams and somehow, they sounded familiar to him.

The last thing the ranger felt before a blissful oblivion overtook him, were strong hands that rolled him over onto his other side, lessening the pain in his arm somewhat, but at the same time putting pressure onto is wounded leg and causing the pain to aflame anew. It was enough to send the young human into the awaiting blackness.

End of chapter 10

Tbc…..

Title: Delw yomenie (Deadly encounter)

Characters: All Peredhils, mainly Strider, Legolas……and something/someone deadly….
Timeline: Before FOTR
Rating: T
Warnings: Cruelty and maniacal behaviour. WIP.
Summery: Our Middle-Earth friends encounter something deadly…..
Feedback: YES! Please! *looking-like-little-Estel-when-he-wants-something*.

A/N: Many thanks to Trinilee for her fast beta work. Thank you! ;-)

Chapter 11 – New hope when hope seems lost?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Disclaimer: I own nothing of the works of Tolkien. Neither books, nor movies. I just borrow them and try to give them back in one piece later. I make no money with this story. Please, do not sue me.

Warning: Tissues probably needed.
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Night had slowly settled over the forest of Imladris, covering the Last Homely House in grey shadows and nestling into every corner and every crevice. Darkness had come fast, painting the houses black and the trees even darker. An owl screeched and some horses neighed softly in the stables.

The whole of Imladris seemed asleep or resting; a peaceful night steeling away the busy thoughts of the day and replacing them with slumber and dreams.

But this was not to be for all elves. Although the House of Elrond seemed quiet and ready for the night, two of its occupants were still busy with work and had no thought of sleep yet. They sat in the great Hall of Fire, some candles flickering on the table before them, two trays of untouched food beside them, and some old and yellow maps before them.

Since the rider less horse had stumbled into the courtyard, the two wise elves had discussed the situation. Many plans had been made and every single one of them had been a waste of time, as none of them would work.

There were too many things that were still unknown. How many humans were there? How far away were they at the moment? Did they all have horses? Were they on the move or in a camp? Was Estel injured, or had he escaped? Were the humans armed and willing to kill the captives should the elves attack?

But although many things were hidden from the elves knowledge, the Lord of Imladris and Lord Glorfindel were certain about one thing: they had to do something. Because Legolas had stopped the rider, they did not know where the rider had been headed to. According to the Mirkwood prince, the parents of the boy had travelled to Bree, but who knew? It could have been a lie and finding the two humans would be difficult, if not impossible.

Because of this reason, the two older elves had agreed on finding the older missing son instead of finding the child’s parents. With finding Estel, they would find the boy.

Elrond and Glorfindel were busily studying the maps before them, which showed the forest of Imladris and the Misty Mountains. It was a very detailed map and both elves knew the area it showed.

“According to the letter, I assume that the humans must be here somewhere.” The golden haired advisor pointed at the map, his slender finger circling an area near the west side of the mountains.

Nodding, Elrond straightened his back and sighed. “Aye, that is the part nearest to the forest and the mountain outcrops are vast there. They could easily hide there for days, if not weeks.” Running a hand through his hair and tucking a strand of it behind his pointed ear, the Lord of Imladris sighed again and looked out at the map before him.

An hour ago, they had agreed on a plan, but it was risky, if not suicidal to do what they had planned; both elves knew this. A party of armed elves, all voluntaries, would set out towards the Misty Mountains, trying to reach the mountain face and the place the humans would most likely head to. They would not wait until the morning to depart, but would head out as soon as the horses were ready.

Hopefully, the elves would reach the Misty Mountains before the humans did, but if the humans were already there, hiding in the rocks, the elves would be sitting ducks for the archers. It was risky, but they had to try it.

When Elrond had told his staff of advisors and trustees what they would do, many of them had agreed to join the party that would head out, but Elrond had bid them stay. The message of the request of the Lord of Imladris had spread like a wildfire through the city and more elves than they would take had agreed to go.

Not only was Estel very popular with most of the elves, they also cared for the twins and the prince of Mirkwood, whose fate was still unknown. Every one of the voluntaries wanted to help bring the sons of Imladris back and help find the blond archer.

The fire in the Hall of Fire burned steadily and the two elves, lost in their thoughts, stared into it as if they could find the answers to their questions there. Then, as the silence that reigned became almost touchable, both Lords spoke in unison: “I will go, too.”

They looked at each other for a moment, both studying the others face and finding there only the same emotions they felt. Elrond inclined his head slightly, closing his eyes briefly. It was settled. They would both join the party of elves and try and rescue their loved ones.

As the mighty Lord of Imladris left the hall to prepare his things, he swore to himself that he would not return empty handed. He would come back, with his twins, with Estel and with Legolas, all alive, or he would not return at all. Because, what would there be to return for, if his sons were not there?

A grim expression on his ageless features, his jaw set, Elrond hastened up the stairs and to his chambers. It had been long since he had gone out to fight, but he had not forgotten how to yield a sword or use a bow. And, by the Valar, he would show those humans what it meant to anger a Peredhel!

Some time later, in the middle of the night, a party of elves left the courtyard and headed out into the night and they would not rest until they had found what they were looking for.

~*~

Pain. Unbearable pain. His whole body screamed at him, yelled at him, begged him to release him from the pain. But he could not. As much as he wanted to stop the fiery tentacles that spread through his leg, as much as he wanted to hinder the balrog from lashing its whip repeatedly at his arm, Estel was unable to do so.

Hanging between unconsciousness and waking, lingering in the sphere of being able to feel but paralysed to act, the ranger had to endure all the pain, phase upon phase. With every step he neared waking, the fire in his chest and leg became stronger and the desire to fall back into the dark abyss grew equally.

How many hours he had been unconscious, Estel could not tell, perhaps only a few, or maybe the whole night. All he had to do to find out was to open his eyes and look around. The memory of what had happened had returned to him upon the first step out of oblivion, and Estel felt fear explode in his stomach at the thought of his brothers and what the hunters would do to them.

If something had happened to the two, if they had been hurt, or worse, killed, it would be his fault and Estel knew deep inside that he would never forgive himself if he would be the cause of his brothers’ deaths.

Struggling to consciousness, now more than ever, the ranger fought back the searing pain, the agonizing burning feeling, the fire in his chest, the overwhelming desire to lay back and succumb to darkness and finally, after long moments of fighting, he opened his eyes. Taking a look around, as much as his screaming body let him, Estels stomach churned with fear.

He was lying in the tent he had been in before, unbound and most important of all, alone. His brothers were not with him. Swallowing thickly, Estel tried to hold the mounting fear back, the foreboding feeling that something was not right, the feeling that something horrid had happened and that his brothers had paid the price for his escape attempt.

Fighting the tears that threatened to leave his eyes, both from fear and utter exhaustion combined with defeat, Estel let the darkness steal over him once again and carry him to other places, away from this gruesome world that had given him his brothers back at his side, only to take them away the next moment.

~*~

With the night, the cold had come and sneaked into his clothes, chilling his skin and slowing his movements. The elf felt his feet become lead-like and his side had started to hurt more than it had done the whole night.

Nevertheless, Legolas went on, never stopping in his steps, taking no rests and only halting his feet to find new tracks, when the horse of the messenger he had met earlier had left ambiguous signs.

Breathing heavier than an elf should, the archer rushed through the night, like a shadow fleeing before the light.

He passed many trees and crossed the tiny river more than once; it seemed the rider had taken a straight path, where the river was winding lazily through the wood. On and on the journey went, over small hills and down again on the other side, all the time following the horse’s tracks.

As the night stretched into morning and the first gold and red could be seen painting the horizon in the colors of morning, the elf reached a small clearing beside the river. Legolas stopped at the edge, panting slightly, pressing his hand to his side to stabilize the old wound.

He could not say what had caused him to stop. Was it his thirst or the pain from his side? Had something moved in the woods and had alarmed his warrior senses? Whatever it had been, inside the archer was glad that he had stopped. If he cared to admit it or not, once more in this night he had to confess to himself that he was tired.

When his breathing had slowed down and his heart was beating in a normal rhythm again, Legolas walked the little way to the stream and bent low to quench his thirst. The cool water caressed his throat and when he righted himself to go on, he felt refreshed and vivid.

Placing his bow in a more comfortable position on his back and righting one of his fine braids, the elf made a step, and then stood still as a statue. When he had placed his foot down, he had felt something shatter underneath it and the unmistakable sound of breaking wood had reached his ears.

This in itself would not have been unusual, but with the sound, a hollow feeling had risen in his stomach making the elf shiver. Gulping and dreading what he might see, the prince looked down, lifted his foot and saw what he had feared to see.

Because there, under his foot, partly hidden by the grass and the green leaves lay a black arrow, shattered and, to Legolas great worry and dismay, smeared with blood. He bent down and took a part of the projectile into his slender hands, examining it carefully and with the skilled eye of an archer.

It was not an elvish arrow; a first cursatory glance was enough to reveal this. Neither was it an orc arrow, orc arrows were more crude and uneven. Therefore the arrow Legolas held in his hands had to be human, and the arrow had found its mark, as the red blood in which it was covered showed clearly.

Standing to his full height again, Legolas surveyed the clearing, searching for other arrows, anything that could give him a clue as to what had happened. He saw neither arrows nor any sign that an animal had been hurt.

Instead his blue eyes found the footprints of at least six humans. Bending down low and nearly crawling over the wet grass, Legolas tried to find out what had happened. There, a man had run over the grass, and there, some others had followed, then stopped near the edge of the tree line. And there, two more had come from the river, no, before they had been hidden in the bushes.

Shocked, the elf realized what he was watching. The running man must have been Estel. Aye and the lighter footprints were from the twins. But, that left only one explanation. Estel and the twins had met in this very clearing. Hoping to find tracks that indicated that the twins and their brother had left the clearing again, the blond archer’s eyes sought more tracks.

And he found more. The first he saw in the vanishing moonlight was more blood. Then the imprint of a body in the grass he had missed before and then, to Legolas horror, the tracks of eight beings leaving the clearing, one of them rather stumbling then walking, leaving behind him a trail of shining blood droplets.

Swallowing, Legolas looked down at the arrow which he still held in his hand. He hoped that what he had interpreted into the signs was not true. But the reality was that all evidence that he needed to trust in his own conclusions was lying in his hand; a bloody, shattered shaft of a black arrow.

Clenching the shaft in his hand, the elf’s eyes narrowed and a steely gleam entered them. The pounding of his heart quickened and all coldness and tiredness left his limbs. Throwing the arrow to the wet ground, Legolas hurried on, only one thought thundering through his head.

They would pay!

~*~

The hunters had not been gentle with them. When Elladan had rushed to Estel´s side and had rolled him out of the fire, extinguishing the flames that had been licking at his tunic and his arm, three of the hunters had grabbed him and had pushed him away, throwing the elf to the ground and holding him down.

Elrohir, who had also started forward to his little brother’s side, had met the same fate; three men rushing to his side, forcing him to the ground and securing him there. What had followed would never leave the twins memory, for the rest of their immortal lives.

Dagnir, still clutching the arrow in his hand, had looked down at the unconscious Elrondion, his face void of emotion. After a moment of staring at the fallen ranger, he had kicked him with his booted foot over onto his back.

Estel´s head had rolled onto the side, his dark hair falling over his closed eyes, the scratch on his forehead clearly visible because of the white paleness of the ranger’s skin. Dagnir had gazed down onto the man and then, with a flick of his hand, had thrown the arrow into the fire where the flames had greedily feasted on it.

Upon a curt nod to his men, two had lifted the ranger by his arms and had dragged his motionless body to one of the tents, closing the tent flap behind them. When they exited the tent a moment later, they wiped their hands clean on their clothes, as if they had been smeared with blood. And maybe they had been.

Elladan and Elrohir, sick with worry and fear, had yelled at the hunters to let them go to their brother, to let them help him and at the same time telling them to leave him alone. It had no effect on the humans.

They were hoisted to their feet, then pushed and pulled in the direction of one of the other tents, a good way away from Estel´s. Once there, their captors tied them securely to the massive tent post, smirking cruelly and giving worrying remarks concerning their little brother.

Even when the humans had left them to the darkness and the coldness inside the tent, Elladan had been consumed with anger and worry and had cursed the hunters in all languages that he knew, including some dwarvish curses that had even embarrassed Elrohir.

His rambling and cursing had led the elf nowhere and when Bauglir, the tall human that had threatened Estel, had entered their tent, showing them a long silver dagger and pronouncing that he would use it to harm Estel should Elladan not quieten immediately, the older twin had finally shut his mouth, glaring daggers at the tall human.

Now, a few hours later and deep into the night, the twins were far from tired. Their worry for their little brother was slowly killing them and there was nothing that they could do to ease the pain they felt.

Sighing, Elrohir shifted his weight and glanced at the ceiling above him. He tried to imagine the stars that blinked in the sky down on him and wondered if his ada was standing on his beloved balcony, watching the stars, too.

But the thought of his father, back home in Imladris, only served to make his heart heavier. Elrohir shut his eyes and let his head fall. Taking a deep breath, the younger twin suppressed the tears that pricked his eyes.

They had promised. They had promised to their ada to bring Estel back. And now, now they were captured, too, unable to do anything. They had vowed to their father to help Estel, to rescue him, to keep him from harm. And now, Estel might be dead because of their failure.

Taking another deep breath, Elrohir shook his head softly. He had to stay strong. Estel would need him and Elladan would need him, too.

“Elrohir?” Elrohir gave no reply, not sure if he could trust his voice. “El?” Elrohir swallowed the big knot in his throat and managed a choked: “Aye?”

Elladan sighed inwardly, relieved that his twin had answered. If his brother felt like he did, his heart must me breaking inside his chest. “We will get out of here, gwanur (brother), and then we will help Estel.”

A sniff was his only answer. Swallowing, the older twin went on: “And, by Valar, Elrohir, I swear that these humans will get what they deserve.”

Elrohir, wanting to believe was his twin was telling him, nodded slowly. Feeling his younger brother nod his agreement, Elladan said: “Elrohir, I swear, I will do all I can to get him out of here. We will get him out of here. You will see, before long we three will be back home, drinking ada’s tea and sitting in the Hall of Fire, laughing with Legolas over all this like we laugh over our other mishaps.”

“We will not laugh about this one, Elladan. It is different than the other times.”

Not knowing at first how to answer his brother, Elladan breathed deeply. Then a strong light entered his eyes and he nodded once: “Aye, you are right. This time it is different, but it will end as all our adventures end. We will go back home, we three and Legolas, to tell the tale, not to become part of the tale for others to tell.”

“Ever the optimist.”

Elrohir could not feel his brother’s new found strength and resolve, but when his twin was so sure that they would make it out of this one, it was hard for him not feel a little bit of hope of their escape too.

~*~

Shortly after their conversation, the tent flap opened and one of the hunters entered, carrying a bundle in his hand. He stepped up before the twins and, unfolding the blanked, revealed what he was carrying. Taran was sitting in the human’s arms, his face marred by wet streaks; tears had flowed freely down his cheeks.

The human bent down and placed the boy on the ground, leaving the blanket near the child. Then, with an ugly smirk he nodded in the direction of the frightened boy: “Boss´ thinks he can as well stay with you lot, now that that scum of ranger is, well ‘unable’ to take him.”

Anger boiled up in the elves. How dared this human to talk about their brother in such a way. Snarling, Elladan ground out: “What have you done to him?”

The hunter’s grin widened, revealing yellow and broken teeth. “Done, we? We have done nothing. And when I say nothing, elf, I mean nothing.” With that, the man left the tent, chuckling as he went.

For the twins, the word of the hunter meant new fuel for the burning fear inside their hearts. Nothing, these humans had done nothing to help Estel; they had not cleaned his wounds or bandaged them. They had just left him in the tent to die.

Elrohir, hard pressed to keep his tears from spilling, let his head fall once more, guilt and defeat overwhelming him. A soft sniff then reached his sensitive ears, followed by another sniff and then another.

Turning, the elf saw the little adan sitting on the floor, silent tears falling down his soft cheeks, eyeing the tent flap with red rimmed eyes. Then, the little one crawled to the entrance of the tent, obviously trying to get out.

Elrohir, not really knowing what to do, as he and his brother were still tied securely to the tent post, burst out: “Daro!” (stop!). Taran stopped in his efforts and turned to look at the tall dark haired elf.

When Elrohir did not speak again, unsure of what to say, the little boy sniffed again and then pointed with his little hand to the tent flap, babbling something that sounded strangely like ‘anger’.

Frowning, Elrohir shook his head, then nodded at the floor before him with his chin: “Come here penneth (little one). You cannot go out. Come here. I will do you no harm, penneth.” He knew not why he was doing this. He did not want that little human near him, that amlug (dragon) did not like elves at all. But seeing the small child in tears and so alone made Elrohir’s heart go out to the child.

Taran took another look at the tent flap, then at the twins, and when Elladan and Elrohir both smiled at him, he sniffed once more and then crawled to the elves. He stopped in front of the bound elves, sitting down before them, eyeing them with eyes as big as the full moon, tears still leaking out of them and trailing down his chubby cheeks.

Taran pointed at the entrance of the tent again and once more babbled something about ‘anger’. And now, the twins understood what the child meant. Elrohir, not able to hold his tears back any longer, smiled through his tears at the child: “Aye, he is out there, our ‘ranger’ is out there. But we cannot go to him, penneth. Not now. You will stay here with us now. Sh, don’t fear, penneth, all will be well. I promise.”

