-Rising Storm-

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (just being cautious)

Feedback: elf_master752@yahoo.com

Spoilers: Not yet really.

Disclaimer: Don’t own them, I’ll leave that to the Tolkien family and whoever. I make no profit either.

Summary: The shadow of Mordor is growing darker and spreading across the lands like a plague. Dunlendings have allied themselves with orcs, terrorizing the neighboring lands. Worse yet, it is heard that the head of this movement is inside the order of the Istari. A friend of Gandalf has been framed as the head of this evil plot. It is up to Aragorn and Legolas to clear his name before the order of the Istari bring him up as a traitor, allowing the real traitor to continue his scheme.

Note: Not all the names in this actually mean something. I couldn’t get enough info for that. As well as I know that this is not all accurate, I had limited resources. Fasse is an original character, in Quenya (as far as I can tell) means ‘Shaggy’. :)

Additional Note: This is set a few years at most before the Fellowship of the Ring and the beginning of the War of the Ring. So if that clears up any confusion… As well as, Aragorn is a Ranger by now, that is why you will see him referred to as Strider. Also, from terrain on most maps, I think that Dunland was more plain land than forest, but I’m setting the ‘city’ of Dunland

Hoof beats pounded the earth like hammers on a dwarven anvil. Mane, tail and rider’s hair flashed in the brightly rising sun. One of the mighty horses let free a great bugle of joy as it bore onward at a breathtaking speed. The four awe-inspiring beasts ran free over the plains, free of bit or bridle.

Elrohir laughed as the wind caught his hair sending a dark streaming tail behind him, he urged his blue roan forward, who was all too willing to obey. Beside him his twin brother, foster brother and the elf prince - just as close as a brother - raced neck and neck with his roan stallion. He saw that all were grinning just as broadly as he as the thrill of the ride charged their hearts.

Aragorn noticed his brother’s glance, "Shouldn’t you keep your eyes before you Elrohir?" He yelled to be heard over the whistle of the wind.

"Nay! Of course not, my Fanyare will not stumble, unlike your old ___!" Elrohir jested. Fanyare seemed to leap forward as if to try to prove his riders boast.

"Save your breath, or do you wish for the wrath of Ralamir to fall on your head?" Aragorn laughed aloud.

"Surely you do not think that any of your steeds, though noble they are, can best my own Cantaris?" Elladen broke in.

Elrohir and Aragorn could hardly hear him over the rush of wind, but could figure out his challenge without any difficulty.

Of course Legolas would not let his own mount be outspoken. Surely, his steed was a beauty to the eye. Falmarin was an iron gray, his dappled coat shone in the light of the sun, his mane was unusually lighter than his darkly dappled coat. Mane and tail streamed brightly in the wind. With neck arched high, the horse was a lithe as his rider. Compared to the three other stallions, he was the smallest in height and build. But unlike the other three’s pumping strides, he held a fluid grace which was absent from the other three horses.

"You all speak well of your horses, and fine they are among their race, but Falmarin is far above any of your horses’ league!" Legolas laughed.

"Ai! At last I see your boastful and arrogant side, son of Thranduil! Your horse is far to small, he hardly has enough lung to keep up an easy canter," Elladen teased.

"You are full of air, he may be small but his power lays in his last strides. At least I have the means of backing up my claim, unlike certain elves, and a man, I know."

Elladen smiled even wider, Cantaris, Ralamir, Fanyare and Falmarin all alike seemed to sense a challenge broaching.

"Big words for foolish mouths," Aragorn prodded, "I would see Ralamir defeat you all."

"Talk! You humans, all you do is talk! I would see you carry out such a statement," Elrohir said.

Aragorn felt Ralamir tensing beneath him, powerful muscles rippled underneath a dark bay coat, ready to spring at the slightest bidding. Likewise it was with the other three riders, they were already traveling at a great pace, but they knew their wondrous steeds abilities, and knew how much more they could give, "Ha! Careful what you say brother, or you might get it."

"Elrohir is right. Estel, you do talk to much," With those words, Elladen leaned forward over Cantaris’s proud, light grey neck and released his horse into a full gallop, "Last one to the south stream tells father why all you youngster’s horses are lathered with sweat!"

Legolas laughed at Elrohir and Estel’s mockingly outraged faces as they yelled in unison, "No fair!"

It wasn’t long before all four were neck and neck once again. The golden plainland flew by them, the thrill of the ride rendering them thoughtless except for the excitement of the race. The wind caught their laughter and added to it as it whistled past. Elrohir suddenly let out a shout to his horse, Fanyare lunged ahead, gaining a good neck length on Legolas, Elladen and Aragorn.

For a half a minute the standings remained with Elrohir and Fanyare in the lead, the other three waiting for their opportune moment to spur ahead.

The four pounded on, adrenaline pumping through their veins. Ahead, about a mile, Aragorn could dimly see the stream. He was taken off guard when he saw Legolas pull Falmarin back, slowing his pace just enough to drop back about a neck length from Elladen and Aragorn. He felt a spike of worry that something might be amiss, but was reassured when Legolas flashed him an impish grin.

Falmarin tossed his head in impatience as Legolas pulled him back with a quiet word, "Your strength is not your endurance at these speeds, Falmarin. You must wait my friend," He whispered as he leaned towards the horse’s pricked ears. Falmarin gave a long suffering snort.

Legolas smiled and sat back, waiting.

Ahead, a good horse length, Aragorn had gained on Elrohir with Elladen closing in as the stream drew nearer. Glancing back briefly over his shoulder as Ralamir powered on, he saw that Legolas had dropped back even farther. He mentally shrugged and turned forward, melding himself with Ralamir as they neared the stream. Ralamir let forth a great bugle then surged forward, taking the lead on his brothers. Ralamir’s hooves churned the earth beneath. Elladen and Elrohir both prodded their steeds on but Ralamir lunged ahead with great strides.

The stream neared, Aragorn felt the tingling of triumph beginning to edge at his heart. Ralamir seemed to feel it as well as they pulled father away from Elladen and Elrohir, almost a horse length and a half now. Just as he was sure he had the victory, a gray blur, streaked past his right. Aragorn shouted in surprise, Ralamir skidded to a halt beneath him in equaled alarm. Carefully honed reflexive grip was all that saved him from tumbling over Ralamir’s head. There was a flash of flaxen hair and flowing tail.

From a distance they looked like a dark arrow speeding across the plains, the petite horse ate up the ground in long fluid strides. Horse and rider’s hair streamed like the helms of the Rohirrim behind them. Falmarin had raced from two horse lengths behind to nearly three and a half ahead in less than twenty seconds. It was true that Falmarin was not the long distance runner, but kept at a steady gallop, he had the ability to shoot forth like an arrow from a bow and take the lead at the last second.

Legolas bent over the Falmarin’s graceful neck as the delicate but strong body lifted upwards as he leaped over the narrow stream. Sitting back, he hardly felt the impact of Falmarin’s hooves with solid ground on the other side of the stream. Falmarin rolled back on his hind hooves and pivoted, prancing on his front. Legolas threw his head back and laughed as he saw Aragorn sitting dazed upon the bay Ralamir, who seemed also to hold a puzzled expression.

A moment later the twins splashed across the stream at a trot. Elladen pulled his light grey up beside Legolas, "Ai! Why do I not think that was a fair tactic?"

The three allowed their steeds to drop their heads and drink from the cool water of the stream, "Are you insinuating that I cheated?" queried the wood elf of Mirkwood.

Elrohir pursed his lips, "Oh, of course not my prince," he said sarcastically, while elbowing his elder twin brother in the ribs from beside him on Fanyare, "It was a fairly run race, Legolas. Have no fear, I believe my brother here is just a bit ashamed at his defeat."

"Ashamed?" Scoffed Elladen, "Me? Of course not, for I am not the one who is dragging himself to the finish line with his tail between his legs," The elf said the last part slightly louder as he saw Aragorn riding Ralamir slowly in.

Legolas and Elrohir chuckled at Elladen’s teasing jab. Aragorn glared darkly at the smirking elves as he crossed the stream at a walk. Fanyare, Cantaris and Falmarin seemed to be making their own prods at Ralamir as he came in with head slightly more lowered than usual from the fine horses normally noble bearing.

"Well if you hadn’t come tearing past me like a demon out of the fires of Mordor, then maybe you wouldn’t have scared a decade off my life," Aragorn said.

Legolas laughed, "Oh yes, I’m sorry, I fear I forget that you are only mortal and that mortals scare easily."

Elladen nodded, "Not to mention their pride squashed with a trivial beating in a race."

Aragorn felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "Ha! This is the day! The thought of an elf speaking of men’s pride when they do not realize their own stiff necked arrogance!"

"It matters little I’m afraid," Elrohir grinned, "You’ll still be the one telling Father of your little romp."

Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly, "’My little romp?’ Why is it always my fault? Wasn’t it…"

He stopped when he saw Elladen lean over to Legolas and whisper just loud enough for him to hear, "Blame shifting, now isn’t that just like a human?"

A wider grin blossomed on Legolas’s face at the man’s mock outrage. He knew his friend could not stay sour for long with the banter of his two brothers.

"Oh, I give up on you three, you’re all hopeless," Aragorn shook his head bringing Ralamir around and started back towards the direction of Imladris.

Elrohir sat up, "Us? Hopeless? What could he possibly mean by that?"

Elladen shrugged in simulated ignorance.

Aragorn rolled his eyes, but with his back to them he had no need to hide his smile.

Legolas shook his head, "Come on you two, and you as well Estel, stop your sparing before we end up having to have a rematch over another dispute. I say, think of how much worse Lord Elrond would react when Estel had to tell him he lost twice and cost his horse sores."

Aragorn scoffed but couldn’t retort before Elladen muttered, "His horse wouldn’t be the only one with sores."

Aragorn sent Elladen and Legolas twin withering glares but otherwise remained wisely silent. He had resided long enough with the two twins to pick up that any word would mean fair game for sarcasm.

