By: Cassia and Siobhan

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

___________________________________________________________

~*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*~

~*~

~*~

The ancient circle of Isengard had been broken years ago, although desolation had been replaced by flourishing plant life and trees once more, for the Ents had done much to repair the land.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*~

~*~

~*~

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...

~*~

~*~

"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?

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