Rating: PG-13

Feedback:
cassia_a@hotmail.com and siobhancl2@aol.com


Spoilers:
Perhaps a few for our previous stories and for some information contained in the 
Unfinished Tales by JRR Tolkien. Oh and maybe a minor one or two for the Return 
of the King. Very small though if any.

Disclaimer:
We own nothing of Middle Earth or any of Tolkien’s worlds or characters. 
Everything recognizable belongs to JRR Tolkien; anything else belongs to us. We 
have no permission to use these characters and are receiving no money for this 
story. This story was written for enjoyment only. Please do not use our original 
characters or situations without asking first. Thank you.

 

Summary:
A generation apart, two adventures become one.
While wintering in Mirkwood, Aragorn is taken captive by a bounty hunter with a 
mysterious objective, leaving Legolas, Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir in a 
desperate struggle to save the young human before it is too late.
80 years later, Aragorn is King of Gondor, but the shadows of the past do not 
lie quietly and he, Legolas and Gimli find themselves in their own frightening 
quest to save Aragorn's young son Eldarion from someone who wants to see the 
King dead.

Past, present and future converge in a swirling blizzard of events when Legolas 
makes the ultimate sacrifice for his best friend and a father's worst nightmare 
comes true... twice.


Series:
Yes, The Mellon Chronicles.

Previous stories in the series are:
Captive of Darkness
Hope
Father’s Love
First Meetings
Change of Heart, Change of Mind
Exile
Return
Mistaken Identity
Vilya
Black Breath
Sickness
The Seventh Stone
Betrayal
&
Legolas’ No Good Rotten Day

Also part of this series and already written, but chronologically taking place 
after this story:

And So The End

(The List goes ever on and on... =D)
This story will make more sense if you have read those first, although if you 
want to give it a whirl by itself, we try to recap and explain most of the 
references back to the other stories when they pop up, but having read the rest 
of the series is strongly recommended.

 

Warnings:
Character torture and angst.
(You expected anything less?)

 

Additional disclaimers:
Please note that when Tolkien says that Aragorn was ‘raised in the house of 
Elrond’ after his father’s death when he was a child, we have taken that to mean 
that Elrond was something of an adopted father to his long-distant nephew, 
Aragorn, and Elrond’s twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir were something like older 
brothers to the young ranger. Please do not take offence, or flame us on this if 
you see it differently.  Thanks!

Also, FYI, the general situation around the recovery of the Elendilmir in 
chapter one was taken from sketchy information and references made by Professor 
Tolkien in the "Unfinished Tales" book, but the details and particulars are 
entirely ours. The tale of how it was lost is also taken directly from that 
book, so although it does not entirely match with the movie-verse version of 
Isildur’s death on a few minor points, it is accurate with Tolkien’s written 
works.

Any spelling, date, cannon or character errors are the fault of the authors only 
and are completely by accident. We are not an expert on Middle Earth and have 
never claimed to be. So please forgive any omissions that you might find.

 

PLEASE NOTE:
This story has two plot-lines that intertwine, one happening when Aragorn is 
young, set directly following our last story "Betrayal" and the other set 
Post-Return of the King when Aragorn is King of Gondor. Because of this, the 
story does a lot of time-hopping as it is continually jumping back and forth 
over roughly an 80 year span in the course of following its two dual plot-lines. 
In an effort to keep this from getting confusing, whenever the time changes, it 
is clearly marked with a bracket that says something like this:

~*~

...80 Years Ago...

~*~

or

~*~

... 80 Years Before...

~*~

Or some other time denotation. If that is said at the beginning of a chapter, 
then it means that much time before or after whenever the last chapter took 
place. Actually, at some points, artistically, it probably doesn’t NEED to be 
marked in that manner, since it should be clear what is going on, but I have 
still made sure to mark every time change that way anyway, just so that there is 
no possibility of anyone getting lost or confused. (*sigh* I just know someone’s 
gonna get confused anyway and write us all kinds of e-mails asking for 
explanations... but we tried...)

Now that this monster header and disclaimers have taken up *two*, no, wait, now 
it’s *three* pages, I think that’s quite enough of that and it is *definitely* 
time to move on to the story... It starts off jumping straight into the middle 
of things; so hold onto your... well, whatever you want to hold onto, and off we 
go! :o)


___________________________________________________________

 

-Priceless Treasure-


___________________________________________________________

~*PROLOGUE*~

 

Grey rain slated down Aragorn’s face, making his dark tresses cling to his brow.

Choose.

But he could not choose. How could anyone make the choice being set before him? 
It was impossible. It would break a heart of stone, and right now, Aragorn was 
very aware that his heart was made of anything but.

Legolas’ blood covered his hands and ran down to mingle with the mud by his 
boots as he clung to the elf, willing the life to stay in his friend’s body. He 
was the King of Gondor and Arnor, but he could not command Legolas’ heart to 
keep beating, nor bind his spirit to this world if it should choose to set 
flight.

"Stay with me Legolas," he whispered softly in elvish. "Don’t leave me like this 
my friend."

Beside him, Aragorn’s young son Eldarion struggled against the bonds that held 
him, the bonds that Aragorn was now helpless to remove. The boy’s quick 
breathing around the gag in his mouth clouded on the chilly air as Aragorn met 
his son’s eyes, wishing he had something to give young man besides the burning 
knowledge of how very much his father loved him.

"So which will it be?" the voice of the man who had orchestrated this whole 
nightmare grated on Aragorn’s nerves, making him want more than anything to 
spring up and choke the life out of his sneering adversary... but any such move 
would forfeit all their lives.

"Your life is full of choices isn’t it? You’re *Highness*," the title was a 
slur. "So choose now or they both die."

The rain pelted as fast as Aragorn’s spinning thoughts. This didn’t seem real. 
He couldn’t be here, this couldn’t be happening. None of this was supposed to 
happen like this. It had all started out so normally, a simple trip, a simple 
task, that’s all it had been, all it was supposed to be.

The King’s mind slipped back to that first day on the plains of the gap of 
Rohan. It all seemed like a dream now, like another lifetime ago that he had 
watched as the soldiers were setting up camp and dusk was falling over the 
area...

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART ONE*~

 

~*~

...One Week Ago...

~*~

The ancient circle of Isengard had been broken years ago, although desolation 
had been replaced by flourishing plant life and trees once more, for the Ents 
had done much to repair the land. However, the area immediately surrounding the 
tower of Orthanc and in fact the tower itself was still in a state of 
semi-disrepair, which the dozen or so years that had passed since its last 
occupancy had hardly improved upon.

Two figures were sitting by the fire in the middle of camp, one older and one 
younger. The youth was probably no more than twelve or thirteen, but the elder 
was harder to place, seeming at once to be a man in the prime years of his life, 
and yet bearing an age greater than was usual for the span granted to mortal 
men. Both humans had thin silver circlets upon their forehead and bore a 
striking resemblance to one another, although there was a distinctly fair cast 
to the younger boy’s face and something somewhat whimsical about him that 
almost, *almost* reminded one of an elf. As indeed it should since his mother 
was an elf and his father one of the last true Númenorians left in Middle-Earth.

Aragorn and his son Eldarion sat in comfortable silence, watching the flames 
dance as they waited for the scouting parties to come back and declare whether 
the area was secure or not, although there was little doubt that it would be.

Aragorn, or King Elessar as he was now more commonly known, had spent the last 
fifteen years re-ordering the scattered and often crumbling realms that he was 
now responsible for. Restoring Isengard had been high on his priority list for 
some time, and although some of the work had already begun, this was the first 
time he had been able to make the journey here himself, which he had wanted to 
do for many reasons. But those could wait for the moment.

Arwen remained in Minas Tirith with Eldarion’s little sister, but Aragorn had 
wanted his son to accompany him this time; indeed, it was the boy’s first real 
foray away from the White City for any great length of time, and Aragorn felt 
the young prince was ready for that.

Aragorn seemed to sense something and rose to his feet, causing Eldarion to 
glance questioningly up at him, for he had heard nothing, and neither had the 
soldiers nearby or they would have said something. Nevertheless, a few moments 
later Legolas Greenleaf walked silently into plain sight and smiled at the 
disconcerted guards before passing them completely by and heading for the fire 
where his old friend awaited his report.

Eldarion did not understand how his father could hear the elf prince coming, he 
certainly hadn’t been able to do so.

"The eastern reaches are clear," Legolas reported, having completed his scouting 
mission. "Is Gimli back yet?" he asked, taking a seat near the fire.

"Not yet, but-" Aragorn started to answer before he was cut short.

"Yes, he is, and the western reaches are also clear," Gimli reported, appearing 
with slightly less stealth than his elven friend. "I think I saw those other two 
scouts approaching from the north and south, I’ll go see what word they have, 
but I think there is naught to trouble us out here now."

Balancing cross-legged upon the rounded log as the dwarf stumped away, Legolas 
smiled meaningfully at his human friend. "I see you have ordered camp to be 
struck *around* the tower, Telcontar." It would never fail to amuse Legolas that 
Aragorn had actually chosen to take the high elvish form of his old Strider 
nickname as the name for his royal house.

Aragorn nodded, not really grasping the reason for the elf’s mischievous smile. 
"Yes, of course."

Legolas chuckled. "Don’t tell me someone is still afraid to sleep in that 
tower?" he queried remembering events many years past.

Aragorn actually colored slightly as his friend reminded him of that long ago 
time when they had been Saruman’s unintentional guests, long before anyone knew 
what treachery was stewing in Isengard. Before he could answer his friend 
Eldarion shivered dramatically, looking up at the black spire. Even now that 
there was no evil in residence there its severe architecture was less than 
welcoming.

"I don’t see how anyone could! It’s so... creepy!" the boy shook his head.

Legolas laughed so hard he nearly fell off the log he was sitting on. "Oh 
Strider he is most assuredly your son!" the elf managed to get out around his 
merriment.

Aragorn chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around Eldarion’s shoulders and 
smiling at the boy’s perplexed face. "He’s not laughing at you Eldarion," the 
King assured. "It’s... it’s a long story." Leaning close he whispered in his 
son’s ear. "And between you and I, I agree with you, I still think it’s creepy!"

Of course Legolas overheard them and his grin only widened, if that were 
possible.

"And what has set the elf off this time? As if he needed an excuse for excessive 
mirth..." Gimli dropped down on the log next to Legolas, looking as if he were 
considering giving the laughing elf a push to see if he really would fall off 
his perch. Legolas recognized the look in his short friend’s eye and quickly put 
his feet back down on the ground.

"It doesn’t figure," Gimli shook his head, speaking to Aragorn and glancing at 
Legolas. "I keep waiting for a little sense to rub off on him, and it never 
does..."

"Rub off from whom master Gimli?" Legolas arched his eyebrows sharply. 
"Certainly not you!"

"At least I don’t find the need to laugh at the drop of a hat or break into song 
just because the sun is shining..." Gimli grinned.

"Thank heaven for that!" Legolas rolled his eyes, smirking at Aragorn. "If 
you’ve ever heard dwarves sing *or* laugh you’ll know why..."

Gimli shoved Legolas. Legolas dodged and smirked tauntingly.

Aragorn and Eldarion laughed as they watched the friends bicker. The talking and 
joking went on long into the night as songs were sung and tales told. Eldarion’s 
eyelids became heavy and before long he was sleeping quietly against his 
father’s leg. Aragorn looked down and smiled. "I think it’s time for bed," he 
said softly.

Legolas and Gimli smiled.

"I think you’re right," Legolas whispered, touching the child’s hair gently. 
Eldarion’s dark, wavy locks hung in his eyes, framing the soft-edge face that 
was only just beginning to lose its boyish roundness. He had Aragorn’s looks, 
but his mother’s eyes and chin.

"He is very like you Aragorn, you and Arwen both. You have a treasure here my 
friend." Legolas watched the child stir slightly, many memories running through 
his heart. Memories of Eldarion as a wee child, and of Aragorn as a young man, 
for the two were very alike.

"I know," Aragorn nodded softly, favoring his son with a proud, gentle look. 
"But come, it is late and tomorrow we have much to do."

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

"Uncle Legolas and Uncle Gimli are going with you!" Eldarion protested. The lad 
had quite an odd extended family although he thought nothing about it. His 
father was human, his mother an elf, he had two ‘real uncles’ who were 
half-elves, and considered themselves to be the brothers of both his mother 
*and* his father, and a score of ‘adopted’ uncles including another elf, a dwarf 
and several hobbits, who when they were around, often acted more like his 
playmates than uncles and continually got him into mischief.

Aragorn shook his head. "And you will too, but not this time. It’s for your own 
safety Eldarion, I explained that all ready."

"But-"

"No, no buts," the King shook his head firmly. "You heard me the first time and 
that’s all there is to it, all right?"

"Yes father," Eldarion nodded finally, although he was not at all pleased at 
being left behind.

"All right then, I promise we’ll take you in there as soon as I know it’s safe," 
Aragorn tipped his son’s chin up on the crook of his finger and managed to coax 
a brief smile from the boy.

The king turned and made his way to where Legolas was waiting for him at the 
base of the long staircase that led up into the tower of Orthanc.

"You mean for the boy to not accompany us into the tower," it wasn’t a question 
but a statement, Legolas could already tell from the displeased look on 
Eldarion’s face what had passed between the father and son.

"Not today. Not the first time. This tower has been closed off for some time; no 
one has been in it since Saruman left. There is no telling what we may encounter 
in there and it could be that there are things a young boy should not see," 
Aragorn explained himself to his friend.

"I understand well enough, but I’m not so sure that he does," Legolas nodded his 
head towards the young human prince.

Aragorn sighed. "I explained it to him, but he thinks he is old enough and ready 
enough to handle anything..." the king shook his head ruefully.

Legolas stroked his chin in mock-thoughtfulness. "Now why does that seem 
familiar? Who else have I known like that...?"

Aragorn elbowed Legolas in the ribs. "Enough, I get your point. Well Eldarion 
will just have to survive somehow, like I did," he grinned slightly. "Where is 
Gimli?"

"I think he has despaired of our companionship and gone on ahead with several of 
the guards," Legolas replied with a short laugh.

"Well then we had better catch up," Aragorn said as they made their way up the 
long stairs towards the door of the tower. "Else he shall claim to be faster 
than you and then I shall have my ears wearied to no end by the two of you 
bickering over the unending elves-versus-dwarves debate that you never seem to 
tire of."

Legolas grinned and sprinted ahead of Aragorn, stopping at the top of the stairs 
to hold the open door for his friend. "Well I’m faster than you anyway."

Aragorn rolled his eyes and mock-bowed to the elf as he entered. "That is one I 
will let you claim this time my friend, for the years are not as kind to humans 
as they are to elves."

Legolas looked away for a moment and did not speak. Aragorn wondered if he had 
said something wrong. He laid a soft hand on the prince’s arm. "Legolas?"

Legolas lifted his head and smiled quickly at the concerned look on his friend’s 
face. "You will never be old to me Estel," he whispered softly, laying his hand 
on his friend’s chest. "Your body may change, but your heart does not, and that 
is what I see."

Aragorn smiled and gave the elf’s hand a quick squeeze.

"Which is well..." Legolas continued, the mischievous fire sparking behind his 
eyes once more. "Because you still act like a child sometimes..." The elf danced 
away before his friend could swat him for that.

"What do you mean child?!" Aragorn shook his head with disbelief. "I’m already 
older than most mortals ever get! Will you and my brothers *never* allow me to 
grow up?"

"And now you sound like Eldarion again!" Legolas laughed. "Say what you like but 
I’m not the one who insisted on camping *outside* the tower..."

"Don’t start that again..." Aragorn warned wryly.

"Are you two going to talk all day and leave me to do all the work?" Gimli 
leaned over a railing above them and called down.

"Coming, coming," Legolas and Aragorn made their way out of the empty entry hall 
and into the passages beyond. "Don’t you know it’s not becoming to chide a 
king?" Aragorn called up to the impatient dwarf.

"You’re a king, he’s a prince, what’s the difference when you both move as fast 
as hobbits on a holiday?" the dwarf shot back, his heavy footsteps clattering 
above them. "The stonework here is incredible! Legolas you must come see this 
archway!"

Legolas looked at Aragorn and rolled his eyes fondly. "Oh joy. I must go and 
look."

Aragorn chuckled. "Only a dwarf would find this place enthralling."

"Well you said it, I didn’t," Legolas grinned wickedly before sprinting up the 
stairs to join his short friend and politely admire whatever feat of stonework 
had so impressed his dwarven friend. It was only fair, Gimli did put up very 
well with the prince’s love of trees, and for his part the elf was willing to 
accept Gimli’s love of cleverly done stonework. They were friends, and one made 
many concessions for friendship.

It took a long time to go over the tower from top to bottom and there was a 
great deal that had to be purged and destroyed, as well as a number of truly 
remarkable discoveries, the most notable of which occurred in what must have 
been Saruman’s study and main chamber, a large, sprawling set of rooms 
containing many, many niches, drawers, chambers and cubby-holes.

"Look here," Legolas said as he opened the lid on a rather large casket that had 
been buried under a stack of yellowed parchments and some other rickrack.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows, and Gimli gave a low whistle as the lid was raised 
to reveal a stash of dazzling gems and some rather exquisite pieces of ancient 
craftsmanship.

Gimli reverently lifted a magnificently wrought necklace with the emblem of a 
charging horse frozen in its centerpiece.

"These must be worth a pretty price to someone, else I’m no craftsman!" the 
dwarf remarked. "I wonder where Saruman got all these things?"

Aragorn shook his head as he looked through the treasure. "If I am not much 
mistaken many of these are heirlooms of the house of Eorl, no doubt filched from 
Edoras by Wormtongue and brought hither some years ago. Eomér shall be glad to 
have them returned I am certain."

"These are not of Rohan make," Legolas shook his head as he raised up another 
piece, a brooch shaped like two great trees with their branches intertwined. 
"This is elvish work and very old. And these items here... these are caëbin 
tokens, such as the men of old used to burry in the treasure houses of the 
dead."

"I found more like it in the next chamber," Aragorn agreed. "As well as 
artifacts that could possibly have even been taken from barrow mounds. It seems 
that Saruman in his degradation became not a dragon, but a jackdaw, a grave 
robber," the King of Gondor shook his head somberly. It was sad how low someone 
once so wise had fallen, as well as being a somber reminder to all what an 
unquenchable desire for power could do to anyone.

"There is something odd over here..." Gimli’s voice brought the two friends’ 
attention to the back of the chamber, they had not realized he had moved away.

"What is it?" Legolas asked, walking over and kneeling beside his friend, trying 
to see what the dwarf was peering at so intently. To him it looked like nothing 
but a blank stone wall.

Gimli tapped the stones with his axe handle, slowly moving to the right and 
downward. Suddenly they all heard the difference in the echo when the sturdy axe 
handle thumped against what seemed to be the same stones, but could not have 
been from the sound they made. "Hello, there’s some kind of hidden panel here 
unless I’m much mistaken..." the dwarf murmured, probing the stones carefully 
with his calloused but experienced fingers.

Even Legolas’ elven eyes could detect no flaw in the stonework. This was one 
area where the elf had to truly admire his friend’s skill, although he would 
never let the dwarf know it. "Well, what is it?"

"A little patience master elf if that’s not asking too much..." Gimli murmured 
the friendly barb distractedly, his attention on the puzzle in front of him.

Aragorn knelt on the other side as they watched the dwarf work.

"There... now it’s coming!" Gimli said with satisfaction after several long 
minutes of work. Aragorn could not determine what exactly the dwarf had done, 
but whatever it was had worked because a large section of the wall under his 
hands slid soundlessly away, revealing a tall steel cabinet behind it, about as 
high as a man stood and obviously intended to be very secret.

"Gimli, can you open it?" Aragorn asked as they rose to their feet and looked 
the new door over.

"Can I open it..." Gimli grinned, cracking his thick knuckles loudly and 
obviously enjoying the attention. "Of course I can."

"Yes, but this year or next?" Legolas jibed with playful glibness.

Gimli scowled at him. "I’ll make you eat those words elf."

Legolas’ eyebrows shot up. "Oh? And how-"

"ENOUGH!" Aragorn stopped them, having to keep himself from laughing. "I realize 
that both of you have naturally longer life spans than mine, but if it wouldn’t 
inconvenience you too much, I, for one, would like to see what’s in there 
sometime BEFORE I have grandchildren."

"All right, all right, no need to fuss..." Gimli mumbled, going to work on the 
small door with surprising quickness. "Has he always been this impatient?" he 
asked Legolas with an infuriatingly impish sidelong look as he worked. He knew 
that Legolas and Aragorn had known each other for a long time.

"Oh he used to be even worse. You should see him when he’s tired; positively 
unlivable. It’s a human thing," the elf assured, earning him a baleful glare 
from the King of Gondor.

It took Gimli a few minutes longer than he would have boasted about to get the 
cabinet open, but in the end he did. For a moment the friends were surprised 
because it was all but empty.

"More than likely this cupboard was waiting and ready to receive the Ring as 
soon as Saruman could get his hands on it," Aragorn said quietly and all three 
friends shivered inadvertently as a momentary hush fell over them... thinking of 
what might have been... of what very nearly *had* been.

"Well it’s not completely empty," Legolas pointed out as he reached up upon a 
high shelf and withdrew the hiding place’s only occupant: a small chest. It was 
not locked and clicked open easily enough. There were only two objects inside, 
but both of them were shocking.

Aragorn’s eyes widened as he looked upon them.

"What are they?" Legolas asked, not even sure if he should touch them, but 
certain from his friend’s look that the King recognized them both, if only from 
legend.

One of the two items was a small case of gold on a fine chain. It bore no letter 
or mark, but there was no doubt in Aragorn’s mind that it was the necklace in 
which Isildur had carried the One Ring when he rode out upon that ill-fated 
journey so many ages ago, and he told his friends so. The second item in the 
chest, and the one that drew the most attention, both confirmed this supposition 
and dazzled the small assembly with its beauty.

"The Elendilmir... The Star of Elendil," Aragorn said softly, unable to resist 
lifting the priceless treasure from its place. A glowing piece of elvish 
crystal, cut with a precision that could no longer be matched and set in a 
gleaming mithril circlet, the ancient heirloom of the Kings shimmered luminously 
in the torch-lit room. "This is a treasure beyond all value, and long mourned as 
lost forever. Passed down from Silmarien of old, it was taken by Elendil as a 
symbol of the North Kingdom and has forever been the only crown worn by the King 
of Arnor."

"I thought it familiar somehow..." Legolas mused, fascinated by the beautiful 
piece of ancient elven workmanship. "Have I not seen you wear such a thing quite 
often since coming to the throne of Gondor and Arnor Aragorn?"

Aragorn nodded slightly. "The Elendilmir was worn by Isildur on that last 
journey from Gondor to Rivendell... the one from which he never retuned. It is 
said that when he was forced to put the Ring on and flee he had to cover his 
head, for the Elendilmir flashed brightly in the night, defying even the 
invisibility of the One. When the Ring forsook him and left him to his doom in 
the Anduin, the Elendilmir was lost with him. The one that has been passed down 
to me was a copy made at Lord Elrond’s bidding by the smiths in Imladris for 
Isildur’s only remaining heir, Valandil, but it could never have the power and 
potency of the original one that had been lost."

"And now has been found again," Legolas murmured. "I wondered how came Saruman 
by it?"

"From what Gandalf told us long ago Saruman had long been searching the Anduin 
for any trace of the Ring, it must be that these were what he found instead," 
Aragorn Elessar laid the circlet reverently back in its case. "I must show this 
to Eldarion," his smile softened when he thought of his son. "Mayhap it will 
lessen his disappointment in not being able to be in here today."

"Well we have found a rare prize indeed to carry back to Gondor with us," Gimli 
shook his head as the case was reluctantly closed. "That was a marvelous fair 
piece of work, even if it was made by elves, I will grant you that."

Legolas and Aragorn both laughed.

"You are generous beyond words good dwarf," Legolas teased.

They were three days working over the whole tower and there would be much more 
restoration that would be needed before it could be returned to its former state 
of repair, but that was what Aragorn had brought along the teams of masons, 
gardeners and other craftsmen for. Because rebuilding and restoring had been a 
good part of what he had been doing since assuming the throne, King Elessar had 
become quite proficient in knowing what sort of people would be needed for tasks 
like this. Indeed, many of them had already begun their work.

Legolas and Gimli watched their progress with approval, both of them having had 
more than their share of experience in restoration over the past several years 
as well.

"So tell me Aragorn, did you tell them to try to do anything with the decorating 
to make it less... how did you put it... creepy?" Legolas teased his friend.

Aragorn shook his head wryly. "I fear the only way to do that would be to tear 
the whole place down and rebuild it. Besides, Gimli would find these people a 
kindred spirit. I think if I so much as suggested touching a stone of this place 
that was part of its original craftsmanship they would give me looks befitting 
an orc."

"I heard that," Gimli piped up from nearby, wiping his hands on his pants as he 
approached. "But tell me Aragorn, our work here is finished is it not? Now it is 
up to the restoration crews, although the gardeners have little enough to do 
since the Ents seem to have taken care of most of that already."

"Almost finished," Aragorn agreed. "We have one last piece of business to attend 
to. We need to return something that has had a long road." The former ranger 
glanced significantly at Legolas and the elf nodded. "Do you want me to fetch 
it?"

"No," Aragorn shook his head. "Have Eldarion bring it. I would wish him part of 
this."

Eldarion did as his father wished and the four of them climbed the stairs to the 
upper-chambers of the tower one more time. The very air inside of Orthanc seemed 
cleaner now, and in truth it was not nearly so dark nor frightening as it had 
once seemed at all.

When they finally reached the top, Eldarion handed the velvet bag he bore to his 
father. Aragorn reached inside and gently pulled a smooth, dark sphere from it. 
A palantir. The last one left that could still see anything as it had been 
intended. The palantir residing in Gondor had been put away from view since 
Denethor’s death as it no longer revealed ought but the end of the last man who 
held it; the one that Sauron had possessed was assumed to have been destroyed 
with him and the one at the havens had ever only looked out to sea. And so at 
long last the Orthanc stone was returned to its rightful place, and this time by 
its rightful owner. For the stone of old had belonged to this tower before it 
had been hidden away, only later to be recovered and brought here for more evil 
purposes.

As Aragorn set the last of the ancient seeing stones into the special pedestal 
waiting to receive it, he could not help glancing at Legolas and smiling. By now 
he had of course realized that this was the same palantir that he and the prince 
had gone through so much grief over many, many years before. It seemed like a 
kind of completion to at long last be able to do what they had wanted to do all 
along and finally place the stone in the setting it belonged, knowing that the 
ancient heirloom from over the sea was safe at last and no longer tainted by the 
designs of evil.

"Why do I feel there’s a tale in this that I don’t quite know the half of?" 
Gimli queried as they made their way back to the base of the tower.

"That my friend is very ancient history," Aragorn shook his head.

"It wasn’t *that* long ago," Legolas shook his head, amused by Aragorn’s 
perception of time.

"Did it involve you and Uncle Legolas?" Eldarion asked hopefully. "I like those 
stories, they’re usually funny. Uncle Elladan and Uncle Elrohir tell me a lot of 
them."

"I bet they do. Well, I could tell you quite a few about *them* as well..." 
Aragorn muttered.

Eldarion nodded with a grin. "As you have. Like the one you told me about Uncle 
Legolas and the-"

Aragorn coughed loudly and shook his head at the boy, shooting a quick glance at 
Legolas.

Eldarion took the point and shut up quickly.

Legolas raised his eyebrows with a wry smile. "Wait, wait, I want to hear this. 
Pray tell what stories has your illustrious father been telling about us and his 
misspent youth? Did he mention nearly getting himself eaten by a carnivorous 
plant? Or the time he decided *against* his father’s advice, to cross an 
orc-infested plain all by himself with nightfall approaching? No? How about his 
irrepressible habit of touching *everything* and nearly dropping us into a 
bottomless pit because of it? Or-"

"We get the point Legolas," Aragorn cut the elf of with a warning glare. "And 
wait a moment, I seem to remember having to cut *you* out of that plant..."

"Only because I was trying to help you," Legolas retorted with an ingratiating 
grin.

"Well if it’s stories you want to tell I can think of a few..." Aragorn 
threatened with an evil glint in his eyes. "I’m sure Gimli would love hearing 
about our exit from Moria the last time we had dealings with that seeing stone 
up there..."

"Strider you wouldn’t dare! You promised!" the elf accidentally reverted to his 
old nickname for his friend, although in truth he would probably never quite 
give that one up.

Aragorn laughed at the prince’s indignation.

"What? What?" Eldarion wanted to know. He was enjoying this whole situation 
quite a bit.

"Yes, I’d like to hear this as well, I knew not that our friend elf here had any 
previous experience with Moria!" Gimli was highly intrigued. Besides, anything 
that obviously embarrassed Legolas was of great interest to him.

Legolas glared daggers at Aragorn who was laughing heartily. "Oh yes, he 
certainly did, we both did... and let’s just say that at least one of our exits 
was not... in the normal fashion."

Legolas looked like he was about ready to clobber the human if he said another 
word but Aragorn just shook his head, holding his hands up helplessly towards 
the inquiring gazes of his son and the dwarf. "No, no, I did promise... but of 
course as soon as other people start telling stories my mind wanders and I 
forget what I should and shouldn’t say..." he grinned at Legolas, eyes dancing.

"Blackmail," Legolas muttered. "Pure and simple. I thought a King should be 
above that."

"And a Prince should be above telling tales to a boy about his own father," 
Aragorn retorted blithely.

Legolas brightened. "Then I shall simply let your brothers take over. I am sure 
they know enough stories about you to keep the lad entertained for years."

Aragorn moaned slightly and shook his head. "Don’t encourage them Legolas, 
they’re bad enough as it is."

"Now wait, I want to hear more about you and Moria Legolas, you never told me of 
this..." Gimli pressed the elf, not willing to let it go so easily.

Aragorn grabbed Eldarion’s shoulder and started walking the boy quickly away 
with him, making a hasty exit. "Come Eldarion, I think we need to start getting 
the men ready to leave, wouldn’t you agree?"

Eldarion was trying hard not to laugh. "Yes, definitely father," he nodded as 
they hurried away from the relentlessly curious dwarf and the increasingly 
peeved elf.

"STRIDER!" Aragorn had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing as Legolas 
called after him in frustration.

"Well I’m in trouble now," Aragorn murmured to his son with a smile, his hand 
resting on the lad’s shoulder as they walked. "You better help me watch my back, 
all right?"

"All right!" Eldarion agreed lightly. The boy hesitated a moment. "Ada?"

"Hm?"

"I... I like this," the young man gestured around them as if he could not quite 
find the words he was looking for.

Aragorn smiled. "I know you haven’t gotten out of the city much other than our 
hunts, that’s part of why I wanted you to come with us for this. I had a feeling 
it would agree with you."

"It does, and I do like being out here, but that wasn’t all I meant..." the 
young man looked down at his hands, suddenly shy. "Never mind."

Aragorn stopped and turned to completely face his son. "What? What is it 
Eldarion?"

"Nothing..." the boy evaded, somewhat embarrassed.

"No it’s not, now tell me. You know you can tell me anything Eldarion, or at 
least I hope you do," Aragorn assured.

"I... I like *you* father. I like the way you are when we’re out here, you’re 
so... open," the boy said for lack of a better word. Eldarion flushed, he wasn’t 
saying this well at all and he felt he probably shouldn’t have tried.

"You mean I’m not when we’re at home?" Aragorn asked softly, the question very 
serious to him. His family always came first in his heart, if that did not show 
in his actions, he wanted to know.

"No! That’s not what I meant," Eldarion shook his head quickly. Aragorn always 
made time for him and he knew he was well loved by both his parents, that wasn’t 
what he had intended. "You just seem so happy out here... I like it, that’s all 
I meant."

Aragorn smiled and squeezed his son’s shoulder, understanding what the youth was 
trying to say. "I fear you recognize the blood of a ranger in me my son," he 
smiled. "I love the White City, but some part of my heart shall always belong to 
the wilds and feel at home on the road."

"I wish I felt more at home out here," Eldarion admitted. "I fear sometimes that 
I shall never be anything but a soft princeling. You and Legolas and Gimli are 
so experienced and I feel so stupid sometimes, like I don’t know how to do 
anything right."

Aragorn chuckled slightly, remembering that feeling all too well. "You’re young 
Eldarion, don’t expect to be able to do everything that your uncles and I can do 
all at once. It takes years to learn. Give yourself time." He laughed. "You know 
I can’t believe I’m saying that to someone else..." he murmured, making Eldarion 
smile even if he didn’t know exactly what his father meant.

"Well my son," Aragorn clapped the lad on the shoulder once. "You can be glad of 
one thing at least... that you’re not growing up *completely* surrounded by 
elves. If you want to feel clumsy and inadequate, that is a great way to start. 
Now let’s go inform the men that we break camp tomorrow morning."

Eldarion smiled as he trailed his father. "So what do you think Uncle Legolas is 
going to do to you when he finally gets free of Uncle Gimli?"

"I shudder to think of it Eldarion, I shudder to think of it..." the king 
chuckled.

The sun was shinning brightly and laughter flowed easily. There was no shadow 
over any of them that day. No notion of what would come to pass barely a week 
later. No concept of how things could go so utterly, and terribly wrong.

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART TWO*~

 

~*~

...One Week Later...

~*~

 

The cruel laughter of the man before him brought Aragorn back to the present, 
breaking through his thoughts of past events, dragging him back to the pain and 
anguish of this moment and of his breaking heart. And again he heard the 
question.

"Choose..."

...He couldn’t choose. He couldn’t. Had anyone ever been forced to make a 
crueler decision...?

Oh yes.

One had.

The memory came back to Aragorn in a rush, a day he had not thought of in many, 
many years. //"Oh father, I understand so much better now..."//

Their captor waved his bow impatiently. "Choose!"

How had they gotten here? What twisted trail had led to this point where Aragorn 
would be asked to cut some part of his own heart out to save another, all for 
the satisfaction of this sadistically vengeful man...?

The years washed away like the pouring rain, like Legolas’ blood, flowing over 
his hands, carried away by the streaming water and hurried along by its rush... 
washed away to a time when Aragorn was not a king, not a father, but only a 
young ranger spending the winter with his friend Prince Legolas under Mirkwood’s 
shadowy eaves...

 

~*~

...Roughly 80 in the past...

~*~

 

"You’ll never catch me!" Legolas called out, gaily taunting his human friend.

"Want to bet?" Aragorn, still some distance behind, shot back.

Legolas urged his horses faster. "Why? You don’t have anything left to lose!"

Almost a month had passed since Legolas’ traitorous, usurping uncle Doriflen had 
been ousted and life had returned to normal in Mirkwood... as normal as it ever 
was that is, when the prince and the young Dùnadan spent any appreciable amount 
of time together.

Winter was full upon them now and the air was bitingly cold, for this winter was 
proving to be much fiercer than was usual. However, the two friends barely 
noticed the frost in the air, because their heated race kept them both quite 
warm.

It had started out as fairly normal sport between Aragorn, Legolas and the 
prince’s two friends, Raniean and Trelan. They had made a scouting foray to the 
forest eaves to check on rumors of roving warg packs, driven down from the 
mountains by the extremely cold and violent weather and had ended up tracking 
the elusive threat out into the plains beyond until they were now in the shadow 
of the Misty Mountains.

In truth the foursome was merely glad for some diversion from the long, heavy 
winter days with little to do. The wargs they were hunting seemed to have 
entirely disappeared however, and at any rate, they were now so far away from 
Mirkwood that it was no longer a concern. The fresh snowfall today had been too 
tempting to resist, soon inciting an all-out snow battle between the four 
friends. Aragorn and Legolas could never agree later about who had started it, 
but everyone ended up involved.

When that had become too cold to continue, they had turned around and begun the 
long ride back to Mirkwood, but some choicely taunting comments from the elves 
about their higher endurance for cold and how they did not need saddles and 
reins like Aragorn did to ride had eventually escalated into a challenge of 
horsemanship. And it hadn’t stopped there.

So now Aragorn and Legolas were darting in and out between the trees and across 
the open plain, riding two horses each, standing crouched low with one foot on 
each horses’ back and trying to see who would fall off first.

Raniean and Trelan watched from the ground, since their horses were being used 
for the sport and it was not something they would have chosen to try at any 
rate.

Trelan cheered them on and Raniean told them to get off before they broke their 
necks, but Legolas and Aragorn paid very little attention to either of them.

Legolas rode with no reins as he was accustomed to, even for this, and his elven 
balance was an asset, but Aragorn was a comparable rider and was holding his own 
against the prince as they sped out across the open field, lagging only slightly 
behind the elf.

"You want me to rub your face in the snow again?" Aragorn replied to Legolas’ 
earlier taunt. He stayed low, handling the reins with the delicate precision 
needed to keep the two horses under him running in tandem like this. It had 
taken some doing to fashion a second bridle for him to use, since they had only 
the one on his horse, but in the end it had been accomplished. The ranger was 
slowly gaining on his friend, but not quickly enough if he wanted to win the 
race.

"I’d like to see you try!" Legolas easily maneuvered his galloping horses 
through a sharp turn, avoiding a fallen log in their path, and rising up 
slightly so that he was standing straighter on their backs, enjoying the thrill 
and novelty of the game and the feel of the brisk wind whipping by him. He was, 
in fact, having a grand time simply forgetting that he was a prince, and 
ignoring the thought of what exactly his father would say if news of this got 
back to him. Being around Aragorn had that effect on him, as if the young 
ranger’s youth and impulsiveness were contagious.

For a moment it seemed as if Aragorn were not going to make the turn, then, 
suddenly, he urged both horses straight on into a leaping jump *over* the log in 
his path.

Remarkably, he actually managed to stay on their back when they landed, although 
his balance was badly shaken. Not detouring had given him the lead and he 
crossed the agreed-upon ‘finish line’ moments before Legolas with a loud, 
exhilarated whoop.

A few paces later his balance finally failed and he tumbled off, hitting the 
ground on his shoulder and rolling over several times in the snow before he came 
to a stop.

Legolas jumped down quickly as Raniean and Trelan ran over, yet when Aragorn 
came up, he was covered in snow, but laughing hard. "I won! Now what do you say 
Legolas? Hm?"

"That you are insane Strider," Legolas cuffed his friend lightly on the 
shoulder. "*Jumping* them? What were you thinking?!"

Aragorn just grinned. One of his irritating grins. "I won didn’t I? It worked."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Is that your answer for everything, no matter how 
foolhardy? You’re lucky to be alive."

"You’re *BOTH* lucky to be alive!" Raniean interrupted them before they could 
get into any more trouble. "If you want to kill yourselves, go ahead, but 
Legolas, please, do it sometime when Trelan and I will *not* have to be the ones 
to tell your father."

All four of them laughed.

Trelan stepped forward, intending to help Aragorn up from the thick snowdrift he 
had fallen into. When he stood the white powder buried him half way up his legs 
while his elven companions walked easily atop the soft carpet of snow.

As the elf leaned down, offering his hand to the human, an arrow cut the space 
between the two of them, catching Trelan in the left shoulder and throwing him 
backwards into the drift behind him. Aragorn lunged for the smaller elf, 
surprise marking his features as Trelan attempted to stand only to fall 
unconscious into the snow, his eyes rolling back into his head.

"Trelan!" The human surged forward as Raniean crouched next to his fallen 
friend, barely ducking a second arrow intended for him.

Everything happened so fast that Aragorn never even saw the horseman that burst 
from the foliage behind him. The man rode down on Legolasb who turned at the 
last possible moment, responding to Raniean’s horrified warning. As soon as the 
first arrow flew, the prince immediately headed back to where they left their 
weapons when they had begun the race; he had nearly reached their small cache of 
bows and arrows, but it was not in time.