It became too much and the younger twin’s voice broke, leaving him in sobs and tears. His heart was bleeding for the child and also for Estel and his older brother and himself. Why did these things always have to happen to them? Estel was so vulnerable. He was the most precious gift the Valar had granted them and now they were so close to loosing him once more.

Elrohir, his head bent and his long hair obscuring his vision, felt a small hand on his legs. Taran, feeling the elf’s pain, had moved to his side and had placed his small hands at the elf’s leg, eyeing him sadly. When Elrohir sniffed, the little adan, climbed onto Elrohir’s lap, curled him-self into a small ball, resting his head at the younger twins chest.

Looking down at the small child, Elrohir’s tears flowed more freely, as the sight made his heart go out to the child and reminded him even more of his little human brother; Estels first year in Imladris, when the little Estel had occupied the same place on the elf’s chest as Taran did now.

Glancing to his older brother, Elrohir saw the tears on his brother’s face, too. Without words, both elves swore at that moment, that nothing would stop them from rescuing their brother, nothing.

End of chapter 11

Feedback: YES! Please! *looking-like-little-Estel-when-he-wants-something*.

Finally, he had found it. There, before him, in the shadow of huge trees that loomed over the clearing in the darkness, Legolas saw the camp he had searched for these few last days. He could see some of the hunters, sitting by the fire, talking quietly. Tents had been set up and the elf saw that some of them had occupants. The smoke from the fires filled his nose and his ears caught the sounds of voices.

A relieved sigh wanted to escape his lips, but he refrained from doing so. He did not want anybody to hear him and the feeling that something horrid had or would happen soon had not left him. Letting his blue eyes travel over the camp, he counted five men, two patrolling the outer rim of the camp, two sitting by a fire nearby and the last one sitting near one of the tents.

Crouching low in the grass and using the dense green underbrush as covering, the slim archer moved nearer to the camp. He knew that it was risky, but he had searched for so long, he had overcome many obstacles to be where he was now; Legolas could not resist the urge to learn more about the fate of his friends.

The fire that was nearest to him had almost died down completely, grey smoke rising in the sky and obscuring the faces of the two hunters that sat beside it. Red sparks, brought to life by the small wind that was blowing over the scene flew in the air and the glow the fire produced made the faces of the hunters look almost demon-like.

With a stealth that would have made his father very proud of him, Legolas sneaked up on the men, hidden by the brush and the shadow that the dying fire created. The men had obviously not heard him, as they made no outward sign that they had noticed the elf’s presence.

Encouraged by this, Legolas pressed his body flat to the cold ground, ignoring the small pain that erupted in his side and directed his concentration to the two men and their whispered conversation before him.

He had to strain his ears to hear the hunters, so low did they speak. But when he heard the men’s voices and realized what the two were saying, and what it meant, his heart skipped a beat and then pounded on twice as hard as it had done before.

Holding his breath, the elf shook his head slightly, eyes widened in fear. What he heard could not be true. It was simply not possible. Estel could not be dead!

With trembling hands, Legolas pushed himself further towards the fire, forgetting the pain in his side and the weariness in is body, his human friend the only thought that filled his head. Now only a few feet away from the two humans, hidden by the plants and the darkness of the night, Legolas followed the conversation.

“You real´ think he’s dead?”

“Ah, looked like dead when we dumped him, didn’t he? And if he wasn’t back then, he most certainly will be by now. Didn’t look good, that ranger.” The speaker, a tall brown haired man, shrugged his shoulders and looked into the fire before him.

“Ye know, I don’t care if that scum lives or not. Those rangers are only causing trouble. Worlds better of without them.”

His comrade, a little smaller but as brute looking as the other, took a sip from his wine and smiled, reminiscing: “Did you see his face as the captain pulled out the arrow? Ah, it was too good to be true. And then, when he fell into the fire? Wow, that elf got really angry. I would have loved to teach that elf a lesson.”

Turning to the smaller man, the other human clapped him on the shoulder: “Hey, your wish may come true. I would eat my boots if Dagnir keeps those creatures. Perhaps we will have our fun with them before this is over.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe, why not? That ranger is good for nothing now. You saw him; he did not even stir when we put him in that tent. Bah, his blood is still in my clothes. It will take ages to get rid of it. So, what makes you think he will make it? If I should guess, I’d say the captain will finish him off before we leave for the Misty Mountains. He would only slow us down.”

“Perhaps Dagnir allows us a bit of fun with him before he does, I’d love to show that scum how a proper captive should behave. With…”

The man’s next words were overshadowed by a loud growl, coming from the sky. The nightly sky had blackened even more, thick clouds hanging deeply. A thunderstorm was approaching.

But this way or the other, Legolas had heard enough. Slowly and soundlessly he went back a ways, then crawled on his hands and knees deeper into the forest. When he was sure that he was out of sight and that neither of the two men had heard him, nor that the other humans that patrolled the area had noticed his presence, the elf stopped and leaned against a tree.

Estel was alive, probably. And it seemed that Elladan and Elrohir, or at least one of the twins, was a hostage, too. His stomach churned as the prince thought back on the remarks that the humans had made about his friend.

The words “arrow”, “fire” and “blood” would not leave his mind and the elf felt how his hands trembled even more. Cold sweat had broken out on his body, his legs feeling weak and useless.

He had come too late. These hunters had done Valar knows what to his friend and Estel was seriously hurt, or even worse, dead. The thought of Estel dying alone with his captors was a gruesome one that hurt the elf deep inside.

But what hurt him even more, what made his heart beat faster and his blood rush through his veins was the simple fact that he did not know. He did not know if Estel was still alive, if the twins were here, if they were alright or injured. He simply did not know.

That gruesome thought would not leave him alone. Estel had probably died here, alone and abandoned by his family and friends. Among strangers, died among his own murderers. Shaking his head in the complete darkness, Legolas took a deep breath and steadied his breathing. It would not help him to loose control now.

Glancing at the camp behind him, the blond archer took another deep gulp of air, then closed his eyes and sent a prayer to all the Valar willing to listen and even to those who did not. Opening his eyes again to the darkness around him, the elf turned and headed back to the camp.

It was the only way to learn what had happened. He had to go into the camp and make sure that what the two hunters had said was not true. Legolas would find out what had happened to his friends, even if that meant that he would be killed. For the prince, an eternal life without the three Peredhels would be no life.

xoxoxoxo

It had been a long day. And an even longer night and Dangir felt the darkness pressing in on him. Normally, he welcomed the dark times of the day. Shadows were his friends and the night the time for hunters. But this night was different.

It had shown him that he had made a mistake regarding the ranger and that he had underestimated him. Dagnir had thought that the ranger would not try anything; it was obvious that he cared for the child and had previously tried to protect the boy. An escape attempt was an uncertain action, unpredictable. The captain had thought the human smarter.

And even more so, not only had his captive tried to escape, the two elves from Rivendell had met him in the forest. These two identical looking beings worried Dagnir more than the ranger did. Where two elves were, more could be.

Inside the leader of the hunters had known that the elves would come to rescue the human, but he had hoped that it would not be so soon.

Dagnir had hoped to be far away when the elves caught up with him, near the Misty Mountains and, hopefully, hidden inside a cave somewhere, where these being would not find him.

As things now stood, this hope had vanished as quickly as snow in summer. The messenger he had sent to Bree would not be back for a few days, the day after tomorrow in the best case.

Dagnir knew that he could not wait so long, under any circumstances. The fact that the two dark haired beings had found the camp, remarkably quickly despite his efforts to distract any pursuers with misleading tracks, meant that other followers would have no problems finding them, too.

When the candle on his table flickered unsteadily, the leader had made up his mind. Turning, he exited his tent and searched for his second in command. Finding Bauglir near the horses, the captain walked up to him. Looking at his captain, Bauglir nodded to him and acknowledged his superior.

The captain stopped before Bauglir, his hair shining white in the little moonlight that was leaking through the heavy clouds, only said two words: “We’re leaving.” Turning, Dagnir went back to his own tent, leaving his subordinate behind; sure that Bauglir would take the matter in his own hands.

Upon reaching his green and brown tent, the captain threw open the flap, entered and vanished inside, not giving the camp behind him so much as a fleeting look.

If he had done so, he probably would have seen a green shadow moving in the forest, a shower of blond hair trailing behind it as it went.

xoxoxoxo

The archer was moving through the trees like a ghost in the night. The trees seemed to shelter him and the leaves made no sound when he stepped on them. It seemed that the forest felt his hearts desire and was helping the Woodland being as much as it could.

Legolas rushed from tree to tree, crouching behind bushes and stopping every time he neared one of the guards. He would wait then, while holding his breath and when the man had moved on, the elf would sprint on, making no noise and leaving no trace behind that he had been there.

His objective was the tents at the back of the clearing, the ones near the little stream. In the elf’s opinion they were the most likely to keep Estel and the twins. First, because they were the tents furthest from the direction Imladris lay in and secondly, because the human sitting before one of the tents had not moved at all since Legolas had first laid eyes on the camp. That human was most likely guarding something, or rather someone.

Sneaking around the campsite and nearing the tents, Legolas felt like a predator, prowling around its prey, ready to jump at it the second it let its guard down. It made him feel stronger and faster, but it also gave him the feeling that he was strongly outnumbered and inferior, one predator against ten or more hunters?

Reaching the tent that was standing the furthest away from the guarded one, the elf step closer to it and tried to catch a sound, anything that would help him find out who was inside. When he heard nothing but the river behind him, he frowned slightly, and then decided to try the next one before doing anything else.

Another clap of thunder sounded in the night sky, followed soon after by a streak of lightning that lit up the camp for a second, but no rain had fallen yet. The sound of nature drowned his next steps and the elf reached the next tent undetected. Crawling close to the back, Legolas pressed his ear at the fabric of the tent wall, his body sheltered by low hanging branches and the shadows of the night.

What he heard made his heart jump in his throat and his hands became wet with sweat. The twins! He had heard Elrohir, he was sure of that. But, what...was Elrohir sobbing? But there was no mistaking the sound that flowed through the tent wall to the elf’s ears. The younger twin had spoken something and then broken down in sobs.

A cold feeling settled in Legolas stomach. Why was Elrohir crying? One of the strongest elves he had met in his life? That the younger twin was giving in to his sorrow and grief could only mean one thing. That one of his brothers was injured or dead, and Elrohir would not start weeping because of some injury.

Swallowing thickly, the blond archer listened more closely at his surrounding and, upon hearing nothing but the muffled sobs of his friend and the flowing river behind him, Legolas reached out, lifted the back of the tent and took a look inside.

He could see the twins, bound to the main tent post, their backs to him. Both elves had their heads bent down, Elrohir’s head resting on his brother’s shoulder. Else the two elves seemed to be alone.

It lifted the pressure on his heart to some extent to find his friends alive and, it seemed, unharmed. But at the same time a heavy stone had fallen into his stomach. Elrohir had not cried over Elladan. That left only his other brother, Estel.

Pushing the green wall of the tent open wider, Legolas sneaked inside, letting fall the fabric back down to the ground below as soon as he had made it. Without further ado he rushed to the twins’ side, falling to his knees beside them and startling them both out of their wits.

Elladan’s head flew up, followed instantly by Elrohir’s, staring at him as if he was seeing a Ringwraith. He opened his mouth to say something but no sound left his lips. Elrohir, on the other side, found his voice faster: “Legolas, by Elbereth Gilthoniel. What are you doing here?”

“Sh, Elrohir, speak quieter. And what do you think I am doing here?” Legolas could not completely resist the small smile that turned the corners of his lips. The twins had not really believed he would stay in Imladris, had they?

The prince looked both elves from head to foot, searching for blood and torn clothing, anything that would indicate that they were hurt. He had not to search long as both elves showed signs of fighting.

Elladan’s shoulder was covered in dried blood and Elrohir had a wound to his head which seemed to have bled recently, as the blood had changed the colour of his brown hair into a muddy red.

The twins, on the other hand, took a good look at their friend, also searching for injuries. When all elves had ended their examination, all three deciding that none of them was hurt seriously, Legolas took out one of his knifes and prepared to untie his friends.

The knife had nearly reached the bonds that wound around the tent post; Elrohir spoke up again, halting the archers hand in mid air: “Legolas, have you seen Estel?”

Legolas swallowed. Letting his hand fall back to his side, he slowly shook his head. No, he had not seen Estel. Not since that fateful night when this nightmare had started. Not knowing how much the twins knew about Estel’s condition, although at least one of them had been present when he had been injured, Legolas told them what he had overheard.

He tried to keep his voice steady but was unable to do so. He told them everything, leaving nothing out and not sparing them from anything. When he had finished, he could see the fear in both of their faces, the anguish they felt clearly reflecting in their eyes.

Fighting against the mounting fear he himself felt, Legolas took a shivering breath: “Tell me.” And they did. The twins told him everything that had occurred since they had left their home, telling him about the wolves, the tracks and the encounter with Estel and the trap the hunters had set for them.

When they came to the part where Dagnir had pulled the arrow out of the ranger’s leg and the way in which the humans had dragged Estel away, Legolas closed his eyes and desperately wished that this was only a nightmare. A horrid dream from which he would awake in the morning and that would drift away like mist in the sunlight.

But he knew that it was no dream. That he would not wake from it. When he would open his eyes again, he would not be at home in his room and his bed, but inside a cold tent, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by cruel humans that would kill him without so much as a second thought.

Swallowing, the elf opened his eyes and returned to the nightmare.

All three elves sat in silence for a moment, then the bundle on Elrohir’s lap moved and a head appeared, followed by sad blue eyes. Legolas had not even noticed the child before, but the sight of the boy, curled up in the younger twins lap, served to make his heart more miserable. This little one was the cause for all this trouble. It was just for him that he had been injured and Estel had been…

But Legolas felt no anger in his heart, or hatred against the boy. All he felt was sorrow and pain. Smiling at the child although he felt more like crying, he reached out and ran his thumb over the red cheek. Taran eyed him curiously, but then his lip started to tremble and he began to cry vehemently. Tears flowing from his eyes, wetting his cheeks and the little tunic he wore.

Seeing the child weeping and sniffing was more than Legolas was able to bear at that moment. With a hushed voice he reached out and cradled the boy in his arms, pressing him at his chest and whispering soothingly in his ear.

For a long moment the boy continued weeping, and then he leaned his head at the elf’s shoulder sniffing and tears still falling heavily. “All will be well, penneth (little one). I promise.” Glancing at the child’s face, Legolas hugged the boy one last time, and then he sat him back into the younger twin’s lap, took up his knife again and proceeded towards the bond to cut the twins loose.

When the blade had touched the first rope, heavy footsteps sounded outside, nearing the tent. With a speed only elves inherited, the blond archer leapt to his feet, sprinted to the back of the tent and then slid out into the darkness.

At the same moment the last strand of his long blond hair had vanished from sight, the tent flap was thrown open. Legolas could hear that a human had entered and he listened closely.

Through the fabric of the tent he could hear the muffled voice of a man.

“Hope you enjoyed your stay. We’re leaving. And you two, I fear, will join us for the rest of the trip. You will take the ranger’s place.”

Fear settled once more into Legolas heart. So they would leave the camp soon and take the twins with them, and Estel?

It seemed Elladan had come to the same conclusion and he heard him ask: “What about the ranger? What will you do to him?”

The prince could almost see the smirk on the humans face as he answered: “You should not concern yourself with him, that scum will not live to see the next day.”

Two identical shouts of “NO!” resounded from inside the tent and the next thing the archer heard was the evil laugh of the human. “Well, we will not burden ourselves with a ranger that is as good as dead.”

Elladan’s angry voice spoke up: “We will.”

Legolas had no way to see what was happening inside, but he had no problems imagining the gleeful face of the hunter, playing with his captives and enjoying their obvious pain. The human’s voice floated to the elf as another clap of thunder resounded, but Legolas had no problems understanding him.

“You know what? We will play a little game, you two and me. You two take care of the child AND the ranger. If one of the two dies, one of you dies, as easy as that. Deal?”

Silence followed that statement but the twins were fast to overcome their shock. They replied in unison: “Deal.”

With that, the human seemed to think that all that was necessary to say was said and Legolas heard him exit the tent. Silently, the archer re-entered and went to the twins’ side. Both elves looked shocked and Elladan shook his head softly.

The three needed no words to understand each other. With a stern look, Legolas nodded his head to the twins, then rushed out of the tent once more.

He would make sure that Estel was still alive when the hunters left. And he would make sure that they all stayed alive.

Sneaking though the night, always staying near the forest and not leaving the cover of it, Legolas made his way to the guarded tent. Elladan and Elrohir had confirmed that it was indeed that tent that Estel had been brought to and in which he still was.

The blond archer had no problems reaching the back of the tent as this side seemed unguarded. The humans obviously feared no attack coming from this direction. Waiting until his heart had slowed its pace and listening for any alarming sounds, the elf crouched to the ground, the same way he had done at the twins’ tent, and then lifted the fabric.

Inside the tent, everything was pitch black. There was no fire near the tent, as it had been with the tent the twins were kept in, leaving the tent open to darkness and cold. Legolas slipped inside and looked around.