Ralamir had to defend his own pride as Falmarin, Fanyare and Cantaris, bobbed their heads and whinnied quietly to each other. The bay snorted and stamped a hoof, nudging Aragorn’s leg eyeing him imploringly, begging to be allowed to defend himself. When Aragorn shook his head reprovingly, he received a smart swat by a long black tail, "Ralamir!" he shouted in disapproval, "That was uncalled for, you should be more mature than to throw tantrums like those three. Or should I say, six," he threw a glance over his shoulder.

Ralamir tossed his head and snorted, sounding for all the world like a concluding, "So there."

The elven prince nudged Falmarin forward trotting past Ralamir and Aragorn, "I see there will be no end to this useless bickering. I would rather have a good meal than listen to you three arguing…"

"Discussing," Elladen insisted, interrupting Legolas.

"What difference does it make?" Laughed Legolas, "Either way you are keeping me from a meal - that is at this very moment growing cold - with your ‘discussing’."

Aragorn rode up beside Legolas, "Now you are starting to sound like one of those hobbits my friend!"

"No, I’m just making up for all those meals you’ve made me miss because of your frolicking about with orcs and the like," The elf teased.

"Frolicking? I do not ‘frolic’ with orcs, or anything else for that matter."

"Well then what do you call the time you…"

"Ai!" Cried Elrohir from beside them, "You two are worse than Elladen and I!"

"Never!" Both Aragorn and Legolas said adamantly in unison.

"They make it sound like a bad thing," Elladen whispered to his twin sibling.

The foursome teased each other and joked their way back across the sun-flooded plains, content in each other’s company, every care and worry swept aside with the gentle breeze. The very thought of tomorrow bringing trial seemed preposterous. At least for now. So lost in the bliss of companionship of both elf, man and horse, they never saw the brief, fiery glow which flared behind them beyond the line of high razor ridged mountains. As suddenly as it appeared, the choking darkness diminished, leaving the sky blue, and the larks to sing.

For now…

"You son of an orc!"

Lord Elrond peaked a fine eyebrow at the hissed curse of his youngest – by minutes – blood son, Elrohir. Estel had made the unwise call of referring to the elf’s role in the race which Elrond was now just hearing about at the four’s return.

"…As I was saying, Elrohir provoked me into defending my horse’s name. As you so well know Father, I would never simply race for my own title or elevation of rank from my lowly state…"

Elrohir turned red in agitation, "Lowly state, provoked? I merely stated an observation!"

"Either way," Elrond cut in, "You know how I feel about wearing your horses out without need. And," He remarked louder when Aragorn’s mouth opened, "And I do not see that simply defending your pride as a dire need."

Legolas discreetly covered his mouth with a hand. Not wishing to draw attention to himself with the grin beneath.

Unfortunately, the eyes of the elven lord were too keen, "And you son of Thranduil, how were you involved in this, escapade?"

The elven prince shook his head, "I was simply a unimportant variable."

"A simple variable that beat the pride-defending human," Elladen muttered.

"Excuse me? It is not my pride I needed to defend. At least I have pride to guard if need be."

"Estel, there is no need to get upset," the elder elf sighed. "I’m not mad about the race, or anything else for that matter. I just would rather not see your death be the result of your false idea that you need to prove yourself."

"Aye, that would be a shame."

The three younger elves and human turned at the familiar voice that sounded behind them. Elrond smiled, "Ah, Mithrandir, you have come!"

The grey wizard laughed at the openly surprised expressions on Elladen, Elrohir, Aragorn and Legolas’ faces, "Yes, yes. I hope I have not interrupted anything, important."

"No," interjected Aragorn hastily, "We were merely setting straight a misunderstanding."

Gandalf nodded slowly, his bushy eyebrows peaked. Elrond shushed the young human then beckoned for Gandalf to walk with him, "I had a feeling you would drop by presently, though I knew not when."

"Why did you not tell us Father?" Asked Elladen indignantly.

"The young need not know all that is about in their elder’s minds," Elrond shared a knowing look with the wizard.

Gandalf’s lips twitched with a faint smile, "As I said earlier, I hope my arrival has not come at an inopportune time," the lined face turned serious. "But I have need to speak with you Lord Elrond."

Elrond was silent for a moment, then nodded, "Well then, I would see that you have a meal first and rest if need be. As it were, we were already preparing to join for the noon meal."

"That would be a welcome diversion."

"Has your horse been tended to?"

Gandalf shook his head, "There is no need to trouble yourself with that, he has already found himself comfortable with his kindred."

"And well that is," Elrond eyed the four tag-alongs wryly, "I would be loathed to have my charges care for your horse when they seem to be incapable of caring for their own," It took only a well practiced flash of warning in the elven lord’s dark eyes to silence any argument.

Elrond gestured to a large, open doorway, "Please my friend, make yourself comfortable."

The meal held much laughter and insight into the minor happenings of neighboring lands, but Gandalf would give no word of the main intention of his visit. Afterwards, Elrond and Gandalf excused themselves from the lavish table where Aragorn, Elrohir, Elladen and Legolas were still enjoying themselves.

The afternoon had turned out to be cool. A slight breeze shifted through the fallen leaves upon the old pathways which wound through the plentiful gardens. For awhile the two old friends walked silently under the fall-touched boughs.

Gandalf broke the silence, "The shadow is lengthening."

The statement was not a surprise to Elrond, he had felt it himself as most elves had, though unlike the common population, he knew of what it foreshadowed. "If only it could wait," He wondered aloud wistfully.

Gandalf stopped, "Why?"

Elrond remained silent for a count, collecting his thoughts, "It is Estel. He is not ready. He needs more time to…to understand."

"You know you cannot protect him forever. He is an adult now, and no matter how much you guard him from the atrocities of the world you can not change that truth." The Istar paused, "I am not a father as you are. So I cannot say that I can relate in the same sense you do, but the desire to protect the younger generation is natural. You have done all you can for him. Given him a home where he is loved and you have also explained his heritage. It is now up to him to accept it. Only time and experience will tell of his readiness for what is to come."

Elrond’s eyes remained distant as they passed into an open room, simply furnished, "Your words are true. They are the words I would say myself, but advice is always harder to take than give. I have never known anything more difficult than letting your son leave the protection of the fold."

The wizard came to stand beside him at the rail of the balcony overlooking the magnificent waterfall. "That brings me to the reason of my visit. You know of the darkness growing in the dead lands, but it is effecting more than just orcs. The Dunlendings, you also know, have always been a wild sort, blood enemies of the Rohirrim, but they are becoming more than just wild. I have received word from one of my order that they are terrorizing and slaughtering neighboring villages as far as into the borders of Edenwaith."

Elrond’s brow creased, "Why do the people of Edenwaith not retaliate?"

"They have not the strength, I have not told you all yet. When I have you will understand. The Dunlendings are not only turning savage because of the lust for power, but worse yet is with whom they have allied themselves." Gandalf took a breath, "Mountain orcs."

There was a long pause, it seemed the birds had even quieted. Such news had not yet reached Elrond.

"Surely this is dark news you bring to me Mithrandir." Elrond’s demeanor darkened considerably, "Such tidings carry with it much horror, yet I feel you have not yet told me all." The elven lord of Imladris fixed the wizard with a piercing stare.

"Yes, you perceive right, even darker will this news be when I conclude. There has been much dissension among the order of the Istari, for good reason as well. I would say this bluntly simply because I wish not to drag this out longer than need be. There is evidence to believe that the leader of this dark scheme is within our order. An Istar Lord Elrond," He added to clear any confusion.

Elrond sank into a chair, his jaw clinched. The very thought of a traitor from within the honored and respected order brought with it fear that even struck deep inside the strong elven lord's heart, "Who do they believe this traitor is?" Elrond asked numbly.

Gandalf seemed to grow older before his eyes, "The wrong one." He shook his head in disgust, "Saruman believes it to be Fasse currently of Dunland, and with him the few others of the order. Indeed it is an understandable mistake for those who do not know him simply because he is residing in that undesirable territory, but I know Fasse far to well. Any such betrayal is far below him, he is as noble as he is shaggy." Mithrandir smiled faintly at the thought of his simple friend and fellow Istar.

"It seems your tidings only grow graver with every word. Evil alliances, betrayal, false accusations…" Elrond trailed off pondering all that had been presented to him, "I tremble to ask how Aragorn is to be involved in this as you implied at the start of this doomed conversation."

"Do not be so glum my lord," Gandalf’s eyes twinkled with mirth. Elrond found it a wonder how abruptly the wizard could change in demeanor. "I but wish him, and another, to take a letter to Fasse in Dunland, warning him of this turn. No more."

The elf eyed him suspiciously, "You expect my son to follow your ordinances while there is possibly something he can do to stop this madness? If so, you know nothing of Estel."

Gandalf only smiled.

"You mean to give him the mandate, not to become involved, for my sake."

"No, my friend, I would not mislead you so. But as you said before, he is too just in his causes to simply deliver a letter and return without have done anything, useful," Gandalf said.

Elrond, with a heavy sigh, leaned out over the balcony again, "In the way you word it, you make it sound as if you would wish him to become ensnared in this."

Gandalf took the seat Elrond had just vacated, "Nay, of course not, but you have raised him well. The statutes of right and wrong are now ingrained upon his heart. He will not stand idle while innocents are being killed."

Elrond nodded, he stared out at the sweeping autumn touched valley, but the beauty was lost upon him, "Aye, I suppose." He turned to look at Gandalf, "But you understand my reluctance?"

The wizard nodded his head, "Here is a comfort for you. Aragorn will have to come back. Without him, the race of men will be doomed."

The elf stared unbelievingly at the straight-faced Istar, "You would say that that is a comfort to me?"

Gandalf laughed suddenly taking the elven lord by surprise. Elrond could not help but smile, "I will never understand you my old friend."

"I wouldn’t expect you to. Wizards are not meant to be understood, just taken for at their word," Mithrandir rose.

"If only the young would heed that." Elrond let out a long breath, "You spoke of two to take this letter. Who would you suggest?"

"Is it so hard to guess? Who is his closest companion?"

Elrond’s brow furrowed, "But he is an elf, you know of the animosity between Dunlendings and the elves. To send him would be an unneeded danger, not to mention that King Thranduil would most likely object to allowing his son to leave."