Raniean’s voice rang clear in the small dell and the prince turned as the man 
who had entered the glen came even with the elf, riding straight for him. 
Quickly slipping his foot from the stirrup the hunter brought the metal bar 
down, catching Legolas behind his jaw, unintentionally striking the elf’s 
pressure point. Adding to the injury, the man kicked his foot out, catching the 
falling prince across the cheek. The impact spun Legolas around and dropped him 
unconscious into the snow. The prince did not rise.

Aragorn turned at Raniean’s shout and ran towards the spot where his friend had 
fallen and lay sprawled in the snow, senseless and unmoving. The ranger watched 
as the intruder whipped his horse around in a tight turn and headed straight for 
the two of them that remained standing.

Trying to dodge the horse and its rider, Aragorn threw himself out of the 
stallion’s path, the snow making his efforts to reach Legolas clumsy and slow.

They could see nothing of their mysterious attacker save that he was clothed all 
in brown fur and leather, but at the moment that was hardly a priority.

The unknown rider strung another arrow and sighted in on Raniean. The tall elf 
warrior stopped and crouched into a defensive position, his eyes riveted on the 
man that bore down him. Faster than the hunter could register the elf flicked a 
blade from a hidden sheath inside his boot and deftly threw it at the 
approaching human. Sheer luck aided the horseman as he veered accidentally out 
of the projectile’s path, the blade of the knife barely slicing through the left 
sleeve of his heavy leather coat.

"Ran!! Stay down!" Aragorn had reached their cache of weapons and was checking 
Legolas’ pulse. Content that the elf was only unconscious and not dead, he 
strung an arrow and sighted in on the man that had attacked them.

The hunter however had had enough of the small skirmish he had entered. It had 
taken him months of tracking and waiting just to find an opportunity to get 
these ones alone with no guards and no witnesses. He would have preferred taking 
his prey out one on one so that no one was left to oppose him, but that had 
proved impossible. Winter was deep upon them and he had already wasted too much 
time. It was act now or wait until spring and he had taken long enough to 
complete this contract already, his employer was getting impatient; if he did 
not collect soon he may lose his chance to do so all together. Stringing an 
arrow on his bow, its tip dripping with a black sticky substance, he aimed for 
the ranger that stood from the fallen prince’s side. Before Aragorn could 
release his weapon, the hunter had targeted him.

The impact of the bolt into his shoulder threw Aragorn into the snow next to 
Legolas. He could hear Raniean yelling his name as he struggled to his feet. His 
head spun and the wound from the arrow felt like it was on fire. Sound seemed to 
warp in his ears and fade altogether as he locked eyes with Raniean. The elf was 
running towards him shouting, but it was as if he were far away down a black 
tunnel that was getting longer with every heartbeat. His heart...he fumbled, 
touching the shaft that protruded from his shoulder, the beat of his heart was 
fast and loud in his ears. A black shape burst on his narrowing vision and 
someone grabbed him, jerking him up hard just as he fell into the darkness.

Raniean ran swiftly across the top of the snow. He watched as Aragorn rose 
shakily to his feet, the shaft of an arrow protruding from his shoulder. The 
human started to collapse, his eyes rolling back into his head, much like 
Trelan’s had, as the unknown hunter reached the ranger’s side. Grabbing the 
ranger’s overcoat he pulled the young man up onto his horse, laying Aragorn 
across the saddle in front of him.

The hunter rounded his mount on the remaining elf. With one hand he held Aragorn 
in place, with his other he drew a long wicked blade and pointed it at the elf.

"Don’t make me hurt this one." The hunter growled, sliding his knife under 
Aragorn’s chin "And don’t force me to take you down like your friends. You have 
two here that need your help. I don’t want none of you, I have no quarrel with 
your kind. Look to your wounded. Don’t make it harder and don’t follow me, you 
won't like what happens to you or your friend here if you do." Kicking the 
underbelly of his mount he backed his horse slowly to the edge of the meadow 
before turning and galloping off into the forest.

Raniean stood rooted in place for a heartbeat. He couldn’t just let the man take 
off with Aragorn as his prisoner, but Trelan had not recovered and he could hear 
the prince moaning softly as consciousness returned. The ranger was his friend, 
but the prince was his charge and his liege, his duty was to the royalty first 
and all else secondly. With a sick desperate feeling gnawing in the pit of his 
stomach, he tore his gaze from the place where the hunter had left with his 
friend and ran to the prince’s aid.

"Legolas?" Kneeling in the snow next to the prince, Raniean helped the elf ease 
into a sitting position, gently turning Legolas’ head so he could see the 
welting bruise that covered the side of his face. "Are you all right?" He stood 
to his feet and drew the prince up with him, "You took a nasty hit, easy now." 
Raniean steadied Legolas as the prince shook off the last effects from being 
stunned.

With a frown Legolas leaned against his friend, looking around them in 
confusion. "Strider?"

Raniean sighed deeply, unwilling to meet the prince’s gaze. His hesitancy spiked 
fear through Legolas, its iron grip on his heart bringing him fully alert, 
"Raniean. Where is Strider?"

Shaking his head slowly, the elf’s answer was quiet, "I lost him. Those arrows 
used against us must have been tainted to evoke the reaction they did. The 
intruder shot Strider with the same poison that he drugged Trelan with. I could 
not reach him fast enough and he took Strider away with him." Raniean glanced 
behind them and pointed towards the tracks that led off into the wooded area 
that surrounded the open glade, "They left through there, heading for the 
mountains. I am sorry my prince."

Legolas gripped the soldier’s shoulder tightly and gently shook him, redirecting 
Raniean’s gaze, "It’s not your fault. It happened so fast... none of us where 
prepared. Did he say why? What he wanted or who he was?" He rubbed his jaw 
absently, his gaze falling to Trelan who still lay in the snow. The slight rise 
and fall of the elf’s chest was all that gave way that he lived.

"No my lord," Raniean shook his head. "He only said that he had no quarrel with 
us, but that he would kill Strider or injure me or the two of you if I attempted 
to stop him." Legolas nodded, turning Raniean back towards their friend as the 
warrior explained how the strange attacker had taken Aragorn.

Gently the two elves knelt in the snow next to their fallen friend. Legolas 
checked the small elf’s vitals while Raniean ripped the hem off his under-tunic 
and wrapped it around the base of the arrow, stanching the light bleeding. They 
would need more time and a safer location to remove the arrow, but for now this 
would have to do.

Together, they carefully lifted Trelan to his feet, holding him between them.

The horses had scattered in fright when all the commotion erupted, but they were 
slowly making their way warily back. Avornwen, Legolas’ horse, nudged her elf in 
the back with her soft, velvety muzzle; nickering softly in concern and anxiety, 
as if asking him what had happened. "Shh, lasto beth nîn Avornwen, dartho, 
dartho..." Legolas soothed the agitated mare and bade her be still.

"Raniean, take Trelan back to Lasgalen, to my father’s halls, he needs 
attention, and swiftly. We know not what manner of poison he has been given," 
Legolas said with deep concern as he helped Raniean mount their injured friend 
on the back of the prince’s steed. Trelan was still unconscious and slumped 
forward limply against the dapple grey’s neck, but the elvish horse adjusted 
gently for his weight, not about to let a rider fall. "Take Avornwen, she’s 
faster than your horse. The other horses will follow you." Legolas patted his 
mare’s neck, stepping back to allow Raniean to mount up behind Trelan.

Raniean hesitated however. "Wait," he caught the prince’s sleeve, seeking his 
eyes. "What are you going to do?" He had a sneaking feeling he knew the answer.

"I’m going after Strider," was Legolas’ predictable reply. Raniean was already 
shaking his head.

"Legolas you can’t go after them alone. Besides, they’re heading for the 
mountains. Wherever it is he’s headed, you don’t have the gear to make a trip 
like they’re making, we weren’t prepared for this. Come back with me, and I 
swear as soon as we have delivered Trelan into safe hands I will come with you."

"No, Ran, I have to go now," Legolas caught and held his friend’s eyes, willing 
the other elf to understand. "Do you smell that, do you feel it?" the prince 
gestured at the air around them. "A storm is coming. It will take us at least 
four or five days to get back to Lasgalen *if* we ride hard. And then just as 
many to get back here. By that time any tracks this mysterious rider has left 
will be impossible to follow and we will have no idea where Strider has been 
taken or why. If I do not act now, we will lose him." Legolas’ eyes were intense 
and decided; clearly stating that he did not intend allowing that to come to 
pass.

Raniean understood, but he did not like it one bit. "Legolas... I’m worried 
about losing *you*." He gently touched the bleeding cut across Legolas’ 
cheekbone where the mysterious rider had kicked the elf prince in the face. "You 
will do Strider no good if you’re dead. We have not seen a winter this bitter 
since the Fell Winter long ago; it is folly to go out into it improperly 
provisioned and alone. It would freeze even an elf up in the mountains now!"

"Which is why I do not take a horse," Legolas said calmly. "They will not 
survive the cold of the mountain heights for any long duration of time if my 
chase should take me that far."

Raniean’s grip on his friend’s arm tightened in frustration. He saw the prince’s 
point, but at the same time he knew that his friend often had a very low regard 
for his own safety. "Legolas..."

"Raniean, I will be all right, I promise. With any luck I will catch them before 
they ever reach the mountains and be back with Aragorn almost before you know 
I’m gone. But I have to leave now. Take care of Trelan, he needs you, that wound 
is bad. Tell my father what has happened. Tell him..." Legolas let his breath 
out slowly. His father of course would take this news no better than Raniean. 
"Tell him not to worry."

Raniean rolled his eyes slightly. "As if that will help. Why am I always the one 
who has to tell your father? I swear one day he’s going to kill the messenger 
Legolas," the other elf shook his head, smiling around his worry, but his eyes 
were still serious.

"He will understand Ran, he’ll have to," Legolas squeezed his friend’s shoulder, 
willing the other elf to understand as well.

Raniean clasped Legolas’ shoulder tightly in return. "May the Valar protect you 
then my friend."

Legolas nodded. "Thank you."

Raniean pulled himself quickly up on Avornwen’s back, wrapping his arm around 
Trelan’s waist and pulling the smaller elf’s head back against his shoulder as 
he turned the horse towards the forest and rode off. As Legolas had said, the 
other horses followed Avornwen’s lead and galloped after the two elves.

Legolas watched them go for a moment before turning towards the plains once more 
and starting off at a run up the trail of the horse and rider who had taken his 
friend away. A lot of precious time had already been wasted and he did not know 
how far ahead of him the ones he sought had gotten.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The rider in brown kept his horse moving quickly all that day, glancing over his 
shoulder. Night was falling but he didn’t want to stop yet. He didn’t know 
whether any of the ranger’s companions would try to come after them or not, but 
he never took chances. Dyryn, son of Inamarth had not made his living as a 
bounty hunter for the past ten years by being careless. He knew that the snow 
made his an easy trail to follow and he intended to get up into the rocky 
country ahead before he felt safe enough to stop.

Stocky and not overly tall, the bounty hunter’s build spoke of his mixed human 
and dwarf ancestry. He was actually not more than a score of years older than 
his captive, but Dyryn had already earned himself a reputation for being utterly 
ruthless and effectively brutal.

He rested one hand on the back of the young man who laid draped face-down across 
his saddle in front of him while the other held his horse’s reigns. The drug on 
the arrows he had been using was called belithral, and Dyryn knew that the 
ranger was going to be out of it for some time now. Eventually he was going to 
have to get the arrow out of his captive’s shoulder, but it could wait. First he 
wanted to put some distance behind them.

The moon was full that night, reflecting off the white snow and giving enough 
light to keep traveling by for some time. Dyryn did not stop until he had made 
the beginning of the craggy mountain foothills. Here the snow was less even and 
patchy as rocks twisted and overhung one another.

Leading his horse through a series of twists and turns until he was satisfied 
that anyone trying to trail them would be hopelessly lost, the bounty hunter 
finally decided to make camp and allow his weary horse to rest. Pulling Aragorn 
off the animal’s back and letting the young man fall to the ground, Dyryn tied 
the ranger’s hands tightly behind him, just to be cautious. Then he set about 
making camp and starting a small fire.

Aragorn felt cold. That’s all he was really aware of. Slowly he was coming back 
to himself... but when he opened his eyes it was more like a dream than waking. 
He couldn’t move. It wasn’t that he was bound, although he was, but he simply 
couldn’t move a muscle. Anywhere. He was still breathing, but other than that, 
the only motion he seemed to be able to control was the opening and closing of 
his eyes, and that only barely. His shoulder hurt. Hurt badly. For a few minutes 
he couldn’t figure out why. Then he remembered what had happened... the man on 
the horse, being shot... his mind jerked to awareness even if his body would 
not.

Where was he? Light snow was falling on him, landing on his face before it 
melted as he looked up into the frosty night sky. The stars seemed to be 
dancing... now they weren’t stars at all but dragons, chasing one another around 
and devouring each other up. The odd hallucinations danced before his eyes, and 
Aragorn blinked several times, trying to separate reality from delusion.

After everything else was taken care of, Dyryn knelt by Aragorn’s side, a 
hunting knife in his hand. He started slightly when he saw Aragorn’s open eyes 
fix on him. The young man should have been out cold for a lot longer than this. 
The ranger was a strong one to be progressing this fast, he was going to have to 
keep that in mind and he was going to have to watch him carefully.

"Well then..." the bounty hunter muttered, half to himself, half to his 
prisoner. "Awake already are we? But not moving yet? No, no I didn’t think so. 
That won’t come back for a while yet, neither will speech, which is just as well 
because I’ve got to get his arrow out of you and I don’t fancy any struggling or 
screaming."

Laying aside his knife for the moment, Dyryn gripped the arrow shaft protruding 
from Aragorn’s shoulder. "Too bad it doesn’t dull your senses any," he remarked 
before jerking upward on the arrow, attempting to wrench it out of the wound.

If Aragorn could have cried out, he would have. Agonizing pain shot through his 
injured shoulder as his captor tried to work the arrow backwards out of his 
flesh. Unfortunately the shaft of the arrow snapped first.

Dyryn threw the broken end aside with disgust. "’fraid that would happen," he 
muttered, picking up his knife once more. "Now I’ll have to do it the hard way. 
After all, can’t have you dying on me too soon."

Aragorn closed his eyes, his breath coming in ragged gasps. There was nothing 
else he could do. He felt the knife cut into him, working down to get the arrow 
head out, felt the white-hot pain slicing through his awareness, but he couldn’t 
react, he couldn’t even tense. The utter helplessness somehow made it hurt even 
worse.

When Dyryn had finally retrieved the arrowhead and bound up the wound, he was 
surprised to find that Aragorn was still conscious, although the human 
desperately wished he wasn’t. Dyryn eyed the captive as he cleaned the young 
ranger’s blood from his knife.

"Well you’re a hard case if I ever saw one. Next thing I know you’ll be trying 
to get up on me. Can’t have that..." Dyryn shook his head. "Maybe we’ll just 
have to have another little dose of belithral before bed," he chuckled darkly, 
knowing well the disturbing hallucinogenic properties of the drug. "To give 
you... sweet dreams."

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART THREE*~

 

Legolas ran lightly across the top of the snow under the glittering mid-day sun. 
He had not stopped to rest last night and felt sure that he was gaining on the 
mysterious stranger who had taken Aragorn. The ground began to slope sharply 
upwards and he realized that he was already well into the foothills of the Misty 
Mountains. The man on horseback had tried to cover his tracks, but Legolas could 
see right through that and was not deceived.

He had already found where the ones he pursued had made camp last night and was 
now pressing forward, hoping to catch up very soon.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Dyryn had slowed his pace a little today, confident now that he was not being 
followed. Aragorn was draped over the front of his horse again, his hands bound 
behind him this time. The young ranger drifted in and out of awareness, but at 
the moment he was unconscious once more. Dyryn had no intention of carting him 
all the way across the mountains like this, but keeping him at least mildly 
drugged was not a bad idea. He feared that this one would be a handful if he 
ever got his full strength together. Evening was waning towards night once more 
and the mountains now rose under and around them in earnest.

Topping a small, narrow ridge, Dyryn happened to look over his shoulder. His 
eyes narrowing, he turned further back in the saddle, to see if his vision were 
playing tricks on him in the fading light. It was not.

Down below, a figure was coming this way, and it looked like the being was 
following Dyryn’s tracks.

The bounty hunter swore silently. He thought he had been careful, but the truth 
was, he had never dealt with elves in any great extent before. Casting his gaze 
forward as he urged his horse on he spied a long rope bridge that spanned a deep 
chasm in the rock face. He had been this way before, although he had not 
intended to have to take it now, with a horse and an unconscious prisoner, but 
he had a plan.

For a brief moment, Legolas saw the outline of a horse and rider up on the top 
of the ridge before they quickly disappeared. Pushing himself faster, the elf 
hurried up the side of the steep incline, his light, quick feet leaving barely 
any impression on the top of the snow.

When he made the lip of the rise, he saw Dyryn below on foot, leading his horse 
across a narrow, swaying rope bridge that connected this plateau with the next. 
It was extremely dangerous taking a horse across a bridge of this kind and 
someone had to be willing to take a lot of risks to do so. Across the horse’ 
back, another form was draped. And it was that form that the elf was concerned 
about.

Dyryn had to half coax, half beat his horse to get it to try the bridge, but it 
followed him in the end, and by the time he saw the elf come into view, he was 
already three quarters of the way across.

Legolas scrambled down the slippery, snow-slick escarpment that led to the 
bridge, trying to get there before the others made it across. Although it was 
old, the swaying pathway was sturdy enough. However, he had no doubts that the 
man ahead of him intended to cut the opposite end of the bridge once he was 
safely on the other side. There was no other reason to justify the risk the man 
was taking. There was also no way Legolas could jump a chasm this wide and 
finding another way around would take days.

The only thing that kept the elf from shooting the bounty hunter where he stood 
was the fact that the horse would probably panic if its master were killed, and 
in their current position, that would lead both the horse and Aragorn’s to their 
deaths.

Dyryn looked over his shoulder and swore. The elf had gained the bridge. He was 
going to have to change tactics again. Pulling his knife he yanked Aragorn’s 
limp head up by the hair, placing the blade against his throat.

"All right don’t move another step if you want him alive," he shouted, turning 
back towards Legolas and letting the elf see what he meant.

Legolas, already in the middle of the bridge, froze, glaring at the man, his 
fingers resting on the strings of the drawn bow in his hand. He could kill 
Dyryn, but that would still be putting Aragorn’s life in grave danger, and Dyryn 
knew it.

"Go ahead and shoot me if you want to risk it, but even if you’re faster than 
me, you know the slightest start is going to cause this brute to panic full out 
and I think you can imagine what a bucking horse would do here..." Dyryn warned 
the elf, slowly backing up as he spoke and pulling his skittish, nickering mount 
with him, his knife never leaving Aragorn’s throat.

Legolas stood still, following the man with his burning gaze. Dyryn was 
unfortunately right; he wouldn’t risk Aragorn’s life that way.

"Who are you? What do you want?" the elf demanded, his entire body tense, 
looking for an opportunity to act as Dyryn backed off the bridge and onto solid 
ground once more, dragging the horse with him. Aragorn’s head bobbed limply on 
the edge of the knife, his dark hair hanging about his face, flecked with snow.

"I don’t see as how that’s any of your business," Dyryn called back. "I won’t 
even ask the same of you... although I usually like to know a body’s name before 
I kill them, but with you, I’ll make an exception!"

With these words the horse’ feet cleared the last few inches of the bridge and 
with amazing quickness Dyryn dropped the knife from Aragorn’s throat, flashing 
down to slash one of the thick, supporting cables that held up the sides of the 
swinging overpass.

The bridge jerked crazily and Legolas slid sideways, his boots slipping and 
skidding on the snow-covered wood slats beneath his feet. There was no time to 
run. The prince was in the direct center of the bridge; there was no way he 
could make the safety of either side in time.

Therefore, Legolas did not waste precious seconds trying. Grabbing the thick 
cord that had been the right-hand railing, now made slack and useless by Dyryn’s 
actions, the elf twisted the wide rope around his right arm and wrist, grabbing 
it tightly with both hands as Dyryn severed the other railing support cable. The 
bridge jerked as the straining ropes snapped, flipping the floor of the bridge 
on its side.

Legolas fell to his knees and slid sideways across the tilting boards, unable to 
stop himself. His weight pulled the straining row of wood-slats over even 
further, tipping the scales and causing what was left of the groaning bridge to 
flip completely upside down. Legolas felt free air open out beneath him and 
registered a jolt of panic, even as his grip on the dangling railing tightened 
firmly.

Finishing what he started, Dyryn severed the last two cables that still fastened 
the floor of the ruined bridge.

With a sickening, stomach-turning jolt, Legolas felt himself free-falling with 
the now useless tangle of rope and wood as it plummeted downward into the gorge. 
The ropes around his arm jerked tight, keeping him bound up with the bridge as 
it rushed down and to the side, swinging like a giant pendulum towards the other 
cliff wall to which it was still fastened.

Legolas gave a soft, stifled cry when the ropes pulled tight; the shock of the 
jolt nearly yanking his shoulder out of its socket as his full weight hung from 
one arm. The rock face of the far cliff was rushing up to meet him and there was 
nothing he could do about the impending impact.

The force with which he slammed into the jagged stone wall stole the elf 
prince’s breath and for a few moments the world was painted in shades of hazy 
yellow and black as his lungs fought to expand again and his body screamed at 
him as though he had been punched by a stone giant.

He started to slip, but quickly caught himself, gripping the ropes still wrapped 
around his arm tightly and bracing his feet against the sheer wall in front of 
him, attempting to get some purchase.

Untwisting his arm from the ropes and grabbing the wooden slats that had once 
been the floor of the bridge, Legolas used them like a ladder, beginning to 
climb up the long, long distance to the top of the cliff from which he had come 
moments before. Suddenly he felt a shiver run through the boards under his 
hands. Put under too much stress at an angle they were not meant to support, the 
ropes still fastened to the rocks above were fraying on the sharp edge of the 
cliff and slowly beginning to unwind. Every time the elf prince moved, the 
cables scraped back and forth across the razor rocks, further severing the 
bridge’s tenuous hold.

Legolas stopped moving and held perfectly still; hugging the bridge as it swayed 
gently in the wind which whipped through the narrow gorge. Even that much motion 
made him slip a little further down as the groaning ropes continued to stretch 
perilously.

The prince quickly realized he’d never be able to reach the top before the 
straining cables gave way. Looking down he saw the snow-clad bottom of the 
ravine many, many feet below. It was nearly as far away as the top of the cliff, 
but having to choose one or the other, it was a better risk to try putting 
himself as close as possible to the ground before the bridge came down 
completely.

Changing his course of direction, the elf started climbing down as fast as he 
could, the bridge shuddering and jerking ominously under his hands. He was still 
dangerously high up when the straining cables finally gave way. Once again 
Legolas found himself free-falling through the frosty air. No matter how many 
times something like that may happen, one can never be completely prepared for 
it. The deep, deep snowdrifts at the base of the ravine cushioned the force of 
his landing somewhat, but only a little.

Legolas did not remember the actual moment of impact, but only the sensation of 
opening his eyes a few minutes later and wondering if his body even remembered 
how to breathe. It was the second time he had had the wind knocked out of him in 
the past few moments, but this time it seemed as if he were physically incapable 
of inhaling. It was an odd, surreal feeling. He wasn’t breathing, but his body 
was not afraid; it simply seemed as if time had stopped, like a river frozen in 
the midst of its course. Snow had fallen down over him, and its icy stillness 
was almost absolute. The odd, over-quietness that snow produces by soaking up 
and dampening the other sounds around added to the disconcerting effect.

How long that moment lasted he would never know, but reality came rushing back 
with a jolt as his lungs expanded spasmodically. He found himself gulping in air 
as feeling came flooding back to his body. He instantly wished it had not.

Stifling a moan, the elf slowly pulled himself upright and onto his hands and 
knees, half-crawling, half-digging his way out of the loose snow-mound he had 
fallen into. If there was some part of his body that didn’t ache, he did not 
know what it was. It was truly a miracle that nothing had been broken, or at 
least, he didn’t think anything had been. However, wrapping his throbbing right 
arm around his midsection as he shook the snow out of his clothes and hair, he 
decided that he had most definitely sprained his arm and bruised at least a few 
ribs.

Taking a deep breath to clear his head, Legolas looked up at the crooked ribbon 
of sky that marked the top of the canyon, far overhead. He truly was lucky to be 
alive, but it was going to take him at least two or three days to make it out of 
this ravine and back up there. The elf held his frustration only barely in 
check. That was precious time he could ill afford to lose.

Dark shapes moving against the snow made the elf prince turn quickly to the 
right. Lurking in the shadows of the far wall, two or three dozen sets of 
glowing eyes regarded the stranger who had fallen into their den.

Legolas tensed, his good left hand going immediately over his shoulder, reaching 
for his quiver, only to realize that he had lost his bow when the bridge was 
cut, and most of his arrows in the fall. Fortunately, his knives were still in 
their sheaths, and he grabbed one of those instead as the burning eyes stalked 
closer, circling him. White fangs glistened in the shadows as the beasts came 
closer.

The prince’s eyes narrowed as he gripped his weapon with his uninjured arm. Just 
what he did not need. Wolves.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Aragorn shivered uncontrollably, but at least it meant he could move again. The 
belithral was slowly wearing off, leaving him weak and dizzy as it reluctantly 
eased up on its hold.

Laying on his side by the fire, hands still bound, Aragorn forced his hazy mind 
to work, attempting to find any opportunity to escape. None presented itself.

"Rest up while you can," Dyryn kicked him lightly as he walked by. "I’m not 
going to wear out a good horse carrying us both like this. Tomorrow you start 
pulling your own weight, got it?" He was relieved to have lost the elf earlier 
that evening. Now that that threat was gone, they could afford to move a little 
slower and not place so much stress on his mount.

"Who are you?" Aragorn was blinking hard just to keep his eyes focused. "What do 
you want with me?"

Dyryn ignored him completely and only the lonely howl of the wind gave any 
reply.

"Where are we going?" Aragorn tried again, although darkness was already pulling 
at his senses again.

"Over the mountains," Dyryn replied, looking ahead into the swiftening swirl of 
falling snow.

For a few moments, Aragorn’s mind registered what a dangerous idea that was at 
this time of year and in this weather, but protesting would have done no good, 
and he was too weary anyway. The blowing wind gently lifted his consciousness 
and swirled it away with the eddying flurries.

Somewhere far in the distance. A wolf howled.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Legolas’ breath was coming quick and fast, frosting in the dark, biting air. 
Run. Fight. Run. Fight. The past few hours had been nothing but a struggle to 
survive. The wolves knew this canyon better than he did; this was their home. 
Every turn he took to get away from them, only brought him up against impossible 
rock walls or more wolves.

If he had had his bow, this would have been significantly less of a problem. 
However, the fact was that with only his knives, he could not get rid of any of 
the wolves attacking him unless they actually got close enough to reach, and by 
the time they were that close, he was in trouble.

The elf was wearying. His right arm was clumsy and useless and his hurting body 
was betraying him. Although he was leaving a trail of dead wolf bodies in his 
wake, it seemed that two new ones appeared to replace every one that was fallen. 
He had to get out of here.

Turning a corner, Legolas found himself trapped in a narrow box canyon, the 
walls slanting steeply upward. The wolves were right on his heels. One snapped 
at his ankles, trying to trip him, trying to bring him down. Legolas spun to the 
opposite side, kicking the brute hard and making it fall back with a howl.

Suddenly an unexpected weight made him lurch sideways as pain blossomed across 
his unprotected right shoulder. Jerking and whipping himself around much faster 
than his injured body liked, Legolas threw off the beast that had jumped down on 
him from the rocks above, wincing as its teeth were ripped out of his shoulder. 
In one swift move he pinned the creature to the wall with his blade.

The elf staggered almost drunkenly as he pulled his knife free. Warm blood was 
running down his arm and his body was screaming at him that he was very nearly 
spent.

The wolves, frenzied by the scent of fresh blood, pressed their attack closer. 
Legolas retreated as far as he could, putting his back against the wall, but he 
knew he could not hold this position forever. Already another wolf was 
attempting to climb the narrow ledges in the cliff face on the right, wanting to 
drop down on him from above as the other one had.

Legolas steeled his jaw against his own weakness. If the wolves could make it up 
there... he risked another glance at the wall behind him. It slanted up sharply, 
but was not entirely perpendicular. There were handholds, however slight they 
may seem... it was his only chance.

With no other choice, Legolas sprang upward, grabbing a handful of rock and 
earth, clinging tightly to the face of the steep incline and scrabbling even 
higher towards the top of the ravine. The wolves howled in rage, leaping up to 
snap at his boots. One caught the leather around his ankle, trying to jerk the 
elf back down.

Legolas grimaced as the vicious tug yanked him backward, straining his injured 
arm and making his hold on the slippery stones slide sharply.

Kicking out and down as hard as he could with his other leg, Legolas caught the 
beast in the eyes, knocking him back to the ground.

Forcing his bleeding, burning shoulder to work much harder and faster than it 
wanted to, the prince scrabbled up higher, out of the reach of the wolves below 
before allowing himself to rest for a moment once more.

This cliff was too steep for the wolves to climb, although they tried the walls 
nearby in a futile attempt to reach their fleeing prey.

Legolas looked up. The rock face he was climbing disappeared from sight in the 
darkness above. Closing his eyes he hugged the cliff, trying to gather his 
depleted strength. His right shoulder was sending him urgent warnings that it 
was not going to support him much longer, and his right hand was trembling, but 
the only choice he had was to keep going up. Gritting his jaw and pushing 
himself on, Legolas kept climbing; seeking out the shallow, slippery notches 
that barely supported even his light weight.

The long climb was a nightmare. When Legolas finally dragged himself up over the 
lip of the rise he just lay still on his back in the snow for a few minutes, 
breathing deep and looking up at the stars visible through the mouth of the 
canyon. Although it felt like he had been climbing for hours, he had in fact 
only worked his way up to another level of the gorge he had had fallen into.

Slowly rolling onto his side and sitting up, Legolas held his bleeding shoulder 
tightly. It was stinging fiercely and the pain was making him woozy. Struggling 
to his feet he took refuge in a small knoll nearby. Blood continued to seep 
between his fingers as he sank down with his back against the wall.

More gracefully than one would have thought possible for working one-handed, 
Legolas managed to clean and bind the wound, using the remainder of the bandage 
to hold the injured limb against his chest in a makeshift sling. His arm was not 
dislocated, he would have recognized that feeling, but the strained tendons and 
torn muscles burned almost as badly as the wolf bite. He was going to have to 
rest for a little to give his body a chance to start recovering before he could 
move on. The prince was spent; he could go no further tonight. In the morning, 
he would start finding a way out of the gorge.

Pulling his knees up to his chest and curling lightly over his injured arm and 
ribs with his back still against the wall, Legolas let himself drift off into a 
light, healing sleep. Keeping his slumber shallow enough that he would have 
plenty of advance warning should anything else decide to go wrong this night.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

"All right, rise and shine," Dyryn said with malicious over-cheerfulness. 
Dragging Aragorn to his feet and removing the ropes that bound his ankles, but 
leaving the ones that tightly held his hands bound in front of him.

Aragorn steeled his jaw and resisted the urge to throw up. He felt as if he had 
the world’s worst hangover and his head was three times too large for his body. 
He was alert and aware all the same however, and as the bounty hunter turned to 
pick up another length of rope to connect the ranger’s bound wrists to the 
saddle of his horse he made a critical mistake. He turned his back on Aragorn.

Bringing his fists down hard between Dyryn’s shoulder blades, Aragorn knocked 
the man to his knees, attempting to grab the knife from the bounty hunter’s 
belt.

Dyryn reacted with speed that unfortunately did him credit. Grabbing Aragorn’s 
ankle, he yanked the young man’s feet out from under him. The two of them 
tussled in the snow and Dyryn attempted to pin the younger man underneath him. 
Aragorn smashed his fists into the side of the bounty hunter’s head, 
backpedaling swiftly in the snow and scooting on his back, attempting to work 
around the fact that his hands were still bound. His movements were slowed by 
the lingering affects of the drugs he had been given and his heart pounded 
unnaturally fast at the exertion, doing nothing to aide his lightheadedness.

Pulling his knife, Dyryn slashed at the ranger, driving him further back in the 
snow and making his movements more urgent. Aragorn dodged the sweeping thrusts, 
scooting on his elbows and trying to shake his assailant off, but with his hands 
tied tightly together like they were and Dyryn giving him no time to do anything 
but dodge, he could not get up and so his options were limited.

Dyryn purposefully punched the young man right over his arrow wound, making 
Aragorn’s world reel with pain. It was only a momentary distraction, but 
unfortunately it was enough. The bounty hunter got his knife up against the side 
of Aragorn’s neck, pressing down sharply.

"Quit it now kid! You’re worth more to me alive than dead, but you’re still 
worth something dead, so don’t push your luck!" he threatened harshly.

Reluctantly, Aragorn stopped struggling. Frustration welled inside him and he 
silently vowed this was a temporary defeat only. Dyryn saw that resolve in his 
eyes and scowled deeply.

A sharp blow across the face caught Aragorn by surprise, knocking his head back 
into the snow and making him taste blood. A second, vicious blow split the 
ranger’s lip. Aragorn tried to twist away from the unexpected abuse, but Dyryn 
knelt on his bound arms, sitting on him and pinning the ranger down as he hit 
him a few more times for good measure, pounding him until Aragorn stopped 
resisting. His head felt like it was spinning and he was seeing double.

"I see you’re going to be a trouble-maker," the bounty hunter growled, wiping 
his own bleeding mouth, his eyes burning with anger at the trouble his captive 
had given him. "I guess maybe I will give you a little something to keep you 
sedated after all."

Anchoring the ranger’s bound wrists firmly with one hand Dyryn used the other to 
push Aragorn’s sleeve up his arm. Without moving his weight off of the ranger’s 
chest, the bounty hunter cut a small line in the crook of Aragorn’s elbow, 
administering the belithral to the wound on the end of a wadded rag. He only 
gave a little this time however, because he still wanted Aragorn to be able to 
move, he just intended to take a little of the fight out of him, not 
incapacitate the ranger as he had in the past.

The drug was no less fast-acting than ever and Aragorn could actually feel it 
racing through his system. It turned his stomach and sped up his heart as he 
felt his limbs become leaden. He closed his eyes against the odd, disturbing 
things that it made him see. Ogres and fairies and strange, commonplace things 
that just made no sense.

Dyryn dragged Aragorn to his feet and pulled him back towards camp. Tightly 
tying a second length of rope around those that already bound the young ranger’s 
wrists; Dyryn finished fastening the other end to the saddle of his horse.

Aragorn was struggling just to breathe and stay on his feet, swaying unsteadily.

Dyryn looked back over his shoulder with a cruel smile. "Don’t worry kid, when 
I’m through with you, you won’t have enough energy left to cry, let alone try 
anything like that again," he promised.

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART FOUR*~

 

"Keep up damn it!" Dyryn snapped harshly, giving the rope tied to his saddle 
horn a hard pull. Thus far he had made more than good on his threat to keep 
Aragorn too run-out to think of anything but trying to put one foot in front of 
the other. And sometimes even that seemed too hard.

Aragorn stumbled forward through the snow, falling to his knees in the chilly 
drift when the bounty hunter’s vicious tug jerked on the already taught line 
between his bound wrists and the horse. The chafing of the rope and Dyryn’s 
constant abuse over the course of the past three days had rubbed the young 
ranger’s wrists raw.

Aragorn’s pants and boots were already soaked through from the snow which had 
melted against his body heat and then refrozen in the biting air, making his 
legs and feet so painfully numb he could barely even feel them anymore.

Dyryn kicked his horse in the sides, spurring the beast forward at a quick trot 
and dragging the hapless young man behind him through the snow until Aragorn 
managed to get his feet under him again and stagger along on his own once more.

The young ranger’s whole body felt sluggish and moving was tremendously 
difficult. The drug Dyryn was keeping him on made every movement require an 
extreme act of will. Sometimes even breathing seemed hard.

Aragorn fell again, snow filling his eyes and mouth as he scrambled up knowing 
Dyryn would not wait nor slow his pace for the struggling captive. The young 
ranger spit the biting frost out of his mouth, his teeth chattering. The snow 
was stained crimson. His split lip from days ago was still bleeding. It should 
have closed up and healed already, but the cold was slowing his body’s healing 
abilities and the belithral was somehow thinning his blood and preventing the 
clotting that should normally occur. The cold ice that he could not wipe away 
from his eyes and face burned his exposed skin like fire. It was ironic how cold 
could burn like this.

Aragorn’s world was one long, unending frozen hell as he stumbled along after 
Dyryn’s horse as best he could. He couldn’t see right anymore and the drugs were 
slowly robbing him of the ability to even think straight. Whiteness, that’s all 
there was, miles and miles of unending white humps and dips. White, cold and 
wind. The wind had quickly become the young human’s worst enemy. It never seemed 
to let up, always blowing in his face until he was not only frozen but burned by 
the wind and his eyes stung mercilessly.

That night they struck camp in a narrow gully that was mostly sheltered from the 
worst of the wind, although the cold was only getting worse as night approached. 
Aragorn sank to the ground in exhaustion when they stopped.

Dyryn untied the younger man from his lead-line to the horse, and grabbing 
Aragorn’s still-bound wrists, he dragged the ranger roughly over to the high 
stone wall that shielded one side of their campsite. Aragorn struggled with him, 
attempting to fight back, attempting to break free, but he was too exhausted, 
and the drug in his system still too potent to render his efforts useful. 
Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why he tried, except that to give up would mean a 
kind of submission that he was not ready to give.

Dyryn swore at him and backhanded the young man sharply across the face, 
throwing him against the rough stone wall. Dully, Aragorn wondered if that’s why 
his lip was still bleeding, because Dyryn kept hitting him.

Pressing his captive’s back against the cold cliff face and yanking the 
Dùnadan’s arms above his head, Dyryn securely tied Aragorn’s hands around one of 
the thick, curling roots that held the rock face together.

"That ought to hold you," the bounty hunter gave the bloodstained ropes one 
last, vicious tug, eliciting a grimace of pain from his captive. Leaving Aragorn 
there, Dyryn moved off to build a fire.

The warmth was welcome, and Aragorn pulled against the binds that held him, 
trying to get a bit closer to the circle of warmth emanating off the flames. His 
body was frozen through and his teeth chattering without his consent. Every 
fiber of his being ached with the extreme cold that permeated it.

Dyryn ate his supper, but did not offer any to his captive. At this point 
however, Aragorn was too sick to his stomach from the drugs in his system to eat 
anyway. All he wanted was warmth. He still wore the clothes he had been in when 
he was taken, but they were stiff now with snow and ice from having to forge or 
be dragged through the deep snow up here in the mountains.

The ranger watched his captor with dark, burning eyes. "Why?" he wanted to know, 
his voice hoarse from the cold. "Why are you doing this? Where are we going? Who 
*are* you?" He could understand no reason for this man he didn’t know to be 
treating him in this manner. And where was the logic behind attempting the High 
Pass over the Misty Mountains in the dead of the worst winter these parts had 
seen in the young Dùnadan’s lifetime? He wanted to understand why he was being 
made to suffer like this and by whom.

At first Aragorn thought the man would ignore him again, but this time Dyryn 
shrugged, and raised an eyebrow. "Dyryn. And this is nothing personal kid. I do 
what I get paid to do. You’ve got a rather large price on your head and I mean 
to collect on it. You’re not an easy person to find I hope you realize. It’s 
taken me this long just to figure out where you got to. You don’t think I’d try 
this trek through hell if I could afford to wait for better weather do you?" the 
man laughed without mirth. "But it’ll all be worth it when we get there... for 
me anyway. I don’t think he’s got any good plans for you." The half-dwarf’s grin 
turned cruel again as he fingered a thin leather wallet in his inner pocket. He 
had in fact gotten quite a nice up-front advance to work with, but that would be 
nothing compared to the payoff when he delivered. But time was running short. It 
had taken much longer to hunt the ranger down than he had thought and getting to 
him when he was actually vulnerable enough to capture had been even harder.