At first, his eyes saw nothing, but then he made out a crumbled form on the floor. Holding his breath, Legolas rushed to the form and kneeled down beside it. His breath caught in his throat and the elf’s eyes widened at what he saw.

There before him, crumbled and still, dark and cold, lay his best friend in Middle-Earth. Before him lay Estel, his sworn brother and the first human he had trusted in all his long years.

With trembling fingers and still holding his breath, the prince touched his friend’s neck, feeling for a pulse. His breath left him in a shivered sigh. There, under his fingers, he could feel a weak and unsteady pulse.

Estel was alive.

End of chapter 12

Tbc asap…..

A/N: Thank you Trini for beta-ing this!!!!!

Chapter 14 Towards the Misty Mountains _____________________________________________ xoxoxoxooxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox Disclaimer: I own nothing of the works of Tolkien. Neither books, nor movies. I just borrow them and try to give them back in one piece later. I make no money with this story. Please, do not sue me. xoxoxoxooxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The sky was painted red and gold, coloring the stormy clouds in the waking morning light. The gray of the thunderclouds was battling against the fresh colors of the new day, making the sky look aflame and no one could tell yet which side would win this fight.

The wetness that lingered in the air made it hard to breathe and the dew that glittered on the grass and green leaves sprinkled horses and riders as they passed them. Hooves trampled the spring grasses and the newly born flowers were crushed under heavy horses, not having the power to rise again.

The forest gleamed in the light of the weak sun and the wet branches and the dark trees made way for the riders that traveled under them. Neither did the creatures of the woods help them, or hinder them in any way. They stood aside and watched from a distance, as a group of at least ten human riders and two elves made their way through their territory.

The horses walked on, pushed forwards by their masters bidding, dutifully heading east towards the high mountains. Their tails swung in the air behind them and their heads bobbed up and down. From time to time, their hooves would sink deep into the muddy forest ground, only to be pulled out again the next second with a splashing sound.

The low sounds of their neighing and breathing lay in the still air. No other sound broke the silence that enveloped the riders and had accompanied them since their departure shortly before daybreak.

Most of the humans were watching the shadowy forest that surrounded them, their eyes watchful and their weapons ready. Five riders were at the front, followed by two horses carrying two dark haired elves and one dark haired human. Those two horses were closely followed by the next five human riders who had divided their attention between the elves and the forest.

At the front, the leader rode; his gaze forward, his ears strained and his thoughts in the present. His second-in-command brought up the rear, as he always did. Inwardly, the human hated to ride at the end of the party and would have loved to ride nearer to the elves and the ranger. He had hoped to play his little game with them and make sure that he would win, but his captain's orders had been clear and he knew what would await him if he disobeyed his captain one more time. One more time and it would be his last.

So, the party had set up shortly before morning, the hunters eager to reach the safety of the Misty Mountains, the two elves fearing for their little brother, and the ranger himself trying his best to keep his control and to not show his brothers and the hunters how he truly felt.

But if Estel was honest with himself, he felt miserable. His body hurt almost everywhere, his shoulders were stiff and achy, his muscles tense; his head had stopped spinning and his view was focused, but his headache had increased again and was giving him some trouble. The arrow wound in his leg throbbed and sent sharp pains up his leg and side, making him want to cringe in pain every time the horse moved.

But even worse was the sensation that had enveloped his left arm. The bandages that the twins had placed there had not helped to ease the pain, on the contrary, the pressure that the bandages put on the burned skin served to elicit pain and Estel knew that the injured skin would not heal as long as the bandages stayed on his arm. But he would not tell his brothers. Elladan and Elrohir felt better with the bandages as it gave them the feeling that they had helped him and not having to see the gruesome injury helped them forget the seriousness of the ranger's condition.

After Bauglir's visit early in the morning, when the stars were still present in the dark night sky, the hunters had ordered them out of the tent and had pushed them to the waiting horses. While Elrohir had taken Taran, Estel had been seated before Elladan, who had pulled his strong arms around his brother to hold him tightly and to make sure that he did not fall off the tall brown horse.

The hunters had packed the last tent and the remaining supplies, had extinguished the fires and thrown the ashes into the woods to cover their campsite. When they were satisfied that all was clean and that nothing remained that would tell another that they had been there, all had climbed on their horses and on a command from Dagnir, the party had silently set out into the night.

Now, some hours later, the sun was still battling the storm, but neither side had claimed victory yet, which made the air heavy and the hearts of the captives troubled and sore. Their feelings matched the nature outside, hope and worry fighting each other inside their chests and giving the troubled souls no break from their battle.

Estel sighed inwardly and tried to shift his position in his brother's arms slightly. From the long ride and the stiff position he sat in, his back had started to ache too, which made the ranger even more sore and achy. And as if that had not been enough, he had to fight the urge to break down in dry coughs, as his throat was hurting and his neck itchy.

He suppressed another cough, which made his chest hurt fiercely and he flinched slightly, glad that his brother could not see his face as he sat behind him. In the position he was in, riding on a horse that seemed to find every single root and log while bouncing its riders up and down and with Elladan holding him securely in his tight grip, Estel's broken rib had been jostled constantly, each time causing the ranger to gasp silently in pain. The compressing and crushing feeling had not vanished and the human's breathing became heavier and more labored by the hour. Hel had not recognized it yet, but he was running a fever and the cold that lay like a blanket around him worsened his condition further.

Gasping in pain as the horse underneath him tripped over another root, Elladan tightened his grip around his brother's middle to keep him in place. The strength that the elf used was too much to bear for the weary ranger and Estel now openly gasped in sheer pain as his broken rib was moved.

Hearing his brother's painful gasp and feeling the human stiffen in his arms, the elf felt a jolt of worry race through his chest. Immediately he lowered his head to his brother's ear and whispered: "Estel? Are you alright?"

A curt nod was the only answer he got and not satisfying at all; the older twin moved his body as much as he could to take a look at Estel's face. What he saw made his heart heavier.

The human´s face was even whiter than it was before, the abrasion on his forehead the only colorful part in his face. Sweat clung to the ranger's face and his eyes were closed tightly, pain clearly visible on the human´s tense features. Feeling his younger brother relax somewhat in his arms, Elladan tried it once more: "Estel? What is it?"

This time, the human opened his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but it was cut short and the air escaped his lungs in a shivered gasp as the horse tripped again, causing Elladan to tighten his grip once more.

Fear crept slowly into the elf's heart. The pain that his little brother felt was caused by the sudden movements of the animal underneath him, but the ranger's injured leg was not being jostled by the horse, neither was his arm, which lay securely in the ranger's lap.

Frowning, Elladan watched how Estel's head came up, his breathing heavy and his chest trembling slightly under the elf's fingers. That was when it hit him. Cursing himself for his own foolishness, he loosened his grip around his brother's chest and as soon as he had done so he could feel how Estel relaxed even more.

Although guilt had begun to nag its way into the older twin's heart, he could not help but feel angered about his brother's behavior. Why had Estel not told him he had hurt his ribs?

The night before, when Elladan and Elrohir had checked the ranger for injuries, they had not felt for any broken ribs as they had concentrated their ministrations on the bleeding wounds. But, of course, he should have known, Elladan thought. His little human brother had a habit of acquiring broken and/or bruised ribs everywhere he went. Why should this time be different?

Shaking his head slightly in the moist air, Elladan leaned towards his brother once more: "Estel, why did you not tell me?" If the elf had been able to see the ranger's face, he would have seen the small, sad smile that flitted across the human's features.

Weakly he replied: "It would have made no difference, Elladan." "Of course it would have, muindor (brother). If I had known I would have-" But Elladan was cut short by the ranger, who had righted himself in his brother's protective grip: "No, Elladan. It would have changed nothing. It is as it is and none of us can change it now."

Another sharp pain shot through his chest as the horse moved on, hindering Estel from saying more. But it was not necessary. Elladan knew that his brother was right, there was nothing he could have done or do now.

Pressing his brother more fiercely at his strong chest without causing him more harm, Elladan secured the human in his grip and gently placed the ranger's tired head at his shoulder so that he could rest more comfortably.

Feeling secure and protected in the familiar arms of his brother, Estel tentatively took another deep breath, and then closed his eyes, resting against his brother's shoulder. The homely smell of the elf's clothes and the soothing whisper that came from the twin eased the ranger's pains, if only marginally, and Estel let himself drift away from his hurts until he dozed off.

Feeling the human in his arms relax and his breathing deepen in a light slumber, the older twin turned his head and looked at his replica on the horse next to him, his eyes worried and features tense. Elrohir had followed his brother's conversation and also noticed the paleness of Estel's skin and the sweat on his brow; the fever had not broken yet. Meeting Elladan's eyes, Elrohir did not know what to say or do.

What were they supposed to do? They had bound their brother's wounds, stopped the bleeding at his leg and made sure that Estel stayed awake. How should they have known that there were other injuries despite the obvious ones? But now, as another injury was revealed, Elrohir wondered how many more wounds and hurts their little brother had sustained which they did not know of.

Turning to his twin's worried gaze, Elrohir put all the hope he still had into a tentative smile, trying to reassure his twin that all would be well and at the same time willing his brother to hope, because hope was all that was left to them. Hope in their own abilities and hope in their Mirkwood friend.

The twins knew that Legolas would have followed them but they had neither seen him nor heard him and they both hoped that he was well and could keep up with them. The last night they had not really asked him about his well being, as he had appeared well and whole, but trailing horses on foot was nothing that could be easily accomplished.

Of course, the blond archer could just follow their tracks at a slower pace, but the twins somehow knew that their friend would loath to leave them out of his sight. No, Legolas would keep up with the party of riders, no matter how fast they rode and no matter what it cost him.

And so they rode on; Elrohir cradling Taran, Elladan holding Estel and the hunters brandishing their weapons, ready to fight should anyone attack them.

xoxoxoxo

It had not been easy to follow the party of riders and it was even harder to keep up with them. On and on the hunters rode, never pausing for rest or to nourish the horses and Legolas had gotten the feeling that he would not be able to keep up with them.

Now, as the day neared its middle, the stormy clouds overhead had won against the sun and the sky was painted a dark gray and black with streaks of green and yellow between. Thunder could be heard rolling in the distance over the mountains and flashes of lightening now and then illuminated the trees around him, making the forest look alive and full of motion.

The daily sounds of insects and animals had been drowned out by claps of thunder and the creatures had long fled into their holes and nests, preparing for the storm and hiding from the rains that would soon drench the forest in its wet substance.

The trees that sped past him as he moved were still and silent, their whisper had ceased and they stood quiet and waiting. Branches were unmoving, the young leaves of the spring trembling in the moist air. All was waiting for the storm to break loose, to swallow the earth in one great gulp and to release all beings from its grip.

Another bolt of lightening split the sky over the mountains, followed by a deep clap of thunder that made the ground underneath shake and the trees moan softly. Soon, the storm would be unleashed, the Earth bound to its mercy.

Legolas swatted at a low hanging branch, ducked under another and sped past some boulders. He would neither rest nor stop in his tracks. For hours he had followed the riders, never leaving them out of his sight, staying some ways behind them and being hidden by the trees and the underbrush that gave him cover.

The running had aggravated his old knife wound but no blood had escaped the tight bandages and the elf could easily ignore the pain that came from it. But what he had problems to ignore was the immense feeling of tiredness that pulled at his feet and made his movements stiff and uncoordinated. More than once he had felt how his feet had caught on vines and had slipped in some puddle of mud, only to send him staggering on the forest floor.

Feeling how his strength left him, Legolas took a deep breath to refresh himself. He knew that he had not slept for days and that he had neither eaten properly nor drunk enough to satisfy his tired body. Elves were able to go longer without food or sleep, but even an elf reached the borders of his endurance at some point.

The long trek through the night and the next day, the painful revelations that he had discovered in the camp, the painful jolt in his stomach every time he glimpsed Estel and the tension that had a strong hold over his body made the elf feel more exhausted and tired than he was happy with. But he had sworn to help the twins and he would keep that promise, come what may.

With another deep breath, Legolas quickened his steps, dodging another low hanging branch and avoiding a thicket of thorns. Thunder could be heard in the distance, coming nearer with each step the elf took and the air was filled with tension. Soon, the storm would reach him, but Legolas was not sure which storm would come first. The one brought by nature, or the one from the party of riders.

xoxoxoxo

Night had settled over the small camp the hunters had built and the fires they had kindled illuminated the forest around them.

Silent and still it was, the humans sitting quietly around the warmth- giving fires or conversing in hushed whispers. Gray clouds loomed over them, darkening the sky even further and hiding the light from the moon and the otherwise sparkling stars that called the night sky their home.

The winds that had come up chased the big clouds over the sky, making it appear alive and moving. The tree tops that stood guard over the camp high in the distance seemed to touch the clouds on their way and they waved slightly from side to side, producing dark and frightening shadows on the ground around the fires.

Leaves were whispering in the wind, conversing in their own tongue, speaking of dangers and lurking evil in the forest, creating creepy noises every time the wind rushed through them. Although the thunder had not lessened and the strokes of lightening still illuminated the night, no rain had fallen yet, leaving the world cowering in fear and awaiting the storm.

After hours of riding, without any rest or break, the hunters had finally stopped in a small clearing, near the tiny river that still flowed lazily beside them. They had ordered their captives to dismount and had guarded them while they had set up their camp for the night and had fed and watered the weary horses.

Now, some time later, food was cooking over the fires, filling the air with the smell of stew and burning wood, but it did nothing to improve the situation of the four captives. After they had dismounted, the hunters had bound the elves and the ranger's hands before them, making sure that they would attempt nothing, then had ordered them to sit near the edge of the forest under some tall and dark trees.

Now and then one of the hunters would pass the four lone figures, crouched under the branches of the trees, which would shelter them from rain but which were far away from the red, shining fires and therewith too far away to feel any of the warmth that they created.

At first, the twins had wondered why the hunters had not placed them in the middle of the camp, near the fires and in the light of them, making sure that they were visible and under the watchful eyes of their captors.

After some minutes under the tall trees, the elves had found out that their position under the trees and at the edge of the clearing was as good a place to be kept as any other. When a bolt of lightening had illuminated the surrounding area, the twins had seen that the tree line they were sitting at was very thin, only a few trees to be precise, and that the trees stood at a deep cliff. They could not escape that way. No, the only way out of the camp was to walk through the line of fires and therewith through all of the hunters.

Neither the way to their right was open for an escape, as the hunters had led the horses there and one of the humans would guard them through the night. Nor the way to their left, as high, thick bushes adorned with long thorns barred the way. They would not be able to escape in the night, as the twins had secretly hoped. All they could do was rest and to try and regain some of their strength.

So, they had settled under the trees as comfortable as possible; Taran resting in Elrohir's lap, soon sleeping deeply and Elladan sitting with Estel on the other side. The ranger's back was resting at the trunk of a tree, his left leg pulled up a ways to his chest, his left arm lying in his lap and his injured leg spread out before him.

With closed eyes the human had leaned his head against the tree trunk, trying to stop his headache from splitting his skull. Since the time he had woken to find his brothers with him, the pounding in his head had increased, sending flashes of pain through it when he so much as moved it an inch in any direction. Over the day, Estel had thought it would get better, but then another clap of thunder had broken the quiet of the forest and his headache had roared with newly found vigor.

Now, as he sat near his brothers, protected by them and the forest, Estel wanted nothing more than to drift off into sleep and to leave the circles of the world if only for a short period of time. But he would not and he knew why.

The night before he had been too tired to notice it, but during the ride through the dark mountains, a question had circled in his head, being always present and never leaving him.

Taking a painful breath but hiding the pain as best he could, Estel said softly, not opening his eyes and not facing his brothers: "Will you tell me now?"

The twins, unsure of what their brother was talking, shared a quick glance. Perhaps the ranger's fever had spiked again, causing him to hallucinate? Cautiously, Elrohir answered: "Estel, what shall we tell you?"

Opening his eyes slowly and focusing on the younger twin, the youngest Peredhel asked: "Will you tell me about Legolas?"

Elrohir's eyes widened as he understood what his little brother was talking about. But had Legolas not come to Estel's tent the last night? The twins had thought that the ranger had met the Prince during the last night, knowing that he was well and near them. With a shock the elves realized that their brother had not known how their friend had fared and that Legolas was indeed alive and well.

Placing a hand on his brother's uninjured forearm, Elrohir told him silently in the gray tongue: "Estel, Legolas is well. He was in the camp last night to free us and I think he was even in your tent at some point. Have you not seen him?"

A relieved expression settled on the youngest Elrondion's face, but it was soon replaced by a frown and a worried expression: "He is here? What does he think he is doing? He cannot be well yet."

The thought that Estel had not woken when the blond archer had been with him last night concerned both elves, but given the serious injuries and the pain he must have been in, it was no wonder.

Still speaking in the tongue of the elves, Elladan answered his brother: "Aye, Estel, Legolas is here. He surely followed us today and he will follow us tomorrow until we have reached the mountains. He is as well as can be expected. Don't worry, brother."

And with a smirk that was almost natural to him, he added. "He was well enough to sneak out of the healing wing and flee from Imladris directly under ada's nose. He is well, Estel, believe me."

Not really satisfied with the answer, but relieved that at least his friend was alive, the tired ranger closed his eyes once more and rested his head at the trunk behind him. He was so tired, and the urge to keep from coughing had only increased during the day, making his chest hurt even more because of the pressure on it when he suppressed his coughing.