"You need not worry about that. I have already spoken with the block headed king," Gandalf scowled. "It is obvious from which side Legolas inherited his stubbornness. But never-the-less, he agreed."

"But what of the…"

Gandalf raised a hand, "I will see to it that Legolas is aware of his danger. He is a prudent elf and will not be given to brash action. That is why he must go with Aragorn, he is young yet, but he is still an elf and will counsel him to patience."

The elven lord turned from the view of the waterfall. He bowed his head, "I will call them."

---

"Get off me!" Elladen pushed himself up off the grassy lawn, sending Aragorn tumbling off his back.

Legolas and Elrohir were lost in a fit of snorting laughter, clutching their sides at Elladen and Aragorn’s antics as they wrestled and generally pummeled each other in rough play. Their romp had taken them rolling through a stream, bumping into rocks and trunks. The result was sodden grass-stained, dirt-ridden half siblings.

Aragorn fell beside Legolas. He watched with a large grin pasted on his face as Elladen, his combatant, pulled himself off the grass. His face was the picture of disgust, as he unsuccessfully tried to brush his fine elvish clothing off.

"You’ve got that feint down pat Estel, got him head first into the stream," congratulated Legolas as he tried to stay his uncontrolled laughter. Both he and Elrohir had tears streaming down their cheeks as their raucous laughter nearly choked them.

Elladen glared at the elven prince, "That was not fair."

"Why are you always complaining about fairness. Father’s told you enough that…"

"…Life isn’t fair. Yadda, yadda, yadda," Elladen finished, with a roll of his eyes, he sat beside Elrohir.

"Well it’s true. Because if life was fair, I would have won that race this morning," Aragorn elbowed Legolas in the ribs hard.

Legolas held up his hands in a defensive gesture, "Now wait, I am not getting dragged into this."

"Dragged into…"

"Estel, Prince Legolas, the lord Elrond would like to speak with you."

Legolas and Aragorn looked up at the sudden appearance of Glorfindel. They glanced at each other, the two twins began to snicker. "Someone’s in trouble," Elrohir whispered.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Hardly," then turning his attention to the Aragorn and Legolas, he nodded for them to follow.

"Glorfindel, what’s this all about?" queried Aragorn, slightly perturbed.

"You’ll see."

Inside the large house, the elder elf guided them to the closed doorway of Elrond’s personal chambers. Glorfindel knocked once then opened the door for them. As Legolas and Aragorn stepped inside, the door closed quietly behind them. Elrond was standing with his back to them while Gandalf smiled at their appearance, "Ah, good, I am glad that you were not far in finding."

Elrond turned. Aragorn could see that his face was shadowed by some tidings that the wizard had brought. "I see you have been enjoying yourself?" he asked referring to Aragorn’s disheveled state. The scowl did not bode well with Aragorn, whether it was pointedly direct at him or just a result of whatever news, he wasn’t sure.

"I have a favor to ask of you both, and I will not waste time with much explanation. Legolas," he turned to the elf, "You have felt a, foreboding, have you not?"

Legolas nodded, he had spoken to Aragorn of this feeling that had grown during the past month. He had not known at the time of what it prophesied.

"I thought as much. Your fellow elves have felt it also, though not many know of what it speaks. Pardon if I am blunt, but time is an issue. The shadow in the dark lands of Mordor is darkening," Gandalf did not allow them time to let this sink in before he recounted shortly of what he had told Elrond.

After all that was needed to be said had been revealed, Gandalf continued, "The favor I ask of you is to take a letter to this Fasse of Dunland I have told you of."

Elrond stepped forward and spoke for the first time, "But I do not want you to get involved. Do you understand me Estel?" He asked pointedly.

Unlike Legolas, Aragorn missed the amused look that was directed at Elrond from Gandalf. Aragorn narrowed his eyes, "But, Father, we cannot stand back and allow this evil to continue…"

"You will not question me on this, Estel. I will not be there to hold you back from any foolish choices you make, so I can only be firm with you now. What actions you take in Dunland will, unfortunately be up to you. We will speak no more of this." Then turning to the younger elf he said, "Legolas, I could not send you off without your own warning. You may know of the Dunlending’s animosity towards the elven race. If possible, avoid any contact with the people. You would only be stirring a viper’s nest."

Legolas nodded seriously, both to the spoken command and the unspoken mandate to keep the young human out of trouble.

"You will leave immediately," Gandalf continued. He handed a sealed letter to Aragorn, "I am giving the letter to you, Aragorn because you are less of a target. I hate to refer to you Legolas as a target, but if the Dunlendings see you as an elf, they will focus on you." He offered Legolas an apologetic look.

The air was heavy in the room despite the open windows and verandas. Legolas sighed in an effort to lighten the mood and said to Aragorn, "Well, my friend, it appears that I will be missing quite a few more meals now."

It had the desired effect. Aragorn smacked Legolas in the arm, leading only to more playful bickering.

---

Three figures stood in council in the dark room of stone. One, an orc, hideous in shape, bent and wrought with vileness, and the other a man, straight and strong, dark of hair and skin. And one, a man in appearance, robbed in blinding white. The last of these, tall and regal, stood out starkly against the backdrop of black.

"I have received word, from a certain, grey, friend of mine that two, adversaries, will be poking about your land, Chief Borlanon."

"What kind of adversaries my lord," the Dunland chief asked.

"A man and an elf."

The already wrathful features of the Dunlending hardened at the mention of one of the Firstborn. His callused hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

"I want them, disposed, of."

A nasty grin twisted the mutilated face of the orc while a raw, predatorial gleam crept to the eyes of Borlanon.

"But, do not go about it in your usual manor. I want this done, neatly, meaning no evidence. Use your best assassin. Ghâshronk will work with him." The white figure referred to the orc, "Do not believe this to be a simple task. They will not simply be bumbling messengers." He took a menacing step closer to the two, "I want no mistakes."

The sun was high in the sky and true to Gandalf’s words, he had Legolas and Aragorn upon their horses, geared and ready, promptly.

Elladen and Elrohir had not been told of the reason of their sudden departure, only that they were ‘running an errand’ for the wizard. Seeing as how their father would not reveal to them anymore, they didn’t ask.

"I say, it really isn’t fair how Aragorn is always the one with vacation time."

"There you go again!" Aragorn threw up his hands, "Griping about fairness."

Elrohir crossed his arms, "Well he has a point."

"I hardly would call their venture a vacation," Gandalf commented dully. "Sleeping on the stone of the ground and rationing food was never an enjoyable experience to my old bones."

Elladen put aside their teasing and grasped Aragorn’s forearms tightly, "Be safe brother, and do try to return to us in one piece."

Aragorn laughed, but nodded, "I’ll do my best."

"Same for you Legolas Greenleaf," Elrond said as he grasped the younger elf’s hand firmly. He then moved to wrap Aragorn in a strong embrace, "Do take care of yourself Estel, and remember my words."

"Don’t worry about us father, I promise we’ll come back," Aragorn paused, an impish twinkle in his eyes, "In one condition or another." He only just dodged the swat from Elladen.

Gandalf hurried the two along, issuing each of them specific instructions and warnings. Then mounting Falmarin and Ralamir, Aragorn and Legolas waved goodbye to their family and friends behind them. Then they were off.

Contrary to Gandalf’s words, Aragorn always found that leaving on even the most trivial journeys, inspired in him the excitement of a child exploring a new acre of the forest. Now, with his best friend at his side, it was no different.

---

On the third day of their travels, the descending sun found the two friends skirting the banks of the river Bruinen. Their course had taken them cutting across the plains just inside the edges of the forest till they met with the loud river. From there, they had followed it southeast. After three blissful days of perfect weather and smooth traveling, Legolas and Aragorn had forgotten any unease they had felt in Imladris.

On this third day they ended at the beginning of what would be their last stretch to the border of Dunland. At the Angle of the convergence of the Bruinen and the river Hoarwell, Aragorn proposed they stop and make use of the copse of trees as their camp for the night.

Aragorn dismounted from Ralamir, "Tomorrow we should reach the border of Dunland if everything goes according to plan." He slid the light saddle from the bay’s back and set it on its horn.

With no tack to remove from the dappled Falmarin, Legolas went about checking the horse’s hooves for stones. "And leaving the following day at the latest."

Tarrying by Ralamir’s head, Aragorn cocked his head at his friend, "You sound eager to return to Imladris. Tell me, are you not enjoying this?"

Legolas straightened, having found no stones, "I do not wish to wander long within the borders of Dunland. From the sound of things, if we by chance cross paths with any of these Dunlendings, I do not think they will be inviting us for tea."

Aragorn grinned at Legolas’s wry joke, "You elves, quite the cynical type aren’t you?"

"Just realistic and not inclined to jump headfirst into a situation with a splitting grin on our faces as you humans."

Aragorn shook his head and continued readying for the night.

---

The night passed quietly, bringing the dawn all too quickly for Aragorn. Legolas had opted for the second watch, allowing Aragorn to sleep till morning undisturbed. Yet to Aragorn, it was still half the amount of sleep he was used to getting from staying home in Imladris for so long. The sickeningly alert elf made matters for the drowsy human no better.

"Come my friend, wake your mind and not just your body, I have a hunch you will need both this day as we cross into Dunland." Legolas leapt nimbly to Falmarin’s bare back, having already packed the meager supplies they had brought.

Aragorn was more than a little grateful that Ralamir was already saddled and bridled. In his fuddled state, he very well might have saddled the poor horse backwards.

Legolas set the pace at a brisk trot. They still had a way to go and he had no desire to be traveling through Dunland in the shadow of night. Warning ate at his heart. He could only guess that their arrival in Dunland would not go without confrontation. He had not told Aragorn as much since he had nothing upon which to base this feeling on, but feelings were not to be discarded without thought. They would have to take caution while in the region of Dunland if they wished to return to Rivendell unscathed.

Aragorn noticed his elven friend’s thoughtful expression. He wondered if he should inquire, but knowing Legolas, he wouldn’t speak until Aragorn absolutely had to know.