Aragorn blinked in shock. Who could have put a bounty on him large enough to 
warrant all this trouble? Why? "W-what? Who?"

"Someone who says you owe them a debt payable in blood," Dyryn rather enjoyed 
taunting his captive like this. "Who thinks you deserve... how did he put it...? 
‘A death worthy of a thousand screams’. Kind of poetic don’t you think?"

Aragorn recognized that phrase. He could still hear it being screamed at him 
over and over as Elladan and Elrohir hurried him away from the distraught man 
kneeling on the ground... Closing his eyes he let his head fall back against the 
wall behind him.

"Mannyn," he whispered. He should have known... yet he had nearly forgotten all 
about it. It seemed so long ago after everything that had happened since. "I 
didn’t mean for what happened to happen like it did," he said softly, although 
he doubted that Dyryn cared. He was right.

"That’s none of my nevermind," the bounty hunter shrugged. "All I’m interested 
in is delivering you and getting my pay. But I’ll tell you one thing, if the 
price he’s willing to pay to get his hands on you is any indication, I’d say 
that you’re in for an interesting time when you get there."

Aragorn didn’t reply. Knowing now who wanted him and why did not really make him 
feel any better at all. He let his head hang forward, shivering in the cold, 
cold air. It was ironic, because if he was being taken to Mannyn, then they 
would be passing quite near Rivendell, and yet unless something changed, no one 
might ever know what had happened to him.

He felt very alone as the freezing night settled down upon him once more. Was 
anyone even looking for him? And if they were, would they ever find him?

 

~*~

Like swirling snow the years blow away towards the future...

...80 years later –

Following the return of the Palantir to Orthanc...

~*~

 

It had taken the king and his companions well into a fortnight to uncover all 
the treasures that Orthanc held in its depth and to clean out the tower of the 
residual evil that hadn’t quite left. When they had completed their tasks the 
dark spire was airy and its foreboding presence had been wiped away. The orc 
pits below had been forever sealed over with Gimli’s expert help and the ground 
had been restored, bereft of the dark scarring it had withstood under Saruman’s 
occupation.

Aragorn had ordered that their camp be stricken and moved out to the plains 
beyond Isengard. Removing to a plateau that sat on the edge of a cliff they had 
stationed their sleeping pallets and tents for the evening.

Woods bracketed their left and raced up to the edge of the cliff reaching out 
over it. To their right the plains dropped gracefully out of sight, painted with 
the cooling tones of the setting sun. The meadow was cut through by a small 
winding steam that led back into the darkening woods.

"We brought no wood with us from Isengard and the sun dips low in the sky, it 
will be cool tonight." Jonath approached his king, "The men have already scouted 
the surrounding areas. There is plenty of wood on the forest floor and the land 
about us is safe. Shall I send the men out to retrieve enough wood for the 
firepits?"

Aragorn stood from where he sat perched on a fallen log quietly teaching 
Eldarion about fletching arrows. Before he could respond, the dark haired boy at 
his side jumped up and answered excitedly, "Yes, let us go! I would see the 
land! There is a stream nearby through the forest."

"Eldarion," the king smiled down at the over-eagerness he recognized in his son, 
"Jonath was speaking to me. The men will go out and return with wood you will 
stay here and finish with your lessons." Turning to the captain of his guard, 
Aragorn smiled ruefully, "Yes Jonath, please send the men out, we will need 
fires tonight to keep us warm."

He glanced back at the disappointed look that Eldarion quickly turned to the 
ground beneath his feet.

Gimli sat nearby on an old stump, contentedly smoking his pipe. "I’ll take the 
boy out to fetch firewood if you like." He spoke up from his perch motioning at 
the disappointed child with his pipe. "It’d be good to stretch these legs of 
mine. Sitting tires me." He grumped loudly, easing into a standing position.

"Really?" Eldarion turned hopeful, begging eyes on his father, "May I? Please 
Ada? I’ll be fine with Uncle Gimli."

"Aye, that he will." The dwarf boasted as Aragorn eyed the smaller being with a 
glower.

"And your lessons? What of them? What will you do when you need to fletch your 
own arrows?" Aragorn laid a hard stare on the youth.

With an impish smile Eldarion glanced over at Legolas who was sharpening the 
edge of one of his hunting knives near their sleeping mats. The elf’s sharp ears 
caught the answer and he stopped what he was doing, glancing at the small group 
that was watching him intently.

"Do not drag me into your plea bargains with your father!" The elf pointed the 
tip of his blade at the boy, "I have enough trouble all on my own with that 
one."

Aragorn laughed lightly before staring back down at the boy near his side.

"Please?" Eldarion was tired of sitting and lessons, he wanted to be out and 
about.

"You say your men scouted the area? And we are safe?" The king glanced sidelong 
at Jonath who only nodded in answer. With a deep sigh he turned his attention 
back to his son who had already anticipated his answer and ran over to stand 
next to Gimli, excitedly telling the dwarf about the stream he had found 
earlier.

"Very well, very well lad." Gimli, pressed his hands palm out towards the boy, 
waving off his excitement, "The sun is still a fair ways into the sky, it won't 
drop for a bit. If you father says ‘yes’ we’ll go." With a stubborn smile the 
small being placed his hands on his hips and stared up at Aragorn, "What say 
you, father?"

Rolling his eyes and admitting his defeat, the king threw his hands in the air 
and shook his head. "If we are safe I see no harm in it. But stay near the 
stream’s edge and do not venture far into the forest. At least if we have to we 
can track you there."

"Bah," The dwarf waved him off, "We’ll be fine." He hefted his axe up onto his 
shoulder and winked at Legolas who was watching the whole exchange with barely 
contained mirth, "No one will mess with this dwarf!" That said he draped his arm 
over the boy’s shoulder and steered them both out of camp, asking where it was 
that Eldarion had seen this stream of his.

Jonath looked at the king, raising one eyebrow in question.

"No, let them go." Aragorn glanced from his captain to Legolas, "He’s safe with 
Gimli. But you," and he turned and pointed at the elf, "I had better not catch 
you ever helping him to cheat with his lessons!"

Legolas feigned innocence, placing his hand dramatically over his heart as 
though he could not believe he had been accused of such a thing.

"Right." The king turned away from him and proceeded to send the soldiers out to 
scour the area for wood. He doubted that wood-collecting was going to end up 
very high on the list of things that Gimli and his son were up to if Eldarion 
had any say in the matter. Walking calmly over to where Legolas sat, he dropped 
down next to the elf on his sleeping pallet.

"He’s growing up quickly."

"They always do." Legolas answered softly, letting his gaze momentarily linger 
on his old friend. He quietly went back to his work as Aragorn watched the dwarf 
and the human child leave the plains following winding stream through the 
forest.

~*~

This was perfect. A silent, hidden figure watched intently as the dwarf and the 
boy walked downstream towards his trap. He had anticipated the soldiers setting 
up camp here; the meadow was the perfect spot for such a large contingent of 
people. A dark, wicked smile crept onto the man’s face and if anyone had been 
able to see his countenance beneath the hood he constantly wore, they would have 
shuddered at the sight.

Honestly, he had wanted the elf or the one they called their king, but this was 
even better, for the elf and his human companion were ever surrounded by an 
entourage of guards or soldiers, always someone to get in the way. And truly he 
had no idea how he would be able to subdue the elf; that had been hard enough 
when he was a young man. He was getting on in years now and hunting wasn’t as 
easy as it used to be. But this...

A soft croak of a laugh escaped his lips, causing the two men who were with him 
to glance his way questioningly.

...this was even better. This would work. In fact...

He grabbed the man nearest him, and whispering instructions quickly into the 
younger hunter’s ear, he shoved him back towards their hidden camp, back towards 
the glen he had discovered earlier. A plan formed in his mind in a matter of 
seconds and he motioned with his hand to the other that attended him. It was 
time, their long waited trap was ready to be sprung and it would be even easier 
than he had hoped.

The dark hooded shadow moved silently off to his left, as his companion splashed 
quickly across the stream, on the far side of a bend in the river, hidden from 
the sight of their prey.

Now...all they had to do was wait and let the fools come to them.

~*~

Eldarion bent and picked up a smooth round stone from the edge of the stream. 
Stepping lightly forward he launched the rock at the rippled surface of the 
river, bouncing the stone across its glittering surface twice before it sank 
into the small waves it had created.

"You know the last time anyone threw rocks into the water, your father was there 
cautioning them on how unwise it was to do so." Gimli glanced out of the corner 
of his eyes at the boy who had picked up another rock and was preparing to skip 
it also. "It’s not wise to wake what lives under the water." The dwarf spoke 
softly, his voice held a slightly mocking undertone as though the very stream 
itself could hear him. He bent and picked up another good-sized piece of wood 
for the fires tonight, placing it precariously on top of the small load he 
carried. He had attached his double headed axe to his belt to free his hands up, 
convinced they were safe so near to camp.

With a laugh Eldarion dropped the stone and stacked another dead branch in his 
uncle’s arms. "Oh yes, he told me that one. Watchers in the deep!" The youth 
crouched and glanced around them acting skitterish and wary before laughing out 
loud once more.

"You would do well to listen to your father!" Gimli warned although his laughter 
gave him away, "I was there you know, in fact..."

The dwarf’s words were cut off as movement caught his attention. He had 
continued walking up the river as Eldarion stooped to fetch another rock. "What 
now?" He questioned as an arrow flew past him, barely missing him, its tip 
embedded into the trunk of a tree on his left. At his distraction a figure 
darted out from the forest and quickly grabbed the young prince around the waist 
before he had time to stand up. "Eldarion!"

A gnarled, weathered hand, twisted and unusually mal-formed, wrapped around 
Eldarion’s mouth, restricting him from crying out in alarm as another arm snaked 
quickly around his waist, pinning his right arm to his side.

Gimli started forward but was stopped as the man whirled around to face him.

"I don’t think so." The kidnapper was clothed in a hooded cloak that concealed 
his face, but it was the weapon he brandished that stopped the dwarf’s heart. 
The man held a knife in the hand that he was using to hold the boy still and he 
turned the blade inward so that it pressed underneath the young man’s ribs. 
"Wouldn’t want me to gut him in front of you now would you?" Their attacker’s 
voice was rough and held the slightest bit of an accent. Gimli was certain he 
recognized the lilt.

Eldarion’s eyes went wide and he stopped struggling as he felt the blade tip 
bite into his flesh.

The Dwarf dropped his stack of wood, his gloved hands drifting towards the 
weapon at his side.

"I wouldn’t," the man holding Eldarion warned. Glancing quickly behind the dwarf 
the man motioned with his chin up the river, "You have other things to be 
worried about rock lover."

A rending, tearing sound assaulted his ears and Gimli turned quickly pulling his 
axe up ready to face what enemy was bearing down on him. The light had all but 
faded from the sky by now and he realized with a start it was darker than he 
would have liked. Stepping forward his right boot toe caught under the lip of a 
rock whose base was firmly submerged in the wet dirt at the streams edge. Unable 
to free his shoe without taking too much attention away from the unknown threat, 
he glanced wildly around him; the sound of something approaching through the air 
grew.

From out of the dim haze of the growing night a large thick cylinder bore down 
on the dwarf, catching him across the chest and throwing him hard to the ground, 
rolling him off his balance and smacking forcefully into his chin before 
continuing its arc through the night sky. Gimli’s axe was wrenched from his hand 
and his head impacted the rocky floor of the streambed. Before he passed out a 
cry of pain broke from the dwarf’s lips as his foot, still caught beneath the 
rock twisted hard. The force of the blow snapped him back so viciously that his 
right leg snapped under the stress created by his boot being trapped.

Eldarion tried to scream Gimli’s name in horror, but the hand over his mouth did 
not let him. The man that held the young prince tightly to him laughed wickedly. 
His gaze moved away from the downed body as the thick timber they had used to 
incapacitate the dwarf swung back into view once more.

"Nice trap don’t you think?" He turned the prince’s head sharply, forcing the 
boy to look in the direction he wanted him to. "Amazing what you can learn over 
years of hunting people, hmm?"

Earlier, anticipating their prey, they had cut down a large tree with a good 
thick trunk. Suspending the barrel of the tree over the river by tying it off in 
the massive branches of the woods that lined the stream they had pulled it back 
and up until it hung suspended horizontally over the water feet above the head 
of anyone who should happen by. Held in place by ropes, they had waited until 
Gimli and Eldarion had reached the right spot and then at the perfect moment had 
released the tension on the lines that kept it aloft. It swung free now over the 
prone body of the dwarf, its arc lessening with each pass.

Fear spiked through Eldarion. Surely no one had been able to hear Gimli’s cry. 
He wasn’t even sure how far from camp they were, he had not been keeping track. 
The young prince struggled desperately against the man who held him and had 
almost gotten loose of the hunter’s constricting arms when the tip of an arrow 
dug into the underside of his chin.

"Calm down kid. You’ll live longer."

The prince glanced up into the dark eyes of a man who was as tall as his father 
but not as old as the king. The hunter tapped the edge of the crossbow bolt 
against the boy’s throat as the man who held him slipped a gag over his head 
preventing him from crying out. He tried to turn away as they silenced him but 
the sharp arrow bit into his skin and he stopped thrashing.

"Better do as Kolir says," the first man, still holding Eldarion, rasped 
wickedly as they pulled the gag tight, nearly making the boy choke. "He gets 
nasty when people give him trouble."

With the boy unable to speak, the hooded hunter swiftly tied the prince’s hands 
together in front of him with a thick corded rope. Looping another rope around 
those he tied the boy off to himself, cording the length around his left hand. 
He grabbed Eldarion’s right hand wrenching it painfully palm up and drew the 
edge of his knife deeply and deliberately into the soft flesh. Red blood welled 
instantly around the edges of the steel, pooling in the young man’s hand.

Eldarion cried out, but with the gag in his mouth the sound was more of a muted, 
strangled cry. He tried to pull away, his knees buckling slightly underneath 
him, but the man that had caught him would not let him go. Instead he cruelly 
forced Eldarion’s wounded hand into a tight fist. The blood dripped between the 
prince’s fingers as his own fingernails were pressed into the knife wound.

A soft groan escaped Eldarion’s lips much to his captor’s amusement. A rasping, 
mirthless laugh came from beneath the dark hood as the man lead the boy away 
into the woods, his companion bringing up the rear should anyone follow or 
should the prince try to escape.

Eldarion tried to turn, attempting to see Gimli through the growing gloom, he 
wasn’t even sure the dwarf was still alive and he feared that no one would find 
him in time to help them. Surely his father would come looking for them when 
they didn’t return. Uncle Gimli just had to be alive; he tried to convince 
himself... he couldn’t stand to think otherwise. The tall hunter who walked 
behind him shoved him forward roughly.

"Just walk."

As they headed farther from camp Eldarion’s panic grew. At one point he had 
attempted to break free of the man that led him away from the stream and towards 
the edge of the plateau. His failed escape earned him a swift, vicious blow to 
the head. The wooden pommel of the crossbow smacked the young boy forcefully, 
causing spots to dance in front of his eyes. He found himself complying with his 
kidnappers’ demands to stave off further abuse and followed the men on unsteady 
feet.

Once they had descended to the foot of the wide ravine that ran the length of 
the plateau, his captor turned and once more forcibly made the boy tighten his 
wounded hand into a fist. Eldarion winced and held back a moan of pain. Fresh 
blood spilled down from the wound and the man took the boy’s bound wrist, 
purposefully shaking the red liquid down upon the ground.

"They’ll see that plain as day." The tall, quiet man behind them growled.

His hooded companion glanced up at him; he smiled in the dark knowing no one 
could see his countenance, "I am hoping that they do." He smirked before walking 
off and jerking the boy after him.

Behind Eldarion, Kolir pressed the crossbow into the youth’s back and shoved him 
on with a cruel laugh as they walked through the darkened forest away from the 
soldier’s encampment. He was surprised; they had actually gotten away with it. 
They had actually managed to capture the King’s son. Perhaps his employer truly 
was the famed hunter he claimed to be. For the money they were being paid to 
help with this, Kolir supposed that the old hunter could be anyone he wanted to 
be, but still, when it came to royal kidnappings... it was be comforting to know 
that an incredibly clever mind was at work. Just how clever this plan was going 
to prove yet remained to be seen, but if today was any indication... well, 
tomorrow would tell. Tomorrow would tell.

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART FIVE*~

 

Aragorn glanced back towards the woods once more. Night would soon be upon them 
and still Eldarion and Gimli had not returned. His movements slowed as his worry 
mounted. Surely they should have returned by now. He stilled his hands 
altogether, dropping his sword down lightly into his lap, the burnishing cloth 
all but forgotten.

"You think they should have returned by now?" Legolas’ quiet voice broke through 
his thoughts.

Jumping slightly and turning back towards the elf, Aragorn glanced behind his 
friend, noting the brightly burning fires that dotted the camp. He nodded 
slowly. "I do."

Legolas’ soft laughter caught his attention and he glared at the elf.

"You." The woodland prince answered the unspoken question, "You make me laugh. 
You are every bit like your father. I have seen that very scowl on his face when 
he worried over you."

"Legolas." The word came out as a growl but the man laughed. He looked once more 
to the wooded stream.

"That’s it, let's go see what keeps that dwarf from returning your son in a 
timely manner. Your worry is driving me to distraction." Legolas sheathed his 
own blades and started walking towards the edge of the woods.

"My lord?" Jonath’s voice cut through their escape and Aragorn flinched visibly 
before turning back towards camp. The former ranger wondered if he were ever 
going to get used to having people follow him around like this. He would have 
thought that he should have grown accustomed to it by now, but the truth was he 
had not.

"We are going to go see what has become of Gimli and my son. They have not yet 
returned from gathering wood along the streams edge." The king explained 
quickly. In truth he welcomed his guard at this point, although he often found 
Jonath’s protectiveness suffocating. The sun had fled the sky and night had 
thrown her cloak upon the earth robing it in darkness.

Without a second thought, Jonath stood from the ring of men seated not far from 
their king, grabbing a flaming branch from the fire in front of him, he passed 
it to another soldier. In moments he had mustered a small contingent armed with 
swords and torches that surrounded the king and the elf and fanned out on either 
side of stream’s bed, walking down its length and looking for the two lost 
members of their party.

The further they got from camp the more serious they all became and the more 
their worry mounted. Gimli should have brought Eldarion back long ago. It was 
dark now, there was no justifiable reason for them to be out this late unless 
they were lost or... or worse.

Legolas saw him first. A small cry of dismay escaped his lips as he spied 
Gimli’s fallen form. He ran quickly, outdistancing his companions, his eyes 
easily adjusted to the darkness. He braced his hand on the beam that swung 
lightly over the dwarf’s fallen body. He had heard of traps like this but only 
when used on prey you wished to injure or kill. Dropping lightly down beside the 
dwarf he tried to rouse his friend. "Gimli? Gimli!"

"Jonath!" Aragorn called to his guard, "Over here quickly!" The soldiers on the 
far side of the river plowed through the water, lending their light to that of 
the ones who had gathered round the injured dwarf.

Dropping down next to Legolas, Aragorn grabbed the torch that was offered to him 
by the nearest soldier and swept its light across the small, prone body. Lightly 
touching the elf’s arm, the king stopped his friend from his frantic attempts to 
revive the dwarf.

"He lives." The elf whispered with a sigh of relief, cradling the dwarf’s head 
gently in his lap and smoothing the short being’s wiry hair away from his face.

"Legolas." Aragorn held the torch above Gimli’s broken leg, his boot toe was 
still wedged at an odd angle beneath the rock that had tripped him up. "His leg 
is broken. Do not wake him, it would be best if we set it before he is 
conscious."

"Who would do this?" Legolas shook his head, anger welling inside him at the 
injuries his dwarven friend had taken.

Aragorn stood swiftly to his feet, frantically looking around them, "Where is 
Eldarion?" He scanned the edges of the forest trying to find tracks that led 
away from the stream but the soldiers that surrounded them had walked on top of 
the fresh prints adding their own to the jumbled mix of signals and obscuring 
Eldarion’s tracks.

Aragorn pushed the men away with swift hurried motions, brushing the light of 
his torch across the soft sand that formed the river’s edge. In the darkness it 
was difficult to see which tracks were new and if any were old or child sized.

"I cannot find his tracks!" Aragorn turned swiftly to his captain, "Jonath, have 
the men fan out, he must be here somewhere."

With a quick nod the captain of the guard began sending his men into the 
surrounding forests to look for any signs. Swallowing his fears, Aragorn stepped 
back to Gimli’s side and crouched down opposite Legolas.

The elf’s eyes were wide and dark in the low light. Two soldiers had stayed with 
the king and his friends and lent the dim glow of their torches so they could 
see.

Gently Aragorn ran his fingers down Gimli’s leg below his knee, probing the 
break carefully and finding exactly where it was. Dislodging the rock that had 
trapped the dwarf he unlaced the heavy leather boot and, pulling it slowly, off 
laid it aside. Indicating where he wanted Legolas’ hands near the dwarf’s knees 
Aragorn took the thick short leg and gripped it tightly, glad that Gimli was 
still unconscious.

"On three." He watched Legolas closely as he counted down. At three, he pulled 
the dwarf’s leg down and to the right, feeling the edges of the bones work back 
into place. He grimaced as Gimli tightened involuntarily, the pain searing 
through and bringing him back to consciousness.

Legolas leaned down on the dwarf and kept him from shifting out of their grip 
and unintentionally re-injuring himself. "Easy Gimli, it is all right, it is 
Aragorn and I. Your leg is broken, be still."

The dwarf groaned and laid his head back against the elf’s shoulder with a sigh, 
trying to keep from moaning.

Aragorn motioned the soldier nearest them and sent him to find some small sturdy 
branches to use as splints. He crept near the dwarf’s head and leaned over the 
bearded, wrinkled face. With a small smile he spoke softly gazing down into the 
dark eyes that watched him steadily, "Well Master Dwarf, you’ll live."

The words had the desired effect and Aragorn laughed as Gimli chuckled ruefully, 
"Is that your expert opinion?" the dwarf queried.

Legolas easily bound the wood that the soldier returned with, binding it to the 
sides of the dwarf’s leg to keep it from moving. He knelt behind Gimli and 
smiled down into the rotund face, "No more walks in the evening alone for you." 
He taunted the smaller being.

"Hmm..." Gimli glared and him, "And I suppose you would have fared better than 
I?" He was still groggy and having a hard time remembering exactly why he was on 
the ground and ached so much.

"I would not have been nearly decapitated by a hunter’s trap."

Aragorn interrupted the conversation; laying his hand gently over the dwarf’s 
heart, he asked the question that he had held back until now, "Gimli where is 
Eldarion? He never returned to camp. There is no sign of him. What happened?"

Frowning deeply Gimli searched his memory, it was hazy at best, everything 
fogged by the ache in his leg and his body. "We were walking..."

His voice trailed off as he thought through the evening’s events. Aragorn waited 
patiently, hurrying the dwarf would do neither of them any good, but his heart 
was anxious and he feared the words he would hear.

"...there was another. No..." Gimli scrunched up his face and glanced towards 
the forest, pointing at a spot high on a tree, "it was an arrow. Someone shot at 
us! From across the river." His memories tumbled back as quickly as his words 
spilled out. "They missed. But just as I turned a cloaked figure darted out from 
the trees on this side of the river and grabbed Eldarion. They covered his mouth 
so he couldn’t call for help and threatened to kill him if I pursued them. Then 
he laughed at me and the next thing I know something hit me from out of 
nowhere." He leaned up slightly looking at his injured leg and the rock just 
beyond his foot. "My boot was stuck by a rock and I couldn’t move in time." The 
shame accompanying his failure was written across the dwarf’s downcast eyes. 
Legolas gave his friend’s shoulder a little squeeze. No one faulted Gimli. None 
of them had expected this.

Aragorn was on his feet before Gimli finished describing their ordeal. 
Accompanied by a guard they searched the trees closest to where the dwarf had 
been standing. True to his word, Aragorn found the blackened shaft of a crossbow 
bolt buried in the trunk of a large tree. Placing his hand against the rough 
wood he pulled the arrow out. A sticky black substance oozed off the tip 
stringing between the removed arrow and the tree.

The soldier who had accompanied the king reached out to touch the black gooey 
strand, his face scrunched up in disgust. Aragorn grabbed the man by the wrist 
and moved him slightly away, the fear inside him mounting by the seconds. He 
knew this substance, this poison. Its faint but distinctive odor was forever 
indelibly scared into his memory. Even many years later his body had a distinct, 
fear reaction the scent of the drug. His mind screamed at him to run, get away, 
but rational thought countered his panic. It couldn’t be. The one who used this 
was dead. He knew he was dead, Legolas saw him die.

Standing perfectly still, lost in fearful memories, he didn’t notice when 
Legolas walked quietly up behind him and gently laid his hand on the human’s 
shoulder.

"Aragorn?"

Unable to respond the man simply handed him the bolt and turned away staring up 
the darkened river.

Frowning slightly in confusion Legolas took the weapon and inspected the head, 
rolling the substance between his fingers and touching them lightly to his nose. 
With a jerk of his head the elf pulled away and knelt wiping his fingers off on 
the wet grass at the base of the trees. It couldn’t be. The smell triggered 
horrible memories. Only once in their life had the friends ever encountered the 
use of this particular drug before.

"It can’t be him."

Aragorn turned towards the sound of his friend, his gaze haunted, his face 
ashen. "No one else save Mannyn and Dyryn possessed belithral, they were the 
only ones who knew what it was made of." He barely registered that Jonath had 
returned with the men, he knew that Eldarion would not be with them.

The sounds of running feet pounded up the stream bed behind them and the bobbing 
of an approaching torch could be seen in the dark.

"My lord!" The soldier’s voice cried out as he saw the others standing in a 
small group, "My lord, there was an intruder in camp!"

The guard reached their position and rested his hands on his knees breathlessly. 
Jonath had relieved the runner of his torch and touched the man’s back as he 
gathered his strength. "Syrvin, tell us plainly, what happened."

With a nod of understanding the man took a deep breath and straightened up. 
"There was an intruder in camp. He fired a single arrow." The guard hesitantly 
met the eyes of his king, "There was a note impaled on it."

"What did it say?" Aragorn edged forward, "Did you bring it?"

"No my lord, but..." The man glanced worriedly between his captain and his king, 
"They said it was for the king and sent me straight away. That’s all I know."

Aragorn glanced over the heads of his men. Legolas stood from Gimli’s side, 
having heard the entire conversation, he knew his friend well enough to know 
that the human would want to leave for the campsite now and he nodded in 
understanding as their eyes met. Quickly the elf dropped back next to the dwarf, 
"Jonath and his men will take you back to camp."

"What is happening?" Gimli demanded.

"I have not the time to tell you now, I must go with Aragorn." The elf’s eyes 
apologized wordlessly before he rose to his feet again.

Nodding curtly the dwarf allowed his friend to leave, the elf chased after the 
king who had already sped off towards their campsite, knowing that Legolas would 
easily catch up to him.

The elf knew what was in the king’s heart, he knew the fear of what the drug 
that was on that arrow and the ones who used it had done to his friend. The way 
that Gimli had described Eldarion’s capture was eerily similar to what had 
happened to Aragorn on that snow-clad day so many years ago... and this mystery 
was no less perplexing then that had been.

Legolas could only hope that the results would not be as disastrous this time as 
he sped silently through the trees after his friend. The elf prince could still 
remember those frozen days on the mountain, hearing nothing but the lonely sound 
of the wind hour after hour as he strained desperately for any sound that might 
tell him that Aragorn was near, that he was even alive, that the elf was nearing 
his goal...

 

~*~

...80 years in the past...

~*~

 

Icy cold wind whipped around Legolas’ face, snatching his breath away and 
stinging his eyes as he knelt on the snow by the deep-cut tracks that he was 
following. By the time he had finally escaped the gorge the distance between he 
and the two he pursued had become discouragingly large. Yet the deep mountain 
snows held tracks well, and it had soon become apparent that Aragorn and his 
captor were going over the high pass. It was an area that Legolas was familiar 
with, and this helped him. Especially since frequent storms were constantly 
wiping out the tracks that he sought to follow and causing him no end of 
difficulty.

Right now the trail was clear and well defined, even though it was at least two 
or three days old and covered with several inches of new snowfall, but if the 
wind kept up like this and brought with it another storm as it was threatening 
to do, that would not be true for long.

The elf let his breath out slowly and chattered slightly as he drew it back in. 
That irritated him. He should not be cold. Cold was a foreign feeling to him and 
not one that an elf should have to be dealing with.

It was now almost two weeks since his unfortunate incident with the wolves, and 
the prince’s shoulder wound had finally closed, but the ache remained a constant 
presence. Just as Raniean had warned, the weather up here in the heights was 
unremittingly bitter, and although elves were not usually affected by the 
elements, the prince’s weakened state and the absolute sub-arctic severity of 
these climes was making even Legolas feel the bite of the winter chill.

Legolas couldn’t imagine how Aragorn was surviving up here, or his captor for 
that matter. That thought made the elf moved faster. He did not like the picture 
that the trail he was following painted. One man was obviously on a horse, and 
one man on foot, and it wasn’t too hard to guess who the one on foot was. At 
points it looked more like Aragorn had been dragged along the trail and through 
the sometimes waist-deep snow instead of walking at all.

Something stained the white snow, catching Legolas’ attention and the elf 
stooped to see what it was. A dark look adorned the prince’s countenance when he 
realized that it was blood. Aragorn’s blood. And it wasn’t just in this one 
place. The trail continued to be dotted with periodic bloodstains and scuffmarks 
of someone being dragged for quite a long while. Legolas felt his ire burning so 
hot that it ought to have melted the snow under him and he momentarily forgot he 
was cold at all.

Something out of place in the landscape ahead caught the elf’s keen eye and he 
hurried up the trail towards it. A large, dark shape was partially hidden under 
recent snowfall and for a few seconds Legolas' heart jumped up into his throat 
when he realized that that was hair curling limply out of the snow.

Upon reaching the spot, Legolas sighed and closed his eyes, relief washing over 
him. It was not a human body in the snow, but rather that of a horse. 
Undoubtedly the horse that he had been trailing to this point if he read the 
signs correctly. Apparently the poor beast had simply at last dropped dead from 
the utter cold.

Legolas touched the still body gently and whispered a few quiet words in elvish. 
It was just as he had feared. No horse would survive this entire journey. The 
horse’s owner should have known better. Perhaps he had and he simply hadn’t 
cared. That kind of attitude made Legolas fear for his friend’s safety, because 
if this man treated his horse with such little care... how would he treat his 
prisoner?

The elf’s attention was drawn back to the snow once more. He could see how the 
horse had fallen... and then... then there was some kind of scuffle. Legolas 
squinted hard at the snow, wishing he had the skill of the rangers to read the 
slightest smudge and know what it meant, but he did not. However, he guessed 
that Aragorn had probably tried to get free when the horse died and his captor 
was distracted... The elf pressed his lips into a tight line. It didn’t look as 
if he had succeeded.

The trail led off again ahead, and now it looked like two men walking... but one 
of them fell repeatedly.

The elf was about to move on again, when another dark object hidden in the white 
snow caught his attention. It was pressed into one of the scuffle marks and 
hidden in the drift, probably having been lost during the fight.

Pulling it out of the snow, Legolas found that it was small leather wallet. It 
was fairly new, but showed slight signs of wear. One side of the wallet had a 
small flourish engraved into the dark leather. Sliding his hand inside and 
pulling the contents out, Legolas raised his eyebrows in surprise. The wallet 
was full of money. The prince studied the small three-pronged swirl etched in 
the leather once more before tucking it into his own pocket. The design was 
unfamiliar and meant nothing to him. Obviously, however, this was not something 
that had been intended to be left behind. Swiftly picking up the retreating 
tracks, he followed the men deeper into the wooded hills. Now that both captor 
and prisoner were on foot he had a greater chance of catching up to them.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

~~~~~~~~

Roaming through this darkness, I'm alive but I'm alone

And part of me is fighting this,

But part of me is gone.

--Three Doors Down

~~~~~~~~

 

Aragorn moaned softly, pulling away from Dyryn’s anger, but he couldn’t escape, 
even if his mind had been clear enough to do so.

Dyryn kicked the young man again and again, taking his anger and frustration out 
on his helpless prisoner, swearing angrily. "Have you got any idea how much 
money was in there?" he raged, giving the ranger another sharp kick in the ribs.

Aragorn gasped painfully and curled in on himself. He was so cold. So cold. The 
abuse hurt worse because every fiber in his being was tensed and frozen. Yet his 
icy body was covered in cold sweat, a result of the drugs in his system.

Over the weeks they had been together, Aragorn’s body had slowly built up a 
tolerance to the low-level doses of belithral that the bounty hunter was keeping 
him on. Dyryn’s answer to that had been to up the dosage. And up it again. And 
again... until Aragorn had nearly lethal amounts of the drug in his system now. 
If he had not been brought up slowly to this point, the large amounts of 
belithral that Dyryn regularly fed him would have killed him. As it was, it had 
plunged Aragorn into a nearly constant delirium until it was becoming impossible 
to tell dream from reality. He rarely slept anymore, unless he was unconscious, 
because his dreams had all become nightmares, ones that continued on when he 
awoke.

Dyryn was furious. He blamed Aragorn for the loss of his money. Dragging the 
young ranger partially up, out of the snow, Dyryn shook him, hard, swearing at 
him. "You have given me nothing but trouble!"

Aragorn wriggled weakly in his grasp, his glazed, widely dilated eyes flashing 
with un-subdued fire. "L-let me go..."

"Damn you! Any normal person should be too gone to even *think* by now. What 
does it take to break you?!" Yanking the ranger’s sleeve up Dyryn pulled out his 
knife.

Aragorn knew the only reason Dyryn did that was to give him more belithral. He 
had already had his daily dose this morning... any more would be a severe 
overdose. He struggled with the man, trying to pull his arm away, but his shaky 
attempts barely even registered to Dyryn who held him still and angrily 
administered the drug.

Aragorn moaned sharply as the toxin raced through his system. It no longer 
rendered him unconscious, even in large doses, because his body had adapted to 
accommodate its presence. The world whirled crazily in front of Aragorn’s eyes 
as reality faded away into a drugged haze of hallucinations and nightmares.

"No, no..." Aragorn trembled violently as Dyryn let him sink back into the snow, 
his breathing coming painfully fast and sharp as his heart sped up even faster. 
The frozen air made his lungs ache.

Strange images danced before his eyes, demented and twisted forms, more dark and 
terrible than the worst nightmare one could ever imagine. And then... then the 
real horror started.

"A-ada?" The image of Elrond wavered slightly, but it seemed absolute and real 
to Aragorn’s tormented mind. "Ada, help me..."

But the look in the illusion’s eyes was cold and hard.

"Father please..." Aragorn could not separate delusion from reality, as his deep 
childhood fears were resurrected from the darkness of his subconscious.

Dyryn glowered in irritation, still sizably upset with the young ranger. "Shut 
up!" he snapped, slapping Aragorn’s bruised face sharply.

Aragorn recoiled, laying still in the snow and staring up with frightened, 
hurting eyes, because in his mind, it was not Dyryn’s hand that had delivered 
the blow, but one far more dear to him and thusly far more painful.

A stunned tear rolled down the young man’s cheek, freezing before it got very 
far. Elrond had never struck him in anger in all his growing up years, never. 
"F-father?" The whisper was soft and broken.

But the phantom turned away from him. "You’re weak Estel." The voices in his 
delusion condemned him. "Weak and worthless! Reckless human child, can’t take 
care of yourself. Nothing but a burden. Weak, weak, weak..." The taunting 
condemnation of his own thoughts twisted through his nightmare, seeming to come 
instead from the spectral image of his elven father.

Aragorn’s heart twisted in anguish. "I’m sorry..." he whispered. "I’m sorry... 
no, please, don’t go, don’t leave me here alone!" he begged, but the image in 
his mind was not stirred.

The twisted phantom of the elven lord turned his back on the young man in the 
snow and vanished into the darkening night as the drugged hallucinations took 
another turn.

Desolate, and unaware that none of what he saw was genuine, Aragorn reeled from 
the perceived rejection. Again and again he called out for his elven father in 
desperate delirium as the nightmares washed over him in horrifying waves, crying 
out for him until the young ranger lost his voice and his pleas became a soft, 
anguished whisper, swept away on the wind.

But there was no answer, only the ever-increasing cold and the twisted phantasms 
of his own mind, leaving Aragorn alone and slowly freezing to death in the snow.

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART SIX*~

 

~*~

...80 years later...

~*~

 

Aragorn entered camp at a run with Legolas on his heels. He slowed as he 
approached the tree his men indicated. He was out of breath but ignored his 
body’s responses. True to the runner’s word, a crossbow bolt held a parchment 
tightly to the trunk. Shakily pulling the thick paper off the bolt Aragorn 
walked a space away from the others, turning his back to them and held the note 
up to the firelight.

The scrawling black inked words caught in his mind and stopped his heart as he 
read them. With a small cry he dropped the paper and staggered past the fire 
pit.

"Aragorn!" Legolas followed his friend, snatching the letter from the ground 
where it lay. The king walked numbly to the edge of camp and stared unseeingly 
across the plains that fell away below their encampment.

Satisfied that the human had stopped, Legolas stepped near his friend and stood 
just behind him, his hand carefully touching the man’s broad back. He easily 
read the letter in the dark, his mouth dropping slightly open at the words 
written there;

"It’s been fun tracking you again after all these years. You are almost as 
impossible to find as you once were. However this time there is someone else 
with you - someone who will be even more fun than you to hold for bounty. I 
wonder how your son would like a taste of your old favorite drug? I wonder if 
he’ll scream at the hallucinations like his father did and cry until he cannot 
speak."

"It cannot be." Legolas spoke the words in disbelief once more. "I saw him die, 
I *saw* Dyryn die! He went over the edge of the cliff with the snow fall."

The helpless fear that had gripped Aragorn turned into a cold heated rage that 
seared through his mind and set his heart on fire. He shook his head slowly, 
fighting the anger that built inside of him.

Turning swiftly he grabbed the note out of the elf’s hand, his eyes hard and his 
voice a barely constrained whisper, "He is *not* dead." The king held the letter 
up between them and shook it slightly at the elf as proof, "He is not. And 
now..." he swallowed hard as he forced himself to say the words, "...now he has 
my son." Aragorn dropped his gaze and glanced back out into the night once more.

"Aragorn..." Legolas softly spoke his friend’s name. He did not know what to 
say, the horrible knowledge that the bounty hunter who had nearly killed them 
both so many years ago was still alive and hunting them was hard to grasp. In 
fact it seemed almost impossible, and yet there it was. A normal human of 
non-Numenorien descent would not even still be alive, but apparently Dyryn’s 
part-dwarvish ancestry had given him the longer life span of that people.

Aragorn crumpled the note in his hand, throwing the paper to the ground. Fierce, 
haunted eyes turned on Legolas and the barely controlled rage within them caused 
the prince to step back momentarily.

"We’ll find him." The elf whispered, holding the king’s gaze.

Aragorn did not answer. His thoughts were tumbling too fast for him to keep up 
with. "I will kill him." he heard the words as he spoke them and was surprised 
he had spoken them out loud. "If he does what he did to me to my son I will kill 
him!"

"Strider." Legolas spoke calmly; the fear in his own heart hammered in his chest 
but he needed to get through to his friend. He could see the barely controlled 
rage and knew that look from years ago – irrational determination. And yet who 
could fault him? His son had been taken from them and they had not been able to 
stop it. Legolas’ own tortured memories clouded his thoughts.