Elladan and Elrohir, knowing their brother for nearly all his life, had noticed the human´s struggle and, not knowing what it was that caused their brother pain, were eager to find out. Sharing a quick glance, Elladan bent towards Estel and started to open his tunic.

As soon as the elf's slender fingers had touched the man's tunic, he opened his eyes and drew back, pressing his own back at the tree and causing the leaves to shake slightly.

Pushing his brother's hands away weakly, the ranger asked: "What do you think you are doing, Elladan?" Despite the tired tone of his voice and the fatigue that lanced through it, it nevertheless made clear that Estel was not pleased with his brother's actions.

Sitting back in the wet grass and crushing some leaves under his weight, the older twin looked at his human brother´s face. "Estel, you are hurting."

Staring at his brother, and then at his other brother, the ranger smiled wearily, trying to hide his body's weakness and the illness that surely spread through it. "Elladan, of course I am hurting. Have you not noticed that I have been shot?"

But the twins were not fooled easily. Estel had always hid his injuries, to disguise his human weaknesses, behind jokes or gruff statements, trying to make his wounds look small and superficial. But the twin knew that the more their brother tried to hide them, the more serious they were and having the feeling that this time was not different, Elladan looked deep into his human brother's eyes, searching for the truth behind the ranger's words.

The darkness that surrounded them seemed to have stolen the light in his brother's eyes and no spark of the usual glimmer and fire that filled the silver orbs could be seen. All that the oldest Peredhel saw was fatigue and hidden underneath that, pain and worry, but Elladan was not sure what had caused the worry.

Was his brother worried about Legolas, or about them? Elladan could not tell, but when his brother broke the eye contact and instead looked down at the ground, the older twin knew that there was indeed something lingering under the barrier his little brother had built.

Taking one of his brother's hands in his own and feeling the coldness that had settled on the human's skin, Elladan waited until his brother looked at him once more: "Estel, what have you not told us?"

The ranger could hear the small stream that was running through the woods somewhere on the other side of the clearing. The wind was rushing through the tress, making the old branches creak and the young leaves whisper and tremble in its way. No animal could be heard but that did not mean that there were none.

The clouds that had darkened the sky were looming over him, making him feel small and unimportant compared to the power of nature and the strength that would soon be unleashed by the thunderstorm.

The youngest Peredhel had heard his brother's concerned question, but he did not know how he should answer. Should he tell them the truth? That he feared he had fallen ill with some disease he did not know? That his chest had been on fire since the day he had been dragged out of Imladris? That he felt like coughing every time he breathed? That his throat hurt more fiercely than even the wound on his leg and that his lungs and chest felt compressed and crushed? Should he tell them all that and worry them even more?

No, he could not do that. Not now. Steeling himself for what he was going to do, as he had never been good at lying to his brothers, Estel looked at Elladan and told him what the elf wanted to hear: "Back in Imladris, the night the hunters came, I broke a rib and bruised some others. It just hurts after the long ride."

Had he done it? Did his brother believe him? The ranger saw his brother's eyes narrow, then the quick glance that was shared between the twins.

Then, Elladan squeezed his hand slightly, his face one of worry, but also relief: "You should have told us, muindor. We can only help you if you tell us what ails you, you know."

Patting the ranger's arm in a reassuring gesture, Elladan withdrew his hand and then rested more peacefully near his brother's side, satisfied, it seemed, with the answer he had received.

Another clap of thunder shook the air and brought with it a wave of guilt that broke over the human. He had not only lied to his brother, but he had lied his brother straight in the face. The thought had he had done it to help his brothers, did nothing to ease the amount of guilt Estel felt. Resting his head at the trunk and closing his eyes, he swore that, if he made it alive out of this one, he would never lie to his brothers again. Never.

xoxoxoxo

Some moments later, when the elves and the two tired humans had settled for the night, a figure slid out of the darkness and neared their position. The elves, protective of the humans in their midst, moved to sit slightly in front of Estel and Taran, shielding them with their bodies as much as possible.

Estel, feeling his brothers move and shift beside him, opened his eyes to see what was happening. A lone man was approaching, balancing something in his arms. As he drew nearer, he could see that it was the same man that had brought him food the other day and the ranger felt his stomach churn. There, in the hunter's hands, was a tray full of food, more than enough to feed Taran, himself and the twins.

It seemed Dagnir had decided that starving his captors was not necessary to hold them under control. Giving the captives a filthy smirk, the human set the tray on the wet ground, spilling some of the milk and then, with a mock bow and a disgusted look, the hunter turned and went to sit near one of the fires.

Estel, eyeing the food wearily, fought for a moment against the wave of nausea that had built inside when the food was placed near him. He was not hungry, on the contrary, even the mere thought of food made his stomach sick and the ranger had the overwhelming desire to take the tray and throw it as far away as he could.

Taran however, woken from the movement the twins had made, needed to take only one look at the food to decide that he was indeed starving and started babbling in his own cute tongue.

Elrohir, who still held the boy in his lap, was hard pressed to keep the boy there and to hinder the child from crawling to the food and eat it all at once. Elladan moved towards the tray and, lifting it near them, took a look at what the man had brought. His eyes found water and milk, bread and fruits, the same food Estel was always given. Only this time, there was a little more as this time there were two more people to feed.

Seeing that the little human was getting more and more agitated, and seeing that his twin was looking more and more desperate, Elladan shot a questioning glance at the ranger. How were they supposed to feed the little boy, as Taran had never eaten much while he stayed in Imladris under their care?

Seeing his brother's look, Estel just shook his head, it would take too long to explain to his brothers how to feed the child and if he did it himself, perhaps his brothers would not notice that he himself was not hungry at all, although he had not eaten since his last breakfast more than a day ago. Reaching out with his good arm towards Elrohir, the elf just raised an eyebrow at the ranger, not convinced that Estel was up to the task. But his brother answered him the same way; with a raised eyebrow and when Taran tried to wiggle his way out of the younger twin's arms, Elrohir handed the boy over to the ranger, who placed the boy in his lap.

Taran eyed Estel for a moment, happy it seemed to be with him once again and then the child turned to the food and stretched out his little hand.

The ranger fed the boy as he had done the days before, drenching the bread in the milk to soften it and giving the boy some of the fruits. Taran ate happily, trying to play with the bread and the milk and Estel, too weary and in too much pain to stop him, let the boy have his way.

Soon, the rest of the milk the boy had not drunk was spilled over the grass, the fruits were rolling over the tray and Taran was giggling. When the boy was finally finished with playing and yawned widely, Elrohir took the child back from his brother and settled him in his lap.

Feeling the warmth from the elf and the comfort the broad chest of the warrior provided, Taran closed his eyes and after a whispered "Good night, penneth" from the elf, the boy fell into a deep and peaceful slumber.

Feeding the agile child had not helped the ranger's condition in the slightest; although he had taken care that Taran had not come near his left arm or the arrow wound, the boy had repeatedly bounced against his chest which now hurt even more than before. And he was tired. His eyelids felt heavy like lead and he had to try really hard to keep them open.

Elladan and Elrohir, who had watched their brother feed the boy, had said nothing when they had seen the ranger cringe slightly every time the little adan had placed pressure on his injured ribs. They knew that their little brother was too stubborn to accept any help and to be honest, neither Elladan nor Elrohir had the desire to feed the little amlug (dragon).

But now, as the child was asleep in the younger twin's arms, the twins wondered why their brother was not eating anything. Surely he must be hungry. The blood loss and the fever caused humans to become hungrier than usual and so, the twins waited for their brother to start eating.

When the ranger only eyed the food laying in the green grass before him but made no move to eat anything, Elladan took a piece of bread and held it before the ranger's face: "Here, Estel. We are not hungry. You have to eat something."

Swallowing thickly, the ranger's mind raced as to what to do. He could not eat. There was no way he would be able to eat the bread that his brother had given him. He was neither hungry nor thirsty, although he knew that he should be, but seeing the food before his face, so close that he could smell it, made his stomach churn even worse.

When he had fed Taran he had avoided to concentrate on the food but instead had watched the boy, but now Estel knew that there was no way to avoid it. With a shaking hand he took the bread from Elladan, still eyeing it as if it was a deadly snake, then he took a deep breath and took a tentative bite.

The bread burned in his throat and the ranger had the feeling as if myriads of sand or little stones were being forced down his throat. Choking, he tried to swallow the bread but it seemed stuck and would not budge. Feeling the tears sting his eyes from the pain, Estel choked on the bread, desperately willing it down.

Suddenly, he felt a strong hand on his back, rubbing it in soothing circles, and slowly, the ranger managed to swallow the bread completely. Steadying his breathing and pushing away the water that one of his brothers offered him, he let himself relax against the tree behind him, one of his brothers, Elladan he presumed, still rubbing the small of his back.

As soon as he had closed his eyes and his head had touched the rough skin of the tall tree behind him, the ranger felt his awareness drift away, as gently as the morning sun lifted the nightmares of the dark into nothingness. He ignored the hands that gently shook him as well as the concerned voices that floated to his ears. He knew deep inside that it was a coward's way out, but in that moment it did not matter to him.

All that mattered was to leave the nightmare he was in and reach the lands of peace and blissful oblivion.

End of chapter 14

Tbc asap The next chapter is called "Games hunters play"

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the works of Tolkien. Neither books, nor movies. I just borrow them and try to give them back in one piece later. I make no money with this story. Please, do not sue me.

Chapter 15 Games hunters play

Elladan was shaking his brother’s shoulder, but the ranger’s eyes would not open and after a moment the elf saw the rising of his brother’s chest deepen and knew that Estel had fallen unconscious in his arms.

Bewildered, the older twin looked at his other brother, not comprehending what had just happened. Why had Estel fainted? What was wrong with him? But Elrohir looked as puzzled as Elladan felt.

Feeling Estel’s pulse and his forehead, the younger twin noticed that the pulse was too fast for his liking and the skin too hot. Sighing inwardly, Elrohir spoke what his twin had been thinking: “How many more injuries has he hidden from us?”

Moving nearer to his human brother, Elladan gently took Estel’s shoulders and placed the ranger’s upper body against his own, trying to shield him from the nights cold and making it more comfortable for the man.

He could only shake his head at Elrohir’s question, but inside he knew that their brother’s condition was graver than they had thought.

When the hunter returned to fetch the tray, he found both humans asleep in the elves arms and wondered how the humans were able to find any sleep near such strange creatures.

xoxoxoxo

Cursing softly under his breath, Legolas made his way through the forest, the nocturnal insects that still dared to move were flying all around him, drawn to his blond hair and the white handles of his twin blades.
The stars were veiled and the moon was imprisoned by the heavy clouds that hung deep in the sky, nearly touching the tree tops. The wind had risen some hours ago, foreboding the coming storm and announcing its masters arrival.

But Legolas had no time to take this all in. All he knew was that he had lost the hunters from his sight and that he had to find the humans before it was too late.

When the humans had crossed the tiny river that gurgled beside their route, the archer had made a short stop to quench his thirst and to revive himself. It had taken him only a few minutes to do so, but when he had walked on, he had found that the hunters had hastened their horses and had ridden out of his sight.

Through the whole day the Prince had tried to catch up with them once more, but the deep imprints of the hooves had showed him that the hunters had indeed hastened onwards, sparing neither horses nor rider.

Now, deep into the night, Legolas was weary and tired. More than anything else he wished for a place to rest and lie down, to massage his aching muscles and to ease his troubled soul. How much further have these humans gone? the Prince mused. Starting to wonder whether the hunters had stopped at all or rode on until they reached the Misty Mountains, Legolas stumbled over a small root sticking out of the forest floor.

Having walked all day, his arms were moving slower than he was used to and therefore the elf landed flat on his stomach on the muddy ground. Cursing his luck, the elf lifted his head, only to let it fall back to the mud as fast as he could, splattering his blond braids with gray wet earth. Because there, only a few feet away from him, a red and golden glowing fire was illuminating the faces of at least three humans, all heavily armed.

Legolas had found the hunter’s camp.

Crouching behind the plants that covered his slender form from curious eyes, the Prince let his gaze travel over the camp, searching for guards as well as for his friends. The guards were easy to spot, sitting and standing near the red fires, others lingering near the edge of the small clearing, surveying the trees and the underbrush.

Pressing his body low to the earth and breathing as shallow as he dared, Legolas’ eyes moved from one side of the camp to the other, trying to spot his friends. After some more moments of unsuccessful staring, he felt his hope falter.

Had these humans disposed themselves of his friends? Had they already murdered them, letting their dead and beaten bodies lay on the cold and unforgiving ground to be burned by the sun and drenched by the rain? Was it possible that his friends were already dead, gone from this world into the sphere of the next?

Closing his deep blue eyes briefly, the archer took a deep breath to control the panic that rose in his chest. No, he thought. The hunter’s had done no such thing. They needed them alive and furthermore, he had not seen any bodies and had not found any sign that would indicate that anything like that had happened.

Opening his eyes again to the black darkness of the forest and the demonic glow of the fires, the elf focused on the hunters, then the woods around him. Whispers reached his sensitive ears, whispers of struggle and hardship but also of joy because two of the eldar that had chosen to stay under the trees for the night.

Silently thanking the trees that sheltered him from the eyes of the hunters, Legolas let his gaze wander to the edge of the forest, scanning the tree line for any sign of his friends. And, short moments later, his tired eyes found what he had been looking for. There, in the cold of the night and the shadows of the dark, his friends were sitting under the trees, sheltered some from the wind but open to the cold.

Glancing around to survey the countryside, Legolas had to admit to himself, that there was no way for him to reach his friends side as on one side the horses barred his way and on the other the thick underbrush was full of long thorns.

Anger and frustration rose in his heart to battle over the rule of it and he balled his hands into fists in his agitation. He was so near, so near but unable to help them; again! How could the Valar be so cruel to him? Had he not always served them right? Had he not held them high in his thoughts and adorned them as much as he could?

Not understanding why he should deserve such a cruel fate, the blond archer crawled as near to his friends as he could, then pulled his cloak around his slim shoulders and even over his hair, covering it from view. So he lay and watched, willing his eyes to stay open and to watch over his friends during the night.

The sight before him did not ease his troubled mind, as it seemed that Estel was more hurt than he had thought at first. The ranger was half resting in the older twins lap, cradled in the twin’s arms as much as was possible due to the harsh bonds that bound them, the human’s head resting against the elf’s shoulder, eyes closed and the face whiter than freshly fallen snow on a clear winters morning.

Legolas could not be sure in the darkness, but he had the feeling that the rising and falling of the humans chest was labored, as if a heavy weight was resting on it, making breathing difficult and painful. But what the elf could tell although the shadows of the night played with him and made the scene change before his eyes, was the worried expression on both the twins faces.

They traded glances from time to time, conversing without words as only the two could, so strong was the bond they shared. When another bolt of lightening burned the air, Legolas saw its reflection in the older Peredhels’ eyes, illuminating the bottomless orbs and opening the door to the twin’s soul for a timeless moment, and all Legolas could see was despair and fear.

Fighting against the gentle murmur of sleep, ignoring the demands of his tired body, battling against hunger and thirst and strengthening himself against the cold that seeped through his clothes, the Prince lay himself down in the wet grass, sheltered by the looming figures of the ancient trees, watching over his friends until the morning came.


xoxoxoxo


The full moon, imprisoned by the gray masses of clouds that walked the night sky, looked weakly upon the sleeping Earth, from time to time illuminating the life below. The wind that made the trees sigh and the leaves whisper had not yet lessened, but the storm that was to come lay still in its lair, waiting for the right time to unleash its powers and to make all life yield before it.

So was it that neither the slumbering twins nor the tired Mirkwood Prince became aware of the danger that had woken in the resting camp, making its way towards its intended prey, not hindered by the men that woke slowly or the guards that stood vigil over their sleeping companions.

As the threat had made its way through the grass, passing dying fires and sleeping hunters, stopping before the bound captives and waking them with its presence, it was already to late for them to prevent what was to come.

Legolas, being woken by the shouts of the twins, raised his head inside his hiding place and watched with horror as one of the tall humans dragged his young friend to his feet, pushing the rising twins to the ground, put a small dagger under Estel’s chin and then directed the ranger to the other side of the camp.

Legolas had to watch in desperate helplessness how his young friend looked back over his shoulder as the man pushed him away from his brothers, giving the agitated elves a small smile to reassure them that he was well; how the two elven brothers would not stay where they were and again rose to their feet only to be forced to the ground by other hunters that had joined the action; how the hunters bound the twins to the huge tress they had leaned against; how Elladan screamed his little brothers name, calling to him in elvish to stay strong; how Elrohir struggled against his bonds, unable to bear what was to come and how Estel did not even try to fight his captor but walked with him as best he could with his injured leg to the other side of the clearing, then a little ways into the woods, so far that Legolas could not see him any more.

The night no longer was still and quiet, but filled with both laughter and pain; the hunters anticipating what was to come, the elves feeling the ranger’s pain as if it was their own. And in some ways, it was.

Legolas, a ghost in the night, moved nearer to the place Estel had been taken, but the hunters had moved into the woods too, so that he was not able to go as far as he wished. Crouching behind trees and making his body invisible in the darkness that surrounded him, the elf ventured into the woods, needing to see for himself what was to come.