As the morning wore on, Aragorn observed his friend becoming more and more agitated. There was none of their normal bantering and Legolas sang no songs. The only cause he could tie Legolas’s odd behavior to was their nearness to Dunland.

They stopped at the top of a knoll. Now, as they creseted it, they could see the river Swanfleet, marking the border of Dunland.

Legolas shuddered. Darkness seemed to emanate from the land. Lush scattered forests belied the vileness. In his mind’s eye he could see Mirkwood, the once beautiful forest full of tall strong trees that sang of ancient lore, then in a flash, it changed to a blackened, misty and danger-ridden mess of dead trees. He bowed his head, if all that Gandalf said was true, how soon would all of Middle-earth turn to dust?

Aragorn reached over and placed a hand on his silent friend’s shoulder. He did not know what to say but offered his support in silence.

Legolas heaved a breath, "Let us continue. Hope will not end today."

---

"He spoke true, they have crested the hill. Though I cannot tell yet if they are really elf and man." Vanen Horengof lowered the spyglass.

"It would not bode well with your life if he knew you doubted him," Ghâshronk hissed from the dark shadow of the oak. He was crouched at its base shading his yellow eyes from the filtered glare of the sun, careful not to allow any of the light to touch him too directly.

"It would also bode well with your life if you would be rid of your foulness now before they cross the river." The Dunlending scowled, "Or do you not know of the elves ability to sense your vileness. It is a wonder if the man does not sense you as well due to your stench."

Ghâshronk bared his blackened teeth at Vanen, but did not respond. Surprisingly, he heeded the man’s warning and slunk from shadow to shadow till he disappeared from sight.

The assassin shook his head in disgust. He may be ordered to work with the contemptible creature, but it did not mean he had to like him, or any of his kind for that matter. But really, he told himself, it did not matter. He was an assassin. He was hired to kill and not care. He was paid for it.

This was an interesting assignment, but he was used to working alone. He had been assigned a group of men and orcs at his command. He would have preferred to work alone, but if his plan worked the way it was supposed to, then he wouldn’t have to worry about his tag-alongs for long.

---

Half a mile down the river, Legolas and Aragorn found a suitable place to cross. The current was not as strong here and the water only came up to chest height on the horses. The two fine horses splashed across. On the opposite side, they passed into a thick grove of oaks. The foliage was so dense, it looked as dusk under their boughs. Even as they rode through the first line of trees, Legolas grew tenser.

Three hours passed uneventfully. Neither Legolas nor Aragorn spoke; all that was to be heard was the faint trill of a bird from time to time and the crunch of leaves under hoof. Legolas tried to convince himself to relax, after all, three hours into Dunland and nothing had happened to cause suspicion of danger. Yet the unease he had felt since the previous night had not diminished, only grown.

The silence was unnerving not only to Legolas, but also to both Ralamir and Falmarin. Their ears were pricked and their eyes wide as they sensed the agitation of their riders and the danger in the air around them. Never the less, as the day drew on and afternoon ticked on to evening, nothing happened. Following the directions given to him by Gandalf, Aragorn led them wordlessly, leaving Legolas to focus his senses on any threat.

"We should stop," suggested Aragorn.

The elf shook his head adamantly, "Nay, not tonight, not until we reach the Istar."

"But it will be difficult to navigate when it grows darker."

"We shouldn’t have to worry about that if Mithrandir’s directions are correct. It should not be much farther."

They continued to follow the narrow stream that took them slowly deeper into Dunland. Another half-hour slid past and the night had nearly risen completely before Legolas stopped. "We break from the stream here. There are lights ahead."

Indeed, off to the right, in a clearing dotted with trees, there was a humble hut. It was of meager construction, but looked to be of strong wood. A light shone in the window, a welcome sight to the weary travelers. They dismounted at the door that abruptly swung open, taking the travelers unaware. There in the door way, silhouetted against the light inside, was a stout figure. "Ah! Welcome friends! Come in, do not stand in the open air."

Aragorn glanced at Legolas then moved to step inside. Legolas caught his shoulder, "I take it that you are Fasse of Dunland?"

The silhouette nodded, "Aye, of course I am. But not of Dunland."

"Then you wouldn’t mind me asking you why we are here."

Aragorn opened his mouth to ask why Legolas was being so disagreeable but was cut off.

"I expect you have come with a letter or some notice from Gandalf the Grey."

Legolas was silent a moment then nodded.

"Well met indeed, you are a wise one to come cautiously in a dangerous land. Now I would ask again that you warm yourselves inside!"

Aragorn looked to his friend who bobbed his head to him. Stepping inside the warm light of the room they were greeted with their first look upon Fasse, the friend of Gandalf the Grey.

He was not quite what they expected.

True to his name, Fasse was truly shaggy with the hair of a dwarf. The grey hair sprung out in all directions, ranging from wild curls to stick straight. His eyes seemed to look out from a nest, bright and jovial they were. A short character, Fasse came up only to a little above Aragorn’s shoulders.

"Not what you expected, eh?" Chuckled Fasse at Aragorn’s surprised expression. "Never mind that. Come, sit yourselves, you look travel weary." He gestured carelessly to two chairs by the hearth.

Aragorn settled himself in the rocking chair, but Legolas declined politely. His senses would not allow him such relaxation.

"I take it from your visit that Gandalf has received my message?"

Aragorn nodded, "Yes, he has. He also has spoke to my fa…Lord Elrond of your news."

Fasse peaked his bushy eyebrows, "Heh!" He cackled, "I have given word worthy of Lord Elrond?" A large grin cracked his hairy face.

He leaned forward, handing the letter to the wizard. "Gandalf has sent with us a letter he wished us to…" Aragorn stopped when Legolas suddenly went ridged. "Legolas what…"

"Silence!" The elf hissed. With silent steps he hurried to the wall, his fair face pinched as he listened. There was a long stretch where no one spoke.

"Get down!" Legolas then yelled. The elf lunged and pushed Fasse to the ground while Aragorn threw himself to the floor. Legolas’s warning came just in time. A torch was thrown through each of the four windows, spilling glass everywhere, one knocking over the lamp on the windowsill.

---

Clad in black cloaks, Vanen Horengof and ten other Dunlending men crept from the trees. Six carried lighted torches under water soaked baskets so they would not catch flame.

Vanen crouched at the edge of the thickest part of the forest. The house stood out like a beacon. A twisted grin laced his dark face. He motioned with a hand to the four without torches. They ran silently to the edge of the hut, cases of lamp oil in hand. They poured the contents around the base of the house. When finished, they crept back to the safety of the trees. One more flick of his wrist and the four of the torch carriers stood up and threw hard. Their aim was true.

---

Glass shards dug into Legolas’s back as the torches broke through the windows. Instinct took over as he leaped to his feet and pulled Fasse up as well. He was surprised at how fast the fire grew. It licked up the walls like dogs with a bone.

Smoke clouded the small room, choking those trapped inside.

"Quickly," coughed Fasse, "We must get out!"

Wasting no time, Legolas broke the remaining glass of one of the windows with his fist. "Aragorn!" He yelled, "Come on!"

He basically man-handling Fasse through the window. When he was out, he turned to help Aragorn. He hadn’t risen.

The elf dropped to his friend’s side, "Aragorn! Estel, awake!"

The human groaned and shifted. Legolas surmised that he had hit the hearth on the way down. He had no time to wait for the man to awaken. Picking Aragorn up, the elf ran to the burning window. Fasse was there to take the unconscious human from him. Legolas was just about to climb through himself but something stopped him. He turned.

The letter.

He did not know what its contents were, but he couldn’t leave it. Fasse yelled for him to escape. He didn’t even hear himself telling him to get away from the structure. The hut was ablaze now, the grass roof threatening to cave, all around him was the heat of fire. He looked desperately for the letter. He found it lying on the floor where Fasse had dropped it. Some how it was untouched by fire.

Legolas grabbed it…

The roof and walls fell.

Upon awakening, Aragorn had found himself disoriented. Everything returned in a flash of painful remembrance. He had dived for cover at Legolas’s warning, but unwittingly he had collided with the stone hearth. The very thought that his demise would come from a hearth seemed rather morbidly humorous.

Opening his eyes, he felt himself being carried. Crackling and the roar of flames filled his ears as his senses returned. "Put me down," he asked of his carrier. Reluctantly, Fasse did. He looked back to see the hut ablaze. Fasse halted his flight when Aragorn stopped suddenly.

Aragorn felt his heart spasm with fear, "Fasse, where is Legolas!" He asked urgently, but he already knew.

The wizard tried to catch his shirt as he started to run back to the hut. But they were both too late. With a roar, the sides and ceiling of the small hut collapsed inward. Aragorn didn’t hear himself scream in horror. He didn’t feel the strong arms restrain him from flying back into the burning rubble of the hut. He didn’t see the dark clad men gather around them, swords drawn.

Aragorn went numb. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. The flames blurred as his eyes filled with hot tears.

Fasse clutched the human to him, his docile nature changing radically as he looked for a means of escape. They were surrounded. Obviously, the wizard thought, they did not expect them to escape the hut before it collapsed. If they had, they would have brought bows as well as swords. To execute with swords meant close contact.

One of the dark men’s faces turned to a fierce scowl, he stepped forward. His mouth opened to speak, but then there was a hiss and his face twisted from a scowl to a grimace.

---

Vanen growled deep in his throat as the old man and the younger human limped from the burning wreckage. Though not completely unexpected, it was still an undesired twist in his operation. He surmised that the elf had been lost in the fire, which was all well and good. He had no desire to fight an elven warrior.

Drawing his sword he waved the rest of the men to surround them. He was not surprised to see the old man of the forest involved in this. He would not be hard in taking down, and by the look of it, the younger man wouldn’t be problem either, distraught as he was.

Then something happened that made him bristle. A hotheaded young man stepped from the tight ring surrounding the potential captives. His sword raised he advanced to finish the task himself. Things quickly flew out of Vanen’s control. There was a sharp hiss, then without warning the imprudent Dunlending had an arrow in his back.