Aragorn stepped away and walked back to the edge of the cliff, staring out 
across the valley below them. "Where are you? If you hurt him so help me I 
will..."

"We’ll go after them at first light."

The man heard the words of his friend but rejected them, shaking his head. How 
could he wait? How could he just stand here?

"Aragorn, think. If this is Dryrn, you are the one he wants, he won’t hurt 
Eldarion unless you are there to be hurt by it as well. He needs the boy alive." 
Legolas gently laid his hand on the king’s shoulder, hoping he was right.

The men behind the elf were watching their King worriedly, ready to follow if 
need be.

Aragorn turned at the slight touch of his friend, whirling around and angrily 
brushing Legolas’ hand away from him.

"You have no idea!" He was nearly shouting now. His own fear had turned to anger 
and he vented it on the elf, "You don’t know what he’s capable of. I do!"

Legolas stared the man down and softly but forcefully answered him so that only 
Aragorn could hear, "I do know, I remember." His voice choked off with emotion, 
"I remember finding you in the snow half dead and ready to flee this world. I 
remember the fear you had of me, your father, your brothers. I remember holding 
you in my arms and fearing that every breath you took would be your last. Of all 
the people here Aragorn, I do know."

Aragorn’s gaze softened slightly and with it came the tears he had been holding 
back, "If he does that to Eldarion..." he could not finish the sentence, he 
could not bear the thought.

"Listen to me." Legolas stepped closer to the king and pulled the man towards 
him. "Now you listen." Aragorn tensed slightly at his touch, he needed to be 
strong, he wanted to be invulnerable but he knew at the moment he was neither. 
Legolas pulled him forward until their foreheads touched. Aragorn closed his 
eyes as tears tracked down his cheeks, his fists balled in the elf’s cloak as he 
held onto his friend.

Legolas watched the man, allowing the human to draw strength from him. His hands 
wrapped gently behind Strider’s head, holding the king against him. Aragorn may 
no longer have been the sometimes-inexperienced young man the elf prince had 
befriended so many years ago. He may be king now of the two largest realms in 
Middle Earth, with decades and decades of life, experience and wisdom behind 
him. But he was also a father, and his father’s heart was breaking with fear and 
worry, weighed down and mixed up with horrible, terrifying memories of the past.

"We will find him my friend." Legolas softly shook the man, wrapping his hands 
in the kings cloak, "We will find him and end this once and for all. I promise 
you that Elessar; I will die before I let any harm befall your son. You will 
see, it will be all right. But we must not go now."

Aragorn moved a pace back and slowly raised his head, questioning his friend 
wordlessly. In answer Legolas motioned back behind them. The man glanced over 
the elf’s shoulder and quickly took in his soldiers, his guard watching them 
closely. Jonath stepped nearer, having just reached the site with Gimli and his 
men. Aragorn’s gaze lighted quickly on the dwarf before returning to the others.

For all their loyalty none of them would have ever dared to approach the king in 
his present state of mind, the elf’s casual acceptance of the human and demeanor 
around their liege continually caught them off guard.

Realization dawned in Aragorn’s eyes as he took in the rather large contingent 
of men that had followed them to Orthanc and he knew at once that Legolas was 
right. It would be easier for he and the elf to go together alone. They could 
travel quickly and quietly, undetectable in the woods unlike the company of 
guards that attended the king. These were soldiers, not rangers and their 
strength was in fighting not stealth. All these men crashing through the forest, 
would warn a deaf rabbit that they were coming. Besides, many heavy feet often 
destroyed vital clues and evidence that the ground had to offer, as they had 
inadvertently done down by the spring where Gimli and Eldarion had been 
attacked.

Legolas was right. They needed to wait, the opportune time to leave would come 
and Strider was sure he knew just when that would be. His eyes met the blue ones 
locked onto his own. Legolas searched his friend’s face, taking note of the way 
the tension left the human’s body. Aragorn relaxed his grip on the elf’s cloak.

"You are right my friend." He spoke the words softly in elvish, "As always."

The old taunt elicited a small laugh from the elf who looked to the ground, 
shaking his head.

"*We* will go later." Aragorn finished his thought. Legolas snapped his gaze 
back up to the king’s and smiled knowingly, nodding his head imperceptibly.

"We will find him Strider." Legolas answered back, speaking elvish to conceal 
their conversation.

"Speak common if you’re going to have a conversation that can be overheard." 
Gimli’s booming voice carried to the two friends near the plateau’s edge. It had 
by now become a long-standing point of mock-contention between he and Legolas.

Legolas rolled his eyes and turned back towards the men gathered behind them, 
quietly watching the two friends. He glanced at the dwarf resting on the ground, 
his leg elevated. The smaller being’s face was scrunched into an irritated frown 
that caused the elf to smile and tilt his head to the side as he spoke, "My good 
master dwarf, if you would but learn the higher tongues as I have so often had 
the occasion to tell you, you would not suffer this problem. However I do 
believe that your problem stems from a case of acute hearing. My words were for 
the king alone."

The dwarf blushed a crimson red, trying to cover his outburst he muttered, 
"Elves."

"Dwarves." Legolas softly cursed back at him with a brilliant smile.

Aragorn’s hand fell lightly on the elf’s shoulder, "Thank you my friend." He 
whispered quietly into the prince’s ear as he stepped around Legolas and 
addressed his men.

"Legolas is correct. Night draws swiftly near and our pursuit would be hampered 
by the darkness. There are yet things abroad that we would do well not to 
encounter by night. We will leave at first light." He glanced back at his friend 
with a slight smile and stepped towards the midst of the grouping as the men 
began to settle in for the evening.

But Aragorn could find no rest. He forced himself to lay still, in one place as 
the camp quieted down and his guard finally dozed off, allowing sleep to steal 
away their over alertness. Jonath was a good captain of the guard but he had a 
penchant for always being on the king’s heels – in times of crisis Aragorn was 
glad for it, however when he needed to steal off on his own it could be a 
nuisance. Jonath had been worried about his liege ever since Eldarion’s 
kidnapping and he had set his bedroll down close to Aragorn, near his feet so he 
would be prepared at a moments notice should the king need him.

Legolas lay at Aragorn’s back. The human was certain that the elf did not sleep 
either. He repressed a sigh as his mind tore through memories of long ago. He 
pressed his eyes tightly shut as pictures of Eldarion’s smiling face surfaced 
only to be replaced by the leer of the bounty hunter that had taken the boy. He 
remembered the cold, the drug induced hallucinations and the soft words of 
Legolas’ song that had kept him alive. He remembered the torment of his captor, 
the terror and the abuse. Tears edged around his eyelids and he swiped at them, 
shaking his head at the fears and the pain that resurfaced. He thought the 
memories were long gone, the horror dealt with – he thought his tormentor was 
dead. He could not believe they were reliving this nightmare.

Glancing quietly skyward, the king sought out Eärendil, the bright star of the 
elves, its light a comfort in the darkness. The moon was full but storm clouds 
were converging to the north, threatening to blot out the lights of the night. A 
cool wind licked the glen where the warriors had bedded down; it would bring the 
storm in soon, sooner than Aragorn wanted it too. Silently the King beseeched 
Iluvatar in his heart.

He chanced a glance around the camp. The fire had long ago died out and the men 
slumbered, dead to the world under their blankets. No one moved, no one stirred. 
The night watchmen were at their stations on the far perimeters of the camp, 
their attention turned outward to the night, not inward to the camp itself. 
Aragorn slowly turned over to alert his friend that it was time to make good on 
that promise of his and head out to find Eldarion, but Legolas was gone.

Quietly, the king moved out from under his blanket, crouching warily in the 
minimal light. His eyes were not as keen as an elf’s and he was glad for the 
light of the moon. Shifting his gaze to the perimeter of the camp he tried to 
locate where his elven friend had gone to. Aragorn slowly moved to a standing 
position, his knees creaked as he stretched them out and he winced as Jonath 
moved slightly, rolling over in his sleep. Standing perfectly still until the 
guardsmen’s breathing evened out, a smile stole over the king’s lips. He 
suddenly felt like that twenty year old again, sneaking out of his father’s 
house and trying not to waken his brothers to his absence until it was too late. 
Memories of the late night escapes caused him to start laughing and it was all 
he could do to keep quiet. The seriousness of the situation was not lost on the 
man but perhaps it was in fact the weighty graveness that conflicted so heavily 
with his childhood memories that caused the king to find humor in his present 
predicament. Trying to still himself, Aragorn did not hear the intruder that 
crept stealthily up behind him.

A hand clamped over his mouth and he was jerked off his feet and drug backwards. 
Startled by the swift attack, he struggled to no avail as his assailant 
effectively pinned his arms to his sides and pulled the human more tightly 
against him, dragging the king away from the safety of his men.

Fear shivered up his spine at being trapped so easily and he wondered how Dyryn 
had managed to sneak up on him so quietly. Warm breath touch Aragorn’s cheek as 
his captor laid his head next to the king’s and the man flinched. Blonde strands 
of hair swept into the human’s eyes, caught on the winds and the soft voice in 
his ear spoke words in a language that few other men even knew.

"Strider, you nift. What did you think you were doing?" The elf chided him 
playfully, dragging him further back under the wooded forests where their 
conversation could not be heard, "Whatever did you find so funny that you almost 
blew your own escape? I cannot believe you!" Legolas laughed slightly as he felt 
the resistance leave his friend.

Releasing the human, the elf stepped back and stared hard at the man. "Well?"

"You scared the life out of me!" Aragorn pushed his friend away from him, 
breathing in deeply and letting the adrenaline flow out of his system. "Where 
were you?" He snatched the proffered bow from the elf’s hands and slung it over 
his back.

"Saving you from discovery!" Legolas answered quietly, motioning back to the 
open, he demanded an answer, "What was that?"

Aragorn couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face, "I remembered that 
time you wintered with us and you and I snuck out in the middle of the night to 
go hunt the white deer that were coming down out of the eastern mountains." 
Laughter overwhelmed him momentarily and Legolas stepped forward and pressed his 
hand across the man’s mouth silencing him.

The elf led them farther away from the camp and turned a glare on the king, his 
smile giving him away. Legolas was glad to see his friend smile. "Not so loud! 
We are still close."

"But it was so funny..." Aragorn glanced mischievously at his friend. For all 
his years the man in front of the elf looked just like the young human that he 
used to know. "When you tried to get down the steps and Elladan caught you I 
will never forget the look on your face!" He laughed at the elf. "That was just 
the best."

"Really? I am glad I can amuse you still, so many years in the future." Legolas 
shook his head as he watched the man, unable to control the smile that slipped 
onto his own face. "Well you should have seen *your* face when I lied and told 
your brother that I was merely saving you from sleep walking."

Aragorn choked on his laughter, keeping his amusement quiet. "And then my father 
came out. I swear he knew the truth. I barely made it back to my room without 
losing it!" The king smiled softly at his old friend, "We had good times did we 
not?" It helped, to remember those times, since the memories of that evil 
journey through the snow with Dyryn were so heavily plaguing his thoughts. It 
helped him keep a kind of balance.

"The best Strider." Legolas agreed, glancing at the dark night sky as shadows of 
clouds drifted across the moon. He began to lead his friend back down to the 
base of the cliff where he had back tracked Eldarion’s kidnapper to the edge of 
the plateau, long before Aragorn had risen. "And there will be many more I do 
believe. Not to mention the ones your son is going to give you, Iluvatar help us 
as that one grows up. He has far too much of you in him and not nearly enough of 
his mother."

Aragorn’s eyes dropped to the rocky ground as he followed the elf, descending 
the winding path, "Yes." His voice faltered slightly as he thought on his son. 
He could not believe the hand he had been dealt this afternoon and the grief, 
always present rushed back in.

Legolas noted the silence and felt the tension build once again. He turned and 
glanced back up at his friend, placing his hand on the king’s chest, momentarily 
stopping the human from continuing. When Aragorn met his gaze, he smiled sadly.

"Do not worry my friend. This man will not harm Eldarion. He is after you. And 
we will not allow him even that small victory."

Aragorn smiled softly and nodded his head.

Legolas began his descent again, quietly talking to the man, deftly changing the 
subject, "Besides I think you best start to worry about keeping that young man 
of yours a little more preoccupied with his training. I have seen the way the 
maidens look at him and so has he!" The elf laughed.

"I have not noticed that." Aragorn growled, "He’s too young."

"Hmm..." Legolas glanced quickly over his shoulder, dropping lightly down the 
last fifteen feet of the path and watching as his friend walked more slowly down 
the darkened trail. "He has that same look in his eyes that you did whenever 
Arwen happened by."

"What?!" Aragorn jumped down next to his friend. He glared at the elf in the 
darkness, "I never..."

"Oh yes you did." Legolas cut him off. "You were so blinded by her beauty that 
you were worthless until she walked out of sight. Why a horde of orcs could have 
swarmed through Rivendell and stripped the palace clean by the time your senses 
returned to you."

"Ah!" Aragorn brushed past the elf and walked to the edge of the shallow they 
were in, "You exaggerate."

"I think not." Legolas knelt in the wet grass and inspected the perimeter, 
keeping up the easy banter as his sharp eyes searched for the minute details 
they needed to tell them where Eldarion had been taken. "It’s the same look that 
son of yours gets in his eyes every time that blonde haired maiden you have 
working in your courts passes by." He chuckled softly.

"What!?" Aragorn stood from the far side of the glen, "Who?!"

"Oh I don’t know." Legolas smiled wickedly to himself, "You know all humans look 
alike." He passed off the joke lightly.

"Legolas you find out who she is and tell me, its important that I..." His 
fatherly ranting was cut off as the elf glanced swiftly over at him.

"Here!" Legolas whispered fiercely, standing from his crouched position. He 
raised the fingers of his right hand to his nose and smelled the wetness that he 
had collected on them with a growing fear, "This is where they stood, he was 
taken through here." The elf prince stepped aside as Aragorn quickly walked over 
to him. The man grabbed Legolas’ wrist and held the elf’s hand up to the dim 
moonlight, a dark residue stained the fair beings fingertips.

Aragorn frowned at the prince; worry replacing the easy banter of moments ago. 
"That’s blood Legolas."

"I know Strider." The elf whispered in the grey tongue, "He will be easier to 
track this way if nothing else. It could be that he was merely wounded as he 
struggled to escape his captor." The words sounded hallow even in Legolas’ own 
ears. He knew how this would hit his friend.

Aragorn felt as if the knife that had been thrust in his stomach the instant he 
learned Eldarion was gone was being twisted slowly. His fingers tightened almost 
painfully on Legolas’ wrist. "If he..."

"Don’t." The elf warned him harshly. "He will be fine and we will find him." 
Legolas assured him once more, gently prying Aragorn’s fingers from his wrist 
and pointing into the woods parallel to the cliff face they stood in front of. 
They had to keep believing that or Dyryn had already won half the battle. "They 
went that way. Let's go get him. Dyryn wants you; he won't have gone very far. 
He wants you to find him, it will make his job easier."

With a slight nod the human followed the elf through the woods deftly keeping 
pace with the nimble being that led him farther away from the safety of his 
guard and closer to finding his son.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Gimli watched in mild amusement as the camp of men was thrown into chaos by the 
knowledge that the king and the elf had left in the middle of the night 
sometime. He’d suspected what his friends were up to, but since he knew he would 
never be able to keep up with them in his current state he said nothing. He 
didn’t like being left behind, but he understood it, and being here to see the 
look on Jonath’s face had almost made up for it.

Dawn had barely touched the skies with its first hues of gold, when Aragorn and 
Legolas’ absence had been noticed.

Jonath stood now, in the center of the encampment near the king’s empty bedroll. 
He covered his face with his hand and shook his head in irritation. It never 
failed. Aragorn was the hardest person he had ever worked with as a royal guard. 
With a deep sigh he dropped his hand and glanced around him at the men trying 
with all their skills to find out in which direction the two friends had gone.

A small platoon of warriors raced back into the clearing.

"Draecyn," Jonath addressed the leader of the group, "tell me you found 
something. Tell me you found Aragorn, or Legolas or their tracks or anything. 
Just something Draecyn! Tell me something useful!"

The guardsman looked to the ground and grimaced, unable to meet his captain’s 
gaze.

"Oh damn it!" Jonath slapped his hand against his leg in frustration and turned 
to look out over the camp that was in the midst of breaking down. "Can't anyone 
find that Dùnadan?!"

"You really should be more respectful of your king." Gimli piped up from the 
rock that the warriors had placed him on. His leg was splinted and rested on a 
fallen log that had been drug over for his comfort.

"No one asked you dwarf." Jonath muttered in frustration.

"You think after all the other times you’ve lost him, you would learn to keep a 
better watch." Draecyn whispered fiercely at Jonath. This was not the first 
time. Lord Elessar had a distinctly independent streak and often did not feel 
the need to take his royal guard with him when he went off on his own.

Jonath turned on the warrior and glared at the man, "I have never been in the 
service of any man who could sneak away from my watch as this one does."

"When Aragorn doesn’t want to be found, you can't find him." Gimli commented 
casually, repeating the words he had heard Legolas say many times. He leaned 
back slightly and watched the guardsmen, lighting up his pipe and pulling the 
sweet flavor of the Shire weed deeply into his lungs.

"There has to be some way to know where they have gone!" Jonath stared out 
across the valley below them as though searching for the answer in the carpeting 
of the thick forest. "That man is going to be the death of me yet!"

A booming laugh echoed through the camp as Gimli rocked backwards. "If I had a 
flake of mithril for every time I have heard that uttered in my dealings with 
your king I would be a rich dwarf."

"Oh fine then." The humor was lost on the captain of the guard who turned weary 
eyes on his second in command, "Draecyn, keep looking will you?"

"It’s a might useless if you ask me." Gimli stared hard at the human.

"Once again, no one was asking you master dwarf." Jonath turned and addressed 
the smaller being, trying to be diplomatic in the stressful situation he had 
found himself in. Trying and failing.

He had lost his king again; a fact that was a standing joke among his men 
anyhow. Often Aragorn would slip away from his royal guard and walk the forests 
alone. A few times Jonath had even caught him hunting wargs on his own, or with 
Legolas. Jonath was a royal guard for a reason, not just in theory, something he 
often told the king. But his explanations fell on deaf ears. And the fact that 
his liege was adept at confounding him brought him no end of frustration.

"Well if someone were asking me," Gimli tipped the pipe in his hand towards the 
far thicket of trees. "I’d say they left through there."

"Would you now?" Jonath crossed his arms over his chest and looked between the 
dwarf and the stand of trees he had indicated. "And why exactly would you think 
that?"

"Well its simple if you give it a moment." Gimli smiled to himself. He loved to 
torment the guardsmen. He had gotten to know quite a few of them during their 
trip to Orthanc and for the most part they enjoyed his company too, displaying 
their fondness for the dwarf in a rather brusque, teasing fashion which Gimli 
returned in kind.

Cocking his head to the side and squinting one eye shut, Gimli glanced into the 
darkened overgrowth of the closely placed trees, "Because if I were an elf and I 
wanted to make a quick escape without all of you knowing it, I would head for 
somewhere dark and thick. It would hamper your tracking me. Now Aragorn there, 
he could follow that elf any where but you – not so." With a nod of his head the 
dwarf clamped his teeth around his pipe and drew in a deep breath.

Jonath glanced slowly at Draecyn, who shrugged and motioned a couple of warriors 
to investigate the edges of the strand that Gimli had indicated.

"Not to mention the fact that it’s the quickest way off this ledge. They’ll be 
tracking that boy of his and you found no trace of him up here. I’d wager 
whoever took the lad headed down off this plateau long before you found me." The 
dwarf darkened for a moment at the memory, before he shook it off and smiled at 
himself, looking out across the camp. The men had nearly packed it up by now and 
not a few of them were listening intently to the conversation taking place.

"Pray tell Master Gimli, why it is you think like an elf?" Jonath questioned as 
Draecyn’s men ran back, to the captain, confirming what the dwarf had said – 
Aragorn and Legolas had indeed left by that very route, faint impressions of the 
human’s footprints tracked back into the woods.

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders, "It was logic I tell you. Pure and simple." He 
emphasized each syllable with a shake of his pipe.

Jonath threw his hands in the air and turned back to the warriors. "Pack it up 
men, we need to head out now! Lord Aragorn and Legolas have..." He stopped to 
think for a moment, shaking his head in resignation, "Well they have quite a 
heads start on us and the situation they are walking into can't be a good one. 
Let's go find them and find the prince!"

A small laugh escaped Draecyn as he moved well out of Jonath’s reach. "Wait 
until Lady Arwen hears you lost the king again. You will never live this one 
down."

Jonath’s eyes darkened and glanced at his friend, "Draecyn, if anything happens 
to the king this time because I was inattentive..."

Gimli limped up to the two warriors, a crudely fashioned crutch under his right 
arm, "Here now." He spoke gruffly, pushing his way between the men and glaring 
up at Jonath as he shoved his pipe into his belt, "If Aragorn is hurt it will be 
on his head and not on yours. He knows exactly what he is doing. Besides, 
Legolas would never let anything touch that one. He’d take it himself before 
he’d let your king die." Gimli frowned partly to cover up the pain his leg was 
giving him and partly to cover over the ache in his heart for his fair friend 
that that thought caused. During their time together since the war of the Ring, 
the dwarf had had an opportunity to witness the elven prince’s sometimes total 
disregard for his own safety when it came to protecting a friend. Especially a 
dear friend like Aragorn or Gimli. "It’s Legolas you should be worried about. I 
rightly am."

Draecyn laid a hand on the small being’s shoulder, redirecting Gimli’s 
attention, "Don’t worry we’ll find them. And Iluvatar willing, they will all 
*three* of them be fine."

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART SEVEN*~

 

~*~

...80 years before...

~*~

 

Legolas knelt silently in the snow-clad bushes; his light-colored cloak and 
jerkin helping him blend in with his surroundings. Ahead of him was a small 
spring, the center of which still flowed, unfrozen. He had intended to drink 
from it, but something put his senses on the alert and his keen eyes scanned the 
area, trying to determine if he were alone or not.

The Misty Mountains loomed large and snow-clad behind the prince. He had left 
the steepest terrain behind and was now in the sometimes rolling, sometimes 
jagged and craggy foothills of the range. Legolas had made this journey more 
than once in his life, for he was now not many days travel from Rivendell, but 
never had the way been so harsh and imposing. The worst was now behind him and 
that was a blessing. Unfortunately, the last blizzard had totally obliterated 
the trail he followed, although Legolas told himself it was only a matter of 
time until he picked it up again. He would *not* admit defeat when he was this 
close. Aragorn and his kidnapper could not be that far ahead now... not at the 
rate that Legolas had been driving himself.

The elf could not find the source of whatever he had sensed, so he slid silently 
out of the bushes and moved towards the stream. The water he carried with him 
kept freezing and had to be thawed out over a fire before it was useable. 
Legolas had not bothered to waste time on that for at least a day or so, but 
knew that he could push himself only so far without water.

Many animal tracks leading to and from the riverbank showed that the prince was 
not the only one who had found this river to be a source of much needed 
refreshment in a frozen wasteland.

It was doubtless a prime hunting spot, but Legolas did not have time for 
hunting, although he certainly could have stood some food. Raniean had not been 
exaggerating when he pointed out that Legolas was not prepared for a journey 
such as the one he had undertaken. What supplies he had had with him had run out 
over a week ago. Legolas had barely taken time from his quest to sleep, much 
less hunt. Truly, to a degree, his body did not need much... but he had extended 
himself beyond his reserves some time ago and although he hated to admit it, he 
really could have stood a good meal about now.

That was beside the point to the elf however, because his chief concern was the 
fact that at the moment, he had no idea where his friend and the man who had 
captured him had gone.

Legolas knelt lightly on the ice that was much too thin to have held the weight 
of anything but an elf. Cupping his hand, he drank from the clear stream, 
abating his thirst.

Suddenly he stopped, his senses going to full alert. There *was* someone nearby. 
He could hear them... but only just. Whoever it was was being extremely quiet.

Rising slowly to his feet, Legolas drew one of his knives and held it loosely at 
his side, keeping his motions small and unnoticeable. He was nearly fully 
recovered from his previous injuries and felt prepared to handle whatever was 
out there.

Behind him. The sense he was getting was coming from behind him.

The prince clenched his blade tightly in his fist, his jaw steeling. Whoever was 
back there was going to get a lot more than they bargained for if they tried 
anything.

Legolas was tired, hungry, frustrated and even a little cold; not to mention 
being worried half to death about Aragorn. He was in no state of mind to be 
trifled with and would need very little provocation at this point to take 
someone’s head off for them if they thought to waylay him.

The presence was close now. Legolas realized he could barely hear the other, but 
he could feel him. Turning swiftly the prince brought his weapon up in warning, 
spinning to see of what nature this new threat was. He was not prepared for what 
he found.

"Legolas?" The dark haired elf blinked once in surprise, backing up a step at 
the ferocity in Legolas’ glare. From behind it had been impossible to know who 
it was that knelt and drank from the stream, for the hood of the fur-lined 
jerkin Legolas was wearing under his cloak covered the prince’s golden hair.

"Elladan?" Legolas was no less surprised to see one of Elrond’s twin sons than 
Elladan was to see the prince. Legolas dropped his weapon back to his side, 
re-sheathing it. "What are you doing here?"

"Hunting. This bitter winter has made game difficult to find, even near 
Rivendell. This stream is a favorite watering spot for many creatures. Elrohir 
and I had hoped to bag a deer... we never expected to catch a prince instead." 
Elladan chuckled. "But I should be asking you that, this is after all a lot 
nearer to our home than yours. What on earth could have brought you over the 
mountains in this weather? Please don’t tell me Estel came with you, I should 
hope he at least had more sense than that." The dark-haired elf’s smile was 
light as he whistled through his fingers, signaling for his brother to come out 
of his hiding place upstream.

"Estel has been taken," Legolas said simply. He had not the energy nor 
inclination to try to be delicate about it.

"What do you mean *taken*?" Elladan demanded, his whole attitude changing 
abruptly. Elrohir arrived and looked questioningly between Legolas and his 
brother.

"Who took him, where?" Elladan fixed his gaze firmly on Legolas.

"I don’t know who," Legolas shook his head, rubbing his hand over his face. "As 
for where..." he gestured back at the mountain, letting them figure it out.

"Why?" Elrohir was still trying to get up to speed, but since no one there 
really knew what was going on yet he was not at a great disadvantage.

"I do not know," Legolas’ voice was tense. He was glad he had met up with 
Aragorn’s brothers, but they were looking to him for answers he did not have. "I 
do not understand all that has happened. I simply know that he was taken in the 
shadow of the eastern side of these mountains and I have not been able to catch 
up with them since. But it was a deliberate attempt and for whatever reason, the 
man who took him wants your brother very much."

The twins were trying to absorb all this information. Elladan frowned as Legolas 
touched his forehead again, rubbing his temples.

"Legolas, are you all right?"

"I’m fine," Legolas would never admit to otherwise. "I’m just worried, and 
frustrated and... and I’ve lost their trail," he confessed quietly, looking 
away. He was responsible. Estel’s safety had been in his charge and he had 
failed to keep him from harm.

"You followed them all the way across the mountains... but where is your gear?" 
Elrohir looked around. The Prince carried almost nothing with him.

"I did not have the luxury of choosing the hour, nor the manner of my 
departure," Legolas said somewhat testily. He didn’t mean to be irritable, but 
he did not know what he was going to do now and having to give that kind of news 
to Aragorn’s family was not pleasant. His own sense of failure was difficult to 
handle.

Elrohir gazed hard at the blonde elf, realizing what a good deal of the prince’s 
problem was. Elves drew strength from the living world around them, but in the 
mountains everything was frozen, cold and dead. With no supplies and no food, 
Legolas must surely be feeling the wear of the long journey. "Come, come back to 
our camp. You can tell us the full story over lunch and we can decide what to do 
next."

Legolas nodded. He hated delay, but right now he had no idea which direction to 
go anyway and perhaps the twins would be able to shed some light on this puzzle. 
And although he would never admit it, lunch didn’t sound too bad either.

Back at the twins’ base camp, the three elves talked while they ate, although 
only Legolas was really eating, Elladan and Elrohir were too concerned and 
intent on what the prince had to say to worry much about food. The more Legolas 
talked, the darker their countenances became. Anyone who dared harm their little 
brother was in serious danger.

Legolas had just gotten through recounting finding the dead horse and signs of a 
struggle. "Then I found a curious thing," he pulled the leather wallet from his 
pocket. "This. It was hidden in the snow and must have been lost in the 
struggle. It has a rather large sum of money inside."

Elladan took the wallet, looking inside and poking quickly and uninterestedly 
through the thin gold coins it held. They were of common make and told little 
about the bearer.

Elrohir, who had moved over so he could look over his brother’s shoulder, caught 
one end of the wallet and pulled it up a little. He gave a soft cry and turned 
the object all the way over, pointing and drawing his brother’s attention to the 
small flourish etched into the leather.

Elladan’s face paled a shade. "Oh Elbereth... we might have guessed."

"Guessed what? Elladan, might have guessed what?" Legolas’ full attention was 
taken and he edged nearer, trying to understand what they saw, but the small 
design still meant nothing to him.

"This is the crest of the house of Wealdholte," Elrohir explained slowly. "They 
live away to the south-east of Rivendell some distance and they were once a very 
influential human presence in these parts many, many years ago. Their house has 
dwindled and their line failed in these recent years however, although their 
wealth remains great."

"What does that have to do with Estel?" Legolas interjected when Elrohir paused, 
seeming lost in disturbing thoughts.

"All that was left of their house was an old man named Mannyn and his youngest 
son Mearces," Elladan picked up, his voice dark as he ran his thumb in 
thoughtful circles over the small design. "Mannyn’s older child died in infancy 
and his wife passed on giving birth to Mearces, so it was only the two of them 
left. Mearces was his father’s pride and joy, his whole world... unfortunately 
that led to an un-tempered arrogance in the young man. He thought he could do 
anything he wanted and his father bought him out of any trouble he got into. One 
night he got drunk in a local Inn and started harassing one of the young ladies 
that worked there. Aragorn was in the tavern and intervened on the girl’s 
behalf. This was only shortly after Estel returned with us from Mirkwood, 
following the lifting of the two of yours’ exile."

Legolas nodded, he was following so far. It was amazing how long ago the events 
of his and Aragorn’s forced exile and eventual return now seemed; if the current 
situation were not so serious, he would have laughed at himself, he was almost 
picking up Aragorn’s human conception of time.

Elladan was still talking. "When Mearces woke up and sobered up, he was incensed 
that someone who was, he felt, beneath him, had dared treat him like that. He 
sent ‘messengers’ to find Estel..."

"Thugs you mean," Elrohir muttered. "What they really wanted was to find him 
alone in a dark alley to deliver their ‘message’."

Elladan inclined his head in agreement. "They did not count on finding him in 
Rivendell. Much to their chagrin, all they could do was deliver Mearces’ 
challenge and demand for satisfaction. Now Mearces was at least six or seven 
years Estel’s senior and fancied himself quite a swordsman, but Aragorn knew 
that he was the more skilled of the two. Our brother didn’t want trouble and he 
didn’t want to harm the other young man over so trivial a matter, however, in 
the end Mearces left him no choice but to accept the challenge or be labeled a 
coward. The height of irony was that after the challenge was accepted, old man 
Mannyn tried to buy Aragorn off and bribe him to run, he never tried to 
discourage his son from the idea however. Of course Aragorn would never sell 
honor for money so the fight took place." Elladan sighed.

"Elrohir and I acted as Estel’s seconds and went with him to the location that 
Mearces had selected. In all honesty Legolas, Aragorn acted far more honorable 
about the whole situation than I might have when I was his age. He tried his 
best to disarm his opponent without seriously injuring him and took several 
nasty knocks himself because of it. But in the end Mearces moved the wrong way 
at the wrong time and ended up taking mortal injury. He died in his father’s 
arms. For this Estel was truly saddened, as were we all. Unfortunately Mannyn’s 
sorrow went swiftly to bloodthirsty rage. Of a truth Legolas, if Elrohir and I 
had not been there I do believe he would have had his son’s hired ruffians kill 
Aragorn where he stood."

Elrohir nodded, his face sorrowful as he remembered. "But wealthy and powerful 
as he was, Mannyn wanted no quarrel with Rivendell or the elves, so he was 
compelled to let Aragorn go. Yet he swore vengeance on him, saying that he would 
put a price on Estel’s head so high that he would have to be afraid of his own 
shadow."

"For the first several weeks we were all on guard and for a time Father kept 
Estel close to home, wary of Mannyn’s threatened retribution," Elladan easily 
picked up the thread once more. "Then Moranuen came back from Strayton half dead 
and we first found out about the trouble with Hebrilith. You know what happened 
after that..."

Legolas grimaced slightly at the memory. Yes, he knew what happened after that. 
He had been the next elf brought back to Rivendell beaten almost to the point of 
death because of the dark elf’s murderous forays among the local human 
population.

"All was quiet again for a time that summer that you spent with us, then there 
was the earthquake and the witch king and... well, to be honest I think we all 
forgot about it," Elrohir admitted. "When you and Estel left for Mirkwood, it 
was almost nothing more than a memory. I suppose we all more or less decided 
that Mannyn’s words were nothing more than meaningless threats spoken in a 
grief-stricken rage, since naught was heard on the matter since then..."

"Apparently we were wrong," Elladan’s eyes turned cloudy once more. "And Estel’s 
paying the price."

None of them liked the sound of that.

"We’ve got to get back to Rivendell and tell father. It’s a three or four hour 
ride to Mannyn’s house from home, but it’s at least triple that to make it home 
from here, if we ride hard," Elrohir rose swiftly to his feet, beginning to 
gather up their gear. His brother joined him.

Legolas rose, but seemed to be hesitating in indecision over something as the 
brothers quickly broke up camp.

"Are you coming Legolas?" Elladan called back over his shoulder as they 
un-picketed their horses.

Making up his mind, Legolas shook his head. "I’ll slow you down, you will go 
faster if one of your horses is not burdened with a double rider. Now that I 
know the direction they are heading, I... I want to see if I can pick up their 
trail again."

Elrohir looked a little worried. "Legolas... are you sure it wouldn’t be better 
for you to come with us? We have no way of knowing how far ahead of you they 
are, they may already be to their destination... and there are at least three 
different paths that they could have taken to get there, take the wrong one and 
you could miss them entirely."

Legolas looked out across the frozen terrain. He couldn’t explain it, but 
something in his heart was speaking to him... it was telling him that for 
whatever reason, he *needed* to stay on the trail he had followed to this point.

"My heart tells me they are out there yet. I know nothing about Mannyn, or the 
situation you have spoken of, I will be of little use to you there. Out here 
maybe I can still do some good. I’ve followed them this far... I just can’t give 
it up now." Legolas didn’t know how better to explain it, but in his heart, he 
held the silent fear that even if Mannyn’s house was indeed the intended 
destination, Aragorn might not make it that far, if the signs he had read in the 
snow before he lost the trail were any indication of his friend’s state of 
health.

Elladan eyed Legolas sharply for a moment. He could tell that the prince was not 
being entirely forthcoming with them about something.

He was right. Legolas had not shared with them the many indications he had found 
about how poorly their brother seemed to be doing. He had not mentioned the 
blood and other disturbing things he had read in the snow. It was enough to have 
told them that he suspected Estel was being kept subdued by drugs with a captor 
who could be utterly ruthless. The elven prince had not wished to further 
distress the twins without need.

After a moment Elladan shook his head. Whatever Legolas was hiding, he didn’t 
have time to push for it. Aragorn’s life could be hanging in the balance. "All 
right then, if they are heading for Mannyn’s house, of which I am certain, then 
they will have to either take the long pass to the right, down past the base of 
these trees and through the canyon, or the narrow way up that hill and around 
the cliff face, or they will have bypassed this valley entirely and gone around 
the other side of yonder gorge and be making their way down from there. If you 
find him Legolas, make with all speed for Rivendell. Even if we are not there 
Glorfindel, Moranuen and the others will protect he and you if there is any 
serious trouble. Be careful, we do not yet know what exactly we are dealing 
with."

Legolas nodded. "And if I find nothing I shall still make my way to Rivendell, 
praying heaven that you have been successful where I failed."

The twins nodded and quickly kicked their horses up to a fast gallop, 
disappearing down the hill in a matter of moments.

For a few seconds Legolas stood still, feeling the wind on his face and 
listening to the subtle sounds of the earth around him, trying to decide which 
way he should go. Finally he chose the path that bypassed this valley and sloped 
away to the southeast. It looked the easiest way to go if one was on foot and 
dealing with an unwilling companion.

He could only hope he had chosen wisely.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lord Elrond’s gaze was hard and flinty; his hands were clenched tightly inside 
the black leather gloves that he wore.

Elrohir, riding on Elrond’s right side, momentarily reflected that he would not 
want to be anyone who crossed his father at the moment. Glancing across the neck 
of Elrond’s coal black steed at Elladan, riding on their father’s other side, 
Elrohir decided that the same was true of his brother.

Elrond had listened to his sons’ tale quietly and then ordered the horses made 
ready almost as soon as they had finished speaking. They needed to pay Mannyn a 
little visit, and the sooner the better.

The scent of snow was heavy in the air as the early afternoon sun shone down on 
the three travelers. Its rays gave light, but no warmth. Yet these were elves so 
it mattered little to them.

When they reached Mannyn’s house, they had to wait for someone to open the main 
estate gates. This was finally done by a little old man with a limp who seemed 
to think that visitors were an uncommon and somewhat frightening sight, 
especially if those visitors were elf lords. Mannyn did not receive many guests 
these days.

The three elves rode into the courtyard, the echoing of horse hooves on stone 
muffled by the snow that blanketed everything. The old hostler and gatekeeper 
left a single, uneven set of tracks in the untouched snow as he blustered about, 
trying to figure out how to take the elves’ horses as they dismounted, since the 
beautiful creatures had no bridles nor reins.

"Is Mannyn at home?" Elrond inquired, his voice echoing hollowly in the empty 
courtyard.

"Yessir, he’s here all right," the small man bobbed his head in a friendly, if 
somewhat nervous manner. "If you want to wait I can tell him you’re here Mr...?"

"That’s all right, we’ll announce ourselves," Elrond nodded briskly at the small 
man, brushing right by him and heading for the main house.

The hostler would never have dreamed of opposing anything the elf lord said, but 
he shook his head as he led the three horses, who he found followed him 
willingly enough now that they had been released by their masters, into the 
stables. Master Mannyn was a man who prized his solitude. He was not going to be 
pleased with his unexpected visitors.

Elrond knocked on the large door of the house. As they waited for it to be 
opened, Elladan scanned the area around them with a suspicious eye. "If he’s 
hurt Estel..." the young elf muttered under his breath.

Elrond touched his eldest’ arm lightly. "We don’t know that yet Elladan." He 
looked between his boys. "Let me do the talking, understood?"

The twins nodded.

A few moments later the door was opened by a round, pleasant faced, middle aged 
woman in an apron. She had flour on her hands as if she had been baking and was 
busy dusting it off on the apron around her middle. She looked a little 
surprised to see the three elves, but smiled warmly enough.

"Well hello gentlemen! What can I do for you?" she inquired, unconsciously 
straightening her tousled hair and rumpled clothes.

"We have come to speak to Lord Mannyn, will you please tell him that Lord Elrond 
of Rivendell and his sons are here?" Elrond introduced himself to the woman, 
whose eyes got a little rounder, if that were possible.

"Right this way my lords," the woman led them into a large room off of the main 
hallway. It was obviously an audience chamber of sorts, but it had not seen use 
in many years from the looks of it.

Large dust cloths were thrown over most of the furniture in the room and 
although it was obviously well kept up, a thin layer of dust had settled in the 
not-so-easy-to-reach places.