And what awaited the ranger, Legolas already knew, as it had happened too often already.


xoxoxoxo


He did not like this at all. No, Dagnir thought, he did not like the way things were going, but letting his second-in-command have a bit of fun would certainly calm his subordinate’s mood and the men’s desire for blood and action.

Of course he had heard about the “game” Bauglir was playing with the elves and actually, he could not care less. It did not matter to him if the two elves lived or not. They could serve as bait for other elves or earn him some money if he sold them, but money was not what he wanted.

He needed his revenge. That was all that mattered to him and all he cared about was the well-being of the child. He had not killed the ranger earlier because the man had a feeling for how to deal with the child and the little boy seemed comfortable with the human.

But now, after a whole day with the two identical looking elves, Dagnir had seen how the child felt secure and comfortable with one of them, and the ranger had caused him enough trouble to anger him. That man was only a burden.

So, why not let his subordinate have some fun with him? In the condition the ranger was in, it would scarcely make a difference as the man would die either way in the next few days, either because of his injuries or because he would kill him, as simple as that.

But the ranger was not the captain’s only concern. Since his little “reminder” for Bauglir, his subordinate had behaved unusually. Bauglir had avoided his presence, averted his gaze when their eyes had met. If was as if his second-in-command was hiding something from him and it was a feeling Dagnir did not like at all. It made him uneasy and he had not felt uneasy in years. Time with the ranger would surely satisfy Bauglir’s hunger for power and the craving the man felt for inflicting pain.

Turning away from the scene before him, the captain returned to one of the fires, sitting down in the grass and stared into the embers of the once vivid fire. He would let his second-in-command have his share of pleasure. Dagnir needed not to see what was happening he had seen it many times before and it was always the same; he would hear when Bauglir was finished with the ranger.


xoxoxoxo


Legolas needed to see what was happening to his friend and although he could almost touch the hunters that stood before him in the forest, laughing and jeering, he felt no fear for himself, only fear for his friend’s fate.

Scanning the scene before him, Legolas heart missed a beat and his breath caught in his throat. He had expected many things, from beating his friend to using him as a target for arrow practicing, but what played out now before his very eyes, the elf had not expected to see.

There, near the gurgling stream, the tall dark haired human hunter was standing, surrounded by his comrades, a few holding torches, others only glaring at what was happening. At first, the blond archer could not see his friend. Estel stood neither beside the tall hunter, nor between some of the other humans.

Straining his eyes to see past the flickering red glow and the even darker shadows that the torches created in the night, Legolas let his eyes travel from one side to the other, but still, Estel was no where in sight.

Then, one of the hunters shifted his stance and finally, his friend was revealed to Legolas´ sharp elven eyes. The sight made his skin curl and the blood freeze in his veins. Balling his hands to fists at his side and silently cursing the hunters in more languages than he knew he could curse in. Digging his fingernails into the soft palms of his hands, the elf stood stiff behind a tree, shadowed by the foliage and the night and watched what was happening to his friend, unable to de anything, unable to help the ranger and spare him from the cruel fate the tall human would put him through.

When one of the hunters had shifted his weight and had moved to the side, Legolas had seen that tall human, the human that had been in Imladris too, was not standing between the trees, as the archer had first thought. No, the man was standing in the running stream, sword in one hand, torch in the other.

But it was not the sight of the man standing in the almost two feet deep water that shimmered like black satin in the night, what made the Prince’s heart stop was the cause for the human to enter the freezing river.

Because there, in the middle of the stream, was Estel, lying on his back amidst the swirling masses of black ice, hands bound behind his back and his face just under the mirroring surface of the water.

With both mouth and nose under the surface of the river, there was no way for the ranger to draw breath, but even if he had not been bound, there would have been no way for him to rise and feed his starving lungs.

Over him, one foot placed firmly on the ranger’s chest, stood Bauglir, his sharp sword, which reflected each stroke of lightening with a blinding intensity, at the ranger’s throat. Should Estel move his head to the welcoming surface, he would slice his own neck on the silver blade, should the ranger stay under water, he would surely drown. It was a situation the youngest Peredhel could not escape.

Legolas saw how his friend’s eyes were directed at the man that held him in the river, not leaving the other human´s eyes even for a moment. Estel’s hair was swirling around his head, a mass of dark strands in the glittering blackness. His friend did not move; no twitch of the human’s limb could be seen and the elf wondered for the shortest moment of time if his friend was already dead.

But when the tall hunter pressed his blade down, deeper into the water and therewith at his friend’s neck, the archer could see Estel pull back as much as the water and the stony riverbed allowed him to do, and it was not much.

For long moments neither his friend nor the dark haired hunter moved, but when the moments stretched into minutes, Legolas watched how his human friend started to move under the water, sending shivers through the water and causing small droplets of glimmering water to fly into the air only to reunite with the stream a few seconds later.

When the movements of the ranger became stronger, Bauglir put more weight onto his captive’s chest, wanting to hold him down and under the water. The humans standing near the river laughed and jeered, pointing at the ranger and holding their torches higher to get a better view of the scene before them.


It made Legolas sick to have to see this, but he could not tear his gaze away either. Praying to the Valar to lend his friend the strength he would need, the Prince continued to watch what was happening.


xoxoxoxo


He needed to breathe, to fill his lungs with air and let them work again. “Again”, that word was most prominent on Estel’s mind. Bauglir was again trying to kill him, he was unable to take breath, again, and what was most unnerving, again, Estel felt powerless to do anything to stop that man from harming him.

He had lain still as long as he had been able to do so, but now his lungs were on fire and his chest felt even more crushed than it had already been. His arms and legs felt numb as the water had chilled them. The tiny stones that scraped against his hands and his injured arm felt like hundreds of glass shards, cutting into his skin.

Through the surface, he could see Bauglir, standing above him, torch raised, sword in hand. The ranger could not see the hunter’s eyes as the water that flowed over his face made his vision blurry, but he felt almost sure that the man’s eyes were twinkling with mirth and pleasure.

As the coldness of the water that surrounded him like a second skin and soothed his feverish brow, as his vision became misty and his movements weaker, the ranger felt torn between staying under water and trying to break the surface. Would Bauglir really kill him? Had Dagnir not said that he needed him alive?

Closing his eyes briefly and hoping that he was right with his assumptions, Estel took the risk. He pushed himself off the riverbed, using his bound hands for support – and resurfaced.


xoxoxoxo


As his friend’s head broke through the surface of the dark water, Legolas pressed himself at the tree before him, eager to see if the tall human had injured his friend with the sword. He could see Estel pant and gasp, filling his lungs with the much needed air, stirring the water around his body.

Bauglir was standing above the ranger, sword still in hand, and to the archer’s relief, there was no blood sprinkling the silver blade. It seemed his young friend had not been hurt after all. But, Legolas wondered, what was that hunter then doing with the blade? If he had not the intention of hurting Estel with it, there was no need to press it at the ranger’s throat, not even as a threat. It would turn out to be a meaningless gesture.

Bending forward a bit to see more, but still hidden by the tree and the night, the archer saw how the tall hunter bent down towards his friend, who still struggled to catch his breath. As the other hunters were still laughing, a human would have some difficulty understanding what the hunter was saying, but with his keen elvish hearing, the archer understood every single word.

“You broke the rules, ranger. Did I not tell you not to resurface before I tell you to? This means punishment, ranger.” Grinning, Bauglir slammed his fist into Estel’s face, sending the ranger back into the river, swallowing ice cold water and landing painfully on his injured arm.

The yelp of pain that wanted to break free was cut short by the water that rushed into his mouth and lungs, filling them and choking the human. Coughing and spluttering he sat up again, his face pale in the scarce light and his eyes screwed shut in pain.

Having handed his torch to one of the other humans and still grinning like someone possessed, Bauglir bent down and gripped a fistful of the ranger’s dark hair in own large hand, yanking Estel’s head upwards, exposing his neck. Being forced to look up into Bauglir’s face, the young Elrondion did not flinch or pull away, but held the gaze as steady as he could.

Once more, the tall hunter’s fist, holding the sword, slammed into the ranger’s head, and the sickening sound of a sword hilt connecting with something hard resounded in the woods. Estel fell back into the water, only to swallow more of the ice cold liquid. But the welcoming unconsciousness that he had awaited did not come, as the chill of the water immediately reawakened his senses and made his body stay alert.

Legolas could only watch as the tall hunter once more pressed his booted foot on his friends chest, forcing the rangers body and face under water, starting the game all over again.


xoxoxoxo


How long the ordeal had lasted, the elf could not tell, but as the tall hunter had finally grabbed the ranger by the collar of his wet shirt and had hauled his limp body out of the icy water only to throw him mercilessly onto the riverbank, coughing up water and shivering from the cold, Legolas had thanked the Valar for this blessing.

The wind that had increased in intensity had made the ranger tremble from cold, his hair, skin and clothes dripping with the freezing river water. From what the Prince could see, many new bruises had awakened on Estel’s face, contrasting starkly against the paleness of his skin and the tangle of dark hair.

Bauglir, as Legolas had heard the hunters call the man, had taken the rangers arm in a death grip and had then more dragged than pushed him back into the direction of the camp, not bothering to wait until his captive had caught his breath again or had managed to pull his feet under his body. Estel had been practically carried over the campsite, the hunters still laughing amongst themselves, passing the fires and finally reaching the trees the twins were still bound to.

The blond archer followed as silently as he could, hiding in the shadows and using the low hanging branches as cover. As the moon had been hidden by the storm clouds for the last hours, he worried not about his fair hair or skin, the hunters would not see him in this blackness of night even if he stood only a few feet in front of them.

He watched as Elladan’s and Elrohir’s faces screwed up in worry and fear, seeing their brother being dragged over the grass, his clothing as wet as if he had stood in a rainstorm for hours, his face even more pale, almost whiter than that of a deceased, dark bruises forming on his face and more surely hidden by his shirt.

Bauglir threw Estel to the unyielding ground, at the feet of the twins, near enough to see their brother clearly, but too far away to touch him in any way. Grinning again and giving his victim one last kick in the small of his back for good measure, the man turned and made his way to one of the fires, to warm up and to prepare for the rest of the night.


xoxoxoxo


The ranger, his hands still bound behind his back, moaned softly and tried to roll onto his back. After some fruitless attempts, he managed to roll over, exposing his wet chest to the cold and the biting wind, unprotected against the forces of nature.

Dimly he was aware that someone was calling his name, concerned voices floated towards him, but all he wanted was to ease the pressure in his chest, to get rid of the crushing feeling that seemed to make it impossible to breathe, that took his strength and left him weak and tired. Now, as he had succeeded in rolling over onto his back, the pressure on his chest and ribs had lifted somewhat, but still, every breath he took was a struggle and he was not sure how much longer he would be able to take up the fight.

With the decreasing of the pressure on his lungs, his awareness of his surroundings increased, letting him register for the first time that his brothers were calling his name, pleading with him to answer and to talk to them.

“Estel, seas, pedo! (speak!)” Elladan was calling to him to reply, to say something that showed his brothers that he was awake and lucid. Shivering more and more as his body registered the coldness and the winds that sneaked into his clothing, the ranger swallowed and all he managed was a hoarse “Im namae (I am well)”, which neither of his brothers believed.

“Estel, mani marte? (What happened?)” Elrohir asked his brother, trying to keep the human awake and with them in the circles of consciousness. It worried the younger twin enormously that Estel had made no attempt to move closer to them, let alone face them directly, but just lay there, on the cold and wet grass, dripping wet and obviously shivering from the nights cold and the harsh wind.

“Nothing, Elrohir, nothing happened.” He was so tired and it would take so much of his strength to explain to his older brothers what had happened. Furthermore, all Estel wanted was to forget, if only for this night, what had happened and how it had felt to lie in the cold, black water, seeing the glimmering surface above him, but being unable to reach it and knowing that if he did, all that he would receive was more pain and after that, the scary feeling of being buried alive in a grave of water.

But to ease his brother’s hearts and to, perhaps, ease the cold in his body, the ranger struggled to a sitting position, his injured arm sending flashes of pain through his side, his leg protesting at the movement. But his limbs were still frozen and cold, for which helwas very thankful, as the movement would have been more painful if they had not been.

The short way to his brothers side was almost too much for his beaten body, and when Estel had finally reached the free space between Elladan and Elrohir, he felt his body go slack and his strength flee, leaving him panting and drained. He had closed his eyes in his pain and exertion, but he could hear his brothers soothing voices that still called to him, bade him to stay with them and to fight against the darkness that equally called out to his tormented mind.

Breathing heavily and at the same time trembling from cold, the younges Peredhel pushed himself as far up as he could, finally leaning against the tree trunk with his back, his head resting at the wood and his eyes still closed in his tired state.

As if from very far away he heard Elladan call his name and tell him to lean on him and had he not felt the way he did, he might have refused, reminding his older brother that he was not a child anymore, but as it was, he obeyed without so much as a second thought, letting his body slide sideways off the tree and lean his head against Elladan’s strong shoulder.

When Estel’s head found finally the peace it had sought for so long, the human thought about, for the first time since this nightmare had started, how lonely he had felt. As a ranger he was used to loneliness and a life full of dangers and solitude, but now, as his older brother was so near and he could smell the sweet flavor of Elladan’s clothes and the scent of wood and grass that always seemed to be with the elf, Estel felt strangely at home, secure and loved by his family.

The soft rising and falling of the elf’s chest soothed the human’s troubled thoughts and the man felt himself succumb to slumber under the watchful eyes of his brothers. And although he knew that they had no power over the fate that awaited him, he let his body relax, pretending that it was not so.


End of chapter 15
Tbc asap
The next chapter is called "Trapped"

Xoxoxoxo

Faint screams reached his ears. Legolas stopped in his tracks, crooking his head to the side to listen. Surely, he had heard screams, but how many? One, two, or even three? Fear rose in his stomach. Had the hunters hurt Estel? Or the twins? Was he too late? Had he failed?

With a burst of energy he did not even know he still possessed, Legolas ran towards the sound, hoping and praying to the Valar that whoever had screamed in pain, was none of his friends.

Taking his bow from his shoulder while he ran and gripping it hard, he rushed through the underbrush, scratching his face and arms at the low hanging branches and stumbling over unseen roots and boulders, the Prince ran and ran, never looking back, only forward.

On the right side of the elf, his sharp eyes could make out large boulders and trees, and behind these obstacles, the hunters, all armed and firing arrow after arrow at the trees.

Because there, to the Prince’s left, high trees stood, its crowns swaying in the stormy wind and sheltering elven warriors, who shot arrow after arrow in the direction of the hunters.

There was no time for Legolas to take a relieved breath and rejoice that help had come, that his plan had worked, as the horse he had sent to Imladris had obviously reached the elven haven and alarmed the elven Lord, who had then sent warriors to rescue the twins and Estel. As soon as the archer stepped out of the cover of the trees, arrows flew into his direction, swishing past his head and making the Prince throw himself to the side, searching cover.

It had been no elven arrow that had nearly hit him, but one of the black arrows that the hunters used. Cursing under his breath and crouching behind a fallen log, Legolas took a deep breath, then, in one fluid motion, rose and at the same time aimed and let his arrow fly. But no yelp of pain met his ears, as it usually did. The arrow must have hit one of the rocks instead of the initiated target.

Looking left and then right, the blond archer came to the conclusion that he could neither reach the trees his kin had found cover in, nor venture further into the direction of the rocks, as the humans would surely kill him if he went there. With a feeling of fear he recognized that he was trapped. Trapped behind a fallen log from which he could not rise. But the fear he felt was not for his own well-being, but for that of his friends.

xoxoxoxo

Arrows were whizzing through the air, hitting rocks and embedding themselves into trees, shattering on the unyielding stone and injuring the bark of the tall trees. But the arrows did not hit what they were intended to hit, being hindered from doing so by the cover the humans had found.

The accurate aim of the elven warriors, high in the trees kept the hunters prisoner behind their rocks of stone and trees of green, if they did not wish to find an early and swift end. And none of them was foolish enough to try and run. Because run they could, but not for long.

As the first screams of pain had shattered the stillness of the day, Dagnir had known that his plan had been ruined. He had seen his men fall from the horses, dead before they had hit the ground, they lives ended by green fletched arrows. It had been all that he had needed to know that the elves that he had so feared and worried about had caught up with them. No, he had thought, had waited for them.

Not wasting any more time, he had swiftly unsheathed his long and deadly sword and had pressed the tip of it at one of the elves, the one holding the ranger, forcing them both to the ground with him and then, using them as cover, had retreated behind the highest formation of rock that he could have found.

It seemed that the archers had been too afraid to attack him, as as soon as he had pulled the elf and human down off the horse and to the ground, not a single arrow had even flown near them. It had been a wise decision indeed to ride next to the elves that day.

On his way to the shelter that the rocks would give him, Dagnir had seen out of the corner of his eye that his second-in-command had done the same as he, namely using the other elf and the child as cover and seeking the rock formation for further shelter.

Reaching the rocks, Dagnir pushed the elf and the human from him, but not so far as to risk another flight attempt. He saw how the ranger crumpled to the ground immediately, the elf unable to stop the fall, with his hands still bound before him. The fair being, an expression ranging from relief to confusion to worry crossing his face, knelt beside the fallen man, speaking to him softly and reaching out to shake his shoulder.