Vanen whirled. The men scattered. They had been taken completely unaware. Three more arrows sped from the direction of the wreckage to hit their targets, one of which being Vanen’s shoulder. He gritted his teeth in pain, but anger and rage at being foiled overrode any other feeling. The elf had escaped.

---

From an all-time low on an emotional scale, Aragorn felt his spirit soar as the familiar green and yellow fletched arrows wrought confusion upon the Dunlendings. Three fell, two of which appeared dead. The fourth took one in the shoulder but did not falter. Drawing his long sword from its scabbard at his side, he whirled on the crazed man lunging at his back. Deftly, he dealt the man a deep slash to the arm. He had no desire to slay his own kinsmen, but if need be…

With Legolas attacking from the outside, Aragorn moved to protect the weaponless wizard. But Fasse proved Aragorn was not needed for his defense. The shaggy Istar snatched a dead limb from the ground, hefting it in callused hands. Truly, Aragorn had never seen a simple, cumbersome branch wielded so dangerously.

Fasse, with strong, unembellished strokes, delivered wounding blows to the men which rushed at him. Any thought that Fasse was a frail old man fled Aragorn’s thoughts. With the three of them combined, he knew that it would be possible for them to pick of the ten.

Then there was a shrill whiney. Apparently, the odds had decreased to five to ten. Ralamir and Falmarin had heard the commotion from where they had chosen to graze and taken action.

Legolas, from the outside of the ring, had the chance to observe while shooting, who might be the leader in this setting. He was not hard to find as Legolas watched him stay to the fringes of the fight. His next move would be easy enough with the more than adequate diversion Aragorn and Fasse were providing.

---

Vanen never heard the light steps of the elf behind him, never was alerted of his presence until the sharp tip of the knife pricked his neck.

"Tell them to hold off," the cold voice commanded levelly, "Unless you wish more bloodshed of your men."

Vanen’s blood boiled at being told what to do. Unfortunately, the elf had him cornered. In his corrupted heart, Vanen really did not care what happened to the men that had been assigned to him, but if he did not agree, his life would be included with theirs.

"Tell them," the blade pushed against his neck.

He chaffed at having to do as the elf said, but Vanen was not a stupid man. "Stop! Lower your swords, all of you."

The stunned men stopped one by one. In an almost comical fashion, they turned, confused at the turn of events. But at the sight of their assigned leader at knife point, they did not argue. Secretly, they feared more bringing the wrath of the assassin down upon their heads when they did not comply with his wishes. The expression they saw on the elven warrior’s face was far from comical.

One by one, they lowered their swords, "I want you to tell me your name, and why you have tried to kill us. No lies, or by any oath you wish, I will not stay my hand."

Vanen recognized a serious threat when he heard one, "I am Vanen Horengof, I was hired to kill a man and an elf visiting the old man. That’s all."

"Who hired you?"

Vanen remained silent, he knew that if the men around him heard him betray their leader, he was as good as dead anyway.

The pressure on his neck increased, "Who hired you."

"Baladern of southern village." The lie was a bad one.

---

Legolas pushed down on the knife, then at the last minute released it twirling it and bring the hilt down hard at the base of the man’s skull. The man, now revealed as Vanen, dropped to the forest floor, unconscious. "Bad answer." He knew that in the eyes of the men before him he looked to be a monster, why not use it to his advantage? "Take him and go. I should kill you all now, rather than give you your lives. It would purge Dunland of some of its scum. Tell your leader that we will not die so easily." Legolas stood tall, his bow drawn again, another arrow on the string.

The men now leaderless did not stand for second orders. Taking their fallen they limped into the forest shadows. Legolas lowered his bow slightly, but kept tension on the string as he watched the men until out of site. Only then did he release the arrow when the air became silent once more, except for the crackling of the fire behind him.

Aragorn ran forward, Fasse no longer able to restrain him, "Legolas!" He grasped the elf by the shoulders, "Don’t you ever do that again."

Legolas arched an eyebrow, "Save your life?"

Aragorn pursed his lips, "If it means getting yourself killed then yes."

"As long as you promise not to have meetings with fireplace hearths at inopportune times. Such as when there is a burning building about to fall on you."

"If I wasn’t sure you weren’t hurt," Aragorn chided, "I’d smack you for that." He really couldn’t be sure. Legolas’s face, clothes and hair were all more than a little blackened by the smoke of the fire. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Aragorn would have laughed at his friend’s unusually disheveled state.

Fasse hurried to their side, his face wrinkled with worry, "Come, come. Do you always jest so soon after your lives are nearly forfeit? Oh, it doesn’t matter. We must be away before they return to finish the job."

Legolas nodded his head in agreement, "Aye, but I do not think they will return tonight. After licking their hurts and reporting to their leader, I am sure they will try again if this situation is in the least bit connected with the what word you sent Gandalf."

Fasse’s wrinkled face creased even more in thought, "Yes, yes, I suppose. But my cursed bones do not react kindly to the night air. All Istar wonder why the Valar have placed us in such human bodies, no offense friend…" The wizard trailed off, wracking his memory for a name, "I am so sorry, but I don’t think I recall your name. Everything happened so quickly…Oh my, I do fear that I have been quite a rude host."

Aragorn laughed, "No need to apologize. I am Aragorn, currently of Imladris." He felt no need to conceal his true identity. If this was a trusted friend of Gandalf the Grey, then he was meant to be trusted.

"And I am Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood," Legolas offered with a slight nod of his head to the wizard.

Fasse bobbed his head slowly, "Ah yes, I do remember Gandalf mentioning you two once before. Made quite the impression on him when you put a possum in his pillow while he was staying at Rivendell."

Legolas and Aragorn cast sheepish glances at each other, "That was a long time ago."

Fasse’s wild eyebrows peaked almost to his hairline, "Is that so? Well, I would hope so, or I would wonder if I should have a protector from my protectors!"

---

After the belated introductions on the late ‘battle field’, they gathered the packs that Legolas and Aragorn had brought on Falmarin and Ralamir. Fasse then proposed a hidden sanctuary he knew of, which he had used often when the Dunlendings edged to close with their ravishing of the land.

For awhile they walked, speaking little, perchance that there were prying ears about in the forest.

They walked until they reached a steep cliff, about 12 feet high. A menagerie of shrubbery and odd plant life grew on narrow ledges covering most of cliff face. Fasse pushed his way left through the dense undergrowth along the base of the embankment. Aragorn, behind Fasse with Legolas last leading the horses, received many swats to the face and arms as Fasse trundled ahead. He seemed to forget that he had someone following him.

Just as Aragorn began to wonder if Fasse really knew where they were going. Then the wizard disappeared from site, as if he had just melted into the wall. Aragorn stood in front of the place where Fasse had vanished. At a glance it looked just like the rest of the cliff face, covered in shrubbery.

A hand suddenly latched on to the front of his tunic from inside the cliff. Aragorn was pulled into the shrubbery, but surprisingly, he did not hit a wall, but broke through the shrubs.

Legolas was left standing outside with Ralamir and Falmarin.

"Come in, come in. It’s quite large enough for the horses as well," Fasse’s voice was muffled.

Shrugging, Legolas spoke quietly to the two horses who were more than a little wary. Slowly, he was able to coax the horses to push through the shrubbery. Once through, he found himself with the horses, Aragorn and Fasse in a large open cavern like room. The ceiling was quite high enough for the horses.

Fasse, looking quite pleased with himself lit a lamp, then exclaimed in delight, "Yes, yes! I thought I left it here." The wizard hobbled to the wall where an old knobbed staff leaned. He turned back to face Legolas and Aragorn, his staff clutched in his hands. He wore a wide self-contented grin on his bushy face, "Isn’t really a special staff, but seeing as how all the other Istar had one, and I did not receive one, I made my own."

A smile crept onto Aragorn’s face as he observed the simple wizard puttering about the large room, lighting lamps and digging through dried foods, talking abstractly. Glancing to his left, he saw that Legolas had seated himself on a box, speaking soothingly to the two nervous horses.

"You never told me how you got out of the hut," Aragorn took a seat beside the elf.

Legolas shook his head in dismissal, "’Twas nothing, really. There’s always another window." Then he turned to the man, "How is your head, you must have hit it rather hard."

"Trying to change the subject?" Aragorn eyed the elf with a grin, "To use your phraseology, ‘Twas nothing’." For a moment they watched as Fasse let out a cackle as he found some item he thought lost. Absentmindedly, Legolas reached up to stroke the grey horses muzzle. Blood was left in the touch’s wake. Aragorn started, "Legolas, I do not think you are the one to ask me how I am."

Legolas hastily wiped the streak of red from Falmarin’s muzzle, "’Twas…"

"…Nothing. Yes I know. You really should expand your vocabulary Legolas." Before Legolas could retract his hands, Aragorn took them firmly, turning them palms upward. He frowned at the lacerations on the soft skin of the elf’s hands, "Might you tell me how this happened?"

"I supposed I must have done it either when I broke the window, or when I jumped out. Doesn’t matter…"

"…Either way."

Legolas shot him an annoyed glance, "Would you so kindly refrain from finishing my sentences?"

Aragorn favored him with a winsome smile. It was then when Fasse sat himself opposite of them, somehow carrying three plates balanced upon each other. "Do you always keep on hand so many odd supplies?" Inquired Aragorn.

"Of course. I suppose you could say that this is my supply room of sorts. I found it years back, likely before either of you were born, you as well young elf." He looked around thoughtfully, "Don’t rightly know how it was formed, or made. But serves its purpose. I am most glad I bothered to buy those extra glass panels from my last trip to the closest village. Of course that was before they went…"

"Might you have some bandages in your supply?" interrupted Aragorn.

Fasse paused, looking upward as he wracked his mental inventory, "Yes, yes, of course." He bustled off burrowing through his boxes again, until he straightened with a grunt of satisfaction. "Yes, yes, knew it was here somewhere." As he handed the roll of cloth to Aragorn, he peered at the deep cuts on Legolas’s palms, "Hmm, not pleasant I would guess."

While the wizard prattled on, Aragorn cleaned the elf’s palms, applying salve from his saddlebags and wrapping them tightly, though not uncomfortable. "That should do," he said when he was finished.