The woman flushed slightly at the state of the room and bustled about, yanking 
off dust covers until there had been a suitable number of chairs cleared. 
"Sorry, we’ve not had visitors in a while," she admitted what they could already 
guess, kicking the offending coverings into a bundled lump behind the door.

"You gentlemen just have a seat then, my name’s Dolmè. I’ll let Master Mannyn 
know you’ve come and put on some tea."

After Dolmè left, Elrond sat down, but Elladan and Elrohir paced until their 
father ordered them to sit. It seemed a very, very long while later that the 
door opened again, but it was not Mannyn, only Dolmè, now sans apron and 
rumples, and carrying a glistening silver platter heaped with fresh baked buns 
and a steaming pot of tea. There was no mistaking that she was a lot more 
nervous than she had been earlier.

She poured out the tea while chatting about the weather until Elrond caught her 
eyes. "Dolmè, we’re here to see Mannyn."

"Of course, of course you are," she nodded. "He- that is, the Master... he’s not 
in the best of health you know, and he’s, well... he’s not seeing anyone today," 
she finally got it out.

Elrond rose quietly, but there was irritation etched in the polite lines of his 
face. "Please tell Mannyn that my sons and I are waiting. We will not take much 
of his time, but it is vitally important and we *must* speak with him."

Dolmè nodded miserably. "Yes sirs, I’ll tell him."

Elrond watched her leave with sympathy. He didn’t want her job.

Nearly an hour later, Mannyn finally made an appearance. He was a gaunt, pale 
man, yet there was nothing at all about him that seemed frail in any way. 
Perhaps that was because of the hidden fire behind his dark, deeply circled 
eyes. Although the elves quite rightly suspected that his being ‘too ill to see 
them’ was simply a put-off, it was not a far stretch of the imagination to see 
that Mannyn truly did not look well.

"What are you doing here?" Mannyn’s voice was crisp and to the point. "Can’t you 
understand what it means when a man says he wants to be left alone?"

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged peeved looks at the human’s rudeness, but Elrond 
refused to be bated.

"We will not trouble you long," Elrond assured, gesturing for Mannyn to sit as 
if he were in his own house, rather than being the guest.

Mannyn glared at him, but did sit down.

Elrond sat across from the elderly human, watching Mannyn closely. His manner 
was politely diplomatic, but his eyes were piercing and searched the man before 
him for any trace of deception. "I will be brief and straight to the point," the 
elven lord kept Mannyn fixed in his gaze. "I want to know what is this that I 
hear about you putting a price on my son’s head?"

Mannyn’s scowl deepened. "I have no idea what you’re talking about. It seems to 
me that your sons are fine," he glanced between Elladan and Elrohir with a 
sneer. "Which is more than I can say for mine." The words were hard. Cold. 
Bitter. "Besides, what interest would I have in them? Is this all you have come 
here to trouble me with?" The old man started to rise, but was fixed in his 
place when Elrond pierced him with a glare.

"We are *not* finished Mannyn. I speak of the ranger, Strider, whom we call 
Estel, and you know that. I know that you blame him for the death of your son. I 
am sorry for your loss, as a father I can understand-"

"You don’t understand *anything*!" Mannyn spat, suddenly fierce. "How could you? 
No on has taken your sons away from you! No one has cut out that piece of your 
heart!"

"Not yet," Elrond replied, still maddeningly calm. "But it is against such an 
event that I have come here. Where is Estel? Who did you hire to find him? 
Whoever it was left this behind." Elrond brought out the wallet that Legolas had 
given to his sons.

Mannyn’s eyes remained hard and unchanged. "I do not know where the ranger is, 
nor do I care. I am not his keeper. Neither do I know how you have come by 
something from my house, unless I assume that your family are pickpockets as 
well as murderers. But I’ll tell you this *Lord* Elrond, if something were to 
befall him, I would dance on his grave!" Mannyn had worked himself up into quite 
frenzy. His words dissolved into a coughing fit.

Elrond’s brow crinkled, his ire was hot inside him but he did not let it rule 
him. He would not be drawn into a fruitless argument, nor a shouting match with 
the cantankerous old man. Instead he turned the conversation to a totally 
unexpected direction. "You are not well," he observed quietly.

An expression of severe disdain crossed Mannyn’s face. "So *now* you notice? 
Well talking to rude visitors who make baseless accusations has not 
significantly improved my cold any."

"You do not have a cold," Elrond shook his head, he was a healer, he knew these 
things. "Have you had anyone look at you?"

Mannyn just snorted in derision and stood. "I want your fake concern no more 
than your fake sympathy! I just want you gone. You think I have that ranger 
brat? Go ahead, search!" he flung his arms out, gesturing at the house around 
him. "Look to your heart’s content until you are satisfied he is not here, and 
then be gone and NEVER let me see you here again!"

Elrond rose gracefully, but his dignified features were set in stone. "If you 
say he is not here than I will believe he is not here, but mark my words Mannyn, 
wherever he is, if ill befalls him, I will hold you responsible."

With that, the elven lord turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his 
robes swirling behind him. Elladan and Elrohir had left somewhere early on in 
the conversation, although no one save Elrond had marked their passing. It was 
just as well; they would never have been able to keep silent. They now rejoined 
their father in the hall by the door.

"And what did you find?" Elrond asked softly as they fell into step with him. He 
already suspected their answer however.

"Estel is not here. Or if he is they have hidden him well. There seems to be no 
one here at all except for Mannyn, Dolmè and the little hostler. That seems to 
be the usual arrangement for them," Elrohir reported quietly.

Dolmè saw them off in very apologetic tones, more so when they opened the front 
door and found that while they were inside another blizzard had kicked up in 
full earnestness.

"Oh my land, you can’t go out in that!" Dolmè shook her head in dismay.

"Dolmè! Make sure those meddlesome elves are on their way or I’ll have your 
head!" Mannyn’s voice shouted up from the back rooms.

"Oh dear," Dolmè shook her head again, obviously flustered. "I’m so sorry... 
I..."

Elrond laid his hand gently on her shoulder. "It’s all right. We will be fine, 
but... Dolmè... if you see a young man brought here, dark hair, silver eyes..." 
his voice trailed off.

"I’ll let you know if I can," Dolmè whispered softly. "If the master is up to 
some kind of vendetta, I’ll not be part of it."

"Thank you Dolmè," Elrond squeezed her arm lightly before pulling his hood up 
and stepping outside.

The wind howled loudly and snow was blowing everywhere. It was not a storm the 
elves would have chosen to travel in, but they had obviously worn out their 
welcome here and there was nothing for it but to attempt the long ride back to 
Rivendell.

"I do not think you overlooked him," Elrond inclined his head a little against 
the wind, picking up the thread of his previous conversation with his sons. 
"When we arrived the snow was deep and old, but there were no tracks save our 
own in the courtyard. No one has been here before us. Besides, Mannyn was too 
confident. He would not have offered to let us search if he were hiding Estel 
here."

"But we *know* he’s behind this," Elladan shook his head.

Elrond nodded slowly. "Yes, I am certain of that... but if Estel is not here 
then there is little we can do about it yet."

They paused in the courtyard, considering the wild storm raging about them.

Elrohir’s soft voice spoke what they were all thinking. "If Estel isn’t here... 
then that means he’s still out there, somewhere. In *this*."

A silent shiver that had nothing to do with the cold around them ran through the 
three elves’ hearts.

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART EIGHT*~

 

Dyryn glanced across the fire watching the ranger closely. Outside the cave they 
sheltered in, the wind howled as another storm began to build. Aragorn was 
breathing hard, and he shivered uncontrollably where he sat curled into a fetal 
position against the far wall, but his eyes were clearing and he returned the 
stare of his captor. Fever-wet hair clung to the sides of his face and fell into 
his eyes and he brushed his shoulder against his cheek to clear the wayward 
strands from his vision as he sniffed trying to still his breathing.

"Time for another dose I see." The bounty hunter smiled slightly as he grabbed 
his knife and the vial of Belithral from his pouch.

As he rounded the fire the human on the floor of the cave tried to scoot farther 
away from his advance, shaking his head, his eyes filled with fear. The only 
thing that kept him from evading Dyryn was the fact that the hunter had tied 
Aragorn’s hands to a stake and driven it into the rocky floor.

"No, please." Aragorn shook his head moving back as far as he could, his eyes 
filling with tears, "No more. I swear I’ll stay here, I’ll give you no trouble, 
please...please." His begging tapered off to a mere whisper as Dyryn crouched in 
front of him, "...please..." Aragorn knew he wouldn’t survive another dose of 
the drug. The hallucinations alone were killing him. If the Belithral didn’t 
stop his heart that was already beating far too fast in his chest, the emotional 
strain of the lies that the drug was forcing him to live through would. The 
momentary times of lucidity were too few and too far in between, it was crushing 
him.

"Please."

Dyryn stopped and watched the shivering man. Even if he had wanted to there was 
no way he could control the ranger if he didn’t keep him on the drug, in fact it 
would probably be mercy if the doses killed the young man before Mannyn got a 
hold of him, the bounty hunter thought with a cold smile.

"Sorry." However the look he gave the ranger was anything but sympathetic.

Aragorn shrank from the man as he pushed the ranger’s sleeve up high on his arm. 
The inside of Aragorn’s elbow was bruised and red from the continued abuse of 
the drug. Dyryn picked up his knife and made a tiny prick in the hollow of the 
man’s arm. Quickly he poured the thick drug on a piece of dirtied cloth and 
pressed the liquid against the wound. The substance bonded with the blood and 
was carried into his system almost at once.

Fear spiked hotly through Aragorn’s awareness. He had minutes before the drug 
took affect. It tingled where it entered his system and it felt like it was 
setting his nerves on fire. He gasped and tried to pull away. "I can’t..." His 
breath came in ragged gulps and he began to hyperventilate, "I can’t do this 
again." He stammered between breaths.

"You don’t get a choice." Dyryn’s voice grated oddly in his ears, loud over the 
ringing that was a side effect of the Belithral.

"NO!" The ranger pulled against his bonds unfeeling of the pain that laced his 
wrists as he jerked the stake from the floor of the ground. He had been working 
for over an hour to free his hands and his attempts finally paid off. The stake 
popped up from the cold earth and snapped backwards throwing the ranger off 
balance. He fell back, hitting the wall of the cave behind him.

The outburst from his prisoner took Dyryn off guard, the man should have been 
sedated far beyond the ability to escape, perhaps he had indeed given him too 
much Belithral.

The shock of being free caused Aragorn to stop momentarily and stare into the 
surprised face of his captor. Realizing he had no time to spare he pulled his 
legs up and kicked out at Dyryn, catching the hunter in the chest and pressing 
him back.

The wind was knocked out of the bounty hunter and he rolled over, catching 
himself on his hands trying to force air back into his lungs.

Aragorn lurched to his feet, staggering for the entrance of the cave. He had 
nearly reached the lip of the short tunnel when Dyryn caught him. The bounty 
hunter shouted at the retreating form, causing the ranger to turn a startled 
look his way. With a quick strike Dyryn smashed his fist into the side of the 
man’s head, splitting Aragorn’s lip open once more and causing the ranger to 
reel unsteadily.

The drug in his system had very nearly wrenched control out of Aragorn’s grasp 
once more. Fear alone kept him fighting. His hands were still bound to the spike 
that Dyryn had held him captive with and he grasped the wooden peg, driving it 
deep into his tormenter’s shoulder as the bounty hunter lunged at him.

Dyryn screamed in pain, pulling back from the unexpected attack. It was all the 
distraction that Aragorn needed as he turned and fled from the cave into the 
biting storm that was just beginning to blow. He stumbled in the snow, not 
caring where he was heading only knowing that he had to get far away. The 
adrenaline and Belithral prevented him from feeling the stinging bite of the 
wind and the icy sleet that fell about him.

"Get back here damn it!" He heard Dyryn calling after him as the bounty hunter 
stumbled into the snow, easily following the erratic path his prisoner wove 
through the knee-high drifts.

Dyryn quickly caught up with the drugged ranger and tackled him into the snow. 
The man struggled weakly against the bounty hunter, thrashing beneath his weight 
as he was pinned down.

"Now come on, get up." He grabbed the rope between Aragorn’s fists and hauled 
the man to his feet, "Don’t make this harder than it has to be."

Aragorn resisted but he was beginning to forget why he was fighting and the 
image of the man before him shifted nauseatingly from Dyryn to his father, 
morphing swiftly into Elladan and then into a distorted picture of Legolas’ 
face.

"No!" He struggled, pulling back from his captor, "NO!"

"Legolas!" Aragorn’s voice ripped through the forest as he called out, not 
knowing if he was even hallucinating or not. He had no hope of being heard he 
also had no knowledge that the elf was in fact tracking him.

Legolas stopped and stood perfectly still, listening to the wind and the trees 
and the sounds of the forest around him. He had begun to think he had chosen the 
wrong path, for there had been nothing all day to give him any indication that 
anyone had passed this way. Dusk was nearing, and darkness swiftly descending, 
even though he could not see the onset of night for the storm that was building 
blocked all and cloaked all in the dull grey of its fury, but he swore above the 
whistling howl of the wind he had heard his name. Someone was yelling and the 
sound was coming from just over the next hill. He ran swiftly to the edge of the 
hollow he was in and crested the small knoll on the opposite side. His keen eyes 
picked up the shapes of two men struggling below him. The warm glow of a 
campfire spilled from the mouth of a cave a few yards behind them and a steep 
cliff dropped away half a dozen meters to their right.

"Father! Please!" The call for help was Strider’s. He had found the ranger. 
Pelting down into the valley the elf’s swift quiet approach caught the bounty 
hunter unaware as he was bodily thrown away from his prisoner.

Aragorn fell back into the snow. The dark shape that loomed over him frightened 
him and he began to crawl away, knowing only that somehow he was free again. He 
needed to get far away into the forests where it would be dark soon with the 
failing light, somewhere safe where he couldn’t be seen.

Legolas stared down at the human who lay in the snow, cowering at his feet. He 
had no time to consol or comfort the ranger as Dyryn rushed him, grabbing the 
prince about the waist and throwing him hard into the snow beside Aragorn.

The elf struggled with the human that pinned him down. He was stronger than the 
bounty hunter and easily flipped the man off of him, pulling his feet up to his 
chest and kicking the man over his head. He stole a quick glance at Aragorn, 
noting the direction that the ranger was slowly limping away in. He could track 
him with ease once he disposed of Dyryn.

The bounty hunter had gained his footing once more and quickly withdrew a blade 
concealed in his boot. "You again! How many times do I have to kill you elf?" he 
spat, circling the prince slowly, dancing closely in and jabbing the weapon 
forward, feinting at Legolas, trying to catch him off guard. But the elf was too 
fast for the man, even though Dyryn’s dwarvish traits made him a more formidable 
foe than a normal human would have been. The prince’s anger flared and he 
crouched down, widening his stance refusing to dance with the man any longer. 
Dyryn jumped forward and the prince rushed him, sidestepping the man and hooking 
his ankle around the hunter’s leg, he tipped the human backwards off balance, 
wresting the knife from Dyryn’s grip as the man fell back into the snow. 
Kneeling on the man’s chest Legolas pressed the blade against the hunter’s neck 
and glared down at the man. Even after everything this fellow had put he and 
Aragorn through, the elf would not spill blood needlessly, nor would he cut a 
man’s throat when he was down and defenseless.

"Do not follow me. And do not pursue the ranger. I will kill you if you 
persist." He leaned down, whispering the words fiercely and giving the knife a 
good shove, so that it broke through the human’s skin.

A peal of thunder broke above them shaking the mountain that braced the small 
valley where they fought as the storm gained strength. Surprised by the 
reverberations of the sound Legolas glanced up.

Dyryn took advantage of the elf’s momentary distraction. Grabbing the blade he 
pulled the knife from this throat with one had and slammed his balled up fist 
into the side of the prince’s head, knocking Legolas off of him and back into 
the snow. The hit was a lucky near miss, barely contacting that point behind 
Legolas’ jaw that would have caused the elf to black out. As it was, the blow 
stunned the prince and he stumbled back to his knees when he tried to rise.

Dyryn stood over the elf, smiling down at him with barely contained glee.

"Now who is going to kill whom?" he taunted, raising the blade over the reeling 
prince.

The ground shook slightly beneath their feet and a dull distant roar 
overshadowed the natural sounds of the forest about them.

The rumbling in the earth increased and Dyryn staggered backwards, attempting to 
maintain his balance. The rushing sound built into a deafening roar and Legolas 
glanced behind the bounty hunter in wide-eyed fear as he saw the face of the 
mountain behind them fall down towards the small plateau where they fought in a 
tumbling tidal-wave of white. The percussion of the thunder had triggered an 
avalanche high up on the peak where the snow had been accumulating, awaiting 
just such relief as this.

Legolas leapt to his feet; lighting softly on the top of the snow and darting 
towards the woods in the direction that Aragorn had drug himself off in earlier.

Dyryn, not so quick or light-footed, tried to follow the nimble being, but was 
cumbered by trying to run through the deep snow and was caught by the front wave 
of snow and debris that swept off the mountain side plummeting to the base of 
the cliff below. Legolas heard him screaming, his voice barely audible above the 
rushing swell of snow that crushed down behind him and turned just barely in 
time to see the man vanish.

The ground beneath the prince jumped and bucked with the force of the tonnage 
that spilled down from the peak. Only his ability to stay atop the snow kept him 
from being pulled under and swept away as Dyryn had been, but it would not save 
him forever, the snow was moving too fast under his feet and he could not remain 
upright much longer. At the last moment, Legolas sprang from the forest floor 
into the tree nearest him, pulling himself high up into its branches as the 
edges of the white flood crashed by and then receded at the base of the trunk. 
He had barely escaped the avalanche.

Legolas slowly let out the breath he had been holding and glanced back across 
the plain where they had just been. It lay covered in a blanket of snow, the 
surface broken by the jutting planes of frozen plates of ice and rocks ripped 
from their resting places and thrown down the side of the mountain. The cave 
that Aragorn and Dyryn had taken shelter in was buried under dozens of feet of 
snow. Of the bounty hunter there was no sign.

Legolas leapt lightly down from the tree he had taken refuge in and picked his 
way carefully to the edge of the newly displaced snow, it lay in ripples like 
frozen waves, strewn beneath the tall trees.

From there, he quickly picked up Aragorn’s trail and tracked the ranger back 
into the forest. He needed to find the human fast, night was nearly upon them 
and there would be no starlight to guide them soon. He had run only a few 
moments before spying the form of the man now slowly crawling on hands and knees 
in the deep snow.

Aragorn flinched and cried out at the sight of the being who had caught up to 
him as Legolas gained his position and knelt down next to him.

"No!" He raised his hands up trying to shield himself from the images that swam 
before his eyes.

Gently Legolas gripped the rope that bound the man’s hands and quickly severed 
the bonds. The human whimpered softly when the elf produced the knife and he 
cringed away from the glint of the blade. "No." His voice a mere whisper. 
"Please, not again."

"Aragorn?" Legolas slowly resheathed his knife, "Aragorn what happened to you?" 
He noted the way the human shook uncontrollably, shaking that had nothing to do 
with the chill that hung in the air.

The ranger was unresponsive to the elf’s attempts to stop his flight. The human 
continued moving away from the prince, pushing the other away. Nothing he said 
made any sense to the prince. It seemed to Legolas that Aragorn did not even 
know who he was and nothing he did stopped the human’s weak frantic attempts to 
escape him.

"Aragorn? Aragorn!" Legolas shook his friend, desperately demanding an answer. 
The young ranger’s eyes were glazed and when he looked at the elf he didn’t seem 
to really be seeing him. Aragorn flinched in fear and tried weakly to scoot 
away, fumbling in the snow and shivering hard as he scrabbled backwards, frozen 
fingers barely feeling the wet bite of the ice-cold powder he was sitting in.

"L-Leave me alone... p-please just l-leave me alone..." Aragorn begged 
stuttering through frozen lips, total un-recognition on his face. That last bit 
of exertion had taken too much out of the ranger. His body was fast succumbing 
to the cold and the severe drug reaction that had been building up over time. 
Dyryn had used the Belithral on him far too frequently and in doses far larger 
than he should have. Aragorn’s reaction to the modified poison had been growing 
slowly worse and worse until now it was very literally robbing him of rational 
thought and reason.

"Aragorn, it’s all right, it’s all right!" Legolas struggled to catch the young 
human’s shoulders. Frightened and irrational, Aragorn fought the elf. His 
frozen, confused mind could not comprehend that Legolas was not Dyryn as his 
vision blurred, the sound of the elf’s words grating oddly in ringing ears. 
Striking out he caught Legolas in the chest and mouth with his wildly swinging 
fists.

Legolas reeled back from the unexpected blow, tasting blood and realizing 
quickly that Aragorn was not in his right state of mind. Gently catching the 
human’s wrists he held them still, keeping the young ranger from striking him 
again.

Aragorn thrashed and struggled, but was too weak to put up a real fight and 
Legolas pinned him on his back in the snow easily enough.

"Aragorn, Aragorn it’s me! It’s Legolas. It’s all right, it’s all right..." 
Legolas tried to get through to the struggling human. Aragorn’s eyes were wide 
and frightened in a way Legolas had never seen them before. Half-frozen, 
half-dried blood clung to the corners of the ranger’s mouth and the side of his 
face. Dark bruises marred his face, neck and hands and Legolas was sure the 
ranger’s wet, frozen clothing hid even more. The young man looked as if he had 
very literally been through hell and Legolas’ heart wrenched inside him. If 
Dyryn were still alive Legolas would have killed him for what he had done to his 
friend.

Aragorn squirmed and shivered weakly under the elf’s grip. "P-please... not 
again... please leave me alone..." the young ranger stuttered brokenly, 
shuddering from cold and fear.

Legolas’ eyes stung from more than the wind. "Aragorn, Aragorn... Estel..." he 
pleaded for Aragorn to understand him, speaking in elvish for he knew that 
sometimes that tongue had a greater effect on his friend than the speech of men. 
"You have nothing to fear from me my friend, your tormentor is gone. Do you hear 
me Aragorn? He is gone! Come back to me, come back Estel... please..."

Aragorn blinked several times and took a deep shuddering breath. Something about 
the elvish words seemed to calm him, just as Legolas had hoped. His blurry eyes 
struggled to make out the face above him through the driving wind.

"L-Legolas?" Aragorn murmured, dim recognition finally coming over his face. He 
was half afraid to believe it was truly his friend this time and not just 
another drug induced hallucination.

Legolas smiled, gently warming the side of his friend’s pale face with his hand. 
"Yes, yes Aragorn, it’s me."

Aragorn let his head sink back in the snow in relief. "I-I thought y-you’d never 
f-find me..." He shakily reached up towards his friend.

"I’m sorry it took so long, I’m sorry Strider," Legolas rose, gently pulling the 
young human out of the snow. Aragorn was much too weak and far too frozen. They 
had to get out of this weather and soon. But where could they go?

Aragorn wavered on his feet. His strength was completely gone and his head fell 
weakly against Legolas’ shoulder.

Legolas quickly pulled his own cloak off and wrapped it around Aragorn’s 
shivering shoulders, supporting the young man. "We have to get to shelter 
Aragorn, all right?" he said gently. "Can you walk?"

Aragorn nodded. "O-of course I-I can..." he took one step and nearly fell back 
into the snow. His frozen, bruised legs refusing to carry him any farther.

"That’s what I thought," Legolas said with a soft smile. Scooping Aragorn up in 
his arms despite the ranger’s feeble protests, Legolas half-held, 
half-shouldered his friend’s weight and began descending from the foothills, 
heading in what he hoped was more or less a westerly direction.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Legolas stumbled, Aragorn’s weight driving him down into the snow he had been 
walking on top of until he fell. Quickly he scrambled back to his feet. He had 
been carrying Aragorn for the better part of two hours, but the storm had slowly 
been picking up and the roaring wind was blowing full at them, blinding him 
behind its vicious white curtain.

Aragorn was chattering audibly and his skin was far too pale. One glance at the 
human’s ashen face, and Legolas knew that they had to get out of the wind now, 
or nothing would be able to help his friend.

Desperately his keen eyes searched the swirling whiteness for some sign of 
anything that might shelter them. Suddenly, the ground failed under his feet and 
Legolas found himself half-falling, half-sliding downward in a tumble of snow 
and wind.

The blizzard was so thick now that the elf had not even been able to see that he 
had come to a cliff edge and walked right off it. Fortunately the cliff was only 
ten or fifteen feet high at most, and the snow at the bottom padded their 
landing.

The bottom of the cliff was minimally protected from some of the worst of the 
eddying blasts of wind, so Legolas scooted back against the rock wall as far as 
he could, pulling Aragorn with him. Any shelter was better than none, and going 
further when he could not see more than two or three inches in front of them was 
obviously a dangerous proposition, especially since Legolas knew absolutely 
nothing about the lay of the land in these parts. They would have to wait the 
storm out and hope that it lessened quickly.

"I-I’m so-so cold..." Aragorn shivered helplessly, delirium starting to tug at 
him again. The young ranger was totally spent and the drugs that were still in 
his system had not let go of him yet wreaking havoc with his ability to stay 
awake.

"I know, I know you are," Legolas soothed, pulling Aragorn closer still. The 
young ranger’s shaking frame was icy cold against the elf’s body. It felt as 
cold as the storm, or colder. His exposed skin was nearly the same color as the 
snow. Alarmed, Legolas pulled off his fleece-lined jerkin. Ignoring the stinging 
cold as it bit through his tunic he wrapped the thick shirt around Aragorn’s 
shoulders, pulling it up to cover the Dùnadan’s head and holding the human close 
to himself to better share his body heat. "Just hold on, everything’s going to 
be all right. Stay with me Strider."

Legolas shivered slightly against the chill that invaded his own frame, both 
from Aragorn’s frozen body and the freezing air around them. Even an elf was not 
immune to the bitter bite of the air this night. It was simply too cold.

"L-Legolas I-I can’t see you..." Aragorn’s eyes were glassing over again.

More alarmed than he wanted to admit, Legolas tried to stay calm for his 
friend’s sake. "That’s all right, you can hear me. I am here. The storm cannot 
last forever. It will all be over soon, I promise Aragorn, I promise."

Aragorn shuddered violently, grasping for his friend’s arm with numb, unbending 
fingers. "D-don’t leave me... please, don’t leave me like t-they did..." a raw 
sob choked the young man’s throat as he slid back into the dream-like state 
between reality and feverish nightmare.

Legolas pressed his eyes shut in anguish for his friend’s pain. He pulled 
Aragorn’s head up against his chest so the young man could hear his heartbeat 
and know he was near. "I am here Aragorn and I won’t leave. That I swear by 
Elbereth herself. I will not leave you!"

"I’m so tired... so tired... I feel I could s-sleep forever..." Aragorn murmured 
into Legolas’ tunic.

Aragorn’s body was failing him at last and Legolas realized horribly that his 
friend was dying in front of his eyes.

"No! Aragorn, Aragorn! Stay with me! Dartho Aragorn, Dartho mellon nîn, 
ú-awartha i arad, an i tinnu, egor pada i guruthos nîf-ned anannch lîn... bellch 
le, iston le, pulch ortheri sen gala helch le, ú-dâf ha mânch haeron!" Legolas 
pleaded desperately, gently rocking the young man. "Hold on Aragorn, hold on my 
friend, do not forsake the day for the twilight, nor tread the shadows before 
your time... You are strong, I know you are, you can beat this creeping frost, 
do not let it take you away!"

"D-don’t leave..." Aragorn whimpered hoarsely, locked once more in his own 
private nightmares that Legolas could not seem to break into nor free him from. 
"Don’t leave me, please... I’m sorry... please... father... father! Don’t 
l-leave me again... no...no..." the words were mere heartbroken sobs. "I’m so 
c-cold, s-so c-co..."

Frustrated by his powerlessness to help his friend, Legolas tried his best to 
calm the ranger, but to no avail. Aragorn was too far gone to hear him. It 
seemed now that the young Dùnadan had no will left to live, as if the 
hallucinations had drained him of whatever hope and desire for life had been 
left in his frozen, hurting body.

Aragorn murmured something more, but Legolas could barely hear, much less 
understand him, for the young man was sliding too far away. The human’s eyes 
closed and his head lolled against the elf prince’s chest.

Legolas choked back the lump forming in his throat and held his friend tightly. 
Closing his eyes he held onto Aragorn with everything he had. He was not 
strongly gifted in healing, nor in those skills that humans and hobbits 
sometimes referred to as ‘elf magic’, but whatever power was in him he used in 
the desperate struggle to keep Aragorn from sliding over the brink into the 
abyss from which a mortal could never return.

Whispering words of light, life and encouragement, warm fires and sun on the 
springtime flowers into Aragorn’s ear, the elf prince gave everything he had to 
the effort. If it were possible, he fed some of his own strength into the 
ranger’s failing body, infusing hope and a certain amount of warmth from his 
presence and his words.

Aragorn stirred ever so slightly and Legolas took it as a hopeful sign. Softly, 
he began singing to the ranger in a sweet, clear voice. A warm and life-filled 
song full of the images of light and warmth and home. Aragorn barely seemed to 
notice or respond, but Legolas kept on, hoping to be able to give the young 
ranger something to hold onto, however slim, some connection with the waking 
world so that his spirit would not completely fly away as it seemed wont to do.

The elven voice thrummed softly in his chest as he sung, a comforting resonance 
that sounded in the ranger’s ear, pressed against the prince’s heart. And 
somewhere deep inside his delirious stupor, Aragorn did indeed hear Legolas’ 
song and feel the thin thread of warmth and hope that the elf prince sought to 
hold out to him, and Aragorn clung to it tightly as oblivion reached up to 
swallow him whole. But his life was slowly slipping away between his fingers, 
blown off upon on the savage winds that raged around them, whipping the young 
ranger’s dark curls around his face and mingling them with the pale gold of 
Legolas’ waving locks.

Legolas committed all his strength and everything that was in him to his song 
and the young man it was supporting. So intent was he that the elf did not 
notice the creeping chill overtaking his own body as the deadly cold seeped into 
him little by little, sapping his strength, his energy, his life.

Around them, the storm just kept growing fiercer and more intense.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART NINE*~

 

~*~

...80 years later...

~*~

 

"My father will not let you get away with this." Eldarion struggled helplessly 
against his captors as they pulled his bound hands above his head, throwing the 
rope over a root that protruded from the rock face several feet above the young 
man’s head. The rope fell back down and the prince was jerked harshly up, his 
feet barely touching the ground. A small cry escaped his lips as the men around 
him roughly tied the rope off.

Dyryn had brought Eldarion to an open glade that butted up against a rocky 
cliff. The trees formed a semi circle around the small indention in the forest, 
where nothing but the valley grasses grew. The rocky incline at the back of the 
shallow stretched a good fifty feet, creating a natural barrier not only for the 
plant life that flourished in the shadow of the mountain but for anyone who 
might try to use the cover of the trees to reach the boy tied against the rock 
face.

Dyryn had found the hollowed out bowl and seen in it the perfect place to set a 
trap. Not more than a mile away from where the King and his party had bedded 
down for the night. The bounty hunter had made sure that it would be easy enough 
to track the young boy back to this very spot. Now they worked quickly to ready 
the snare for the ones who would follow.

Kolir, smiled and slapped the young man across the face, "Don’t worry, we’re 
counting on your father to come looking for you." He grabbed the prince’s jaw 
and twisted the youth’s head to the side, where Dyryn was mounting a crossbow on 
top of an old stump, just to the left of where Eldarion was bound, hidden back 
in the trees. The old hunter strapped the weapon down to the dead wood and 
locked the drawstring in place, laying a bolt across the readied bow.

Kolir released the prince’s face and pulled his dagger from its sheath on his 
belt, running the blade’s edge lightly down the side of the boy’s face. He 
traced the curve of Eldarion’s neck, dragging the tip down across the prince’s 
chest and deftly cutting the first button off of his tunic. He pressed the tip 
of the knife against the soft skin above Eldarion’s heart, causing the boy to 
cry out as he cut a small ‘x’ across the boy’s chest. Leaning in close and 
laying his face next to the young man’s, he whispered, "And that’s where the 
other one is going to hit," Kolir motioned across the small glen to where 
another crossbow was being readied, pointing straight for Eldarion’s heart, "but 
only after the first one kills your father."

"Kolir shut your mouth and finish up there." Dyryn growled at his accomplice. 
"Help Vec cover up those trip wires. Can't have that ranger wise to us until 
it’s too late." The old bounty hunter finished setting the second crossbow, 
bending down to make sure the bolt was lined up with the boy’s heart. His 
features were hidden by the hooded cloak he constantly wore, and Eldarion had 
yet to discover who he truly was.

There was no more time for questions as Kolir pressed a piece of wadded-up cloth 
into the boy’s mouth and tied it off there with another strip of fabric. He 
slammed the boy’s head forcefully back against the rock behind him, causing 
stars to dance before the prince’s eyes. Tears of helplessness and fear edged 
the rims of his wide blue eyes as Kolir tightened the bonds at his ankles and 
coiled another length of rope around the boy’s thighs, pinning him in place.

Eldarion pressed his eyes shut, unwilling to allow these men to see him cry. He 
wanted nothing more than to be back with his father but knowing what he did, he 
prayed his father would never find him, ever. His breathing hitched slightly and 
Kolir smirked at him, ruffling the youth’s hair as he walked away, "What? This 
will be fun." He taunted the boy.

Eldarion jerked way from the man, but the laughter of his captors bit deeply 
into his heart. He watched in horror as the trap was set for his father. Kolir 
and Vec finished disguising the trip wires that would fire the crossbows and 
Eldarion doubted if even Legolas would be able to tell that they were there. 
Dyryn camouflaged the crossbows, making sure that the tree branches would not 
block or deflect the bolts. With a satisfied smile he left the glade, completely 
ignoring the child on the far side who leaned against his bonds in defeat. Tears 
slid down his fair face now that he was alone and the gag made it hard to 
breathe. Rain began to fall gently in the glen, the storm clouds finally having 
enough of carrying their weighty load had decided to stop and shed their burden. 
The grey skies reflected the dark thoughts in the young man’s heart as he waited 
and hoped he would never be found.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Legolas walked soundlessly in front of Aragorn. The tell-tale signs of the 
kidnapper’s flight were easily read in the crushed plant life and the heavy 
prints in the soft ground made by their boots. They had made no attempt to cover 
their escape and the smears of bright red on the leaves of the lower-hanging 
trees created a mounting dread in the elf.

"They do not hide their passing." Legolas turned back towards the human that 
trailed him, "I fear what we will find."

Aragorn’s silver eyes flashed darkly and he only nodded in reply.

It had started to rain moments ago, the droplets barely making it to the forest 
floor. They had walked nearly a mile in the predawn gloom and now the storm 
darkened their path again.

Legolas stopped, pressing his arm straight out from his side to stop Aragorn. 
There were no sounds of life in this part of the woods and unnatural unease 
crept over the friends. The elf crouched down in the path where they stood, 
pulling Aragorn down beside him. He waited quietly, listening, smelling their 
surroundings, waiting.

A soft whimper touched their ears, more a sob than a cry. But it was enough to 
send Aragorn lurching forward. Legolas grabbed the human and pulled him back, 
fighting the fierce desperation that tore at the man’s heart.

Aragorn turned, pointing back in the direction he had been heading while 
grasping the elf’s cloak desperately with his other hand. They communicated 
without speech, a language developed over years of hunting and wilderness 
survival together.

Legolas shook his head vigorously, pointing at his own eyes with his fingertips. 
He indicated with a sharp downward motion that he wanted Aragorn to remain while 
he went and took a look around. The king would not agree, touching his ears and 
pointing back to where the sounds had originated from.

The elf forcefully jerked the human off his feet and firmly planted the king 
behind him. Removing his elven dagger from his boot he held the flat of it 
against the man’s neck, pressing his face close to his friends. It was a warning 
of the most severe kind. He did not want the human to follow him. Dark, angry 
eyes held his and did not give in.

"Stay." Legolas barely whispered in elvish. When Aragorn did not answer the elf 
stepped away and walked toward the hidden glade. He turned a few paces out and 
pointed the dagger back at his friend for emphasis. In resignation Aragorn 
stepped near the closest tree and crouched down at the base of the pine. Legolas 
nodded and disappeared into the forest.

The elf stepped cautiously up to the perimeter of the small glen, his heart 
catching in his throat when his eyes fixed on the young boy across the way. The 
young prince’s head hung down in defeat and he leaned against his bonds, rain 
dripped from his forlorn form and pooled in the grass at his feet. The front of 
his wet tunic was stained red with blood that the rain was washing down from the 
cut Kolir had given him, making it impossible to tell from this angle exactly 
where, or how badly the young prince had been hurt. The boy’s breathing hitched 
as he tried to calm himself but to no avail. Legolas waited on the edge of the 
meadow... waited and watched. He could see no snares or traps. It seemed for all 
purposes that Eldarion had been strung up here and simply left, but he knew it 
could not be so. He remembered Dyryn, remembered the man’s brutality and 
cunning, his instincts told him there was more to this than he could see.

The snap of a twig caused the elf to swivel, the blade in his hand coming up 
automatically. He breathed a sigh of relief and frustration as Aragorn crept up 
to his position.

The easily read tracks of Dyryn and his men led to this very point in the forest 
and the human had followed them to his friend.

Legolas tried to press Aragorn back, he did not want the man rushing into the 
glen just yet but the elf knew that if he caught a glimpse of Eldarion there 
would be no stopping him.

True enough, the king’s eyes lighted on his son across the way. The utter sorrow 
and horror that touched them went straight through the elf’s heart.

"Wait." Legolas touched Aragorn’s chest gently with his fingers. "It is not 
right."

"Legolas!" The man whispered desperately at his friend. Eldarion choked back a 
sob, the gag preventing him from swallowing properly. The soft whimper was all 
it took to send the boy’s father past all reason and into harm’s way. Not even 
the warning of his lifelong friend could override the protective anger in his 
heart that drove him forward.

Eldarion looked up as the movement caught his attention. His eyes went wide and 
he shook his head vehemently, desperately trying to speak around the gag and 
warn his father, but it was no use.

Aragorn quickly crossed the threshold of the meadow. Reaching for his sword as 
he stepped onto the slick wet grass. His boots snared a thin line hidden in the 
green blades. The tiny snick of the cut wires was undetected by the human, whose 
eyes were locked on the horrified ones of his son. The triggers of the snare, 
having been severed, snaked wildly through the long grass, released from their 
tension, as were the bowstrings on the weapons that they had been tied to.

"Aragorn!" Legolas saw and heard the danger the moment before it happened. The 
two rigged crossbows fired at nearly the same time, but not quite.

Aragorn realized the peril a few moments too late to avoid it. Often people say 
time seems to slow at an instant such as that, but it was not so for Aragorn 
because everything seemed to him to happen much too fast.

Before Aragorn even had a chance to finish registering the threat, the king felt 
Legolas’ body slam into him, pushing him sideways, out of the path of the deadly 
bolt.

Only his elven speed and reflexes got Legolas to his friend’s side before the 
shot went through the human’s heart, but not even they could get the elf out of 
the way in time as well.

The bolt meant for Aragorn struck Legolas in the back, near his left shoulder 
blade, whirling the prince partway round and making him stumble from the force 
of the heavy poundage-per-inch that the crossbows possessed.

The spin placed Legolas directly in the path of the second shot, meant for 
Eldarion, from the other side of the glade. Closer at hand than the first, this 
bolt had even more power behind it.

Falling to his knees from the force of Legolas’ shove, Aragorn saw what unfolded 
in a split instant of sheer horror. Legolas turned and stumbled under the impact 
of the shot meant for him and almost immediately was caught by the second shot 
as well. The bolt intended for Eldarion struck the elf prince directly in the 
chest.