With a mighty jump and a sharp intake of breath, his second-in-command slid behind the gray stones beside him, his sword still at the elf’s throat. Where the first elf looked worried, this one looked angry and, yes, almost mockingly at the sword at his neck, as if he knew that the game was over, the last move played. The little child, the cause for all this, was cradled in the strong arms of the elf, eyeing everything with big blue eyes, shock and fear visible in the dark orbs.

Turning, the captain shifted his gaze from his captives to the trees before him. The prisoners were not important at the moment. They could not flee and the ranger was certainly not in any condition to do much. Instead, Dagnir needed to know what had happened. Pressing his body against the rocks before him, he lifted his head just enough to be able to look over the rim of the hard stone over to the other side.

This folly had nearly cost him his life, as a sharp arrow whizzed past his head, making him feel the air that followed the projectile. Ducking and pressing himself even further against the rough rock, the captain cursed his luck. The short look that he had dared had been enough to confirm his worries.

He had seen elves in the trees, not many, only two or three as the beings had been hidden by the leaves and the gray and brown branches that seemed to cover the elves. But, there was no mistaking what he had seen, the colors of Rivendell. The elves from that elven city had followed them, as he had predicted.

He had known from the beginning that they would hunt them down, that was why he had taken the ranger with him and for a few days, the elves. It was not the presence of the elves that made him frown and his heart hammer in his chest. It was the fact that the elves had been there before them; that they had waited for them.

How could the elves have known where they were heading and where they would be? Anger boiled up inside of him as he realized with shocking clarity that his letter had maybe never reached Bree and therewith never the intended person. His plan was ruined. He had been robbed of his chance of revenge.

If he knew anything about elves, and it was more than other humans as he had hunted and killed them for money more times than he could count, than it was that if elves ever had aimed with their bows at a target, they would not stop until the arrow had found its home. Dagnir knew that it was over. He would not get out of this one alive, not after what had happened, after what he had done. Perhaps if he was able to escape somehow, then maybe he had a chance of surviving, but the chances were slim, and he knew it.

His eyes blazing with fury and his pulse racing in his body, his blood rushing in his ears and his hand gripping the handle of his sword with such a force that his fingers turned white, Dagnir turned his red blazing eyes at the person that was responsible for all his problems.

Even if he would never get his revenge from his old enemy Torian, he would make sure that that ranger would pay for what he had cost him. And he had cost him dearly.

Xoxoxoxo

His body had been thrown to the cold ground mercilessly, his chest hitting the forest floor hard, pressing the air out of his lungs and making him gasp for breath. His arms that were still bound behind his back had hurt before, but the long ride had made them numb, both from cold and lack of use. The pushing and pulling as he had been forced from the horse had made his good arm protest against the action, but his injured arm had screamed in agony and send bolts of liquid fire through his body, making him gasp from the pain.

He was dimly aware that Elladan was still with him, even as they had been dragged to the rocks and was now kneeling beside him, speaking to him in elvish that all would be well and that he should stay awake and strong.

Estel knew himself that should he now pass out his life would be forefeit. For, who would need an unconscious hostage? So he struggled to control his harsh and rapid breathing, fought against the pain in his chest and his whole body, only to do as his brother bade him to do; to return to him and to stay strong. He had to stay strong, both for his brothers and for Legolas. It never crossed the ranger`s mind that he needed to stay strong for himself as well, if he wished to come out of this alive.

As his vision had cleared enough to see and his arms and legs had stopped throbbing with hot fire, he lifted his head and tried to push himself into a sitting position. With the help of his older brother Estel finally managed to sit up, but as he did, he wished he had not.

Because there, right before him, only a short way ahead, Dagnir leaned against the large gray rock formation, his face a mask of hatred and anger. The sword in his hand was shaking from the strong grip that the hunter had on it. And his eyes, his eyes burned with a fire as intense as the fires of Mordor itself. An all consuming hatred brimmed within them, reflecting the very soul of the leader. And the hatred was not directed solely at the elves that had trapped them, but at Estel, and the ranger knew it.

When Dagnir’s face turned slowly into a grimace that not even Sauron himself would have called an evil smile, Estel felt his heart fall into his stomach. The captain was not only furious with hatred, he was desperate and desperate maniac leaders of killer commando’s of human hunters could do foolish things, things that would most likely kill him.

Swallowing, Estel hoped that Dagnir would not do anything to hurt his brothers but that his actions would be concentrated on himself. He knew he could never live with himself if his brothers got hurt because of him. And although he knew deep inside that he was not to blame, that all that had happened was the fault of the hunters and especially Dagnir and Bauglir, the feeling of guilt had settled in his heart and Estel knew that it would only vanish if his brothers, and Legolas for that matter, were back in Imladris, safe and sound.

When the captain of the hunters lifted his arm and pointed his long broadsword at him, saying in his low voice only a single word, so full of malice and at the same time amusement, Estel knew that the game would end, here and now, and he was not sure who would be the winner.

Xoxoxoxo

Elrohir, cradling the terrified child in his bound arms, watched as his brother was thrown to the ground, Elladan kneeling beside him and helping Estel into a sitting position. He was relieved that elves of Imladris had come, perhaps even his father himself. He felt the sharp steel of the sword still pressing against his neck, but the pressure had lessened somewhat since they had found shelter behind the rocks.

Turning his head to look at the human that had grabbed him, he saw the hunter watching the other humans, as they struggled to stay out of the way of arrows and at the same time shoot arrows of their own. Elrohir knew that these humans stood no chance against the superior skill of the Imladris elves. Sooner or later they would all die. And although he did not kill needlessly, not even his enemies, the thought that these humans would not live to see the next dawn made his heart beat in satisfaction. No one dared harm a Peredhel!

But his feelings of suppressed joy soon turned into horror as his eyes took in the scene before him; Estel still on the ground, Elladan bending over him, both watched closely by the captain and his second-in-command. When the white haired human lifted his sword arm and locked gazes with Estel, Elrohir knew instantly that things had gone from bad to worse.

His ears caught the single word that the human captain had spoken, and the malice and hatred in it made his heart turn cold, but the hidden joy that was mingled in the tone made him cringe in fear. The word that the captain had directed at his little brother raced through his head over and over again: “You!”

xoxoxoxo

Elrond stood, high in the trees, his bow ready, an arrow notched to the string which was as tight as it could have been. Long had it been since the Lord of the elven haven had fought in battle, but he had not forgotten.

Now, as the wind rushed through his hair and played with his braids, as the sky darkened even further and the heavy gray clouds that had blackened the earth made the world cold and dangerous, Elrond waited. He could do nothing else; the humans were hiding behind the rocks and the trees and the elven warriors were not able to kill them in this position.

Time went on, neither side gaining an advantage, the arrows becoming fewer and fewer as the targets on both sides were hidden and to shoot and arrow meant to waste an arrow. The storm that raged in the sky was now directly over the battlefield, lightning crashing in the air, thunder clapping loudly, deafening the movements of the fighters.

Then suddenly, as another stroke of lightening illuminated the rocks and the ground, Elrond thought that he had seen movement behind the stones. Lifting his bow and pulling the string tight, he took aim. His eyes narrowed to slits as the elf Lord focused on the rocks and the human hunters that were hidden behind it.

Another clap of thunder shook the earth, and with it, the sharp elven eyes of the Lord of Imladris saw what he had been waiting for. There, behind one of the biggest rocks, was movement. One of the hunters seemed to rise. All happened to the Lord as if time itself had stopped.

Elrond saw the green and brown clothing of the hunter emerge from behind the rock, he saw a shoulder, then a sleeve, finally followed by a boot and leg. When the head of the hunter, his enemy, appeared from behind the rock, Elrond loosened his hold on the arrow slightly. He would kill all the humans that had dared hurt his sons and Legolas.

Wind rushed through Elrond’s hair, thunder clapped, another bolt of lightening illuminated the scene. Smiling grimly, he shifted his aim slightly. He wanted to make sure to hit the heart and when he was ready to loose the arrow, he exhaled and let his arrow fly.

The second he had released his hold onto the deadly projectile, the human that had by now stepped up from behind the rock lifted his head. Silver eyes instantly found Elrond’s own. The light of another bolt of lightening reflected in the silver sprinkled orbs, making them clearer and larger than they were. With a shocking clarity Elrond realized who the human below was.

It was Estel who had left the cover. Estel, who was now in the path of the arrow, Estel, who would die by his father’s hand.

End of chapter 16

Tbc…..

Helplessly he watched as the white haired human slid his hand from his son’s shoulder, only to grab the arrow that still protruded from Estel’s upper arm, twist the shaft and then pull it out cruelly. The mighty elven Lord saw as his son closed his eyes from the pain, his face becoming even paler and his jaw set in a grim line to keep himself from crying out.

Elrond was only dimly aware that Glorfindel had grabbed him by the arm, holding him back and therewith hindering him from jumping from the branch and onto the earth. Soft elvish words reached his ears: “Elrond, daro! (Stop!). It won’t help Estel. Stay calm, mellon nin (my friend).” Feeling his friend’s grip tighten on his arm, Elrond nodded slightly. Aye, he needed to stay calm, even if it was hard to do so.

When his eyes focused again on the scene before him, he saw that the hunter stood still behind his son, the arrow held before his ashen face. With his keen elven hearing Elrond had no problem understanding the words that left the captain’s mouths, nor his son’s reply.

“If I remember correctly, ranger, we’ve had that already, seems you make a habit out of it.”

“Let’s switch places for a change and see how you’d like it,” Estel answered.

The captain only smiled cruelly, and then he flung the blood smeared arrow onto the ground. Looking up to the trees once more he said, louder this time, his voice void of all emotion except hate and anger: “We make a deal, elf, “ Dagnir spat that last word as if it was poison, “you let us go and I will not kill this scum here,” he said, shaking Estel slightly for emphasis.

Elrond felt how the tiny hairs on his neck stood on end. They have had “that” already? What were they talking about? And how, in Elbereth name, dared this hunter talk about his son?

The Lord’s first question was soon to be answered, as he took a closer look at his human son and saw the red stain on the ranger’s leg and noticed also that Estel had taken off some of his weight from his injured leg, standing bent slightly to the left. But before the elf had found an answer to his second question, or to that of the captain, a soft hiss reached his ears.

Dagnir had pressed his hand around Estel’s upper arm, adding pressure to the new arrow wound and making the warm blood flow more freely down the ranger’s arm, making the youngest Elrondion flinch at the pain. It was all the father in Elrond needed to make a decision.

“Do I have your word?”

The captain, still holding on to his captive’s arm, showed a full fledged smile, his eyes gleaming evilly in the darkness, making his face look unnatural.

“Aye, elf. You have my word. You let us go and I will not kill the ranger.”

Nodding, the Lord of Imladris agreed: “Then it is settled.”

Estel stood still, albeit on slightly unsteady feet, his back to the hunter. Then he turned his eyes upwards to meet the dark brown ones of his father. When their gazed locked, the ranger shook his head slowly and almost invisibly, indicating that something was not as it should be.

Frowning, Elrond tried to figure out what it was that his son was trying to tell him. He knew that he could not trust the hunter, but what should he have done? The Lord of Imladris had no doubt that the captain would have killed his son on the spot, no matter the consequences. He could not risk his human son’s life. Or the lives of the twins, for that matter, as he could neither see neither Elladan nor Elrohir, although he knew from the other elven warriors that they had been with the party of riders.

Watching the hunter retreat, Elrond sent a quick prayer to the Valar that his decision had been right and that none of his sons would be hurt, or worse, killed.

Xoxoxoxo

Legolas watched from behind his log how the human captain, Dagnir, whispered something into his friend’s ear, only to walk back to the rocks the next moment, leaving Estel alone in the middle of the small space that separated the rocks from the trees in which the elves stood in.

From his place behind the large log, the archer had a perfect view on the scene before him and furthermore, he was even able to see some of the human hunters behind the boulders, although he had not been able to shoot one of them.

Pressing his body flat against the fallen tree, the Prince held his breath and watched the captain retreat even further, unhindered by either elves or the other hunters. The trees around him whispered of evil, but Legolas paid it no heed, his concentration was solely directed at the form of his friend and the human hunter.

The wind rushed through his long blond hair, playing with it for a moment and letting it fly into Legolas’ face. Irritated, the Mirkwood Prince used his free hand to wipe a few strands of hair out of his line of vision. When he next looked at the scene before him, his heart skipped a beat.

Without so much as a second thought, he jumped from behind the log and raced towards his human friend as fast as his tired legs would carry him, screaming “no” in his head all over again, not having the breath to scream aloud. It could not be true, no, not now, not when they all were so close to being rescued.

Thunder growled above him and lightening flashed at the sky. He saw how Estel turned his head to look at him, a look of utter disbelief and confusion in his eyes. Mobilizing his last strength and propelling himself forward, he slammed into Estel, sending them both crashing to the ground.

The same moment Legolas slammed into his friend, a black arrow hit the earth at exactly the same spot where the ranger had stood only a heartbeat before. Both friends simultaneously turned their heads into the direction of the hunter’s captain. Dagnir cursed loudly, then turned on his heels and ran, seeking shelter behind the rocks. And there, behind the boulders, the tall second-in-command stood, bow in hand and already notching a second arrow.

Neither Legolas nor Estel heard Lord Elrond’s and Lord Glorfindel’s yelled command, as the clouds decided in this moment to open and heavy and thick rain fell to the ground, drenching everything within seconds and reducing the vision to a few feet; heavy thunder sounded right above them, deafening the earth and drowning the screams and yells that followed. The storm had been set free.

Xoxoxoxo

Elrond watched how a green shadow flew over the ground, a blond shimmer trailing behind it. He saw how Legolas threw himself towards his son and how both crashed to the hard ground. Wondering what had caused Legolas to so such a thing and asking himself in the same second where the blond archer had come from, he nearly jumped when the soft thud of an arrow hitting the wet grass met his ears.

There, right where his human son had stood, a black arrow protruded from the ground, the shaft still quivering. Lifting his own bow and pulling the string tight, he saw how the captain turned and tried to flee, another human standing behind the rocks, bow in hand and trying to notch another arrow. Elrond heard himself yell and was not surprised to hear his advisor give the same command: “Gurth an gyth vin! (Death to our foes!)”

The sky opened up, showering them with rain and dimming the light even further. Soon, the air was thick with elvish arrows. Grimly, Elrond was aware that the human hunter had not even broken his word. “I will not kill the ranger”, the hunter had said, and he had not, but the captain had let his fellow hunter do it.

It was all the same to Elrond. All that mattered now was to get his sons and Legolas to safety. Therefore, he shot arrow after arrow through the rain, not really seeing at what he was aiming or if his arrow flew true. A pained cry from the other side was all that he needed to proceed and let arrow after arrow fly into the storm.

Xoxoxoxo

Rain plastered his hair onto his skin and fell into his eyes, making his vision blur. But perhaps it was blurry because of the pain that radiated through his whole body, starting at his leg and straight up to his pounding head. He felt awful and the weight on his chest made breathing not easier.

Taking another hurtful breath, he silently spoke, a hint of humor in his drained voice: “If you don’t mind, Legolas, would you please get off of me?”

To Estel’s amusement, the blond archer whipped his head down to him, so fast that Estel wondered for a short moment if Legolas’ neck would crack with the movement. Big blue eyes found his own, filled with concern and relief, worry and joy, all at the same time.

As Legolas only stared at him, his jaw dropped slightly, the ranger lifted one elegant eyebrow. Breathing became more difficult with every moment, as his chest felt crushed and his broken rib hurt fiercely, but he would never tell his friend. As it was, Legolas had just saved his life and Estel felt enormous joy well up inside of him at the sight of his friend. His friend was alive, he was with him and he was well. Although he was forcing the air out of his lungs.

Startled, the elf lay still for another moment and then, with the speed of the elves, pushed himself off of his friend, only to kneel beside him and give him a worried look. “Estel, are you alright? Amin hiraeth (I am sorry).”

Before the ranger could reply, an arrow whizzed past them, embedding itself into the trunk of a tree not that far away from them. Lightening crashed down, hitting a nearby tree, sending sparks down onto the earth, but the fire was instantly extinguished by the heavy rain.

Not wasting any more time, Legolas drew one of his ebony handled daggers and swiftly cut the rope that bound the ranger’s hands to his back. Estel righted himself into a sitting position, weakly massaging his wrists; it was all he could do, as his right arm was stiff from the cold and the lack of use, where his left arm was in agony. What the hungry flames of the fire had not devoured, the arrow had injured. But Estel would never blame his foster father. Never, because he knew that Elrond would never in his long eternal life injure him on purpose.

A muffled yelp of pain floated through the rain to their ears, indicating that another elvish arrow had flown true. Legolas and Estel looked at each other, the same worries and fears plain to see in their eyes. They stood, helping each other as they did so. The human turned and walked the few steps to one of the dead hunters that had been one of the first victims in this fight, felled by an elvish arrow. Bending down and wincing as he did, the ranger took the sword the rider had carried. He would need a weapon and as he could not handle a bow with his injured arm, a sword was the best alternative.

And, Estel thought, he was more familiar with a sword, as he had preferred this weapon since he was a small child and had watched his brothers during one of their training lessons. Gripping the handle of the broadsword tightly and wiping soaked hair out of his eyes with the other hand, although it hurt fiercely to do so, Estel turned around to face the archer.