Legolas examined the bandages unhappily, "I will be of no use with these cumbersome wads."

"Just hope you will not have to use them until we reach Imladris, where then you will have to ward of the wrath of Elrond when he sees the damage you have done to yourself."

Clumsily, Legolas dug into his tunic with his bandaged hands. From it he drew an envelope. Leaning forward, he handed it to Fasse, "I believe this belongs to you. Maybe you will be able to read it this time," he added with a smile.

"Please do not tell me you risked your life for a letter." Aragorn looked back at him slowly, not sure if he really wanted to know.

Legolas didn’t answer. Fasse slowly scanned the letter then went back to read it more carefully. As he read, Legolas watched the wizard’s face fall. After a few quiet moments, Fasse made an unidentifiable sound. "Well, well, looks like I might be stuck with you lads awhile longer." The wizard gave them a peaked look over the top of the paper.

"Would you mean telling us what you mean?" prodded Aragorn.

Fasse pursed his lips, "Tsk, tsk, so impatient the young sort are. Very well then. This is what it says:

I have received your notice and have taken it upon myself to share it with the Lord Elrond of Imladris. As you see, I have sent two young bodies to help your tiring bones in this dilemma. It is grave news, but I trust these two to do their best to help you.’"

Here Aragorn interrupted, holding up a hand, "Wait, Elrond gave me specific orders not to help, or get involved. I don’t see…"

The Istar glared at him from over the parchment, "You would find out sooner if you would be quiet and listened. As I was saying…

Take care my friend and be safe.’" Traditionally, the letter ended with a G in the elvish rune.

Fasse heaved a sigh, his stout frame slouched while letting the letter drop into his lap, "I must say this is not unexpected that they would think so badly of me. I never was very prominent in the goings on of things. Never made it to the meetings either. But I had a good reason for all of that. Did I receive the gift of taming wild creatures into submission with the touch of my hand? No. Did I receive the gift of light feet? No, of course not! Oh, and a dare not think of what the White council will do to me when they bring me up as a traitor," he bemoaned.

Legolas patted the distraught wizard’s knee, "Don’t worry, friend. We will find your innocence in this. As Gandalf said, we’ll do our best, and together we can shed some light on this." Aragorn - still finding this whole plot set up by both Gandalf and Elrond quite twisted - nodded in agreement.

"Well then," Fasse pushed himself to his feet, folding the letter, "That should make me feel a great deal better." Touching the corner of the parchment to a flame, the yellowed paper crinkled, turning to frail ash as the flame devoured it.

Aragorn stifled a yawn. The day all together had been far too long for his tastes. Morning of the next day was upon them, though it would still be hours till the sun peaked.

"Oh, I am sorry. I have been a terribly rude host," Fasse fretted. "I would see that you eat your fill and then take your rest. I can’t very well have my two saviors fall dead from malnutrition."

Not long after a filling meal, Aragorn and Legolas lost themselves to sleep. They had no doubt that tomorrow would bring new adventures and difficulties. They would meet those trials, and come out stronger and closer than before. They had done it before, what was to stop them now.

---

This night had proved to be one of many emotions among the Dunlendings. In the hall of the chief of Dunland, two wills clashed once again. Vanen Horengof had paid little heed to his injury at the hands of the elf, and had wasted no time in bringing his demands before Borlanon.

"You have failed me and for this I will have your hide!" raged the chief.

Vanen’s dark eyes flashed, "I am not yours to command. You forget my blood, Borlanon. If you threatened my life, I could easily take sanctuary in the Rohan where you could not have me. And if you tried to accuse me of a crime, the Rohirrim would listen to you not, for your word is mistrusted in that land as many others. I would also have you know that I would not have failed if you had not burdened me with your bumbling men."

The chief stood, his chair tipped behind him. He pointed a finger at the man before him, "You press my patience too far Horengof. I would take your haughty head from your shoulders if it was up to me."

Tempers clashed. The air seemed to grow hot around the two fuming men.

"Kill them, the old man, the human and the elf," the chief Dunlending growled. "I care not how, just do it and be not too obvious. I need not the wrath of the white wizard and that of the elven race upon my head when they find out your deed."

"If they find out," corrected the assassin. Vanen exaggerated a sweeping bow, "Very well then, my lord, I will see it done." A vile grin crept to his dark face, "With pleasure." He desired nothing more than to be-rid of them. But he would especially look forward to the disposal of the elf. He had caused far too much trouble to warrant an easy death.

As the morning broke, it proved to be a cold, gusty autumn day and by the looks of the heavy, bruised clouds rain seemed to be on the weather agenda.

Inside the protected interior of the cavern, tendrils of cold wind penetrated the thick shield of brush at the entrance. The candles flickered as the morning drew on. It was minutes just before dawn when Legolas awoke from a restful dreaming. Rising from his bed roll on the dirt floor he saw that that Aragorn still was soundly asleep while Fasse snored contentedly in a rocking chair - another odd object on hand in the cave.

Falmarin greeted him as usual with a quiet deep-throated nicker. Legolas laid a bandaged hand on the horse’s nose, quieting him, not wishing to awaken the room’s occupants. Their iron grey horse bobbed his head against the hand on his nose, rubbing his forehead against it. Legolas itched Falmarin as best as he could behind the ear. The horse tilted his head, happily grunting and rubbing harder against the hand.

Legolas’s thoughts drifted back to the events of last night. They all seemed muddled and confused. He was positive that this was linked in someway directly to the reason they were here. The Dunlendings actions had proven that this was also an inside scheme. How else could they have known that they would be coming if somehow they had been told. The only place that he could trace the word of their coming back to, was Gandalf. There were only two persons that came to mind, whom Gandalf might have told of their coming, Elrond, and perhaps Saruman the White. The very thought that the honored Istar would be behind something like this seemed highly unlikely, but what was more improbable was the idea that Lord Elrond would be involved in this treachery. Legolas frowned, the other alternative - which he would much rather like to believe - was that someone had overheard Gandalf and Elrond’s conversation, or for that matter, the assumed dialogue between Gandalf and Saruman. Whoever that person might have been could have had a loose jaw.

Legolas shook his head; this was all too twisted. Too much confusion and possibilities made rational thought almost impossible. Maybe fresh air would help. "Tol," He spoke to the two horses. Then coaxing them once again through the brush barrier, he led them to an open meadow he had seen not far from the cave mouth. Ralamir and Falmarin had at the grasses heartily. The cold air nipped at his face, it felt good, refreshing him. Enclosed spaces of hard, dead stone were no place for an elf.

He looked to the overcast sky, the scent of rain heavy in the air. His thoughts were still troubled and would not be deterred. No matter how hard he tried he could not shake the feeling of - he hated to use such a strong word – doom. It was a different feeling than that of the foreboding when they arrived here. No, this spoke of a future discommode. His thoughts drifted back to the brief conversation he had had with Mithrandir before they had left Rivendell. He had slipped away to clear his mind then also.

~~~(Flashback)

Autumn leaves drifted lazily down from golden boughs, rustling around him like a spring rain.

Legolas leaned against the railing of the veranda overlooking the beauty of the river. They would be leaving shortly on this errand of Mithrandir’s. He had stolen away from the bustle of the hurried preparations in order to calm his thoughts. Things involving Gandalf had a way of happening quickly.

"Aragorn will not be easy to control," Gandalf said abruptly as he appeared at the elf’s side.

The prince looked over to the wizard beside him, "What you mean by Mithrandir?"

Gandalf favored him with a coy smile, "I think you know, son of Thranduil."

"Aragorn does not need to be controlled, only guided at times."

The grey Istar grunted noncommittally, "Either way, be cautious, and do not let your guard down. The Dunlendings are not to be trusted in any circumstance."

Legolas nodded, then peered closer at Mithrandir. "You worry," he stated as he saw the troubled look in the wizened wizard’s eyes.

Gandalf remained silent for a time. He was troubled, for Fasse. Though the young elf knew naught of this, he did not fail to sense it.

Taking Gandalf’s silence as an unspoken wish not to speak of whatever troubled him, Legolas left the subject alone.

~~~(End Flashback)

Now Gandalf’s worry made sense as the threat to his friend, Fasse, was revealed. Legolas knew he would feel the same if Estel had been accused of being a traitor.

He also understood Mithrandir’s mandate to keep Aragorn ‘under control’. His friend did have a tendency to become so caught up in the defense of the innocent that it usually resulted in his near death or at least injury. But not only for his own selfish means of friendship did he protect Aragorn. The man was hope, as his name Estel spoke. Hope for the future, whether he ever did take his rightful reign or not. Legolas did not know how Aragorn’s future would play out, but he was sure that he would be needed. For this, if not for their friendship, Legolas would bring him home…alive.

"Elves must be unsusceptible to cold if you choose to sit out in the mist without so much as a coat." Strider rubbed his arms as he came to stand beside the elf.

"Men must be easily tired if you sleep so deeply."

Aragorn swatted Legolas’s shoulder, "Come, Fasse has prepared a meal. We should also decide on our course of action."

Calling to the horses, Legolas followed Aragorn back to the cave mouth. Ralamir and Falmarin reluctantly followed, loathed to leave the grass behind to return to the cave.

Fasse was back to his bustling nature. He looked up at their arrival a splitting grin cracking his shaggy features. "Up early, where you? No matter, no matter." The odd Istar thrust a plate at the elf, "Eat! You must have strength if you are to save me."

Legolas wondered at how enthusiastic and joyful the wizard could be, even with an impending disaster and dismissal looming over him. It was a testimony to Fasse’s character.

As they ate, Legolas and Aragorn discussed what their course of action would be. Fasse had informed them that the Lord of Dunland, often referred to as the ‘Chief’, went simply by the name of Borlanon.

"I know very little of the goings on of the main city. I ventured there only a handful of times in my long years here." Fasse had added that those occasions were for the times when the wild Dunlendings vandalized his belongings, such as his windows.

"Well then, we have to names to go by," Legolas sighed, trying to sound cheery for Fasse’s sake. "Vanen Horengof and this Chief Borlanon character. Obviously, we can assume that Vanen was hired by Borlanon who was given the order by…blank." He held out his hands signifying the unknown factor who was really at the head of this.