Aragorn thought he must have screamed his friend’s name, but he could not 
remember afterwards. What he did remember was the wide-eyed look on the elf’s 
face and hearing Legolas’ cry of shock and pain as the prince stumbled forward, 
clutching his chest numbly and not really seeming to understand yet what had 
happened.

Legolas sunk slowly to the muddy earth, a look of semi-shock frozen on his fair 
features.

"Legolas!" Aragorn caught the elf prince before he hit the ground. Bright red 
blood covered the king’s hands as he knelt, holding Legolas gently in his arms. 
His shaking fingers caught on the ugly, dark shaft of the crossbow bolt 
protruding from the back of the elf’s left shoulder and he quickly shifted his 
hold so as not to aggravate the wound. There was no sign of the bolt that had 
hit the prince in the chest; the smooth shaft had gone straight through, leaving 
only the swiftly growing crimson stain that was rapidly soaking the front of 
Legolas’ pale green-brown tunic.

The shoulder wound was bad, but Aragorn feared that the chest wound was going to 
be deadly. It was far too near Legolas’ heart for comfort, even though it had 
apparently missed hitting it directly. The elf prince’s eyes were glazed and his 
body trembled as if he were cold.

"Legolas!" Aragorn whispered again in horrified alarm. The chill rain pattered 
down on them, spreading the bloodstains larger and plastering the prince’s 
golden hair against his pale face.

"A-Aragorn... are you... all right?" Legolas forced his eyes to focus slowly on 
his friend. He choked slightly on the words. Cold, icy pain was radiating from 
his wounds and his body responded sluggishly to his commands. He was frightened, 
but not terrified. Death was a novel concept to elves, although Legolas had 
certainly seen his share of it. Confused thoughts jumbled through his mind and 
he wasn’t sure what to make of them all. The pain faded in and out like the 
gusts of wind, sometime disappearing all together... Aragorn’s arms tightened 
desperately around the elf, bringing the prince back to the moment, and the 
pain. He moaned softly.

Aragorn knew that they were not safe. Whatever trap they had stepped into was 
surely closing fast if indeed it had not already snapped shut around them, but 
Legolas could not be moved and he feared that if he so much as released him for 
an instant, the light would leave the elf’s eyes forever and an immortal spirit 
would disappear into a night it should not have had to taste.

"I’m all right Legolas," Aragorn choked on the lump in his throat. "But you had 
better not dare try to tell me you are ‘just fine’ this time..." he could not 
finish the old jest, his throat swelled shut and his voice refused to work.

Legolas smiled faintly. "No... no I think not this time..." he coughed. The elf 
seemed to be having trouble breathing and shuddered softly in Aragorn’s arms. 
"E-Eldarion?" he questioned somewhat apprehensively.

"He’s fine too," Aragorn assured gently. "Don’t worry about us Legolas..." he 
resisted the urge to say Legolas should not have done what he did, the former 
ranger knew his old friend far too well for that. Aragorn realized that he was 
also trembling as he held Legolas close to him, pressing the corner of his damp 
cloak against the heavily bleeding wound just to the right of the elf’s heart, 
trying desperately to bring it under control. He saw the numb, dazed pain on 
Legolas’ face and felt as if the arrow had gone through his own soul.

As it should have.

Every beat of his breaking heart told him that it should be him, not Legolas. 
Those arrows were meant for he and Eldarion, not the elf... but it was his 
friend who was dying.

Legolas’ breath caught as the pain made his chest muscles seize up around his 
diaphragm. Remarkably, his lungs had not been punctured, but his breathing was 
difficult all the same. Aragorn tried to ease him into a better position, but 
Legolas cried out softly at being moved. The pain was building again. His hands 
trembled as he wrapped his long, bloodstained fingers in Aragorn’s cloak, 
holding onto his friend like he was holding onto life itself. A chill that had 
nothing to do with the icy rain was creeping over his body. "It’s getting 
c-cold..." Legolas murmured, fighting hard against the pain that wanted to 
overwhelm him.

The same fearful ice seemed to have entered into Aragorn’s veins as he held his 
friend close. But there was little he could do to assuage the frost creeping 
over Legolas. Tears stung the king’s eyes, hidden by the rain. He did not want 
to have to helplessly watch Legolas die in his arms as he had watched Boromir 
die, as he had watched Haldir die, as he had seen too many both mortal and 
immortal perish during the long course of his life.

"Dartho Legolas, Dartho mellon nîn, ú-awartha i arad, an i tinnu, egor pada i 
guruthos nîf-ned anannch lîn... Aragorn pleaded quietly. "Hold on Legolas, hold 
on my friend, do not forsake the day for the twilight, nor tread the shadows 
before your time..." his throat constricted again and he could not finish.

Legolas smiled weakly, remembering the last time those words had been spoken. 
Remembering all that he and Aragorn had done together over the course of their 
long friendship, both the brave and the foolish, the serious and the joyful... 
"Edhored nin, forgive me Estel," his voice wavered unsteadily, speaking was 
difficult. "I-I don’t know if this creeping chill is one that can be conquered, 
my friend. I fear it is too strong this time..."

"No," Aragorn whispered his denial. "You never gave up on me ever. I won’t let 
you go, not now, not like this!"

"Touching. So touching," A hard, sardonic voice startled them and made the king 
look up.

Aragorn’s burning eyes fell upon the man standing before them and blazed as if 
he would like to kill the fellow with the intensity of his gaze. The man was 
tall and swarthy, a cocked cross-bow was in his hands, leveled squarely with 
Aragorn’s chest. Three other men stood behind him, similarly armed, although at 
least two of them had their crossbows trained on Eldarion. The meaning was 
clear. If Aragorn tried anything, his son died first.

"Friendship is such a sweet thing to see," the man who had spoken before 
continued mockingly. A loosely wrapped headdress kept all save his eyes hidden 
from sight, but Aragorn didn’t need to see his face. He knew the voice well 
enough. The voice etched into the deepest lines of his worst nightmares. The 
voice that taunted and laughed at him when he was helpless and hallucinating, 
dying of cold in the frostbitten mountains...

"Dyryn," Aragorn said between his teeth. The anger in his chest was so hot that 
it was a wonder it did not radiate outward and turn the rain to steam as it 
touched him. Clutching Legolas to him tighter, he moved slightly, putting 
himself between Eldarion and this ancient enemy from the long distant past.

"You remember me ranger. How nice. I suppose it would be bad taste to leave 
someone for dead and then forget all about them," Dyryn sneered. "Although I 
wager that’s exactly what you did, your *highness*." The man’s ruthless gaze 
shifted to Legolas. "It’s fitting that you should both be here. The two who cost 
me so much." In truth, Dyryn’s plans had only involved Aragorn and his son, but 
the elf had chosen to intrude and get in the way, just as he had so many years 
ago, and so Dyryn was given a new opportunity now. One that he rather relished 
the thought of.

"Speechless?" Dyryn grinned. "But then, why not? I suppose you never expected to 
see me again, alive." With one swift move he unhooked the veil that hid his 
face.

Next to him, Aragorn heard Eldarion give a small gasp around the gag on his 
mouth.

Dyryn’s face was so hideously twisted that not even Aragorn recognized him now. 
Wide, ugly scars crisscrossed it like vines crawling up the side of a building 
and the skin pinched and puckered in a grotesque manner.

"Well you may gasp boy," Dyryn glared at Eldarion. "It’s not a pretty sight, is 
it? Know then, that this is what your father did to me!" his burning eyes turned 
back on Aragorn. "You abandoned me buried alive in the middle of that storm! 
This, this!" he held up his left hand, it was malformed, clenched in a perpetual 
fist. "This I lost to the frost and the fall, and when I crawled out at last, 
frozen and broken I swore that someday if I ever had the chance, you were going 
to know my pain," his voice was barely above a whisper now, and trembling with 
rage built up over many long years. "You never were an easy man to find, and the 
years fly away too quickly. For some time I thought you dead all together... and 
then what do I see one day? But that the shivering beggar has become a king! Of 
all the twists of fate that was the most cruel, and from the moment I discovered 
this, your doom has been sealed, you just didn’t know it. And now, at last, fate 
has put you and your meddling friend back in my grasp."

"You tried to kill Legolas and I both," the deadly ire in Aragorn’s voice 
matched that of their captor. "You dragged me through the snow for weeks, so 
drugged and beaten I could barely stand up! Don’t you dare speak to me about 
un-amended wrongs!"

"Every story has two sides," Dyryn glared. "And time brings all things, 
including justice. Now it is time for you to pay, and you will pay, as dearly as 
you can."

"You must know that our deaths will not go un-avenged," Aragorn said coldly, 
without a trace of fear, still crouching directly in front of his son and 
holding Legolas tightly.

Dyryn’s smile was thin and feral. "But you will not die your highness. You will 
live. You will live with all the pain and rage and loss that I have had to live 
with. And you will have to live with the consequences of your own choice. It is 
the job of a king, is it not, to decide who lives and who dies?" Dyryn raised 
one eyebrow in cruel amusement. He let the implications of his statement hang in 
the air for several minutes, watching his prey; the sounds of the soft rain 
pattering into tiny pools on the forest floor broke the stillness. He blinked 
the raindrops out of his eyes, his smile broadening as dawning horror spread 
across the king’s face.

Aragorn tensed. He did not like the way this seemed to be heading at all.

"Two people are going to walk out of this glade alive today, but one will not. 
So choose now oh high and mighty King Elessar, which will it be? Who will you 
save? The life of your son? Or the life of your friend? Because the other must 
die." Dyryn swiveled the point of his crossbow between Legolas and Eldarion as 
he spoke, tapping the wood of the thick bolt with his forefinger.

Aragorn’s grip on Legolas’ cloak tightened until his knuckles turned white as 
the horror of what Dyryn wanted to force him to do washed over him. "I choose 
myself," the king said without hesitation. "Kill me Dyryn and let the others be, 
I’m the one you really hate."

Dyryn shook his head. "You weren’t listening. That is not an option. Dying seems 
to me too easy for you now that I think it through. No. You are going to live, 
and find out just how much more painful that can be. So choose, which one are 
you going to condemn to death and which one will you save?"

"Aragorn..." Legolas whispered, wrapping his hand tighter in his friend’s sleeve 
and pulling slightly to get his attention. "I may be treading that path all 
ready. Take your son, take him back to Arwen, leave while you can and don’t look 
back my friend. Please."

Eldarion could not speak around the gag Kolir had shoved in his mouth earlier, 
but he made muffled sounds of protest and shook his head fiercely, trying to 
catch his father’s eye. He would not have his life purchased with the life of 
another. He had far too much of his father in him to tolerate such a thought and 
he would not see his father forfeit the life of his best friend or anyone else 
on his account.

Aragorn felt as if he had been caught between a hammer and an anvil. His heart 
was torn and he physically could not breathe. This was a choice he could not 
make. How could he possibly choose between his dear young son and the elf that 
had become as close as a brother to him? If Dyryn had wanted to force upon 
Aragorn the cruelest thing he could contrive, he had succeeded.

Grey rain slated down Aragorn’s face, making his dark tresses cling to his brow.

Choose.

But he could not choose. How could anyone make the choice being set before him? 
It was impossible. It would break a heart of stone, and right now, Aragorn was 
very aware that his heart was made of anything but.

Legolas’ blood covered his hands and ran down to mingle with the mud by his 
boots as he clung to the elf, willing the life to stay in his friend’s body. He 
was the King of Gondor and Arnor, but he could not command Legolas’ heart to 
keep beating, nor bind his spirit to this world if it should choose to set 
flight. The elf moaned softly and shuddered as the pain of his injuries grew.

"Stay with me Legolas," he whispered softly in elvish. "Don’t leave me like this 
my friend."

Beside him, Aragorn’s young son Eldarion struggled against the bonds that held 
him, the bonds that Aragorn was now helpless to remove. The boy’s quick 
breathing around the gag in his mouth clouded on the chilly air as Aragorn met 
his son’s eyes, wishing he had something to give the young man besides the 
burning knowledge of how very much his father loved him.

"So which will it be?" the voice of the man who had orchestrated this whole 
nightmare grated on Aragorn’s nerves, making him want more than anything to 
spring up and choke the life out of his sneering adversary... but any such move 
would forfeit all their lives.

"Your life is full of choices isn’t it? You’re *Highness*," the title was a 
slur. "So choose now or they both die."

The rain pelted as fast as Aragorn’s spinning thoughts. He couldn’t choose. He 
couldn’t. Had anyone ever been forced to make a crueler decision...?

Oh yes.

One had.

The memory came back to Aragorn in a rush, a day he had not thought of in many, 
many years. //"Oh father, I understand so much better now..."//

Their captor waved his bow impatiently. "Choose!"

Aragorn buried his face in the shoulder of Legolas’ cloak, letting his head sink 
down, burdened by the heavy choice being pressed upon him. He thought his heart 
was physically going to break in two. He wished he had died a dozen times before 
coming to this place, this impossible place with this choice he could not escape 
from.

"Aragorn..." Legolas’ voice was as firm and as fierce as he could make it around 
his injuries. He gripped his friend’s shoulder with an intensity that belied his 
weakness. "You know... what you chose. Th-that night in the house. Remember 
what-what you told your father? You were ready... and so am I. Do now what you 
know you have to and d-do not blame yourself. Ever. Do you understand me Estel? 
Do you?"

Aragorn barely shook his head, denying the memories. He squeezed his eyes 
tighter shut; not willing to accept his friend’s words, no more than Elrond had 
been willing to accept his on that long ago night of which Legolas spoke...

In his mind’s eye he saw again the deep, heartbreaking horror etched into the 
usually calm, kind face of his adopted father... perhaps the only time Aragorn 
had ever seen the elf lord nearly lose control. And now Aragorn felt that same 
dagger twisting in his own heart, ripping him apart and leaving him bleeding and 
raw.

Now he knew. At last he finally understood how Elrond must have felt all those 
many years ago. Understood it far too well, and, as usual, too late.

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART TEN*~

 

~~~~~~~~

I didn’t know that it was so cold and

You needed someone to show you the way.

So I took your hand and we figured out that

When the time comes I’ll take you away.

If you want to,

I can save you

I can take you away from here...

So lonely inside,

So busy out there

And all you wanted was somebody who cares.

I’m sinking slowly,

So hurry hold me

Your hand is all I have to keep me holding on...

--Michele Branch

~~~~~~~~

 

~*~

...80 years before...

~*~

 

"Father the storm’s getting worse!" Elrohir called above the howl of the wind, 
shouting to be heard, even though his father rode less than half a stone’s throw 
away on his right.

Snow was blowing everywhere, driven by the fury of the gale-force winds sweeping 
over the flat countryside.

Elladan and Elrohir both had the hoods of their cloaks pulled far down over 
their heads, attempting to shield their eyes against the driving snow and wind, 
but with little success. The cold was biting and chilled even their elven bodies 
to the bone.

Elrond nodded silently, his own hood pulled low and held in place by one gloved 
hand, while the other rested soothingly on the neck of his horse, who liked the 
storm even less than the elves did. Through the blinding snow he could barely 
even see the outline of the animal’s coal black head and ears. In this driving 
wind and whiteness, not even his elven eyes could help him much.

They were not yet even a quarter of the way back to Rivendell and in this 
blizzard that was a target too far off to hope for.

"The horses won’t take much more of this," he shook his head, returning his 
sons’ gazes steadily. "They have not our endurance for this biting cold. Over 
there, there is a thicket of trees. They may break the wind a little. We must 
try to shelter there until things improve. The storm cannot maintain this kind 
of fury forever." The elf lord pointed to a wavering black blur just at the edge 
of their vision and all three of them rode towards it.

As Elrond had said, once they were underneath the sheltering boughs of the pine 
trees, still arrayed in waving, tossing green despite the bitter cold, the wind 
lost some of its fury, blocked by the many thick trunks, boughs and the buffer 
of the pine needles; although their position was still far from comfortable, or 
safe.

The three elves dismounted and unrolled the blankets strapped behind them like 
saddlebags across their mounts. Covering the horses, who were shivering 
obviously now, the elves spoke soft words of comfort and warmth into the 
animals’ ears, which did actually seem to help them a little.

Elladan clenched his fingers tightly in his horse’s mane, his already pale 
knuckles going even whiter. "Sending us back out into this blizzard like wayward 
beggars at his doors..." he murmured, his anger hot enough to warm him despite 
the snow. "Does that man want to kill us all?"

Elrond laid a gentle hand on his son’s tense shoulder. Truly, if Mannyn had been 
anywhere near a decent man or at least a decent host, he would have invited the 
guests to stay, rather than forcing them to attempt the homeward journey in this 
weather, but the elf Lord had expected no better from the man and was not overly 
surprised.

Elladan pulled away roughly, huddling closer to his horse and burying his face 
against its neck. "I’d like to kill *him*!" he vented his muffled rage into the 
animal’s soft coat, ashamed of his own words as he said them, but burning up 
inside with so much anger, hurt and fear that he could not hold them back. "I’d 
like to throttle him until he chokes! And he’d deserve it!" Elladan shook with 
broken rage, refusing to look into his father’s face and see what he knew would 
be there. "It is his own fault that his son is dead! Not Estel’s!" The wind 
howled around them, even under the shelter of the trees its sharp bite took 
their breath away.

Elladan clenched his eyes tighter shut. Somewhere, out there, was Estel, with a 
cruel man whom Legolas had all but said was mistreating him. If the three elves 
were nearly freezing to death out here... what must be happening to his human 
brother?

"Hating Mannyn won’t lessen the storm, or bring Estel back to us." The words 
were soft and sad, and Elrond had rightly pegged the true reason for Elladan’s 
anger. He did not blame his son for feeling the way he did, it would be a lie to 
say he had not felt the same anger pass over him more than once when talking 
with Mannyn, but carrying that kind of hate only hurt the bearer and he did not 
want that for his son. Especially if... if something had happened to Estel.

Elrohir watched them quietly, but said nothing. His own heart was too heavy, 
although his sadness went quicker to grief than to anger, as his brother’s did.

Turning the younger elf around to face him, Elrond softly pried Elladan’s 
fingers free of the horse’s mane. He could feel the frozen chill of his son’s 
bare hands through his gloves. "Elladan, where are your gloves?" he asked 
somewhat sternly. Frostbite was not a problem they needed.

Elladan shrugged indifferently, looking away and still refusing to meet his 
father’s eyes. "I don’t know. I may have forgotten to bring them, or left them 
at Mannyn’s house. I don’t remember."

Elrond sighed. Elladan had to be truly disturbed to be that careless, for he was 
usually the more cautious of the twins. Pulling his own gloves off, Elrond 
placed them into his son’s hand and closed Elladan’s fingers around them. "You 
have a right to be angry. If any harm comes to Estel I will be the first to wish 
those who caused it the slowest death Illuvitar saw fit to give them," the elf 
lord said quietly, leaning close so his son could hear him. "But when someone 
wrongs you Elladan, you have a choice, you can let them sow anger and vengeance 
in your heart and so win a double victory over you, or you can take the truly 
difficult path and remain true to what you know is right, what is really in your 
heart, the wish for justice and not revenge." Elrond laid his hand gently over 
his son’s heart, his gaze willing the younger elf to look at him.

Elladan finally met his father’s eyes. "I know you are right. I’m sorry, I 
just..." he couldn’t finish.

"I know," Elrond pulled the younger elf close. "I know."

Elladan allowed his father to embrace him. He may have been older than the 
oldest trees in the glade around them in years, but sometimes he still felt very 
young. Thus was the natural oddity of elves, eternally old, perpetually young.

Elrohir held back, standing beside the horses and not wishing to interrupt, but 
Elrond saw his red-rimed eyes, although the absolute cold around them would have 
frozen tears before they could fall. He knew how much the twins loved their 
younger brother, and he understood their helpless pain all too well. Still 
holding Elladan gently with one arm, Elrond opened the other and beckoned for 
the younger of his twins to come to him as well. Although they looked most like 
their father, Elrond continually saw so much of their mother in them, so much so 
sometimes that it pained his heart at her memory. She had always carried her 
feelings near the surface, even as his sons seemed to, with a heart big enough 
to care and grieve for all of Middle Earth it seemed, but with a love so 
encompassing as to heal all its hurts as well. He missed her. Someday he would 
follow her over the sea and see her in happier times, but he knew that would not 
be his path for many, many years yet.

Elrohir accepted his father’s invitation and for several long moments they 
remained thus, drawing comfort from one another. Elrond held his sons’ shoulders 
gently, wishing them the solace he himself could not find. The fear that they 
would never see Estel again weighed heavily on his heart, bringing home once 
again just how much the young human truly had become a part of their family. 
Comfort he could give his sons, yet none he had for himself, but Elrond was deep 
and hard to read unless one looked closely into the depths of his eyes. Only in 
those ageless and yet ancient windows of his soul could you catch a glimpse of 
what he was really feeling in his heart.

All was silent for a few moments, for the wind had abated somewhat. Suddenly 
Elrond’s head, which had fallen to rest on the top of his sons’ heads, came up. 
Far away, as if in a memory or a dream, he thought he had heard something. 
Something out of place in the middle of this snow-covered desolation.

Elladan and Elrohir looked at him questioningly, but the elf lord placed his 
fingers to his lips in a request for silence, so they all stood quietly 
listening intently.

There, they heard it again, all of them this time. A faint, sweet sound, like a 
lone bird singing a soft, sad and slightly desperate song amid the ravages of 
the winter world... yet it was no bird, for there were words in the snatches of 
tune brought to their keen elven ears on the wind. Elvish words.

"It’s Legolas!" Elrohir recognized the voice first. "That’s Legolas’ voice, I’m 
almost sure of it!"

Elrond nodded once, immediately making his way back to his horse. "It is, and he 
is close. We must find him." They would have gone searching for the prince on 
his own account, but unspoken between them was the hope, however faint, that if 
they found Legolas, Aragorn may also be with him.

Once they left the shelter of the trees, the storm slammed into them full force 
again, but they battled it’s clutches, straining to trace the faint, broken 
wisps of song carried on the raging winds.

Elrond’s face was grim as they changed direction for the sixth time. Legolas’ 
song was getting closer and easier to hear, but it was faltering more frequently 
now and he read in it a weariness that should not have belonged to an elf. "We 
must hurry," he urged his sons and their mounts. "Or I fear we shall come there 
too late."

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

~~~~~~~~

I’m sinking slowly,

So hurry hold me

Your hand is all I have to keep me holding on...

~~~~~~~~

Legolas shivered uncontrollably, clutching Aragorn tightly to his chest and 
trying to give whatever warmth he had left to the ranger as the snow piled up 
around them. The rock ledge at their back was precious little protection and the 
drifts were creeping higher and closer. Night was fast approaching and the 
temperature would only keep going down. They would never survive until dawn.

Legolas knew they should probably move again, should try to find better 
shelter... but he was too weary now and too unfamiliar with the land. He felt 
completely drained and didn’t know if he could carry Aragorn any further, and 
even if he could, where would they go anyway?

So much of Legolas’ strength was going towards the violently shivering, nearly 
unresponsive young man clutched tightly in his arms that the elf barely even 
realized that his own body was freezing and slowly beginning to succumb to the 
bitter, bitter cold. And if he did notice, he did not seem to care. Either they 
made it out of here together, or neither of them did.

He kept singing because as long as he did, he could feel Aragorn holding on. 
Gripping the young man’s hand as tightly as his own frozen fingers allowed, 
Legolas provided the human with the only life-line he had to offer, the only 
anchor that was still holding Aragorn’s spirit from flying away beyond reach on 
the wings of the merciless wind. Unfortunately, Legolas knew he could not hold 
onto his friend by the force of his will forever. Yet while there was a breath 
of life left in his body, he would try.

His song had become a barely a frozen whisper, a sad lament for summer long 
gone, perhaps never to return. The tune was still sweet and clear, but the words 
began to stutter as the elf prince’s frozen lips became heavier and harder to 
move.

The cold wanted him. It wanted them both. Like a ravening beast it sought them, 
but Legolas still fought it, fought it for both of them. He forced himself to 
sing around frostbit lips and hurting throat, parched and frozen from the harsh 
dry air... because somehow, he knew, that when he stopped, they would both die.

He sang until his voice failed him and the freezing cold at last reached his 
heart. Legolas sank forward slowly, unable to fight any more on his own. Bowing 
his head over Aragorn’s, and resting his cheek against the top of the ranger’s 
head, Legolas closed his eyes. His strength was gone and there was nothing now 
between either he or Aragorn and the deathly cold that waited for them.

Away to the west, Elrond and his sons froze in heart-stopping alarm as they 
heard the song falter and die, ripped away by the merciless wind.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART ELEVEN*~

 

 

"Over here!" Elrond called sharply when he spotted the darker shapes through the 
blowing snow. Elladan and Elrohir, who had fanned out to either side in their 
desperate search, quickly followed their father’s voice back to him.

At the base of a small cliff, the three elves found what they had both wanted, 
and feared, most.

Legolas sat with his back against the wall; so much snow coated his long hair 
that it looked silver in the fading light instead of gold. The elf prince was 
clothed only in his tunic and leggings, wearing neither cloak nor jerkin. In his 
frozen arms he held Aragorn close, half-slumped over the form of the young 
ranger.

Aragorn was so cold his skin had picked up a whitish-blue tint, making the cruel 
bruises and cuts on his face and body stand out stark and painful against his 
pale flesh. He was wrapped in a blanket, his own cloak, Legolas’ cloak and 
Legolas’ over-tunic, which the elf had obviously given up in an attempt to save 
his friend. But when Elrond touched him the young ranger was cold. As cold as 
the snow. So was Legolas. For a heart-stopping instant the elvish lord thought 
both of the friends were dead and they had indeed come a few moments too late.

The two sat huddled together, unmoving and half-buried in a snowdrift that had 
blown up against the base of the cliff at their back. Elrond and the twins 
quickly shoveled the snow away from them with their hands.

"Estel? Estel!! Legolas? Estel!" Elrohir was shaking his little brother, 
desperately searching for some sign of life.

Gently Elrond pulled Elrohir back, pressing his fingers under the side of 
Aragorn’s chin. The elder elf felt nothing and he closed his eyes, unwilling to 
accept that. Unwilling to have to give that news to his sons. He placed his hand 
on Aragorn’s chest, pleading with heaven and anyone else that would hear him to 
find a heartbeat. There, under his hand, he felt it. Very faint, but 
unmistakably there. Aragorn was still drawing breath, however weak and tenuous 
it may be.

"He’s alive," Elrond could not keep the relief out of his voice. "Legolas too," 
he confirmed, finding a pulse on the prince somewhat easier. "But both of them 
are treading far too near the brink of death. The slightest wind may push them 
over. They must have warmth and treatment and very soon." The elf lord’s voice 
turned urgent and determined. He knew what that meant.

"We’ll never make it back to Rivendell in time for that," Elrohir shook his head 
in dismay. "It is yet two or three hour’s ride distant at least!"

"No indeed," Elrond shook his head as Elladan brought extra blankets from their 
packs and helped his father and brother wrap the two unresponsive friends in 
them. "Legolas might make it that far, but Estel never will. He is much too far 
gone already." The elder elf pressed his hands gently on either side of his 
youngest son’s face, assessing his condition gravely.

"Then there is only one choice," Elladan said grimly, with a touch of steel in 
his voice.

Elrond nodded. "I fear so. However foolish and ill advised it may seem, we must 
take them back to Mannyn’s house."

"But he wants to kill Estel! He’s the one that caused all of this!" Elrohir 
blinked in surprise, even though he had to admit the idea was the only one 
plausible. "We cannot take Estel there, and he will never admit us."

Elrond’s look was hard and dangerous as he rose to his feet, lifting Aragorn’s 
frozen, nearly lifeless body with him. "He will because he does not have a 
choice. We must hope that Mannyn is not foolish enough to wish to bring down the 
wrath of the elves upon his house, and we will see to Estel’s safety. But if he 
does not have a fire and proper care soon, it will not matter if he were taken 
to Valinor or Barad-dûr, it will be too late."

Elrohir questioned no more, understanding now, and he and Elladan lifted Legolas 
between them, carrying him back to their horses as Elrond carried Aragorn.

Elrond placed his youngest son before him on his horse and wrapped the soft, 
velvety folds of his fur-lined cape around the young Dùnadan, pulling Aragorn’s 
frozen body close and sharing his body warmth. The boy was so cold. Much, much 
too cold. Gently, Elrond pressed his son’s head against his breast, letting his 
fingers twine in Aragorn’s dark, unruly hair as he held the human firmly to him 
with his other arm around Aragorn’s shoulders. At Elrond’s word, his horse 
started off at a quick trot. The elves needed no reins to guide their steeds, 
and that left their hands free to hold their frozen companions.

Legolas was mounted up in front of Elrohir, who positioned him so that the 
prince’s back was to him, and he could hold him, securely wrapped in a warm 
blanket and his own cloak, even as Elrond had done for Estel.

Elladan rode slightly ahead of them, making sure the way was clear, for the 
blowing snow and fading light made things extremely treacherous, and they could 
risk no further shock to their precious, fragile burdens.

Elrohir was concerned by the dead chill he felt rolling off of Legolas’ body in 
his arms. Elves did not usually get that cold. Even in this weather, it 
surprised him greatly that the prince should have succumbed to the cold without 
any other sign of a visible injury to have weakened him to the frost’s deadly 
bite. He voiced this concern to his father.

"I don’t understand what is wrong with the prince," Elrohir said by way of a 
question as he rode next to his father, once the wind had begun to die down a 
little and made talking more convenient. "He is frozen through... but... he is 
an elf, not a human like Estel, prone to the rages of the elements."

Elrond glanced compassionately at the pale, cold face of the prince, resting on 
his son’s shoulder. At first he had wondered the same thing, but riding with 
Estel he had begun to get an idea of the young man’s extremely fragile state and 
he thought now that he understood what had happened.

"Legolas saved Estel," he said quietly. "He gave him so much of his own strength 
that it drained him, critically. He will recover I think, if only we can get him 
warm, dry and out of the elements, for his hurt is not as grievous as your 
brother’s. But it was a brave and caring thing he did. If we had not found them 
they both would surely have perished out there." The elf lord’s voice was soft. 
He understood because he had picked up where Legolas left off, supporting 
Aragorn’s fragile thread of life as much as he could with his love and his 
warmth and his life. But they had to get to shelter and fast or there would be 
nothing that even Elrond could do to save either of them.

Elrohir’s arms tightened slightly around the unconscious prince. "I already 
counted you a friend Legolas," he whispered softly into the prince’s ear. "But 
now I count you trice blessed for bringing him back to us..." his voice trailed 
off, caught in his own emotions.

Elrond heard his son’s quiet words and simply held Aragorn tighter. He 
remembered years and years ago, when his own sons had still been young children, 
and he had gone to comfort a hurting young elf prince though all the interests 
of his mission had seemed against such a move. He had saved Legolas’ life then, 
and now Legolas had saved his son’s. Indeed, Legolas and Aragorn had saved each 
other’s lives so many times since they met it seemed hard to keep track of them 
all. It was incredible sometimes; the way life worked out. Never quite the way 
you thought, but always amazingly vast in its complicated intricacies. Truly, 
you simply never knew what the future might bring.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

When Mannyn’s house came into view at last, Elrond wished he could say it was a 
welcome sight, but he knew that they were far from being out of danger. Still, 
any shelter was preferable to this storm. For the past half a mile a warg pack 
had been surreptitiously trailing them. They were the smaller members of the 
breed, closer in size to normal wolves than some of their larger kin, but they 
must be wild and dangerous creatures indeed to be out in weather such as this. 
The three elves were very aware of the situation, but the beasts had made no 
move on them and kept their distance thus far. However, the sooner they got 
indoors, the better.

No one was minding the estate’s main gates now and the drifting snow had 
rendered them unable to be closed, so the three horses rode swiftly through 
without hindrance.

Dismounting in the courtyard, Elrond brought Aragorn down with him, shifting the 
young ranger in his arms so that he could more easily carry him. Elladan took 
Legolas from his brother so Elrohir could dismount.

Legolas was beginning to stir and moaned softly when Elladan lifted him down. 
Suddenly his half-opened eyes registered blind alarm and he stiffened as his 
frozen mind tried to shake off the ice-crystals encumbering it. He didn’t know 
where he was or what was happening, but the one thing he could tell was that 
Aragorn was not in his arms anymore. Panic for his friend washed over him. 
"Aragorn? A-Ara-"

"Shh..." Elladan gently touched Legolas’ pale lips, silencing his fears. "It’s 
all right, we have him, we have you both. Come Legolas, we’ve got to get 
inside."

"Where...?" Legolas was still only barely functioning and couldn’t begin to see 
through the falling snow. The wind whipped his hair in his face and did not help 
matters. He recognized Elladan’s voice though, and for that he was grateful.

"Mannyn’s house unfortunately," Elladan said with a hint of disdain. "There is 
nowhere else near and Estel will not survive much longer in this cold." He tried 
to pick the elf prince up, but Legolas was having none of that; even half-frozen 
and barely conscious he insisted on at least trying to walk, so Elladan relented 
and wrapped his arm under Legolas’ armpits instead, supporting the staggering 
prince.

Legolas wasn’t at all pleased with Elladan’s words, but all his concentration 
was focused on trying to walk and stay conscious, so he said nothing more.

Mannyn’s old hostler, who had seen to their horses before, saw the three figures 
ride in from his little apartment in the side of the big house, beside the 
stables. He peered timidly out the stable door, surprised that anyone should be 
out in this weather. He did not recognize the elves through the blowing storm 
until Elrohir approached swiftly and spoke to him.

"Here," the young elf quickly handed charge of their horses off to the little 
man. "Please get them in out of the cold."

Elrond and Elladan were already heading up the path to the house’s front door.

"Hoi! Hoi! You can’t just go up there! Mas’er say’s he’s not to be disturbed! 
Hoi! Wait!" the little man dithered in alarm. He knew that Mannyn would not be 
at all pleased to see the elves again.

"Just see to the horses!" Elrohir said with more than a hint of impatience as he 
hurried to catch up to the rest of his family, shooting the bothersome human a 
somewhat fierce look of annoyance over his shoulder.

The hostler scurried back into the stable quickly, taking the horses with him. 
The elves frightened him and he had no wish to get on their bad side, no matter 
what his master said.

The small company mounted the flagstone steps quickly, although the steps 
themselves could no longer be seen under the snow. Elrond carried Aragorn in 
front of him like he had when the young ranger was a child, supporting Aragorn’s 
shoulders with one arm and his knees with the other. Elrond had the strength of 
the elves to aid him, but he almost did not need it. Aragorn had lost a lot of 
weight and seemed frighteningly unsubstantial in his arms. Whatever hurts the 
young human had taken had come about over a far longer period of time than just 
this one storm. Elrond’s face was grim. Someone had hurt his son and hurt him 
badly. That did not sit well with the elf at all. The young human’s head lolled 
lifelessly against Elrond’s shoulder as they reached the top of the stairs and 
Elrond pulled the boy closer to him. The last of the sun’s rays were fading from 
the sky and darkness was upon them. The temperature was dropping like a stone 
down a bottomless well and even the elf lord shivered at its severe bite.

Elladan, still supporting Legolas with one arm, pounded on the large wooden 
panels of Mannyn’s front door with his other. When the door was not answered in 
the next five seconds, Elladan pounded again, louder. Legolas had begun 
shivering violently again and the earth spun dizzily around him. He leaned 
heavily on the elf supporting him, letting his head rest against Elladan’s 
shoulder as he tried to keep the world from going black once more.

After what seemed a long time, Mannyn himself pulled the door open, holding a 
lantern to pierce the falling gloom and peering out at the elves on his steps as 
if they were pesky beggars, or highwaymen, or perhaps both. He was obviously 
surprised and not at all pleased to see them.

"What do you want?" he demanded with icy suspicion, making no move to let them 
in, although the storm was obviously very fierce and the cold nearly unbearable.

"We *want* to come in!" Elladan said somewhat hotly. His previous anger towards 
this man quickly beginning to smolder once more. "We have sick people here and 
they’ve got to get out of the elements, now!"

Mannyn’s gaze roamed dispassionately over Legolas’ pale, shivering form, to 
Elladan, and to Elrond behind them... then he saw who it was that the elf lord 
was holding in his arms and his eyes flashed ire no less hot than Elladan’s.

"How dare you bring that murderer to my house?! Do you think to mock me?" he 
spat angrily. He started to slam the door in their faces, but Elladan was too 
quick for him. With his free arm he caught the door, refusing to let it close. 
If he had not been supporting Legolas he might have ripped the wooden portal 
right off its hinges.

Elrohir was by his brother’s side quickly and the two of them easily forced the 
door open again, pushing Mannyn back into the corridor a few paces.

Elladan’s eyes flashed dangerously as he shifted Legolas weight. "You try to 
close that door on us again and I swear we will take it apart for you!"

Elrohir’s glare was hardly less deadly.

"You can’t just shove your way into my house!" Mannyn was shouting in both anger 
and fear, foolishly trying to push the door back against the twins.

In a very few moments the two young elves just might have made good their 
threat, but Elrond intervened before things could get out of hand.

Stepping up quickly into the space cleared by his son’s actions he locked eyes 
with Mannyn, silently forbidding the man to look away from him. "Listen to me 
Mannyn," Elrond said quietly, but with a soft lethalness that the human would 
have done well to heed. "We are not ruffians out to rob you nor beggars seeking 
charity. I will pay you for your services if that is what you desire, anything 
you want that is in my power to give you may have, but we must have a warm, dry 
place *immediately* or my son and his friend are going to die. And I will not 
let that happen. Do you understand me?"

Mannyn glared daggers at the elf lord, appearing to waver in indecision. In 
truth he would have liked to see all of them dead, but getting on the bad side 
of Lord Elrond and his sons was not something to take too lightly. He seemed on 
the verge of refusing again anyway, no matter how foolish that would have been, 
when Dolmè, roused by the heated voices in the hall, came up beside him.

"Oh don’t trouble yourself Master Mannyn, I’ll see to the visitors," she bustled 
up, intentionally taking the door handle out of her employer’s hand. "You 
shouldn’t ought to be bothering yourself with answering the door on a chill 
night like this, you’ll catch your death!" she shivered, not allowing a word in 
edgewise. "Caw but it’s cold out there, ain’t it? Do come in so we can stop 
letting all this draft into the passage," she pulled the door open and allowed 
the elves inside at last.

Dolmè knew exactly what she was doing. She had served Mannyn long enough to know 
his moods and when he was about to do something stupid before he’d actually 
thought it all the way through. Honestly, she might not have been too sorry if 
the elves had given the cruel old man what he deserved, but if trouble could be 
avoided, the better. And she would not see the visitors left out in the cold at 
any rate.

Mannyn scowled at the elderly woman, but gave way grudgingly as he realized that 
denying his unwelcome guests would do no good.

"Come in then!" Mannyn snapped, glaring at Elrond as the elf carried Aragorn 
quickly down the passage behind Dolmè who was busily leading the wet, snow-clad 
figures away to the guestrooms. "But keep your brats out of my sight!" he called 
after Elrond’s retreating back.

Elrond ignored the impossible man and kept his attention fixed on the 
unconscious boy in his arms as he and his sons followed Dolmè down the hall.

Legolas was very close to blacking out again as Elladan and Elrohir eased him 
down onto the bed in the first guestroom. Elrond proceeded on to the second 
room, a little further down the passage, and laid Aragorn’s limp form gently 
down on top of the deep blue bed-spread, quickly covering the young man with 
another quilt and two more blankets that had been sitting unused on a stand by 
the window.

"If you need anything else, give me a call," Dolmè told him, lingering in the 
doorway. She liked to watch the elves and the extreme gentleness with which 
Elrond handled the young man on the bed was touching. "I’d better go see to 
Master though, or he’ll be-"

"Dolmè? Dolmè!" Mannyn’s impatient voice called from somewhere further off in 
the house.