Legolas’ blond hair was dripping with rain, the blond warrior braids long gone. His green tunic was muddy and torn in several places, his face pale and marred by some scratches where twigs and branches had hit him. But in Legolas’ big, blue eyes, as clear and sparkling as the night sky in a cloudless and star bright winters night, reflected the same determination that Estel felt.

In unison they turned and ran as fast as their maltreated bodies would allow them. They ran in the direction of the rocks. There was a score to settle and two elves and one adan child to rescue.

Xoxoxoxo

Elladan had been helpless and had only been able to watch how the captain had grabbed his human brother, after sharing some quick words with the other hunter, only to push him out of the cover of the rocks and into open terrain. He had seen how the other tall human, Bauglir, had shoved Elrohir into the arms of one of his fellow hunters and had then grabbed his bow, notched an arrow and waited.

Not able to see what was going on on the other side of the stone formation, the older twin had tried to listen to everything that had been said, flinching sympathetically when he heard his human brother hiss in pain. As he had not been able to see how his father’s arrow had hit his brother, he had no idea of what had happened, but assumed that Dagnir had hurt his brother somehow.

As the tall second-in-command had straightened and loosened an arrow, Elladan had known that something had gone wrong. The captain came running and cursing, throwing himself behind the rocks for cover as the heavy rain poured down from the gray sky. The older twin knew not what had happened, but it was apparent that whoever the arrow had been meant for had not been hit. And Elladan had little doubt as to the intended mark.

Muffled through the sheet of rain and the thunder that shook the earth, the older twin could barely make out the yelled command, but he was sure that it had been his father’s voice that had uttered the battle cry. Hope flickered in his heart and when he looked at his twin he saw the same hope reflected in Elrohir’s. Indeed, their father had come with the elven warriors to rescue them.

But their hope did not burn long as the captain of the hunters, as soon as he had reached safety, barked out a command to Bauglir. “Come, we need to go, hurry. Leave the others!” And with that, without a second glance back to ensure that his second-in-command was heeding his orders, Dagnir rushed to Elrohir’s side and without warning slammed the hilt of his sword into the side of the younger twin’s head, knocking him out cold.

As Elrohir crumpled to the ground, no sound leaving his lips, his eyes closed, the captain grabbed the child out of the limp elf’s arms, turned and ran to the trees that flanked this side of the mountains.

Elladan, too shocked to react, saw how his twin fell to ground, blood oozing from a gash at his head, almost at the same spot where he had been injured by the wolf some days ago. The rain that pounded down mingled with the blood, making it look more than it really was, but Elladan spared no thought at that. All that he saw was his brother, bleeding and unconscious on the wet ground.

As he rose to his feet to help his twin, a dark figure blocked his way, tall and wet, a bow in the one and a sword in the other hand. Before he knew what was happening, the tall hunter slashed out with his sword and it was only because of his long years of training that Elladan managed to escape the sharp blade.

Stumbling backwards a few feet, the older twin looked at the hunter’s face and almost flinched as realization hit him. There before him stood Bauglir, Dagnirs cruel second-in-command. And it seemed that the man was not so eager to follow his captain’s orders to leave, as he swung his sword again, this time at Elladan’s midsection.

With his hands still bound in front of him, all the elf could do was try to escape the blow. Jumping to the side and bending his body back, the blade missed his chest and only sliced through his tunic and not his skin.

Furiously, Bauglir advanced again, his eyes mad with anger and his sword raised. Panic rose in the older twin. How was he to escape? What could he do?

When the hunter aimed another blow at the elf, Elladan stepped back, but as the ground was by now drenched in rain, he slipped on the wet grass, landing heavily on his back.

Within a second the tall human towered over him, grinning evilly, the bow abandoned and the sword held in both hands high over his head, ready to strike. Lighting crashed down, reflecting on the deadly blade, rain dripped from the sword onto the ground. Watching powerlessly as the blade came down, Elladan closed his eyes, praying to the Valar that his end would be swift and that his brothers and Legolas would be spared the same fate.

Another clap of thunder, a painful gurgling sound and then a heavy weight that fell on the elf, pressing the air out of his lungs and crushing him, surely breaking every bone in his slender body. He lay unmoving, almost not daring to breathe, his eyes still closed. He felt the rain pour onto his face and the wet grass below him soaking his clothing. Then, as he was sure that the weight on his chest would crush him into tiny little pieces, he felt the weight being lifted from his body.

Still not opening his eyes, but filling his lungs with the much needed air, Elladan felt how someone kneeled in the mud beside him and then placed a cold but slender hand at his cheek. Blinking, the oldest Elrondion opened his eyes, rain obscuring his vision. When his vision had cleared enough to recognize the person kneeling beside him, his heart jumped in relief.

“Legolas! You’re here? Are you alright?” Smiling the blond archer replied: “Aye, it is me. And yes, I am well.” As if to underline his words, he reached out and helped Elladan into a sitting position, then, in the same fluid motion onto his feet.

Nodding his thanks to Legolas, Elladan’s eyes widened at what he saw directly before him. Because there, laying in the mud and being drenched in rain water, eyes open in disbelief and mouth slightly open in a silent gasp, lay Bauglir, the evil hunter that had hurt his brother so often. One of Legolas’ yellow fletched arrows was protruding from the man’s neck; it must have killed him instantly. For Elladan, the death of this man had come too quickly and too painlessly, but it gladdened his heart that the hunter had found his end.

Turning his head in the direction of his twin the elf wanted to make sure that Elrohir was alright and that the blow to his head had not been serious. As he did so, another wave of relief washed over his senses.

Stumbling forward, he fell to his knees beside his twin and threw his still bound arms over his human brother’s head - as the ranger had knelt down to check Elrohir over while Legolas freed Elladan - hugging him fiercely, for the moment forgetting Estel’s injuries. Tears of joy mingled with the rain that ran down Elladan’s cheek.

Everything was going to be alright now. When that hunter had forced his little human brother to stand up and leave the cover of the rocks, Elladan had thought that that had been the last time that he had seen Estel alive. But here he was, alive and well. They were together, Bauglir was dead, they alive and surely Elrohir would be alright also, it just had to be so. Hiding his face in his human brother’s shoulder, Elladan muffled something incomprehensible, but he did not care. To see Legolas and Estel beside him, both alive was all that he had wanted.

Not willing to release his brother so soon, Estel partially needed to force the elf to release him. Grabbing his brother’s shoulders gently, he drew a bit away so that he was able to look into his brother’s face. Large wet eyes greeted his own and the ranger could not suppress the smile that stole itself on his face. He sighed softly, still holding eye contact with Elladan, and when he was sure that his older brother had pulled himself together sufficiently, he asked jokingly: “Elladan, may I have my neck back, please?”

All the elf could do was grin back at his brother, relief evident on his face. Nodding, he lifted his arms from his brother’s shoulder, releasing Estel, who immediately slumped forwards a bit as the support of the elf was withdrawn.

Blinking against the heavy rain and suppressing a wince, the ranger took the sword that he had taken from the dead hunter and cut the bonds around the older twin’s wrists, freeing the elf. When Elladan was freed, he leaned closer to Estel and watched him concerned. It had not gone unnoticed by the elf that his brother had slumped forwards, nor the new traces of fresh blood that stained the left sleeve of the ranger’s tunic.

“Estel, are you alright?”

“I will be, Elladan. I will be. Now let’s get our brother out of the rain and to shelter.” Only now did Elladan notice that the grass they were sitting on had turned into mud that slowly seeped into Elrohir’s clothes and that numerous arrows still flew through the air. Not all of the hunters had fled, some were still fighting against the elven warriors of Imladris, but the humans were so occupied with saving their own lives that they did not care about the former captives.

Nodding to Estel, Elladan took Elrohir’s arms while Legolas took the elf’s legs, as the ranger had not the strength to do so, and together they carried the still unconscious elf to the shelter of some high boulders, out of the direct line of fire and partially safe from the pouring rain. Placing the younger twin gently on the ground and settling his head onto Elladan’s lap, Estel took another look at the head wound his brother had sustained.

Through all the blood and the rain water it was difficult to tell whether the wound was serious, but as the elf had not stirred yet, the ranger suspected that Elrohir had at the very least a bad concussion. He felt the skull as good as he could with only one good hand and sighed in relief as he felt no fracture.

Looking up, his eyes met Elladan’s and he answered unasked his brother’s unspoken question: “I think he will be well, but I will feel better after ada has taken a look at him.” Again, a look of relief washed over Elladan’s face. The elf’s hand was stroking his twin’s brow, in very much the same way Elrohir had done only a few nights ago for Estel.

An arrow scraped the rock that they were sitting behind, alerting the friends of reality once more. There was still a fight to fight. The older twin watched as Legolas shouldered his bow and took out his ebony handled daggers, the hilts gleaming in the lightning, the archer’s blond hair wet and clinging to his shoulders. When Legolas shared a determined look with Estel and both nodded, the ranger gripping the hilt of his broadsword tighter, Elladan felt despair in his heart.

As another arrow whizzed past them, the blond archer gave the oldest Elrondion a promising look, then ducked and sprinted out of the shelter and back to the fight. Estel looked at his friend’s retreating back and then to his older brother, a look of sorrow on his face.

Taking a deep breath and looking deep into the elf´s big eyes, he said softly: “I have to go, Elladan.”

Breathing deeply and smiling one of those smiles that do not reach ones eyes, Elladan answered silently: “Iston, gwanur (I know, brother). Be careful.” Estel nodded and, after another look at Elrohir, he turned and followed the Prince into the rain and the storm.

Yes, Elladan thought, I know that you have to go, Estel. I would do the same. But please, little brother, come back to me. Come back to us. I have not gone this long way to find you only to lose you again.

Cradling his still twin tighter against his strong chest, the elf proceeded to stroke his brother’s dark hair, keeping him protected from the storm and the deadly arrows, whispering soothing words of comfort to him. And deep inside he hoped and prayed that the night would pass without another one of his family or friends being wounded or worse, killed. Elladan was not sure if he would be able bare it.

End of chapter 17

Tbc….

The next chapter is called “ The Chase”

Estel, awoken out of the paralysis in which he had momentarily fallen into as Dagnir had turned towards the deep black void, ran forward, although he knew that he would never reach the man in time.

Through the rain and the wind, the blond archer flung himself forwards, letting go of the white handles of his twin knives to free his hands, slamming hard onto the wet ground, sliding forwards on the mud and reaching out with his right arm, over the edge of the rocks, down towards the falling figure of the man.

Lightening crashed, thunder boomed, the wind roared…. and the human captain dangled down over the black abyss, held back by Legolas’ strong hand.

Eyes red as the fires of Mordor looked up and pierced the Prince’s blue ones, the face of the man full of hate and disgust. The rain made the elf’s hold on the human slippery and with every second that passed the archer felt how his own body was sliding forwards on the mud and the wet grass, his upper half now dangling over the chasm as well.

The human murderer looked down at the blackness below him, then at the frightened child in his arms. Taran, his big blues eyes widened in fear, looked at the man that still held him, pleading without words to let him go, to save him.

When he lifted his gaze back to Legolas, the elf knew that the human had no flicker of mercy in his heart. The elf’s eyes widened as the human that he held grabbed the child by the back of his tunic, spreading his arm wide to the side; Taran now hanging freely in the air, only held by the captain. Then, Dagnir smiled, the first true smile that Legolas had ever seen on the man’s face. And then, the man´s fingers opened, wind rushed through the boy’s hair and without so much as a sound coming from his lips, the small and helpless child fell.

“No!” Slithering to a halt at the very edge of the chasm, his body hanging dangerously over the edge, Estel reached out with his hand, wet from the rain and the mud and desperately wished that he was not too late.

His fingers brushed the collar of Taran’s tunic the moment Dagnir released his hold on the boy, and with the foolishness of panic and desperation the ranger stretched even further and then, as he was sure that he was too late and the boy was lost, the fingers of his right hand hooked themselves onto the child’s rain soaked tunic, preventing the boy from falling to his death.

Legolas watched, stunned, as his friend secured his hold on the boy and slowly, very slowly, shuffled back over the edge of the chasm, his body laying in the mud and on the wet grass, making it difficult to move as every movement could cause his friend to lose his hold and slide forwards, over the edge and to his death.

The rain continued to fall on them, the droplets big and heavy, drumming at his body and making his own hold on the captain slippery; his own body sliding forwards with every breath he took.

By now, the elf saw how his friend lifted the child over the edge and onto safe ground, first kneeling and then falling backwards in his exhaustion, the boy pressed securely to his chest. Breathing heavily, Estel then righted himself and the moment he locked gazes with Legolas, an angry yell sounded from below “NO! NO!”

Looking down quickly, Legolas saw the red eyes of the hunter gleam up at him and then, suddenly, the archer felt his body slip on the wet grass, losing his precarious hold and sliding forwards, his chest, his hips and then the rest of his body.

Eyes widened in shock and denial the Prince felt the weight of the human drag him down, over the edge and to certain death. He did not know why he had not just let go of Dagnir after he had seen that Estel had rescued the child, but Legolas knew that it was too late now. He would die. Not somewhere, not someday, but here and now. He closed his ocean blue eyes and prepared for the blackness to take him, wishing that his death would be quick and rejoicing that at least his friend was safe.

But fate was not so cruel.

Just as he had closed his eyes, his hand still holding onto the human as he had not had the time to release the man, another hand, strong and well known to the elf, grabbed one of his legs, jolting the fall to an abrupt halt, making the archer´s hair fly round his fair face.

Turning his head as far as he could the elf looked over his shoulder at his leg and then upwards. Estel was hanging precariously over the edge of the chasm, his dark hair hanging in his face that was even paler than it had been before, almost gray, his jaw set in a grim line, eyes determined but full of pain.

Panting slightly from the strain that was put on his arm and the overall pain that enveloped him, the ranger breathed out, almost too soft for Legolas to hear over the strong wind and the pounding of the rain: “Legolas, I cannot hold both of you. You have to let him go.”

It was not a difficult decision for the archer to make. Because although he never killed needlessly, not even his worst enemies, if he had to decide between his own life and that of a murderer, he would choose his own. He had to let the hunter go or both of them would die. Looking down he opened his hand to release his hold onto the human, only to realize that the human had grabbed the sleeve of his own green tunic with his hand, the hunters fingers tangled into the fabric; Dagnir would not let go.

Deep blue eyes met insane red ones and as another flash of lightening illuminated the chasm, revealing how deep it truly was, Legolas felt his heart sink. The captain was not only mad with hatred, he was really insane. Feeling the strong fingers of the human dig into the soft flesh of his forearm, Legolas knew that he had no way to break the grip of the man.

The captain of the hunters grinned evilly at him, rain falling in his face as he looked up and as their eyes met the prince realized that the hunter was not clinging to the elf to save his own life, but to take the elf with him into the abyss.

Suddenly, Estel gasped and Legolas felt his body fall downwards a bit as his friend started slipping on the rain soaked grass, as the elf himself had done only moments before. Having screwed his eyes shut in pain, his free hand dug into the soft earth to stop his sliding, the ranger said breathlessly: “Legolas, let go. Please!”

Looking up at his friend, Legolas answered softly in Sindarin: “Non hiraeth (I am sorry), Estel, but I can’t.”

The ranger’s eyes snapped open and when he saw why his friend had not released his hold on the captain, they widened even further, disbelief and fear visible in the silver orbs.

Once more Legolas felt his friend slip on the wet ground, now dangling himself almost over the edge. In this moment Legolas knew that they would all die; Dagnir, he and Estel, because his friend would never let go of him, never. The youngest Elrondion would willingly sacrifice his own life if it meant that Legolas had a chance of living, as slim as this chance might be.

Another flash of lightening brightened the sky, making the clouds look poisonous; the wind wailed in the elf’s ears and tore at his clothing. Then, Legolas made his decision. Finding his friend’s eyes, he smiled weakly, whispering: “Namarie, mellon nin. It has been an honor to call you my friend.” And with that, he moved his leg sharply, loosening the ranger’s grip on it and therewith saving his friend´s life.

But Legolas, as pure as his heart and as selfless his intention may have been, had not counted on his friend´s stubbornness. Releasing his hold on the wet grass and the Earth that secured himself to the ground, Estel reached out with both hands this time, catching the elf’s other leg, grounding out between clenched teeth: “Don’t you dare, elf!”

Panic rising in his chest and fear enveloping his tender heart, the Mirkwood archer looked at his friend, pleading: “Estel, let me go or we will all die.”

“You don’t really think I will let you go, Legolas, do you?” And after giving the elf a look full of determination and strength he added: “Never, Legolas, I would never let you go like this.”

As they spoke, Dagnir reached unnoticed under his cloak with his free hand, pulling out a small dagger, a vicious glimmer in his eyes. Pulling his arm back he prepared to throw it at Estel. If he had to die, he could take them both with him. It would only be fair. The ranger had ruined his plans, so why not let him pay the price as well?

Out of the corner of his eye the youngest son of Elrond saw something silver reflecting in a flash of lightening and without thinking he let go with one of his hands, reflexively drew his leg upwards towards his chest as far as he could, reached behind him with his hand, pulled the small knife that he always carried out of the shaft of his boot and threw it into the deep below.

A scream reached his ears as his dagger embedded itself in Dagnir’s chest, the human stared at him wide eyed, the dagger still in his hand and then, suddenly, a part of the weight that had been pulling at the ranger’s arm vanished and with a loud clap of thunder the captain of the hunters fell into the darkness, plummeting into the void and surely finding his death at the bottom of the abyss.