"I suppose we could go by process of elimination," Aragorn suggested. "There are only so many Istar. We know it cannot be Gandalf, Fasse is out," He counted on his fingers, "How many more Istar are there that we know of?"

"Six, including Gandalf and myself," Fasse said automatically. "Saruman, Radagast, Alatar and Pallando are the others." Fasse thought for a moment, "Alatar and Pallando are too far east to have a hand in this. How would the messages be brought so swiftly by horse back?"

"Are you sure they are brought by horseback?" asked Aragorn.

"Aye," Fasse nodded, "I have seen them race to the house of Borlanon when I visited the city when all this began to brew. By the fashion which they were treated they were indeed from someone of great importance."

"What of Radagast?"

Legolas shook his head, "That would almost seem as impossible as Gandalf. The house of Thranduil knows him well, for he has long dwelt at our borders."

Aragorn frowned, "But then that would only leave Saruman the White. Isn’t that nearly impossible?"

Legolas had thought hard on that very idea this morning, "Is it really? He is neither to far, nor to well known."

"But he is the head of the order of the Istari, how can he be so corrupted?"

"Power," Fasse leaned back in his chair with a sigh, "Power corrupts even the strongest."

"He cannot be disregarded I am afraid. The thought that one so influential in the decisions of the Council could be so evil strikes fear in my heart," Legolas said.

"But we can neither say for certain that he is the one, would we not be committing the same injustice against him as he is against Fasse?" Aragorn asked pointedly.

Legolas blew out a breath, "It matters not who we think is guilty at this point, they are but guesses which could be swayed like a wisp of smoke. What we need, if we are to defend Fasse, is hard evidence supporting him. Perhaps that is what we will find first before we know the real traitor."

---

Before they left, Legolas managed to convince Aragorn that re-bandaging his hands was unnecessary. Aragorn had eyed him doubtfully, but the wounds were healing quickly, due to the blessed ability of the elves strong bodies.

They started out almost immediately after their brief meal. Assuring Fasse that they would figure something out, they took the directions he gave them and started out at a brisk trot into the gloom.

"So what is your plan exactly?" Legolas asked after about ten minutes.

Aragorn looked over to him, relaxing the reins in his hands, "Plan?"

Legolas halted Falmarin, "Aragorn…" he cautioned.

A grin broke out on the ranger’s face, "You mean we aren’t just winging it?"

Legolas didn’t appear amused, "Estel, someone’s life is in our hands. We will not ‘wing it’."

"Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Legolas," Aragorn bumped Ralamir to a walk. "I have a vague idea."

"And what might that be?" prodded Legolas.

"Well, I think we should pay this Chief Borlanon a visit."

"I do not think he will be willing to hand out to the simple traveler who his secret alliance lies with. What makes you so sure we will be even admitted to his court?" Legolas pointed out just a few of the gaps in Aragorn’s ‘vague’ idea.

"It’s worth a try," the man justified.

"Not if we get thrown into a prison. What good will we do from there?" Legolas said sharply.

Aragorn frowned at his normally patient friend, "What has gotten into you Legolas?"

The elf pressed his lips together tightly, avoiding Aragorn’s eyes. He didn’t like the way they were going into this.

"If you’re feeling guilty about our involvement, you shouldn’t. You heard Gandalf’s letter, I doubt they ever expected us to really just stand by." Aragorn tried to catch Legolas’s eyes.

"I’m not feeling guilty about anything. I just don’t like this. Something just doesn’t feel right," the prince admitted.

One thing Aragorn had learned in his years with the elves was not to ignore their feelings, especially if it was a bad feeling.

"This is much darker than anything we have dealt with in the past Estel. If the shadow of Mordor is truly rising, then the repercussions of this evil could be disastrous," Legolas continued, "I am sorry if I sound terse. This seems to be effecting me more than I’d like to admit."

As they rode on to mid-day, the sky above grew darker, soon the first sprinkling of rain wetted the horses’ coats. It wasn’t long before they were forced to draw their hoods up to protect themselves from the rain which began in earnest. As they neared the heart of Dunland, Aragorn began to think that the rain might be an ironic blessing. He had wondered how Legolas would keep his race unidentified while in the city and not draw attention to himself in the course of trying to hide his features, but with the rain, it would not be considered odd that he would keep his face shielded.

As evening drew on they found the road Fasse had spoken of. They stopped at a large outcropping of boulders. There they were about a mile, or so, out from the city and just out of sight of the road.

Dismounting, they led the horses behind the boulders, obscuring them from view. They had thought to ride the horses into the city, but the fine, elvish steeds would stand out and draw too much unwanted attention to them

Legolas remained silent throughout their preparations. Only did he speak when they departed from the horses. With a quiet word, he assured the two that they would return. The elf knew the horses would use their sense if there was any threat and first run for their defense. He had no doubt that they would be fine while they were away in the city. Now, he could not say as much for the safety of themselves.

"Are you ready, Legolas?" Aragorn asked as he secured his sword beneath his heavy cloak, just out of view.

Legolas nodded. Strapping his knives to his belt, he reluctantly left his bow tethered to the Falmarin’s pack. Again, so obvious a weapon would bring too much attention. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Aragorn slapped the elf on the back, "Come now, don’t be so gloomy. The weather may be, but that doesn’t mean your face must mirror it."

---

The city of Dunland, though it was more of a village, looked much like Bree in the dark, half-light of the grey sky. It also proved to be much filthier. Legolas felt his skin crawl with the evil essence emanating from the dark men trudging through the already muddied streets. Carts, drawn by old, sway back and bony horses churned the mud to sludge. Though there was much activity, it was a dead, joyless toil. There was not a smile to be found it seemed. Unadorned buildings crowded the street, with every step. They seemed to lean in, seeking to choke out any light which might dare to brighten the gloomy air.

As they melded with the ranks of the shadow-faced Dunlendings, Legolas immediately noticed the blank scowls and empty eyes of the people. If he was revealed, he would stand out like a beacon among these men. They seemed to hold no life, driven by lust for an unreachable power, which was made to seem near with the false words fed to them by an unnamed evil. It was like a boy dangling a bone in front of a dog to drive him faster.

Unlike Legolas, Aragorn seemed to fall in with these men with little effort. His features bore resemblance if prying eyes did not look too close. His skin was tan and his hair was dark, even his build would not stand out. But the differences were vast, he did not bare the same dead look, and his eyes held the luster of life. But under the heavy hood, these differences, and others, were not noticed.

Their steps led them down the main lane. Ahead of them, through the sheet of rain, a much larger building, set apart from the narrow length of badly constructed shops, stood like a monolith. This was obviously they chief of Dunland’s own estate, besides its size, it was no more adorned, or carefully constructed than the taverns and closely packed houses.

They climbed the steps, but no sooner had they set foot on the higher platform, did four guards bar their way.

"What is your business with the house of the Lord Borlanon?" A stern faced guard scowled from beneath his helm.

Aragorn gathered himself and was careful not to show his face beneath his hood. "We have need to speak with him."

"Everyone has need to speak with him. What makes you any more privileged?"

"Our business is our own and your Lord Borlanon would not be obliged to share it with common guards."

The guard gave no quarter, "And I would be more obliged if you spoke of your errand."

Aragorn saw that this would not turn out successfully. If he pushed too hard, then he might get both he and Legolas thrown into a jail cell as the elf had warned. "We will not waste our time with you. It will be upon your head when Chief Borlanon does not receive this information."

"Then write a letter." The guard took a step toward Aragorn.

Silently, Aragorn and Legolas both turned without another word. Again they melded in with the traffic.

Legolas edged close to Aragorn, "I can say that that worked just beautifully."

Aragorn subtly elbowed Legolas in the side, "It doesn’t hurt to try."

"It almost did, and would have if you hadn’t backed off," Legolas chastised. His nerves were still on end.

Aragorn gave a sidelong glance at Legolas’s hidden face, he took no offence from Legolas’s somewhat short tempered words. He realized that the elf was troubled, being surrounded by men did not make it any better.

"What would you have our next order of action be?" Legolas asked quietly.

Aragorn thought for awhile, in the meantime idly sidestepping a careening drunk who stumbled for him. Then that reminded him of something. Taking the drunk by the shoulders he shook him to a loose point of lucidity, "Listen man, I want to know where the best tavern is."

The inhibited Dunlending, swayed like a listing ship, his cloudy eyes staring blankly at Aragorn. He let out a raucous cackle, Legolas could hardly stand the stench of alcohol on the man’s breath. He had no idea how Aragorn could stand having the man blasting the horrid smell directly in his face. "’Atta way," the drunk slurred, shoving a finger in the direction of a doorless wall. Obviously he had no idea what direction was up, down or sideways.

Aragorn rattled the man again. The drunk hung in Aragorn’s grip, grinning idiotically. This was the most emotion of any kind they had yet seen on any of the Dunlending’s faces. "Nah," the drunk grunted again, "I’sh atta way, down da shtreet. Called…" It seemed the inhibited man racked his memory for a name, "Fanderns Lodge."

Aragorn let the man go. He collapsed in a sodden heap on the muddy ground, wine bottle in hand. "We have our next destination." Aragorn turned from the drunk in the mud and trudged his way against the slowly diminishing traffic.

Legolas stared after the ranger. In his mind this was rapidly taking an even worse turn. Waltzing into a Dunlending tavern, full of drunk Dunlendings, who were also vicious Dunlendings, didn’t sound like the best plan. But, he reminded himself, he had not a better plan.

True to the drunk’s words, a few buildings down, a crudely chiseled sign hung over a rotted door with the words ‘Fanderns Lodge’. A dim light shone onto the muddy street through cracked windows and from underneath the badly constructed door. As they neared, wafts of the sent of sour wine filled their senses, evidently bothering the keen sense of the elf more than Aragorn.

The ranger pushed the door open, the rusted hinges creaked but was drowned out by the clamor of the occupants. Pints of beer clanked on tables and dim candlelight illuminated craggy faces.

Aragorn and Legolas stood for a moment off to the side, unnoticed. "We’ll split up. The swill of beer can loose many a man’s tongue."