Dolmè sighed and rolled her eyes. "Well there he goes, sure enough. But do call 
if I can help, all right?"

"Thank you Dolmè," Elrond nodded his gratitude at her, both for her offer and 
for helping to avoid an incident a few minutes ago.

The woman left and Elrond turned back to Aragorn. The young human looked so pale 
and fragile, and so very young, silhouetted against the dark blankets. Elrond 
pushed back a wave of heartache as he smoothed the boy’s damp, dark hair back 
from his forehead.

His sons’ raised voices down the hall made the elf lord look up quickly.

"Lie still or I’ll knock you out again myself," Elladan was firmly but gently 
trying to keep Legolas in the bed he and his brother had placed him in. "You’re 
not going to help anyone if you kill yourself."

"I need to get to Aragorn..." Legolas was not all the way there and was moving 
solely on his last driving instinct to protect and sustain his friend. "You 
don’t understand! He needs me, he can’t-can’t..."

"Estel is in good hands Legolas," Elrond’s voice came in through the doorway as 
he entered the room. Gently, the elf lord placed his palm against the prince’s 
clammy forehead, seeming to have a calming effect on him with just his touch.

Legolas relaxed slightly and his hurting body slumped back against the headboard 
behind him. "But..."

"Shh," Elrond soothed him. "I know what you did, but you can support him no 
longer Legolas, let him go, your own body needs you now. Rest, regain your 
strength, I have taken over what you began and I will pull Estel through this. 
Rest now. Rest."

Legolas needed very little encouragement; his body was already failing him, 
refusing to support his consciousness any longer.

"Stay with him Elrohir," Elrond charged his son as Legolas’ eyes closed in utter 
exhaustion. "All he really needs is rest and time to regain what he has given 
away. There is some mild frostbite I think; you have the necessary things to 
treat it with you I believe. If you need anything else, come to me. But I must 
return to Estel." Aragorn’s condition was not nearly so certain as he had wanted 
Legolas to believe. "Elladan, come, I need your help."

Elladan followed closely on his father’s heels as the elder elf returned to 
Aragorn’s bedside. "How bad is it?" the younger elf was not fooled by his 
father’s words to the prince.

"Serious. Very serious I fear. There is some toxin, either a poison or a drug in 
his system that will need to be flushed out. He has taken grievous hurt from the 
cold and what other injures I may discover I do not even know yet." Elrond was 
candid with his son. The elf lord was very worried about his youngest.

"Legolas told me the man who had him, kept Estel drugged with something," 
Elladan commented in response to his father’s first statement, glancing 
painfully at the small form of his brother on the bed.

Elrond’s features hardened slightly and his lips thinned. "Then that is part of 
what we’re still dealing with. I must seek something to purge his system, but 
first we’ve got to get him warm. Would you build a fire please?" he gestured 
towards the stocked, but unlit fireplace in the corner of the room.

Elladan nodded and set to work at once.

Gently, Elrond eased Aragorn out of his wet, torn clothing. Blue-black bruises, 
welts and abrasions, some old and fading, some fresh and painful, were uncovered 
one by one as the elf Lord removed the soiled garments. Gently he washed the 
blood and dirt from his son’s face and body, putting salve on the torn flesh and 
lineament on the bruises. Aragorn flinched slightly and stirred, his brow 
knotted and his face pained.

Elrond spoke softly in elvish as he tended the young man, hoping that if Aragorn 
could hear him, his voice would be soothing. He had nothing to change the ranger 
into, so he asked Elladan to rummage through the old trunks and cedar chests 
that were shoved into the closet at the back of the room. Apparently these 
quarters doubled as storage space, for the elf found some garments that were 
about the right size and helped his father re-dress his younger brother in a 
soft, warm tunic of creamy wool with dark blue leggings.

"Take some of these clothes to your brother," Elrond instructed Elladan after 
they finished. "Help him get Legolas changed as well. These wet garments will do 
neither of them any good."

Elladan left and Elrond pressed the back of his hand against Estel’s forehead 
with some concern. Aragorn’s face was no longer pale, but beginning to flush 
deeply as the blood returned to his extremities. Elrond knew the thawing would 
be extremely painful, but what worried him more was that Aragorn’s rising 
temperature was quickly climbing far beyond the normally expected flush. A fever 
was setting in, fast and with a vengeance. The young ranger’s body was too weak 
and too far compromised to fight it.

Aragorn stirred restlessly under his father’s hand. His face reflected pain as 
he moaned softly, shifting uneasily under the covers.

"Shh... îdh Estel, ha mae," he whispered soothingly. "Rest Estel, it’s all 
right."

"F-father?" Aragorn murmured thickly, his eyes flittering momentarily open. 
Elrond could see the extreme fever-brightness burning in the young human’s 
glazed silver gaze. He could only barely see Estel behind those eyes, but it 
seemed that the boy was very far away.

"I’m here Estel, shh... rest now," he tried to soothe the boy back to sleep, but 
Aragorn’s face twisted with pain and he moaned again, turning away from Elrond’s 
touch and burying his face into the bedclothes. Aragorn felt like he was burning 
up. After the extreme cold, the warmth of his own thawing body was unbearable. 
His senses were on fire and his mind was cloudy. He had no control over his 
thoughts and his consciousness floated freely, only vaguely tethered to reality, 
part as a result of his near-deathly illness and partly because of the drugs 
that were even yet in his system.

Elrond laid his hand gently on the boy’s back, feeling the heat that was now 
radiating from the human’s body. Aragorn shuddered slightly under his hand, the 
quilts muffling his soft, dry sob.

"D-don’t..." the young ranger murmured, and Elrond started to pull back, but 
Aragorn kept talking. "Don’t leave. I-I’m sorry. Please father... don’t leave me 
this time!" the words were a mere begging whisper.

"I’m not going anywhere Estel," Elrond assured gently, rolling the young man 
onto his back once more and laying a cool, damp cloth on his feverish forehead. 
"I’ll always be here if you need me."

"No... no you’ll leave again..." Aragorn wasn’t really conscious. As far as he 
knew he was merely trapped in another Belithral hallucination. But these were 
the ones he could not stand... "Don’t... don’t please... I-I was cold, b-but now 
I’m so hot..." he tossed restlessly. "Make it stop... make it stop!"

Elrond realized the young man was delirious. "I wish I could Estel," he said 
earnestly, his heart tearing. "I wish I could."

Elladan reentered the room and stood quietly at the foot of his brother’s bed, 
watching in painful silence. Elrond motioned him closer and gestured to his bag, 
laying open on the floor. "Elladan, mix me up a hythinyns compound. We have to 
get something into his blood to fight the toxins and bring his temperature 
down."

Elladan nodded and complied quickly, well versed in his father’s many different 
healing potions, poultices, draughts and herbs. He prepared the required 
solution and Elrond mixed it with water, half-helping, half-forcing Aragorn to 
drink it.

As Elrond laid him back down, Aragorn’s breathing began to speed up. He was 
becoming more and more disturbed as reality slid ever further away from him. 
Elrond could only hope that the antitoxin he had given the boy would take effect 
quickly. It hurt him to see Aragorn this way.

The young Dùnadan tossed his head feverishly. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry! I-I know 
I’m just a man... too weak, I know it... b-but I need you..." the words became a 
stifled sob as his distress mounted. "I need you! Don’t turn away from me... no! 
Please no... don’t leave me again, please... father... please..."

Elrond pressed his eyes shut tightly for a moment and when he opened them again, 
Elladan could see that they glistened in the firelight, moist with the elven 
lord’s anguish. Taking both sides of Aragorn’s burning face in his hands, Elrond 
held the young man’s head still, leaning close and willing the boy to hear him.

"Listen to me Aragorn. Listen to me. I will not leave you. I have never turned 
my back on you and I never will. I would never reject you for being human, or 
weak, or for any other reason under this sun! Do you hear me Estel? I will not 
abandon you!" Elrond pleaded firmly, imploring Aragorn to hear him and 
understand.

For several long moments it seemed to the elf lord that he was struggling with 
the darkness of despair and illness that was keeping Aragorn’s spirit away from 
the light, but gradually, ever so gradually, the Dùnadan was responding to his 
call.

After what seemed a very long time, Aragorn blinked slowly, and for the first 
time that evening, Elrond could see his son in the ranger’s deep grey eyes once 
more. Aragorn just blinked testing the vision before him, trying to be sure this 
was real and not another drug induced nightmare.

Elrond squeezed his son’s hand, smiling gently. "Welcome back Estel, you’ve had 
us worried."

Aragorn smiled back weakly, almost too exhausted to even speak. "Father," he 
whispered as his eyes closed again on their own, content that the one before him 
was truly flesh and blood this time.

"Yes Estel, I am here," Elrond sat down on the bed, pulling the young ranger’s 
shoulders into his lap so Aragorn’s head could rest cradled against his chest. 
"I am here."

"I know," Aragorn murmured faintly as he fell back asleep. "I know."

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Legolas slept deep and sound. So deep was his slumber and so serious his 
exhaustion that he rested with closed eyes, his breathing soft and slow.

Elrohir, seated in the chair beside the sleeping elf’s bed, had treated the 
prince for minor frostbite on his fingers, but Legolas had been otherwise 
unharmed and the dark haired elf knew his charge was out of danger. Elladan had 
come in a few minutes ago to tell his brother that Estel too, was resting safely 
at last, although it had been touch and go for a long time.

Relieved and weary from cold and care, Elrohir leaned forward, resting his head 
and folded arms on the edge of Legolas’ bed. The room was warm and filled with 
the soothing sent of the herbs he had used on Legolas’ frostbite. Slowly, the 
elf drifted silently into an emotionally exhausted slumber.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Mannyn held the tumbler of wine so tightly in his fist that his grip almost 
threatened to pop the bowl of the cup from the stem. He glared at the fire 
dancing on the hearth before him with dark, brooding eyes.

Dolmè had retired for the evening about a half hour ago, but he could still see 
lights burning from the guest rooms commandeered by the elves, curse them.

Blast that fool of a bounty hunter for bungling his job! That straggly young 
whelp of a ranger should have been his! Should have been cringing under the most 
painful death that Mannyn could contrive to give him... not resting like a guest 
in his halls! And blast those stupid elves for interfering! What right did they 
have to keep sticking their noses into the affairs of the humans around them 
anyway? Rivendell held no dominion over him and Elrond was no king that Mannyn 
should have to obey him like a whipped cur...

Downing the drink and pouring himself another, Mannyn continued to stew, his ire 
rising slowly, notch by notch and expanding inside him like frozen water in a 
sealed jar... threatening to shatter the vessel that contained it.

Dolmè didn’t know he had the alcohol hidden in his chambers, interfering 
busybody that she was, she would never have let him alone about it if she had. 
Honestly, she forgot her place sometimes. Always so worried about his 
condition... Mannyn drained that glass as well and poured another, his shaking 
hand splashing the crimson liquid on the dark rug under his chair, splattering 
against the three empty bottles that had all ready fallen there. To hell with 
his condition! As if there was anything that would make it better or worse... 
what use was there fighting the inevitable? What point was there in living 
anyway?...

The old man’s eyes narrowed, dark, perilous fire kindling in their twisted 
depths. There was one thing left to live for: Vengeance. And once that was 
accomplished, who cared what happened?

Angrily, the man threw the empty wine bottle across the room. It smashed against 
the wall, bursting into a thousand pieces and streaking the stones red, as if 
with blood. Mannyn smiled, liking the analogy. There would be blood in this 
house tonight, one way or another.

The ranger was going to pay and so would the elves that protected him. Elrond 
would pay for his interference... yes he would pay most dear.

Tugging open the hidden compartment near the fireplace mantel, Mannyn shoved the 
extra wine bottles aside and pulled out a different kind of vial. A satisfied 
smile twisted his face. It was a good thing he hadn’t given that idiot Dyryn all 
the belithral...

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART TWELVE*~

 

~~~~~~~~

Everything I am

And everything in me

Wants to be the one you wanted me to be

I'll never let you down

Even if I could

I'd give up everything

If only for your good

So hold me when I'm here

Right me when I'm wrong

Hold me when I'm scared

You won't always be there

So love me when I'm gone

Love me when I'm gone...

--Three Doors Down

~~~~~~~~

 

 

Elrohir’s shoulders rose and fell steadily, his head still resting on his arms 
against Legolas’ bed. Even exhausted and emotionally run-out, his guard was up 
and his sleep light.

His head jerked up quickly, his dozing shattered when his sharp hearing detected 
the sound of barely audible footfalls and a presence that did not seem to be 
either his father or brother. But it was too late.

As quiet and as lethal as a mountain cat, even drunk and as emotionally 
disturbed as he was, Mannyn was already behind the elf. One hand clamped tightly 
on Elrohir’s shoulder while the other jabbed a short, sharp, belithral-laden 
spike into the side of the elf’s neck, delivering an almost instantly 
debilitating dose of the potent drug.

For a few moments Elrohir struggled, but his thrashing stilled quickly as the 
drug raced through his system, shutting down everything but his autonomous 
responses and rendering him completely unable to move.

"That’s better," Mannyn growled softly, yanking the limp elf up by his long 
brown hair. Holding Elrohir tightly to his chest with one arm around the elf’s 
waist, he dragged his conscious, but helpless captive down the passage, leaving 
the other elf still unconscious on the bed.

Elrond was sitting on the edge of Aragorn’s bed, with Elladan by his feet, 
cross-legged on the floor. Aragorn had been drifting in and out of consciousness 
for the past five minutes or so, but he was more or less aware at the moment and 
when Elrond looked up suddenly, he did as well.

In the doorway to their right stood Mannyn. He said nothing at first, but just 
stared at them with wild hatred in his eyes. In his arms he held Elrohir, who 
sagged limply against him. At Elrohir’s throat Mannyn clutched the hilt of a 
long, curved dagger. The blade was already pressed so roughly against the young 
elf’s neck that it had broken the skin and Elrohir’s throat was red with blood 
beneath the razor edge.

Elrond rose to his feet immediately, glaring daggers at the man who had dared 
treat his son that way, but a vicious pull on the knife by Elrohir’s already 
bleeding throat halted him where he stood.

"Move one more inch and he dies Master Elf," Mannyn threatened coldly. "That 
goes for your brats too!" he glared sharply at Elladan who had also jumped to 
his feet.

"Why you-" Elladan’s eyes burned with deadly fire as he advanced a pace on the 
man holding his twin hostage.

"Elladan!" Elrond’s arm snapped out to the side to restrain his eldest as he saw 
the way Mannyn’s hand tensed nervously on the knife. The elderly man’s fingers 
were already trembling with rage and who knew what else, he was in no state of 
mind to be pushed. He would kill Elrohir at a moments notice, of that Elrond was 
deadly sure.

"But he-" Elladan was nearly blind with fury and heartsick with concern. Elrohir 
was not only his brother but his best friend, they completed one another, almost 
like two halves to the same person. He couldn’t stand seeing him like this.

"I said stay where you are!" Elrond commanded again, sharply. He knew how 
Elladan felt but the younger elf’s over-ready temper was not going to help them 
at this point.

"That’s smart Master Elrond, very smart," Mannyn hissed. "I hope you really are 
as wise as they say, because then you will hear me out and not cause your boy 
here a premature death!"

Aragorn had sat up with an extreme effort and leaned on his elbows, watching 
what was unfolding from behind Elrond and Elladan with wide, quiet eyes. He 
desperately hoped that he had merely slid into another nightmare, but somehow he 
knew this was only too real.

Elrond’s gaze was deadly and he speared Mannyn with it. There were very few who 
could have stood up to the sheer wrath in the elf father’s eyes, but Mannyn was 
filled with so much insane rage and blood-lust that he did not waver.

"I will listen, but you listen to me first Mannyn, and listen very carefully," 
Elrond said, his voice quiet but perilous. "If you harm so much as one hair on 
that boy’s head I swear I will have your life for it and I do not make idle 
promises or threats. Let him go now, and I will forget this incident. Believe me 
Mannyn, you do not want to bring the wrath of the elves down upon your house in 
this manner. Let him go."

Mannyn chuckled. The crazed glint in his eye suggested that the swelling, frozen 
rage inside him had indeed finally cracked and shattered his heart and his mind, 
leaving behind only the mangled shards of anger and revenge twisting inside him. 
"So you think. But my life matters not, for you cannot take from me that which 
fate has already stolen!" he laughed again, a self-pleased cackle. "You see 
Master Elrond, not even you know everything. I’m dying. Dying! I may not live to 
see the dawn whether I invite your wrath or not! So you see, I have nothing to 
lose."

Elrond’s jaw hardened. Now he understood what he had sensed about the human 
earlier. Mannyn was ill, and it was an illness that was killing his body slowly, 
just as surely as the rage and hate he had grown inside him had slowly killed 
his soul.

"I’ve listened to you, now you listen to me," Mannyn continued. "I have no 
desire for this boy’s blood," his eyes narrowed and fixed on Aragorn, still on 
the bed behind Elrond and Elladan. "But that one I claim. He took my son from 
me, leaving me to die a lonely, bitter old man! I want his blood and I’ll have 
it! So you turn him over to me, or your son will die in his place."

Elrond’s eyes blazed. "You cannot expect me to..."

"Don’t think to put me off with your words!" Mannyn snapped, his thread of 
patience incredibly fragile. "Consider long and hard oh mighty elf lord before 
you answer me. That ranger’s not your son though you protect him, he’s as human 
as I am and no kin to elves. So unless you would trade his life as more dear 
than your own flesh and blood you will do as I say!"

Aragorn’s face was pale. Pushing himself to the edge of the bed he swung his 
legs down over the side. His head spun dizzily at the movement and at being 
upright, but he pressed it aside. "He’s right," the young man’s voice was quiet 
and resolved.

Elrond’s firm hand on his shoulder kept the young human from trying to stand up. 
"Be still Estel," the elf told him quietly, then turned back to Mannyn. "You do 
not know everything either Mannyn, as is obvious. Estel is my nephew by blood, 
no matter how many generations removed, but I say to you he is my son as surely 
as those that were born of my wife. And no child of mine will I sacrifice to 
feed your twisted sense of revenge! Estel fought a clean fight with your son, 
one he did not even desire, let it go and do not compound tragedy with atrocity! 
Free Elrohir and release your misguided claim on Estel’s blood." Elrond was 
usually an extremely composed being, but Mannyn had pushed him past the edge of 
patience.

"You are not in your own house Lord Elrond, and you cannot give orders," 
Mannyn’s voice grew cold. "If you insist on claiming the ranger then do so, but 
the choice is still set before you. Give him up to me, or I’ll slit this one’s 
throat right now! I would prefer the former, but either way will still give you 
the opportunity to experience the pain that I have felt because of those you 
claim as yours..."

Mannyn pressed the knife down harder and a soft moan of pain escaped Elrohir’s 
unresponsive lips. The drug held him still in its clutches and he was only 
semi-conscious, but he heard what was being demanded in return for his life and 
tried to force himself to speak, to tell them not to comply under any 
circumstances! But the words would not come; he did not have that much control 
over his body.

"Don’t think I won’t do it!" Mannyn threatened when no one spoke. With 
unexpected brutality, he moved the knife down and cut a quick, deep slash across 
the side of the base of Elrohir’s neck, deftly slicing the artery that lay near 
the surface there and causing bright, crimson blood to flow with alarming 
freedom. Elrohir’s body jerked reflexively, eliciting another soft, moaning 
gasp.

Elladan started and looked like he wanted to tear Mannyn’s head off, but he held 
himself still, knowing that any action on his part would only lay his brother’s 
life upon his head.

"Time is running out now, isn’t it?" Mannyn snarled. "You’re a healer, how long 
would you say he has until he bleeds to death? Mere minutes? Less than that? So 
choose swiftly before your choice is made for you! Which one will you save?"

Elrond saw the glazed, drugged pain in his son’s eyes as the ugly dark stain 
spread swiftly across the front of the young elf’s tunic, and the elf lord’s 
heart twisted inside him. Mannyn was right, because of it’s location and at the 
rate that wound was bleeding Elrohir had less than minutes to live if nothing 
was done. If he or Elladan moved, Elrohir was dead, if they did nothing, he 
would still die. Yet Elrond could never give Estel up to this man! How could he 
choose between his sons like this? It was unthinkable.

"You ask the impossible!" the elf lord was closer to losing control then anyone 
had ever seen him before and his voice trembled. Helpless anguish and ire pulsed 
through his heart, causing each throb to take his breath away. Elrohir’s life 
was draining away in front of him, but the only thing that would save his life 
was equally unthinkable...

Aragorn roughly shrugged Elrond’s hand off his shoulder, forcing himself to his 
feet and trying to push past the two elves in front of him. "Let him go!" he 
rasped slightly, wavering on his feet. He would never, ever let either of his 
brothers die for him! There was no choice to make, the answer was clear. "You 
can have me, let him go!"

Elladan grabbed his youngest brother somewhat roughly, holding the weakened 
ranger back and shooting an anguished, confused look at his father.

"No, Estel..." The gaze that Elrond turned on the young human ripped Aragorn’s 
heart in two. There were actual unshed tears in the elderly elf’s eyes, anguish 
that ranger could not begin to understand tearing his father’s heart apart. 
Aragorn set his jaw. There was no sense in this. They had to hurry or it would 
be too late! There was no question in the young man’s mind that it needed to be 
he and not Elrohir who died today, surely Elrond had to see it too.

"No father! You know this is right, you can’t ask me to let anyone else die in 
my place, least of all those I love more dear than life!" Aragorn staggered 
slightly as he tried to pull away from Elladan’s grip. He was still incredibly 
weak, but his voice was firm and determined.

"I’m not afraid to die, but I cannot live knowing..." he shook his head in 
frustration, his words tumbling and eluding him as his injured body clamored for 
his attention. It wasn’t completely true that he wasn’t afraid, but he was more 
terrified of the idea of living and knowing what his life had cost. Confound it 
all why didn’t they just let him do what he had to do?!

Aragorn caught his father’s eyes. "I’m ready," he whispered, begging Elrond to 
see in his eyes that it was the truth. "The choice isn’t yours, I’m making it; 
it’s my life to give! Let me go and never regret it. I’m ready."

Elrohir’s face was deadly pale and his eyes were half closed, his breathing 
shallow and ragged. Time was running out and Mannyn’s impatient glare watched 
the argument with cruel amusement. With any luck both the elf and the ranger 
would die. He would like that very much.

Elrond’s council was sought by many and his wisdom renowned... but at this 
moment no wisdom or council in the world could help the elf lord with the 
impossible situation at hand.

Mannyn cackled with wicked glee, very obviously having gone over the edge of 
sanity and deep into the cloudy dark of madness. "Time runs away like blood... 
so choose. Choose!"

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART THIRTEEN*~

 

Legolas was wandering beneath the stars under the beech trees near his home in 
his dreams when a sudden sense of danger tugged at him. In his exhausted, 
run-down state it was difficult to understand the warning and his aching body 
resisted the summons to consciousness, clinging to the twilight as long as it 
could, but at last slowly rising like a bubble rushing towards the surface of a 
pond he awoke.

Consciousness returned just in time for him to see Mannyn dragging one of 
Elrond’s sons down the passage, away from the room he was in. It looked like 
Elrohir... or was it Elladan? Legolas couldn’t tell the twins apart in his 
groggy state. A moment later he realized he couldn’t move either. His mind had 
come back to reality, but his body seemed to be following slower. He had pushed 
himself far further than was safe earlier and was reaping the results now.

He didn’t know how much later it was that he finally managed to pull himself out 
of the bed. He automatically reached for a weapon, but found with a start that 
he was not wearing his own clothes, but some completely unfamiliar garments. Not 
stopping to try to make sense of it around his pounding head, or look for the 
missing weapons, Legolas followed the sound of angry, distraught voices up the 
passage.

Something was wrong, very wrong, and he knew it.

"No father! You know this is right, you can’t ask me to let anyone else die in 
my place, least of all those I love more dear than life!" Legolas heard a voice 
he knew to be Aragorn’s speaking vehemently from the room ahead. The young 
ranger’s voice was still far too weak sounding for all his determination and the 
words chilled the elf prince’s heart.

"I’m not afraid to die, but I cannot live knowing..."

Legolas could see Mannyn’s back now, and Elrohir’s head slumped back against his 
shoulder... he could also see the blood that was dripping down onto the floor at 
their feet.

Aragorn caught his father’s eyes. "I’m ready," he whispered, begging Elrond to 
see in his eyes that it was the truth. "The choice isn’t yours, I’m making it; 
it’s my life to give! Let me go and never regret it. I’m ready."

The elf prince pressed himself back flat against the wall as he edged silently 
forward. He may have missed most of what had happened, but this bit of 
conversation was quite enough to let him know what was going on.

Mannyn cackled with wicked glee, very obviously having gone over the edge of 
sanity and deep into the cloudy dark of madness. "Time runs away like blood... 
so choose. Choose!"

Suddenly the threesome facing Mannyn saw Legolas’ head appear over the man’s 
shoulder. In one swift move, the prince reached around and grabbed the human’s 
blood-covered knife hand, jerking it away from Elrohir’s throat.

Mannyn started and half-turned, howling with inhuman rage and astonishment. With 
surprising strength for a human and a man his age, he knocked the weakened elf 
back against the wall and tried to twist his hand away from Legolas. The 
prince’s head banged painfully back against the corner of the wall, sending pain 
lancing through his awareness. Elrohir’s blood made everything slippery and hard 
to hang onto. The knife blade caught the inside of Legolas’ forearm, cutting a 
deep grove through his sleeve and gashing him from elbow to wrist.

Elrond and Elladan were there an instant later. Elladan yanked Mannyn back; 
seizing his wrist and twisting it almost hard enough to break it, the angry elf 
made the human drop his knife.

Legolas half-sank to his knees, holding his injured arm to his chest, his 
weakened body screaming in protest at the sudden exertion he had forced upon it 
before it was ready.

Aragorn was moving slower than his brother and father and got to the spot a few 
moments later.

With a snarl, Mannyn threw Elrohir, who was still clutched in his other arm, 
into Aragorn, throwing the unsteady ranger off-balance as he tried to catch his 
brother and resulting in both of them tumbling backward.

Elrond caught both his sons before they hit the ground, steadying and letting 
them down gently, his fingers instantly seeking out the flowing wound at the 
base of Elrohir’s neck. He had to stop the bleeding and stop it now.

For a moment Elladan’s attention was distracted with concern for his brothers 
and Mannyn took advantage of that. Ripping free of the elf’s inattentive grip he 
tossed his head back sharply, nailing Elladan square in the face with the back 
of his head and fleeing up the passage.

Elladan reeled back a pace, holding his bleeding nose and mouth with one hand 
before he recovered from the shock and took off up the passage after Mannyn.

Legolas pulled himself to his feet and hurried after them.

"Legolas!" Elrond called after him, but the prince did not hear, or if he did he 
did not choose to heed the warning. Elrond knew Legolas was not well yet and did 
not wish him to overtax himself, but the elf lord had his hands full with 
Elrohir right now.

They heard the front door open and shut several times, slamming with a bang and 
sending a freezing draft swirling through the house.

Elrond sighed softly as he pressed a clean, folded cloth against Elrohir’s 
wound. "Ah Elbereth..." he whispered quietly as he worked. "Don’t let Elladan do 
anything he will regret."

Aragorn looked up towards where his brother and his friend had disappeared and 
started to rise, but Elrond’s voice stopped him. "No Estel, I need you here, 
help me with your brother."

Immediately Aragorn’s attention was re-focused on the limp elf in his arms. He 
held Elrohir’s head and shoulders while Elrond struggled to stop the deadly 
bleeding. It was harder than it should have been to staunch and Elrond’s brow 
was creased in concern as he pulled away one soaked bandage and replaced it with 
another, seeking to pinch the vein on either side of the puncture with his 
skilled fingers. Yet he couldn’t risk stopping all blood flow to Elrohir’s brain 
or the young elf could end up permanently damaged. The wounded elf still did not 
move or respond to their worried entreaties, only his glazed eyes caught and 
held theirs.

"It’s th-the belithral," Aragorn said with concern as he watched his brother’s 
symptoms, blinking hard to clear the double vision creeping up on him. "That’s 
why he’s like this. Mannyn must have given him some. It does something to your 
blood..." the young ranger remembered all too well those hellish days on the 
mountain when even a split lip refused to stop bleeding for hours.

Elrond nodded in understanding. Pressing Aragorn’s hand over the compress on his 
brother’s wound, the elf lord quickly mixed up another hythinyns draught like he 
had used to detoxify Aragorn earlier.

"How long does it last Estel?" Elrond needed to know more about this drug, 
having only dealt with its waning effects on Aragorn and not knowing what it was 
like at full potency.

"It depends on the dose," Aragorn was trying hard to keep a clear head although 
a painful haze was creeping into his brain again. "Dyryn wanted me to be able to 
move, so after that first time he only gave me little amounts until my body had 
built up a bit of a tolerance to it and he started upping the dosage..." Aragorn 
pressed his eyes shut against the horribly fresh memories. "It causes complete 
paralysis for the first fifteen to twenty minutes, then, then you can move 
again, but every motion is a struggle, even blinking. That lasts for hours and 
hours. And it gives you waking nightmares, hallucinations," he finished quietly.

Elrond glanced with silent compassion at Aragorn’s drawn face, imagining the 
kind of pain the young human must have been going through. "It’s over Estel," he 
whispered gently as he administered the hythinyns to Elrohir. "And we’re going 
to get your brother through this as well. I just hope..." he looked away.

"What?" Aragorn was not about to let the elder elf off that easy. "It’s Mannyn 
and Elladan, isn’t it?"

Elrond smiled, soft and sad, as he met the young man’s eyes, nodding almost 
imperceptibly at his son’s keen observation. "It’s not that I do not wish 
justice for what that man has done..." Elrond glanced somewhat fiercely down at 
his bloodied, pale son and then back up at Aragorn, whose eyes were still 
haunted from the horror he had been through of late. "But... I fear for Elladan. 
His temper has always been hot, and after what happened to his mother it has 
only increased. If he kills Mannyn in the rage he is in now... it will wound his 
spirit deeply, perhaps forever... and then even if Elrohir lives, I may yet lose 
a son because of that madman," the elf lord swallowed hard and looked away. It 
was not a choice he could make for Elladan, no matter how badly he wanted to. 
The younger elf was going to have to choose for himself and live with that 
choice.

Aragorn laid his hand atop Elrond’s on Elrohir’s bandage and gave it a gentle 
squeeze. "We have to trust," he whispered softly. "That Elladan is stronger than 
that, and that he had a father who raised him to know the difference between 
justice and vengeance. And Legolas is with them... he will help if he can."

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

"Elladan don’t!" Legolas placed himself between the elf and the human who was on 
his back in the snow, cackling with crazed madness despite having been 
half-smothered.

The two elves had pursued Mannyn out of the house and into the snow-covered 
courtyard. There, Elladan had caught up with the man and taken him down. Legolas 
had gotten there just in time to keep Elladan from throttling the life out of 
the old man.

"Get out of the way! You saw what he did to my brothers! I’m going to rip his 
heart out and feed it to the wargs!" Elladan shouted at Legolas over the howl of 
the wind. There was a fierce rage burning in the dark-haired elf’s eyes that 
Legolas had never seen before in the twin’s usually pleasant and playful face.

"Don’t act before you think or you may regret it!" Legolas shook his head in 
concern. The prince shivered at the cold around them. His body was still 
critically weak and being out in the storm once more was quickly sapping 
whatever strength he had.

"Get out of my way!" Elladan shoved Legolas roughly and the prince stumbled, 
falling into the snow on top of his injured arm and staining the whiteness 
beneath him with his blood.

Legolas cried out softly, rolling over and clutching his arm, shivering 
violently from the freezing cold that was seeping back into his hurting body. He 
didn’t feel strong enough to rise, but his pained blue eyes looked up and caught 
Elladan’s raging grey ones.

Elladan stopped dead in his tracks. What was he doing? Was he so intent on his 
own revenge that he was willing to hurt Legolas to get it? What did that make 
him?

"When someone wrongs you Elladan, you have a choice..." his father’s voice came 
back to the elf clearly. Elladan took a deep breath and reached his hand down to 
help Legolas rise. He knew there was only one choice to make, and it was not the 
one he had been pursing. "I’m sorry," he whispered as he pulled Legolas to his 
feet. "I’m sorry."

Mannyn had scrambled to his feet as soon as the elves’ attention was away from 
him and bolted for the darkness of the estate’s outlying buildings, laughing 
hysterically as he plunged into the freezing night.

Deep in the shadows ahead, the sharp elven eyes behind the fleeing man saw the 
glitter of yellow fangs and the darker blackness of large bodies, low to the 
ground.

"Mannyn! Stop! Don’t go there!" Elladan and Legolas called after him, but the 
old man did not heed them and a moment later it was too late. The wargs, which 
the elves had seen prowling around on their way here, must have come in through 
the frozen-open gate the same as their own party had. The beasts sprang on 
Mannyn with a snarl as he ran heedlessly straight into the midst of their pack.

Neither of the elves had their bows with them and although they moved as quick 
as they could, by the time they broke up the wargs and sent them scattering away 
into the darkness, it was too late. Mannyn was already dead.

Elladan just stared for a moment, breathing hard. He suddenly found that he 
actually felt sorry for the old man, despite everything. The elf looked down at 
his own hands and closed his eyes, realizing how very close he had come to 
making the biggest mistake of his life.

Beside him, Legolas was almost gasping for breath, the cold air chilling his 
lungs and making them ache. The prince’s legs buckled suddenly and he fell to 
his knees in the snow.

Stooping, Elladan quickly wrapped Legolas’ good arm around his shoulder and once 
more supported the elf prince for the journey back into the house.

When the two elves entered the bedroom they found Elrohir laying on the bed, his 
wounds bandaged. The bleeding had stopped and Elrond was still bending over him. 
Aragorn half-leaned on the edge of the bed beside his brother and Dolmè, who had 
heard the commotion, was standing in the corner of the room with wide, concerned 
eyes.

Elladan eased Legolas into a chair and Aragorn made his way over quickly, 
wanting to look at the prince’s injured arm.

"Stop it Strider, you look ready to fall over yourself, I’m fine, go sit down," 
Legolas tried to brush him off, but the ranger was stubborn even though he truly 
did not look at all well.

Elrond came over and took Legolas’ arm from Aragorn, gently shooing the young 
man back to sit on the edge of the bed. Elrohir was out of danger and now they 
were simply waiting for the drug to completely leave his system and release him 
back to them.

As Elrond gently and expertly bound up Legolas’ injury, his eyes sought 
Elladan’s, almost fearing what he would find there. "Mannyn?" he asked quietly.

"He’s dead," Elladan replied, equally soft. "But I did not kill him."

Elrond let his breath out slowly in a small gesture of relief and smiled at his 
son. Elladan returned the smile.

"The wargs got to him before we could stop them. I’ll bring the body in, it 
should not be left like carrion for those foul beasts." Elladan said after a 
moment, turning to go back out. He hesitated, looking to Dolmè. "If there are no 
others who have a claim to the duty, I will see that he is buried as soon as the 
storm breaks."

Dolmè shook her head, speaking for the first time. "He’s got no kin, not even no 
friends I fear. I’ll make up a place for ‘im to lie until then..." she paused. 
"I’m sorry. I’m sorry this had to happen to you all. I don’t think any of you 
deserved it."

"It’s not your fault Dolmè," Elrond assured gently, finishing with Legolas and 
rising. "And everything has worked itself out in the end. I’m only sorry that 
Mannyn brought this upon himself. Such a sad waste..."

A soft sound behind them made them all turn. Elrohir was stirring and Aragorn 
was bending over him. The young ranger looked up with a smile. "He’s coming out 
of it."

Elrohir moaned softly, his hand going to his hurting neck. Elrond pushed his 
son’s hand back down gently so he wouldn’t disturb the bandages.

"All right, that is the *last* time I let Estel make the drinks..." he moaned 
with a weak grin at his little brother’s concerned face. "Ooh, I feel worse than 
when I let you talk me into that stupid drinking game with doctored ale 
pints..." he stopped and glanced somewhat sheepishly at his father, whose 
eyebrows were raised and then back at Aragorn who was flushing in embarrassment. 
"Oh, I forgot, I wasn’t supposed to mention that, was I?" he chuckled softly, 
wincing at the pain his mirth caused.

Aragorn laughed quietly. "Hey, it wasn’t me this time, you were sleeping on the 
job!"

"Only because you wore us all out," Elrohir murmured good-naturedly. "Honestly 
Estel, you humans do lead exhausting lives..."

All of them laughed softly, glad that they were all alive, and together.

 

~*~

...80 years later...

~*~

 

The captor that stood over Jonath’s king waved his bow impatiently. "Choose!" he 
yelled at the man that kneeled before him. For his part Aragorn did not flinch 
nor back down but the pain reflected in his eyes cut through the guard as he 
quietly crept closer to the glade opening.

The soldier watched as Aragorn buried his face in the shoulder of Legolas’ 
cloak. It looked as though the elf were dead, he was so pale and still in the 
king’s arms. Jonath and his contingent had moved stealthily down the embankment, 
easily picking up Eldarion’s blood trail when they reached the base of the 
cliff. Morning had dawned and the bleak grey light it lent had been enough for 
the men to track the elf and the king. It had been no small thing to carry the 
dwarf down the steep incline as he had insisted upon going with them and the 
guards had repeatedly had to shush the short being as he incessantly complained 
about their method of transporting him.

"If you would like I will leave you right here and come back for you later or 
you can keep silent and my men will bring you with us. The choice is yours." 
Jonath had whispered fiercely into the scowling, scrunched up face of the dwarf, 
indicating that he would leave Gimli right on the side of steep path down. After 
his mild threat the dwarf had said no more but the displeasure was written in 
every line of his wrinkled brow.

Such thoughts were far from the captain’s mind now though as he motioned his men 
to quietly surround the small glade. Once they had neared the enclosed glen, it 
had been easy to find their quarry as Dryryn’s voice carried on the early 
morning breeze. The old bounty hunter’s accomplices were so intent on the 
happenings with their employer and Gondor’s king that they did not notice the 
royal guard until it was too late. None of them had a chance to warn Dyryn and 
he continued his tirade, threatening to kill either the king’s son or the elf 
that Aragorn held tightly to him and Jonath’s men cut them down quickly and 
silently.

Trying to size up the situation, the captain of the guard was taken by surprise 
as Gimli limped up next to him, brushing the soldier out of his way. Jonath 
glared at his second in command as Draecyn quickly moved forward to intervene, 
attempting to hold the smaller being back out of the way but it was too late. 
The dwarf had quickly taken in the situation and his gaze fastened on his dying 
friend in the middle of the glade.

"NO!" Gimli’s heavily accented shout rang through the glen. Dropping his 
makeshift crutch, he stiffly stepped onto the edge of the hollow. Bracing 
himself on his good leg, the dwarf hefted his doubled headed axe and threw the 
heavy weapon into the glen with a shout akin to a war cry.

Surprised by the interruption, Dyryn turned at the sound of the dwarf’s shout. 
Rage was etched on his face at being found out and hindered in his desires for 
vengeance. There was no time for the bounty hunter to move as the flashing blade 
of the axe flew end over end towards him. The axe head buried itself in his 
chest lifting him off the ground and throwing him feet across glade away from 
the man that knelt in the grass holding the elf prince.

Kolir’s head jerked up in surprise, but before he could react one of the 
soldiers’ arrows found his heart and he fell soundlessly, the bolt on his weapon 
never having the chance to release.

With a pained cry Gimli fell to the forest floor, grabbing his broken leg high 
up on his thigh and rocking back and forth, trying to stave the sweep of pain 
from the pressure he placed on it. Draecyn dropped quickly to the ground next to 
the small being, talking quietly to Gimli, unable to shift his gaze from the 
happenings in the middle of the glen.