The two friends stared into the darkness of the chasm for a moment, forgetting for the time being that Legolas’ life was still in danger. As Estel again slipped on the mud, they were jolted out of their stupor and as fast as he could the ranger reached down with his other hand and grabbed Legolas’ leg.

He gasped as the prince’s weight pulled at his injured arm, making him wince in pain. The archer may by light even for an elf as he had never had a very big appetite, but he was too heavy for Estel’s tired and injured limbs. He felt his own warm blood run down his arm and as Legolas moved inside his grip, he felt his arms tremble from the strain and the pain. He knew that in the state he was in, he would never be able to pull his friend back over the edge and onto the safe ground.

Legolas knew it too. “Estel,” The rangers’ eyes were still closed in an attempt to concentrate on his strength and to block out the pain, but his friend’s softly spoken words made him open them and search his friend’s gaze. “Estel, it’s alright. You can let go.”

Denial sprung into the rangers eyes as quick as an elf could shoot an arrow and he shook his head no. Had he not told Legolas only moments ago that he would not let go? Legolas was his best friend, even more; he was his brother, in all ways except by blood. No, he would not let go of his friend. Not if it meant that the elf would die, never.

Tightening his hold on his friend he replied gruffly: “Don’t you dare Legolas. I promise if you make me let go of you I will kill you myself.” The trembling in his arms intensified and Estel even saw how his blood, oozing through the fabric of his sleeve and running down his arm to his hand, drenched Legolas’ leggings and made his hold onto his friend even more precarious than it already was.

Thunder growled above in the dark sky and with it a gush of icy cold rain, flying on the wind, whipped against them. As Estel felt his body slip on the ground and over the edge, they both knew that time had run out, that it was too late. Their eyes met in what they thought was a final farewell and both felt the air pull at them as they fell into the darkness below.

Xoxoxoxo

He sped through the forest, his heart pounding in his chest, fast and strong, his dark hair flying behind him as his long legs carried him past trees and bushes. His sword in his hand, Elrond rushed forwards, dreading what he might find.

After the last human had surrendered to the warriors of Imladris, the elven Lord had sought his sons and found the twins sheltered behind a huge rock, Elladan cradling an unconscious Elrohir on his lap. He had looked them both over while his eldest had told him of what had happened and when Elladan had told him that Estel and Legolas had given chase to the captain, he had felt his stomach churn.

How could they? Why had they not stayed where they were? They would have been safe and secure, away from danger and death, but no, of course not. Why stay where it is safe when peril lurked in the near distance? Although Elrond knew that these thoughts were produced by his worried mind, he felt guilty at having them.

His youngest and the prince of Mirkwood had not gone to do something foolish, but they had gone to rescue the little child and to make sure that the human captain did not escape, only to come back and try again. No, Elrond knew deep inside that his son and Legolas had only tried to help. But as a father he feared for them both.

When he had made sure that the twins and especially Elrohir were not seriously injured, the younger twin having only sustained a bad concussion, he had chased after the two friends, his advisor and friend Glorfindel on his heels. Soon the rain and the darkness of the forest had swallowed them, their footsteps almost unnoticeable on the wet ground.

Rain had splashed at them and the wind had whipped their faces as they tore through the forest, branches and twigs hindering them but never halting them.

Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity to both elves, their steps had led them to the outer rim of the tree line and rushing out of the forest they had seen them. Or at least they had seen Estel, had seen his body, lying in the mud on the ground. They had how he had slid forwards and over the edge of what seemed to be a deep chasm, his legs sliding over the wet grass only to disappear from their view the next second.

With a scream of fear on his lips Elrond flew forwards just as Estel’ legs slid over the edge, closely followed by the blond advisor, who had also gasped in fear and then let out a desperate yell. Simultaneously they abandoned their weapons and reached the rocky edge of the chasm, throwing their bodies to the ground and each one of them grabbing one of Estel’ legs, stopping his fall.

The abrupt stop of his fall made the ranger gasp in surprise and shock, his hands nearly loosing their hold of Legolas’ leg. Through the wind and the storm he heard the voice of his foster father call out to him: “Estel! Tessa ten’ amin ion nin (Hold on for me my son).”

Elrond felt how his own body started to slip on the wet ground and assuming that Glorfindel was faring no better, he said: “Glorfindel, on three! Min, ad, neledh! (One, two, three!)” At three, the elven lords pulled as hard as they could, digging their feet into the ground for support and slowly, but surely, they pulled Estel and Legolas up and towards the edge of the chasm.

It took long moments to pull the ranger up far enough so that Glorfindel was finally able to grab Legolas leg and release the human of the weight of the prince. A few moments and pulls later, all four beings lay sprawled on the muddy ground, their tunics soaked and filthy, the rain pouring down onto them and the wind washing over them as they lay there, their chests heaving and their hearts pounding faster after all they had been through, the adrenalin slowly vanishing.

Surprisingly, Estel was the first to move. He rolled onto his back, and then pushed himself painstakingly slowly into a sitting position, only to wince slightly from the pain the movement caused him. There seemed to be no spot on his whole body that did not hurt. Turning his head and with it his upper body into the direction of the forest that lay dark and shadowy behind them, he managed a smile and said, seemingly into the nothingness: “Come here, penneth. All is well now. Have no fear.”

And to each elf’s astonishment the ranger’s words were answered by a soft sniffing sound and then the small body of the little adan child stumbled forwards, towards Estel’s outstretched arm and Taran flung himself into the ranger’s arms, crying vehemently into the youngest Peredhel’s already wet tunic.

Stroking the child’s hair gently, Estel whispered soothing words into the boy’s ear, finding his father’s gaze and smiling softly.

When he had seen his friend slip on the wet ground, being dragged into the abyss by Dagnir, Estel had set Taran down on the grass, out of harms reach. The boy had not moved and when Estel had sat up he had seen that the boy had still been sitting where he had placed him on the muddy ground. It seemed the elves had not seen the boy in their haste to help them. It was all the same. It did not matter, because here they were, safe and sound. And soon, soon they would be home in Imladris, taking up their lives where they had left them to walk down this adventurous road.

Elrond, who watched his youngest stroke the sniffing and crying child gently, trying to soothe the terrified boy, noticed that Estel’s hands were not only shaking slightly, but that they were covered in blood as well. Narrowing his eyes and now, for the first time since the fight had started; the lord took a closer look at his son. What met his eyes made his heart ache and he had to consciously stifle a gasp as he saw the bruises on his son’s face and the amount of blood that clung to the ranger’s clothes.

Moving closer towards his youngest, Elrond reached out and instinctively drew his son into a fatherly hug, feeling the coldness of his son’s skin and noticing that Estel stiffened at the touch, only to relax the next moment against his father’s strong chest. Rubbing his hand over the ranger’s back and murmuring words of comfort, Elrond let his head rest against that of his son, overwhelmed by so strong emotions he had not felt for years.

During all the days that he had feared for his sons lives and for the life of Legolas, during all this time he had imagined the moment he would hold his sons in his arms again and now, as his youngest rested against his chest, he had problems to describe how he felt at that moment, but being asked later he would say that he had felt whole.

The mighty lord of Imladris, in this night more a father than anything else, did not know how much his sons and Legolas had been through and what Estel had had to endure to be injured as he was, but he was sure that, given time, the wounds would heal and the memories would fade to a point at which they would cause mere discomfort instead of pain.

And so they sat there, Estel soothing the child, secure in his father’s embrace, Legolas staring at his friend with eyes filled with friendship and relief, Elrond holding his son close and Glorfindel, the golden haired advisor watching them all with a slight smile that lighted his face, as the storm lessened and the thunder disappeared in the distance, the rain reducing to a slight drizzle and the full moon leaking out weakly behind some gray clouds, shining down upon the four.

End of chapter 18

Tbc…. The next (and last sniff) chapter is called “Homewards”

The day which was spent healing and resting passed slowly and when the moon appeared in the sky, painting the world silver and surreal, Elrond found himself again at his family’s side. But this night, he would rest too, assured that he was, now that the wounds were seen to and would heal in time, both physically and mentally.

Stretching out on a blanket near Elladan, he lay back and gazed at the blinking stars above him, listening to the sounds of the night and the deep breathing of his children. All was quiet and still, the night perfect in its simplicity.

When the elven lord felt his eyes slowly glaze over and his mind reaching out to the realm of elven sleep, a soft sound floated to his sensitive ears, pulling him back to the night and the figures beside him. Sitting up on his elbows, he looked to the side, trying to discern the source of the noise.

A soft movement brought his attention to Elrohir, who, covered by a blanket, was sleeping peacefully between his brothers. Then, in the sparkling moonlight, the elf saw that the movement had not been caused by his son, but by the small adan child who had been lying on top of Elrohir’s chest, deep asleep.

Now, as Elrond watched, the small child moved again, lightly thrashing in the blanket, trapped in a nightmare it seemed. A soft sound escaped the boy’s lips, sounding frightened and Elrond wondered for a moment whether he had truly heard the word “anger”, of if that had just been his imagination.

One way or another, the father and healer in Elrond could not see the small child so disturbed. Reaching out, he gently removed the blanket from around the child and then took him into his own arms, careful not to wake Elrohir, who had also moved in his sleep as Elrond had replaced the blanket around his son’s shoulders to stave off the cold of the night.

Taran, woken from his nightmare by the elven lord, looked at the lord with sleepy eyes that reflected the moonlight that waved through the leaves of the trees. Old eyes met young ones and the elf felt the child rest his head against his shoulder as he rested the child in his arms.

Taran again murmered something, but the elf did not understand the child. Rubbing his hand is soothing circles over the boy´s back, the lord whispered soothing words into the child´s ear and felt the boy relax in his arms.

For a moment he wondered what had changes Taran´s attitude towards elves, but deep inside he already knew the answer. His youngest had done that, and the twins and Legolas. Smiling slightly, the elven lord thought back on the day when Estel had arrived in Imladris, scared and unhappy, unwilling to let himself be comforted and how he had held Estel almost the same way he was holding Taran now one night. It had somehow opened his youngest to the elves and after that night, Estel had started to truly be a son of Elrond.

Soon, the little adan was fast asleep again, this time without disturbing nightmares. Lying back down onto the blanket and stretching out his long legs, the lord looked back at the star covered sky and before he let himself walk in the realm of elvish sleep, he sent a silent prayer to the Valar and thanked them for keeping an eye on his family and friends and bringing them all back to him.

Xoxoxoxo

“No.”

“Ada, what could possibly happen?”

“Estel, I have said it before and I say it again. Either you take the party of elves with you, or you won’t go at all.”

It was early morning in the elven haven that was Imladris, the sun peaking up behind the mountains and the birds singing their songs as they soared over the valley. The sky was azure blue and not a single cloud could be seen. Flowers of all kinds and colors were blossoming, filling the air with their scent and soothing both the body and soul.

Well, almost everybody, that was. Breakfast in the Last Homely House had been strained that day, Estel and his foster father arguing throughout the meal. Neither the young ranger nor the Elf Lord were stepping down from their opinions and the fact that the twins were playing deaf and that Legolas, after receiving a pleading look from his human friend, had claimed diplomatic immunity, taking this as a token that he would not have to intervene, did not help matters either.

On that very day, the twins, Legolas and Estel, and if Elrond had his way, a party of skilled warriors from Imladris, would take little Taran to Bree to meet the boy’s parents.

After they had all returned to Imladris, Elrond had sent elves to Bree to learn of the child’s parents and to deliver the rest of the hunterst to the local authorities there and truly, after some searching they had found them and convinced them that Taran was safe and the threat gone.

Of course, Torian and his wife had wanted to go to Imladris themselves to fetch their son, but the long travel through the forest and then back to Bree would have been dangerous for both parents and child. Therefore, Elrond had suggested that the elves bring the boy to Bree.

The lord of Imladris hoped that the man, Torian, would be able to tell them why Dagnir had tried to kill him, using the man’s only child to do so. The letter that they had found had shed some light on the matter, but the elf needed to know more to ease his heart’s desire to know why his sons and Legolas had been put through this ordeal. And, Elrond was sure Torian was the only one who could tell them, as Dagnir had taken his motives to his grave. From a letter Elrond had received from Taran’s father, the elf lord knew that the man was willing to tell his story and that, when his sons and the prince returned from Bree, he would learn of the full tale.

His sons and Legolas had volunteered, naturally, although Estel’s left arm was still a bit stiff and he limped slightly, which he tried to hide from his father and friends, without success, as usual. Furthermore, the illness the man had suffered from had not helped his condition. From the beginning Elrond had made his son drink various potions and teas, which were designed to ease the coughing fit and sooth the throat, but it had taken many days for the ichty feeling in the rangers throat to subside.

Still, Estel was coughing from time to time, but since the day the fever had left his body, he had begun to recover. His father had ordered him strict bed rest for a week and the warmth of the bed back home in Imladris and the constant care and mothering from the twins had truly helped his health.

Sooner than Elrond had though possible, the man had started to refuse the potions, claiming that they tasted “as if something had died in the tea pot”. And the fact that Legolas had been allowed out of bed after the first day, the stab wound almost healed had not improved the sitation. When Elrohir had joined his older brother and the prince in “mothering their little human”, Estel had been loath to stay in bed any longer.

His father could not tell from which illness, or rather illnesses, the ranger had suffered, but they were all very glad when Estel had passed a day withoutone of the coughing fits and Elrond was sure that the small cough here and there would vanish with time. It had been a sign that the human was on the mend and no one had been happier than Estel when his father had finally allowed him out of bed. That had been two days ago.

Elrond, having agreed that his youngest may accompany the elves to Bree, as he was the one who had been with Taran through most of the ordeal, had suggested, no, ordered, that they take a party of warriors with them, in case anything should happen.

Of course, the ranger disagreed, the party of elves giving him the feeling that he was not capable of looking after himself. But Elrond, knowing his sons and Legolas very well, did not want to take the risk, not after what had happened. So, his youngest and he had started breakfast arguing and had finished breakfast arguing. Now, as the time of leaving for Bree drew nearer, the elven lord had had enough.

Straightening to his full height and narrowing his eyes in his most stern façade, he looked at his youngest son and said: “Estel, you take the party of warriors with you, or you won’t go at all. Is that understood, my son?”

Opening his mouth to retort, Estel found he could not, as a slender hand was placed over his mouth from behind, preventing him from speaking. Soft words were whispered in his ear, so soft that only he could hear them: “Estel, mellon nin. Saes (please), let it be. Your ada is just concerned. Grant him a peaceful sleep while we are away.”

Glancing at Legolas who was leaning over his shoulder and then back to his father, Estel inwardly sighed, but nodded nevertheless. Legolas was right. His father had worried enough over the last weeks. What were a few days within the company of warriors – which would surely watch his every step, Estel was sure of that – in comparison to a father at peace?

Smiling, the blond archer released his hold on his friend and the man, looking at his father said smiling: “All right Ada, we will take the warriors with us, as you wish it.”

And so it came that a party of elven warriors, the twins, Legolas and Estel, who carried Taran, rode out of the cobbled courtyard and then over the stone bridge of Imladris, leaving the Last Homely House behind them and entering the green and lively forest that would lead them to Bree, the sun on their backs and the wind under the hooves of their horses.

As he did every time his sons left the elven haven, Elrond stood on his beloved balcony, following the riders until they vanished behind leafy underbrush and green trees, hidden from his keen elvish sight.

More sensing than hearing his old friend coming up besides him, he turned his head slightly to Glorfindel and nodded in acknowledgement, before he turned his gaze back towards the woods that surrounded the valley.

For long moments neither of them spoke, but then the blond haired advisor chuckled softly, a sound not known to many ears. Turning to face his friend, an eyebrow crooked in astonishment, Elrond asked: “And what, pray tell, my friend, is so funny?”

Not even trying to stifle his mirth, Glorfindel took a breath and answered, his voice wavering between amusement and seriousness, a mixture well known to both elven lords: “My friend, do you really think a party of warriors will be capable of keeping your sons and Legolas out of trouble?”

Ever so slowly, the corners of Elrond’s mouth started to twitch and then, after a moment, the elven Lord allowed the grin to spread over his face. Turning back to the trees, he sighed deeply and then snorted softly, a sound very much un-elflike and surely not befitting a millennia old elf lord. “Oh, my friend, how right you are. I think not even all the Valar together would be able to keep those four from harm. But, I have to try, have I not? What else can a father do?”

They stood for more long moments, each one lost in his own musings, the sun slowly rising and the soft wind caressing the young leaves and flowers, rustling the grass and making the water in the small ponds ripple, sending small droplets of water, shining like little diamonds in the sun, flying through the air beside the fountain in the courtyard.

Finally, Elrond turned, followed by Glorfindel, and headed to his study. There were papers to sign, treaties to read and letters to finish. But in his mind, he was far away, thinking of the day that he would next stand on his beloved balcony, overlooking the bridge and the courtyard.

Because that would be the day his sons, Elladan, Elrohir and Estel, together with Legolas, would come back from Bree, and would finally be at home again.

End of chapter 19

The end

Well, it was had been an honor for me to write this for you and I will miss all the nice reviews. Hopefully and with a bit help of the Valar, we will meet later again with another story or the sequel to this story, which is in the process of planning.

Namarie, mellyn nin,

Imaginigma