Aragorn, shocked by the sudden turn of event stared speechlessly at his men. 
Legolas had lost consciousness and was not even aware that they were no longer 
in danger. Aragorn’s tore his gaze from Gimli’s pained glance and looked at the 
pale motionless face of the elf he held.

It all happened so fast it almost seemed surreal, and Aragorn could barely 
process that the threat that had been was no more. It didn’t seem possible that 
it could have gone away so quickly. With his friend’s life slipping away between 
his fingers, he couldn’t even feel relieved just yet.

"Legolas?" Aragorn called softly, strands of hair plastered his face and fell 
into his eyes unheeded as he gently shook the elf. There was no response save 
the slight rise and fall of the prince’s chest.

Gimli struggled to break free of Draecyn’s gentle restraints, intent on entering 
the glen. "Legolas? Legolas!"

Jonath stepped carefully over the fallen dwarf and approached the king, 
cautiously.

Taking note of the intentions of his men and unsure if the clearing was safe 
Aragorn called out a warning to them, "Jonath! Do not enter, keep the men, back! 
There may be more traps, I do not know how many were set." He glanced about them 
wildly, trying to glimpse any trip wires that may still be hidden under the 
grass and leaves. Fear kept him rooted in his place.

Behind him Eldarion was vehemently shaking his head, trying to get the attention 
of the men. Tears streamed down his fair cheeks as he glanced at Dyryn’s dead 
body. He couldn’t get far enough away fast enough.

The young boy’s movements caught the captain’s eye and he relayed the message, 
"Eldarion says there are no more traps, my lord."

Aragorn turned quickly to look at his son. The youth’s huge blue eyes were 
locked onto his and he slowly shook his head, "There are no more my son?"

Eldarion shook his head once more, a soft sob breaking through the gag.

Turning back to Jonath, Aragorn plead with him, "Then quickly, help us!"

Guards poured into the grassy hollow taking up a defensive ring as Jonath 
dropped into the grass in front of his king. Blood covered Aragorn’s tunic and 
the captain was half-afraid that some of it was the man’s. "Are you hurt?"

Aragorn’s pain filled eyes raised to meet the others gaze, tears sparkled 
brightly on their rims, "No. No I am not. Please Jonath, get Eldarion down, 
please hurry, I think he’s hurt." He glanced back at the boy; blood stained his 
chest and ran in rivulets down his wrists mixing with the rain that drizzled 
lightly on them all. He wanted to do it himself, but he had only one set of 
arms, and right now he still feared to release Legolas, lest the elf let go of 
life entirely.

With a curt nod Jonath quickly stood to his feet and crossed to stand in front 
of Eldarion as Draecyn took his place in the grass in front of Aragorn, gently 
easing the elf out of his lieges arms and examining the deep wounds he had 
sustained. Carefully they lay the elf on his side as Draecyn fingered the bolt 
that protruded from his back.

"It needs to come out my lord. He is unconscious it would be best to remove it 
quickly and now. I know not if there was poison on it." The soldier spoke 
softly.

With a simple nod Aragorn agreed and pulled Legolas against him as Draecyn 
gripped the ugly black shaft of the bolt. Taking a deep breath and bracing his 
other hand against Legolas’ shoulder the guard swiftly pulled the weapon free, 
placing the arrow carefully on his pack so he could test it for poisons later.

The soldiers were buzzing around Legolas now, pressing folded cloths tightly 
against his wounds. Aragorn touched his friend’s clammy forehead softly. "Dartho 
Legolas..." he quietly whispered for the elf to hold on before turning to look 
to his son.

Jonath had finally finished removing Eldarion’s bonds and the prince pushed 
brusquely past the captain. Unwilling to let the man look him over, the boy 
rushed to his father’s side and fell into the king’s waiting arms.

Aragorn held the frightened child tightly, fearful himself of the way their 
situation had almost ended, of the lives of the ones he had almost lost. His son 
and his lifetime friend, the most priceless treasures he had... and yet he still 
may lose Legolas. Stopping the negative thoughts, he gently pushed his son back, 
carefully looking the boy over, noting the cut to his palm and the deep ‘x’ 
carved over his heart. Swiftly taking the boy’s arm and pushing his sleeve up, 
Aragorn was relieved to find that there were no cuts, no marks. Dyryn had not 
used the belithral on Eldarion as he had threatened.

However, the boy was trembling.

"You are hurt. Where?" The young prince simply shook his head no, unable to 
trust his voice.

Pulling his son back tightly against his chest Aragorn whispered softly, rocking 
the boy back and forth, "It’s alright. He’ll never hurt you again, I swear it. I 
am so sorry Eldarion. So sorry..." he pressed his eyes closed. "I never meant 
for this to happen."

Gimli was inconsolable and his fierce stubbornness made it difficult for the 
guards to see to his leg and make sure he had not wounded himself further. 
"Aragorn! Aragorn, how is Legolas?" He swatted the hands away from him that 
tried to hold him still, "Get me up! Get me up now I say! I need to be there. 
Aragorn!"

Unable to deal with all that had just happened and the requests being laid on 
him, Aragorn caught Jonath’s attention and motioned to the dwarf.

"Please bring him in here before he hurts himself further or one of the men. He 
is only upset. Let him see that Legolas lives and it will be well." The king 
sighed and smiled slightly, "Otherwise he will never settle down."

Turning his attention back to his son, Aragorn eased the boy onto the grass next 
to him as Gimli dropped heavily down on the other side of Draecyn, his thick 
stubby hands gently reaching out to Legolas.

"Legolas?" His unanswered question more of a soft choked whisper as he took in 
the blood that covered the elf’s tunic and the unnatural paleness of his 
friend’s face. It was just as he feared. Legolas would give of himself, his own 
life, before he let anything happen to anyone else.

"Damn elf..." the dwarf murmured inconsolably, his rough fingers wrapping 
tightly about the prince’s graceful, cold hand. "What do I keep telling you? You 
never listen to me, never... Legolas, Legolas don’t do this to me." The last was 
so soft it was almost inaudible.

Draecyn quietly bandaged the wounds using strips of cloth from a spare tunic 
that he found in his pack. He moved aside so the dwarf could scoot in closer.

"You mustn’t die." Gimli continued, softly talking to the elf. He turned huge 
dark eyes on Aragorn, imploring the king known for his healing talents, "You 
can’t let him die. Please don’t let him die."

Aragorn reached out a trembling hand and gently gripped Gimli’s shoulder, it 
surprised him how spent he truly was. "I promise I will do all in my power to 
keep him with us." He vowed, dropping his hand to the elf’s face, "Legolas, you 
cannot go my friend. You cannot go."

But Legolas was far beyond the reach of their words, or the touch of their 
sorrow, treading a line that became more and more blurred the further away it 
led him.

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART FOURTEEN*~

 

A soldier ran into the glen and breathlessly reported that they had secured the 
area. Dyryn and his men were all dead and there was no further threat. Upon 
hearing they were safe, Jonath called his men to him, "Break up the camp on the 
cliff and set it up down here. The wounded will never make the trip up the 
mountain face."

Aragorn stood slowly to his feet, followed by Eldarion who kept closely to his 
side. The young prince glanced once more at the body of his captor and the look 
of fear that passed his face was not lost on his father. "Jonath no." Aragorn 
corrected quietly, "Not here." He glanced around glade with haunted eyes, his 
own old memories and fears dogging his thoughts. "Let us move a fair pace away. 
And..." He glanced at his old tormentor, "and have the men, bury the dead. I 
have no more wish to remember them."

Stooping down, the king gently eased his hands under the rotund dwarf’s arms and 
helped his friend into a standing position, retrieving his dropped crutch and 
patting the worried dwarf compassionately on the back as he helped him move out 
of the soldiers way.

Nodding sympathetically at the king’s request Jonath motioned his men to remove 
Dyryn’s body from the glen. "We’ll set up camp north of where we descended from 
the plateau, it is not far from here and we can easily carry Legolas there."

At his instruction several guards began cutting down saplings from the 
surrounding forest that closed in about the glen, swiftly creating a crude, 
makeshift litter to carry Legolas on.

Jonath pulled Draecyn aside as Aragorn dropped back down next to Eldarion who 
had just finished helping the soldier carefully bind Legolas’ wounds. "Set up a 
tent for the king and Legolas." Jonath whispered.

"I fear he will not linger through the night." Draecyn responded, his voice low 
to match his superior’s.

"Do not say such things." Jonath pulled the man away from the small family that 
knelt on the grass, "The king is an expert healer, if anyone can save that elf 
it is Lord Aragorn."

"The wound is grievous..." the other was shaking his head. He didn’t like to say 
it, but he had honestly never seen a man recover from a wound as bad as the 
elf’s.

The captain of the guard glanced over the soldier’s shoulders and nodded, "Just 
go quickly, see that there is a place for them out of the elements and away from 
curious eyes."

Draecyn quickly stumbled out of the glade, commandeering help on his way to 
their new campsite.

Aragorn glanced sidelong at his son. The youth was trying valiantly to control 
his breathing around the soft sniffles that caught in his throat. "Come here." 
The king held the boys face against his own temple. "Quiet now. It will be 
well."

"It will not." Eldarion’s words were mere whispers but Aragorn heard him 
clearly, "It never will be again. It is my fault that Uncle Gimli’s leg is 
broken and now... because of me, Uncle Legolas will die."

"No one is dying tonight." Aragorn moved back and stared hard into his son’s 
eyes, "Do you hear me. No one." He glanced quickly at Gimli who was watching him 
intently. "And it was neither your fault nor yours Master dwarf." The king 
interrupted as the smaller being tried to speak. "This was something that has 
followed Legolas and I through the years although we thought it over long ago. 
If it is anyone’s fault, the fault lies with us and not either one of you."

He stared them both down smiling softly.

"Is there nothing I can do to help?" Gimli questioned.

"Yes. Pray the valar spare him. I will do all I can in my power to help him, but 
in the end, Legolas must decide if he wills to stay with us and fight or leave 
for other shores." Aragorn looked down at the elf laying so still upon the 
makeshift litter. He placed his hand gently over the elven heart and let his 
fingers feel the beating of it. A quiet laugh escaped his lips as he thought 
back to a time now long past when the elf had complained of Aragorn’s 
over-attentiveness whenever Legolas was ill. His quiet voice echoed in the 
king’s memories.

//"I suppose it should be comforting to know that if I wake up in a strange 
place, feeling like a cave troll used me for an anvil, and someone’s got their 
arms all over me, it’s probably you."//

"Rest my friend. I will wake you in the morning." He spoke softly to Legolas.

"Father? What is it?"

"Memories. Memories from a long time ago, something that happened in the past 
when we were both much younger." Aragorn smiled at the boy.

"Will you tell me someday?"

"Yes, I promise to tell you as soon as we are out of this." The king’s attention 
was diverted as Jonath quietly approached them. "My lord the camp is nearly set 
up, we should leave this place."

Aragorn nodded silently at his captain and stood to his feet as the soldiers 
moved in next to Legolas and carefully lifted the stretcher between them.

With help from Aragorn and Eldarion, Gimli was eased back to his feet once more 
and followed his friend out of the glen.

"My pack with the herbs and healing potions, was it brought down also?" Aragorn 
grabbed Jonath by the elbow steering him back to the center of the glade before 
carefully picking up the bolt that Draecyn had removed from Legolas’ shoulder.

"Yes my lord." The captain of the guard nodded slightly confused.

"Good, there is testing kit in it for poisons. Have the bolt tested and let me 
know the results." He passed the black arrow to Jonath before quickly trailing 
the others to the new site.

Aragorn jogged up next to Eldarion, catching up with his family. He pulled the 
boy close to him and they walked in silence next to Legolas. Reaching over his 
friends body, Aragorn placed his hand over the elf’s heart, content to feel the 
slight rise and fall of Legolas’ breathing, it calmed his fears to know that his 
friend still remained with them. There was always hope, something he had learned 
early in his life.

Jonath caught up with the others and walked for a spell quietly beside Eldarion. 
Aragorn glanced over the boy’s head and smiled at his guard, "Thank you Jonath."

The soldier nodded slowly before piercing his king with a penetrating stare. It 
was not unlike the look Aragorn used to receive from his adoptive father Elrond, 
when he had a lecture in mind. "But when we get back my liege we are going to 
have a serious talk about *why* it is that they call me your personal guard and 
what you will tell the queen so she doesn’t have me removed to jail warden."

The lighthearted admonishment worked and Aragorn laughed and shook his head. "Oh 
I hadn’t even thought about what I will tell Arwen." He glanced down at Eldarion 
who was watching him closely. "Or how will we will ever hide the fact that I let 
you get hurt."

"Its just a scratch." The boy smiled brilliantly.

"A scratch! You sound just like your uncle Legolas!"

"Well between the five of us, we’ll come up with a right good tale." Gimli piped 
up from the other side of the litter. He was working hard to keep his spirits up 
and believe the best. None of them could bear to linger on the fact that Legolas 
might yet die... they had been through so much together both in the recent and 
far away past... it just wasn’t conceivable.

"That we will have to." Jonath grumbled lightly.

"At least we have time to think about it." Aragorn’s gaze fell back to Legolas 
and he sobered once more.

"Do you mean to never tell mother the truth father?"

Arching an eyebrow in question he glanced across at Gimli who saved the king 
from having to answer, "Well young one, its not often wise to tell the women 
what you’ve been up to in detail per se, when you’ve been out doing the work 
that belongs to the males of your kind. See they just want to know that you’ve 
returned home and had a good time. Details are for later when the scary parts 
are well over and they are not displeased with you about anything."

His answer provoked laughter from the king and the soldiers that ringed the 
small grouping of people and the guards began to quietly reminisce and tell 
stories about their own dealings with the women in their lives and the messes 
they had had to try to gracefully talk themselves out of.

In the chatter the king and his friends were temporarily forgotten and Aragorn 
reached across Legolas and rested his hand on Gimli’s shoulder. The dwarf was 
starting to slow as the reached the edges of camp. Despite his lightheartedness, 
the dwarf was obviously still very concerned about the elf. "Worry not Gimli, 
Legolas is strong. You came at just the right time my friend, I don’t know what 
we would have done had you not been there."

Eldarion noticed that his uncle had slowed and he moved from under his father’s 
protective arm to walk alongside the dwarf, tucking his shoulder under Gimli’s 
and smiling at the dwarf, "Father’s right, it’ll be okay uncle Gimli. I’m so 
glad you came when you did."

Deep red blushed the dwarf’s cheeks and he tried to redirect the conversation 
away from himself, growling good-naturedly in embarrassment at all the 
attention. The small party surrounded closely by the contingent of the kings 
personal guards walked slowly under the wet sodden trees and out onto the wide 
open plain where the camp was still being set up. To the east the sun could 
barely be seen through the clouds as the storm began to break up.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The light from the campfires softly lit the interior of the makeshift tent that 
Aragorn’s men had quickly constructed for he and Legolas. The dim lighting made 
the elf look even more pale than he was.

Aragorn brushed the backs of his fingers against the prince’s cheek. Legolas was 
cold to the touch and the king’s breathing hitched slightly as the implications 
that his friend might not survive this ordeal, even though all the danger be 
over now, were driven even more deeply into his heart. He had done all he could 
for his friend; the rest was up to Legolas. As the night wore on however, it had 
become more and more painfully apparent that the elf was slipping away from them 
despite all that Aragorn could think to do for him.

The king sat crossed legged on the ground, a wadded up bedroll across his bent 
legs served as a makeshift pillow for Eldarion, who lay asleep in his father’s 
lap. Aragorn absently stroke the boy’s tangled dark hair.

His thoughts rolled through the day’s events and he closed his eyes tightly 
against the fear and sorrow that constricted around his heart. Eldarion was 
fine. Besides a few cuts and bruises the boy was unharmed. He leaned down and 
buried his face in the young man’s hair gently kissing the top of his head. 
Eldarion stirred and pressed closer to his father. It had been with nervous 
reservation that he had asked to stay with Aragorn that night, his large eyes 
looking shyly up at his father through the wayward strands of his unkempt hair. 
Aragorn would never have refused him and he was glad that he had not. He needed 
the company now more than ever.

Shifting slightly, the king reached out for his pack and retrieved a small sack. 
He dumped the contents of the bag into his hand. The dried grasses and flowers 
spilling over his palm. Blowing gently on the athelas he added the herbs to a 
small pot of the mix boiling away merrily near Legolas’ head. The sweet smell 
filled the tent and washed away the ache in his heart, soothing and comforting. 
Eldarion smiled softly in his sleep and relaxed and even Legolas’ shallow 
breathing seemed to lose its ragged edge. If it did nothing else for the 
situation, at least the herb was a calming influence.

"Legolas," He spoke softly in the grey tongue to his unconscious friend, "you 
cannot leave me. It is I who am supposed to go before you. It just can’t be your 
time. Do you hear me?" He rested his free hand on the elf’s forehead. "Come back 
to me Legolas. Come back to the light." Letting his head fall forward the king 
allowed the tears to slip from under his eyelids. "Please." He whispered, not 
even knowing if anyone heard.

Legolas was finally at peace. It was quiet here where he was now and it did not 
hurt as it had before. He lay still in the calmness that surrounded him, 
allowing the blanket of comfort to smoother him with its soothing silence. He 
had a choice and he knew he must make it soon but he was unwilling to leave this 
place. Relaxing further in the calmness he ignored the quiet pleadings that 
barely touched his ears as he slowly let go.

Aragorn watched as the elf’s breathing lessened, each intake more shallow than 
the last. Legolas had chosen. The elf was dying.

A small sob escaped the human’s lips as he leaned forward over his friend, "No." 
He gently shook the elf, unwilling to let him leave. Unwilling to believe that 
their long friendship should end like this.

"Legolas, no." His tears dropped onto the elf’s tunic, staining the forest green 
suede an even darker shade. "Listen to me..." But his voice faltered and he 
could not go on.

Snatches of a tune that he had heard long ago on such a night, when he had had 
to choose between the painful embrace of life, or the temptingly sweet oblivion 
of death drifted back to him, words of warmth, a life-filled song full of the 
images of light and home and he began to hum the simple, sweet melody, softly 
singing the words of the parts he could remember.

Penetrating the comfortable oblivion that was pulling him in, something stirred 
Legolas; something woke him and wouldn’t let him rest any longer. It was time, 
it was time to go, or to stay. He had to decide. He pushed away the voices in 
his memory, unwilling to choose. His father and mother had now both gone on to 
the undying lands. His people where nearly all gone, had left middle earth long 
ago. The voices lied to him, pulling him back, telling him there was no home to 
return to, nothing worth fighting for on the other side of all that pain. So who 
was it that sang to him and why did the song sound so sad when those words 
should have come from a merry heart? The elf tried not to think, tried to simply 
block out the longing that he heard. There was no reason to go back, that was 
the way of pain, he knew, he had come from there.

"Legolas, please..." Soft broken words clearly cut through his indifference, 
breaking the song for a beat before it was taken up again.

"Estel." The word slipped softly from his lips. He was wrong, he did have a 
reason to return. Aragorn lived yet in middle earth and he had left Trelan and 
Raniean with the elves in Ithilien. They were not all of them gone and he was 
not alone. There was much to be done, more to return to. The darkness began to 
recede, draining away like rain water. He had chosen. There was no reason to 
remain here in the shadow.

"Legolas?" Aragorn leaned forward, trying not to waken Eldarion. He was sure 
that he heard the elf speak his name. "Legolas, come back."

The comfort of the softly spoken words helped lead the elf back to 
consciousness. The touch of his friend guided him through the pain to waking. 
Aragorn’s worried face was the first thing the elf saw as he tried to focus his 
eyes. He grimaced with the pain of the wounds he had sustained earlier and his 
breathing caught slightly. "Estel?"

"You live." Aragorn’s voice was so full of relief he almost choked on the words.

"I could not go."

"You almost did."

Legolas nodded slightly, "Yes. I almost did."

The smile on the human’s face warmed the elf’s heart. "But I couldn’t leave. You 
sing horribly my friend and you have the words all wrong." Legolas laughed 
softly, around the pain.

"You prissy elf." Tears flooded the man’s eyes and he leaned over and kissed the 
elf gently on his forehead. "I just can’t lose you yet."

"You aren’t. I swear, I’ll stay." Legolas held the man against him, his hand 
holding the back of Aragorn’s head gently.

When the king slowly sat up, Eldarion moved in his sleep, murmuring in agitation 
caught in a dream somewhere. Aragorn gently quieted the boy, laying his arm 
around the slim shoulders until Eldarion stilled.

"How is Eldarion? Is he all right?" Legolas turned his head to watch the two, 
smiling as the father comforted the young man.

Aragorn returned the smile knowingly, "He is fine. He suffered only cuts and 
bruises. Dyryn did not drug him or torture him. One of them cut his chest," The 
king lifted the boy’s tunic to carefully inspect the bandage that rested over 
the young man’s heart. "He will have a scar but he will be fine."

Legolas tried to move, but the jarring aggravated the damage that his body had 
sustained and he bit his lips to keep from crying out.

Aragorn carefully grabbed the edges of the bedroll Eldarion’s head rested on and 
moved the boy out of his lap, turning his full attention on the elf. "Here now, 
stay still." He pressed his hands lightly down on the prince’s tunic and held 
him in place. His fingers gently turning back the bandages that covered the 
holes in the elf’s body. "Do not move my friend. Your body needs time to heal. 
Your wounds are not good."

Shaking his head in regret, the king’s eyes met the blue ones locked onto his, 
"I am so sorry." He whispered in elvish, "I should have listened to you. You 
were right. None of this would have happened if I had not been so stubborn."

"Estel," Legolas laid his hand on the human’s shoulder as the king bent over 
him, "You could not have done otherwise, it was Eldarion. If it had been anyone 
else that Dyryn took, things would have ended up differently. That is why he 
took your son. He knew you would not think straight in regards to your own." The 
elf glanced at the boy sleeping soundly in the corner of the tent. "It was worth 
it."

Aragorn glanced back at his son, a smile creeping onto his face unconsciously, 
"It was. Thank you." He turned to gaze back down at his friend, "But it’s even 
better now that you are back."

The sounds of voices had alerted Jonath from his post just outside the entrance 
and he cautiously peeked his head into the tent. "Are you alright my king?"

Aragorn turned towards the captain of his guard, "Yes Jonath," He moved slightly 
aside so the warrior could see that the elf was watching him also, "Legolas had 
decided to stay."

A huge smile split Jonath’s face, and he sighed in relief, "Well good. Because I 
know of one very grumpy dwarf who has been highly agitated for the past few 
hours."

"Where is Gimli?" Legolas questioned, "Is he recovering?"

Jonath looked guiltily at Aragorn who motioned the man out with his hand.

"What?" Legolas turned worried eyes on his friend, "What happened?"

"Nothing really." Aragorn tried to hide the smile that crept onto his face, his 
act of feigned innocence reminded the elf of their early years.

"Estel..."

Aragorn laughed lightly, "I had him drugged. I have discovered that Dwarves 
become nearly unbearable when they are worried. He was very cranky Legolas and 
he was giving my men fits and I was afraid he would only injure himself further. 
So I put some of those sleeping herbs my father was so fond of using on us in 
his ale." The king looked guiltily at the elf, "He’s been asleep for some time 
now and the camp has had some peace."

"Strider!" The elf stared wide-eyed at the man in shock, "I cannot believe you 
did that. You know he’ll never let you live it down."

"He doesn’t have to know I did it." The human leaned over the elf smiling. "Now 
come on and help me here." He gently slid his hands under the elf’s back and 
eased the prince over onto his side, "I need to take a look at the wound in your 
shoulder."

Carefully he tended the wound, allowing the elf to lean against him for support. 
Repacking the puncture with athelas he helped Legolas lay back down. The elf 
still looked too pale for him, but he returned the pained smile that graced the 
fair being’s face. "I am so glad you are back."

With great weariness the elf sighed, allowing himself to slip back into sleep. 
"So am I Strider, so am I." He whispered.

"Rest my friend."

"Wake me in the morning?" The elf replied, the old request causing the king to 
laugh quietly.

"First light." Aragorn answered.

With a soft laugh the elf fell back to sleep.

 

___________________________________________________________

~*PART FIFTEEN*~

 

They had stayed on near Isengard at the foot of the embankment for several weeks 
while Legolas healed enough to travel. Eldarion’s wounds were barely visible 
now, mere scars that were mending themselves. He healed even faster than his 
father, with his mother’s elven blood in him.

He had grown restless and the fears that Dyryn’s captivity had invoked in him 
receded into the past with each day they remained. Aragorn was glad to see them 
go and encouraged the youth to accompany Draecyn and his men on their hunting 
and scouting forays. The king stood outside the tent he had occupied with 
Legolas for the last month, his arms crossed across his chest as he watched his 
son ride off with the soldiers. A smile lit the man’s face as he barely heard 
his son dare the older men to a race and spurred his horse on without heeding 
Draecyn’s warnings. He shook his head ruefully, so much of himself in the boy.

"That one will turn your hair grey." The soft jibe at his elbow caused Aragorn 
to jump slightly and turn towards the voice, although he already knew who it 
was. There were few save Arwen who could approach him so quietly and not have 
him notice.

"That he will." He laughed with a sigh.

Draecyn turned in his saddle and fixed Jonath with a pleading glare, raising his 
hands in defeat.

"Go after him!" The captain of the guard was yelling at his men, "Don’t let him 
out of your sight!"

"He has too much of his father in him." Legolas leaned heavily on a piece of 
wood that Aragorn had found and smoothed down. The branch’s natural growth had 
formed a perfect ‘y’, and the elf had been using the crutch as his body healed.

Aragorn turned and looked his friend over, his gaze intense, judging for himself 
whether or not the elf should even be up.

"Do not mother me, Strider." Legolas reverted to elvish, using his friends old 
nickname. "I will never get well with both you and Gimli hovering over me 
constantly."

"My, someone is very grouchy today." Aragorn tried to suppress his smile.

"Someone would like to return home."

Aragorn laughed aloud, his mirth contagious, "Oh if only father could see you 
now. He would never let me live it down." Aragorn frowned in mock consternation 
at the elf, perfectly imitating his elven father, "Just once I would very much 
like to see you come walking in under your own power."

The imitation was nearly perfect and caused the elf to laugh lightly, "Now if 
only you had pointed ears as you spoke those words, I would swear by the valar 
that your father stood here."

Aragorn cast his gaze back out to the plains, glimpsing the hunting party far on 
the other side of the rolling meadowlands. A sigh escaped his lips, "I miss him 
Legolas." It had been years now, since the Elven Lord had gone over the sea, 
along with Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and many of the elven kind. Yet part of 
Aragorn would always miss his adopted father. He was glad that Legolas and his 
brothers had not chosen to leave yet.

The elf’s hand tightened on his friend’s shoulder. "There was so much he knew. 
So much he taught me that I have even now forgotten. I almost lost you. I know 
he never would have made that mistake."

Quietness descended on the camp and Legolas let the easy silence hang between 
them. Lost in thought Aragorn shook his head.

"You will see him again Aragorn." The elf’s soft voice broke the stillness.

"Perhaps." Aragorn dropped his gaze and turned towards his friend, "But I was 
not under the impression that elves visited the Halls of Mandos." He smiled 
sadly.

Legolas simply shrugged, the smile that tugged at his lips causing the human to 
glower at him. "What know you that I don’t?"

"Did I say I knew anything?" The elf’s feigned innocence was unconvincing.

"You know sometimes Legolas I could swear you spent too much time with Gandalf, 
you begin to sounds like him at times." He walked over near the fire and helped 
the elf to sit on one of the large stones that ringed the pit.

"Then I will take that as a compliment, for Mithrandir is very wise."

Aragorn could not contain his laughter as he taunted his friend, "I did not say 
you were wise, I said you sounded like that old man!"

Trying to feign indignation Legolas gave a soft snort at the retort and easily 
changed the subject, "But truly I am ready to go home and I am well enough to 
travel. Let us be off tomorrow. It is time we returned."

"Very well, change the subject again. But one of these days I will get a 
straight answer out of you, you Silvan elf." Aragorn laughed, noting the 
misdirection and allowing the prince to have his secrecy as he sat down next to 
the elf.

"Oh don’t worry my old friend. One day I will speak plainly and then you will 
understand, although I truly think you will not believe me even then!"

With a shake of his head, Aragorn picked up Legolas’ original train of thought. 
Pressing the elf for information he was not ready to give was about as fruitful 
as asking Gandalf the White questions. "Are you sure you are travel ready? The 
road is long."

"I am sure. I would return home to Ithilien and see how Trelan and Rainean 
fare." He noted the way the man dropped his gaze and nodded slightly. "After I 
winter with you of course."

Aragorn’s face brightened. "I have missed you. Your work in Ithilien is deeply 
appreciated. But your friendship is what I treasure."

The smile that broke across the elf’s face was brilliant but he was interrupted 
by a commotion on the far side of camp as a horse came tearing into the 
encampment riderless.

"Is that not Draecyn’s mount?" Legolas questioned, unable to stifle the giggles 
as Jonath grabbed the steed’s reigns and vaulted in the saddle.

"Not again!" The captain of the guard muttered darkly before glancing at the 
king. "My lord it seems your son has again won a bet against my men. DO NOT 
leave this camp my liege. Hunting down one of you is enough to bring me to the 
end of my wits." With that warning he spurred the animal back the way it had 
come.

"I say we leave now and take a swift little trip back to Orthanc while he’s 
gone. It will take us no time to get back there." Aragorn leaned over next to 
the elf and whispered conspiratorially. He had no fear for Eldarion; the guards 
would keep the boy more than safe, even if they did want to kill him 
occasionally.

"You will be the death of him, you know that." Legolas just shook his head, 
grinning.

"Its good for him. Hones his tracking skills, gives him something to complain 
about and it gives me no small amount of joy." Aragorn grinned wickedly, "What 
say you?"

"You are horrible, you know that?"

"Where do you think Eldarion gets it from?" He stood from his seat and whistled 
a shrill piercing note. Brego cantered into the camp and stopped near his 
master, nuzzling the human. "Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" Gimli’s booming voice carried across the quiet encampment and 
elf and human turned as one, shushing the short being.

"Well if you are planning on escaping this retched plain then take me with you. 
I have grown tired of flat meadows." The dwarf grumped.

"I suggest we take him with us or he will most definitely give us away." Legolas 
whispered in Aragorn’s ear as he stood slowly behind the king.

"Speak plainly and do not whisper elf, its rude you know."

"Master dwarf, Legolas was only looking out for your welfare. Are you sure you 
are able to ride?" Aragorn taunted.

With an irritated harrumph the dwarf stomped the foot of his previously broken 
leg and pierced the two friends with an even glare, "I need no looking out for 
and I am as fit as the next person to ride a horse. Where is it?!" He glanced 
around them.

Legolas laughed at the small being that he come to love as deeply as any family 
member. He remembered the first time he had met the dwarf and how much he had 
held Gimli in contempt. Taking the proffered reigns that Aragorn held out for 
him, he smiled as the king moved off to a picket line and picked out the 
shortest of the fighting warhorses he could find, leading the stallion back to 
the rocks that ringed the firepit.

"If you want to accompany us master dwarf, you are going to have to get on this 
steed by yourself. Legolas is in no shape to help you up or sit with you and I 
can no longer toss you my friend." Aragorn raised an eyebrow at the glare the 
dwarf turned on him.

"Toss him?" Legolas asked inquisitively, "When have you ever tossed him?"

"Now! Now see here!" Gimli stomped forward, "You promised you would never tell 
the elf!" he stormed at the human.

"And I have not my friend." Aragorn smiled wickedly at the dwarf, "Now quickly 
mount this beast before we are caught or I will!"

"You tossed him?" Legolas glanced between the human and the dwarf. "Where was I 
when this happened?"

"You were..." Aragorn struggled to contain his laughter as the dwarf climbed 
onto the rock next to the horse and clumsily clambered into the saddle, "well 
you were preoccupied at the time." He handed the reigns to Gimli who snatched 
them away from the man.

"No more questions!" The king stopped them both from bickering as he mounted 
Brego. "Now quickly up behind me," he reached down and helped the elf to vault 
onto the horses bareback behind him, "before Jonath returns and we are caught."

"Ah so this is a secret?"

"Yes Gimli." Legolas answered, his tone like that of one who was speaking to a 
child. He wrapped his slender arms around Aragorn’s waist and glanced over at 
the dwarf as the King eased his horse into a gentle trot.

"So where is it that we are going?" Gimli finally asked when they were well away 
from the camp.

"We, master dwarf are going back to Orthanc, one last time. I would like to see 
its gardens again and perhaps walk through its halls now that it no longer bears 
the stench of evil that once held it sway." Aragorn answered softly as though 
lost in thought.

Legolas leaned around the human’s and shoulder and tightened his grip on the 
man’s waist, gently bringing Aragorn back to the present, "What are you thinking 
of?" He asked softly in elvish not bothering to translate his words for their 
dwarvish companion who rode next to them.

"I was thinking of priceless treasures. Their value and their rarity." He spoke 
common so that Gimli could follow their conversation.

The dwarf glanced at the mithril circle that sat on the king's brow, its 
beautifully crafted gem held fast to the precious metal glowed brightly in the 
sunlight. "Aye and we found many of those in that spire of Saruman’s."

Aragorn turned in his seat allowing his mount to have his head as he glanced at 
the dwarf and then turned to look over his shoulder at the elf that sat behind 
him. "No Gimli, those were not the treasures I was speaking of. For everything 
that was in Orthanc was made by the hands of a human or an elf or a dwarf and 
can be remade. I was thinking of those things that cannot be remade, that once 
lost are lost for an eternity." He paused and gazed back at the growing tower 
and its encompassing walls that loomed before them, thinking through his 
emotions before speaking again, "I meant you. And Legolas and Eldarion. And even 
Jonath. I meant our friends and loved ones. They are our most priceless 
treasures." He smiled over his shoulder as Legolas tightened his grip on the 
man’s waist and leaned forward to glimpse the human’s eyes. "Would you not 
agree?" He asked meeting Legolas’ steady open gaze.

"That I would." The elf replied softly in elvish. He unclasped his right hand 
from Aragorn and reached out towards the dwarf riding next to them, repeating 
himself softly in common, "That I would."

Gimli’s small thick hand laid gently against the elf’s upturned palm. "So would 
I my friends, so would I."

A trumpet blast from the camp behind them broke the moment and Aragorn burst out 
laughing. "That is Jonath," he replied to the curious glances of the others. "It 
is his new way of letting me know he knows I am gone and of alerting the 
others." Aragorn spurred his stead on, "Quickly, let's make the gate before he 
comes to drag us back."

"You know Arwen will never stand for that near the palace." Legolas leaned 
forward and spoke into the man’s ear.

"I know!" Aragorn glanced back, "The next time we sneak away, we are taking it 
with us!"

The laughter of the three friends broke across the gardens of Isengard, echoed 
by the trees that grew there, happy to once again be enjoyed by other living 
beings. A flock of myntails burst from the foliage on their right as they 
skidded to a stop near the steep stairs of Orthanc.

Aragorn glanced straight up the side of the dark shaft that pierced the sky. 
Thoughts of the near tragedies they had faced fell away and he leant his arm to 
Legolas as the elf slid off the horse and started up the steps. "Not so creepy 
anymore is it Strider?" He teased.

"Not now that there is firewood for the fireplaces no!" He laughed; sliding off 
of Brego’s broad back before joining Legolas who was helping Gimli off his 
horse.

The small dwarf grabbed their forearms and did not let them go when they had 
lowered him to the ground. "You are right Aragorn, friends ARE the greatest 
treasures of Middle Earth. I am sorry to say it has taken this dwarf far too 
long to realize that." He touched a stubby finger to the gem on the king’s 
circlet. "When all the jewels in the mines have been found we will still have 
each other."

"Truer spoken than you realize master elf." Legolas tightened his grip on the 
dwarf’s arm.

"And what do you know that I don’t?" Gimli squinted up at the elf.

"Don’t ask." Aragorn laughed and wrapped one arm around Legolas shoulders, 
turning the elf towards the stairs as he draped his other arm down across 
Gimli’s shoulders, "I have asked him the same thing and he would keep his secret 
so don’t even try. He says when the time is right."

"Is that so?" the dwarf gazed around the human.

Averting the questions he could not answer just yet, Legolas smiled wickedly, 
"Now tell me master dwarf what is this with allowing Strider to throw you?"

Gimli stammered as Aragorn dragged them both up the steps with him, going slowly 
to accommodate Legolas’ injuries and Gimli’s pace.

"Well I’ll tell you when you tell me about your time in Moria!" the dwarf spit 
out, finally recalling something about the elf that seemed to bother Legolas as 
much as his own secrets.

"I thought you had forgotten about that." Legolas rolled his eyes and pierced 
Aragorn with an irritated glare.

Seeing that he was suddenly caught between the two and had been the protagonist 
in both cases Aragorn swiftly danced up the steps ahead of his friends. "Last 
one in has to fetch the firewood!" He called back down to them.

Legolas stopped on the step he was on as Aragorn disappeared into the halls of 
Orthanc. "So very much like the Strider I have always known." He smiled and 
glanced at Gimli.

"Aye." The dwarf laughed, "Of the three of us... I think he never grew up."

"That he didn’t and for that I am glad." Legolas glanced sidelong at the dwarf. 
"Last one in..." he repeated and nimbly raced up the steps despite the pull on 
his injuries. His laughter echoed the halls as he called out for Aragorn, trying 
to follow his friend.

Gimli stood where he was his gaze fastened on the open doors, his thoughts years 
away. Slowly he nodded his head, it was good to have friends that never tired of 
his company. With a happy sigh he climbed the last few steps and stopped on the 
threshold. "That’s fine! Its always the dwarf that get the short end of the 
stick!" He called into the spiral of Orthanc.

The laughter of a human and the light musical mirth of an elf drifted down to 
him from the upper levels. He smiled to himself; yes friends were worth it all.

 

Epilogue:

 

When the blizzard finally passed, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas and Aragorn 
returned to Rivendell, leaving Dolmé and her family in charge of Mannyn’s now 
ownerless house. Elrond sent a message to Mirkwood via carrier-hawk to let 
Thranduil and the prince’s worried friends know that Legolas was all right and 
would be spending the remainder of the winter with them until the pass through 
the mountains became less perilous. The winter was much longer than usual, but 
when the snows finally melted, Legolas said his farewells and journeyed home.

That same spring, Gandalf came to Rivendell and Aragorn went away with him for a 
time, and it was the beginning of many long adventures that those two had 
together.

80 years later, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Eldarion and a highly un-amused captain 
Jonath did eventually return to Minas Tirith. Aragorn wore the recovered 
Elendilmir on his brow and there was great celebration and rejoicing among the 
people of Gondor at the return of the long lost ancient treasure.

"Ada!" a small, dark-haired bundle of joy and beauty ran across the courtyard 
and threw herself into her father’s arms. Aragorn swept his daughter off her 
feet and twirled her in the air, making her shriek in delight. Arwen was right 
behind, embracing first her husband, then her son.

Legolas and Gimli, both almost completely healed, smiled at one another over the 
reunion.

Aragorn held his daughter close, watching Eldarion protest good-naturedly as his 
mother fussed over him a little. Legolas caught his friend’s eyes. It was truly 
as they had spoken of before. These were the true treasures. Their family, their 
friends... forever.

"Aragorn, what happened to Eldarion?" Arwen straightened up, her fingers still 
gently resting on the faint scar that was visible through the open neck of his 
tunic.

Aragorn froze, his smile a trifle too innocent. "That’s... a very long story." 
He looked to his friends for help.

Legolas just grinned wickedly at the human as he saw the look that Arwen was 
giving him. "You are in so much trouble," he mouthed silently at Aragorn.

The King of Gondor and Arnor rolled his eyes. What else was new?

 

 

THE END