Before Aragorn slipped off into the crowd, Legolas discreetly grasped his shoulder, "Try not to be recognized. I do not wish to pull you from the fray again."

Aragorn gave him a reassuring smile, then pulled his hood off and pushed his way to the bar. Legolas kept his hood in place, to be revealed as an elf in such a crowded place would mean certain mayhem. He spotted a vacant space in a shadowed corner. Keeping his cloak tight about him, he made his way to the seat to keep an eye on Aragorn’s back.

The ranger ordered a light drink for the sake of appearance. To his left was seated a man of grey hair and unkempt mustache and short beard. He looked as one who had seen many years and sorties from the scars which lined his tanned face. The bartender returned with Aragorn’s requested mug. "Bring another for this fine man here," he ordered, giving the man a sidelong glance with a faint nod. "You look like you need it."

The man dipped his head slightly in thanks to Aragorn. "You’re right on that young fellow. Too much dirt and sludge in this place to merit conscious thought." He accepted the tankard from the bartender. After giving Aragorn a long look he shrugged and thrust out a hand, "Ollen they call me."

Aragorn grasped the callused hand, "I’m Strider." This was definitely not the place to announce that he was the heir of Isuldir.

Ollen eyed him again, measuring him up, "Hm, not from these part are you?"

Strider weighed his word carefully, "Not quite, though I’ve been in and out these past months." He took a swill of his ale, "Say, I’ve been hearing odd rumors of some odd folk about, that they even beat out a whole passel of men last night. What say you about this?"

Ollen swigged his ale, "Bah!" he scoffed, "Odd folk indeed." He slammed his mug down on the bar. "Beat out not only men but some high muck assassin hired by our lordy Borlanon." His dislike for the chief of Dunland was palatable. "Those two, not to mention that devilish old man, caused more than a few men grief." Ollen’s lips pealed back in a wry grin, he shook his head, "Vanen’s gonna have that so called elf’s pretty head on a platter for that disgrace."

Aragorn did not like the sound of this, "Vanen? Is that the assassin?"

"Aye," Ollen nodded his head, and took another gulp of ale. "Aye, he’s really got no part in the dealings of our chiefly Borlanon and that wizard man. Just hired to kill that man and elf. Pray tell, he’s gonna surely have their blood now that he’s been foiled once."

Strider didn’t know whether to take this as good news or bad. Ollen’s words confirmed Gandalf’s fear that this treachery was from within the order of wizards. "Might you know who this wizard is?"

Ollen pulled back and eyed him again with his dark shifty eyes, "How’s I supposed to know? I was just sent with that Horengof to kill them two."

This was not a welcome development. He had had no clue that this man had actually been there last night. He had heard enough for now, it was time to get out with his head. Unfortunately, he was too late.

Ollen squinted at him, "Say, have I seen you somewhere before?" Before Aragorn could deter him, Ollen remembered. "Yrch spit! You’re that man!" He cried, rallying the bar occupants to him. He unsheathed a long knife from his belt and stabbed downward at Aragorn.

Aragorn grabbed his mug, bringing it up to bare as the knife flashed downward. The blade crashed into the clay mug, shattering it and spilling its contents. Aragorn took this distraction and fell back out of the chair he was seated in.

With the crowd and all the yelling, no one quite knew who was the enemy. But drunk and intoxicated as the men were, it didn’t matter. Fists and boots warred against each other. The bartender dove under the bar while tables crashed and chair bashed heads.

Aragorn, at the bottom of this suddenly felt his shoulders grabbed by two hands, dragging him out of the tangle of men and flailing arms. Thinking it to be a man, he twisted in the strong grip and rammed an elbow into the man’s chest. Then he realized it wasn’t a man.

"Please be so kind as to not kill your rescuer," hissed Legolas.

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but Legolas pulled him out of the bar and down the street and back a dim side lane. There did Legolas release him. The elf rubbed his rib cage where the ranger had struck him. "Sorry," Aragorn said lamely.

"Elladen is right, you are far too defensive," Legolas chided.

"If I wasn’t, I’d be dead by now." The ranger leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

"Right," Legolas said doubtfully. The elf did not mince words. He turned back towards the road and worked his way down the street back towards the outskirts of the city.

Another frown pursed Aragorn’s brow. He wished to speak, and warn, Legolas of what he had learned from the man Ollen, but it seemed that the elf was not in the mindset to listen. Today had proved not to be his day for strategy, perhaps it would be best to follow Legolas this once.

---

It seemed that Legolas had had his fill of covert operations for the day. Without speaking a word, he made his way out of the dismal city and into the rainy, but spacious, air of the road. It was up to Aragorn if he wanted to follow or stay in the city.

Aragorn allowed the elf to have his space on their arrival at the mound of boulders they had left the horses at. In the meantime, he busied himself with preparing a small fire in an unseen shelter of the rocks. Time passed slowly, night had peaked at its darkest point, there was no moon to light the forest floor. She had hid herself behind a thick bank of clouds which panted the sky black. "Legolas, will you not come down for a bite to eat?" Aragorn spoke at last when he could not bare the silence between them any longer. The only response he received was the same view of the elf’s back from his perch on a high boulder.

It pained the ranger to be on such terse relations with the elf. His comfort was in the closeness he had come to know Legolas. If pattern held true, then Legolas would soon shake of this menace hovering over his mind, or at least not allow it to come between them.

He ate a small meal of rations alone, besides the company of Ralamir and Falmarin who stood with heads bowed in peaceful relaxation. He could not help the frequent glances directed at the silent elf.

"Take your rest, Strider. I will take the watch tonight. Sleep will not visit me this night." Legolas’s voice startled Aragorn from his light dose. He was greatly relieved that Legolas’s words did not hold the vexation they had earlier.

Aragorn wondered if this would be the time to bring up his findings. The thought that Legolas could be harmed because of his tardiness to warn him of the animosity the assassin felt towards him weighed on his mind. But he also did not wish to push the elf’s mood. But, he assured himself, Legolas would not be prone to carelessness.

His heart eased. He relaxed back against the smooth curve of the rock, letting his awareness fade, his confidence placed in his elven friend.

---

An hour passed in the silence of the forest, the only sound was the patter of rain against stone and woodland floor. Occasionally, Legolas heard the slight shift in Ralamir or Falmarin’s stance. Except for those subtle stirrings, all was still. Yet, he did not allow his mind to wander or let himself slide into ease. There was danger on the wind. He could sense it keenly as the scent of rain on the air.

Perhaps the silence helped him in his vigil. The quiet was far from comforting and the shadow in his thoughts did nothing to sooth him. He regretted snapping at his human friend with all his heart, but these times had troubled him greatly. He had also hoped the crisp air and rain would wash away the doubt.

But the night proved not to be silent for long.

Legolas had suddenly felt a surge of forewarning. He had hardly recognized this feeling before there was a sharp twang, then followed immediately by a growing hiss of air being sliced. The arrow sped directly for him. Instinctively he threw himself from his perch on the low rock where he had moved. Twisting to land lightly on his feet he drew his bow, taking shelter behind the natural wall of stone. He dimly was aware of Aragorn leaping to his side, having been awakened by the sudden movement. The elf’s keen eyes scanned the trees, his ears sharply attuned to any rustle. His findings disturbed him.

Nothing. There was no sound, no smell, no site of anyone. He had sensed nothing but the almost too late warning of his instincts. Never had he been taken so unawares by anyone!

Minutes ticked by until surely no one would still be present. Slowly, Legolas crept from the rocks. Low to the ground he flitted from shadow to shadow in the direction of where the arrow had sped.

Aragorn could hardly see Legolas in the darkness of the moonless night. All he had witnessed was the elf’s landing. Besides that, he was painfully ignorant, but he knew the archer well enough to tell when he was threatened.

As the elf stole into the night, Aragorn let his eyes wander to the surrounding forest, watching his friends back for any foes that might appear from the trees behind him. Then his eyes caught the site of an odd straight stick protruding from the trunk of an oak. He then realized that it was no branch, but an arrow.

Cautiously, he picked his way to the tree. Indeed, it was a brown fletched arrow lodged firmly into the thick bark of the oak. With a hard tug, it fell free. Upon closer inspection, Aragorn noticed a small scroll of thin parchment wrapped securely to the arrow’s shaft in order to not hinder its path. He was almost reluctant to look at what it said. He looked over his shoulder to see if Legolas was anywhere nearby, but the elf had disappeared.

With slight trepidation, he untied the leather thong wrapped around the parchment. It was but a simple square of paper, on it was scrawled six simple words, which he could hardly make out in the dim light:

There was a light step behind him, "What is it?"

Aragorn turned sharply at Legolas’s sudden appearance, he scowled at the elf, "I hate it when you do that."

The elf did not show any amusement. His dark eyes glittered, "I found no sign of anyone. It seems whoever shot that," he pointed to the arrow in Aragorn’s hands, "Vanished without a trace."

Aragorn passed the parchment to Legolas, "This was tied to it."

Legolas stared at it for a moment, then handed it back to the ranger. "He almost didn’t this time. You realize what this means?"

"I believe so," Aragorn said slowly. He had already pondered this.

"If I hadn’t been an elf, then that arrow would not have missed. Even I don’t know how I sensed it. The air was still, there was not smell or sound." He fixed Aragorn with a grave stare, "Whoever shot that, knew he would miss. That means…"

"He knows what he is up against." Aragorn finished. It was common knowledge to those involved now that they were man and elf, but few really knew in these lands the tenacity and ability of the elven race. This was no mere man sent out to kill. This assassin, perhaps this Vanen Horengof character, was not foolish or ignorant of his quarry’s abilities.

"I should have told you earlier," Aragorn admitted. "But the man in the bar spoke of the assassin, Horengof’s, hatred for you. It makes you a bigger target for him."

Legolas snorted, "Men’s pride is so easily wounded." Then, seeing the distress on Aragorn’s face, Legolas smiled slightly, clapping him on the shoulder, "Worry not my friend. I will not be foolish enough to let my guard down in these lands."

---

A cloaked figure stole from tree to tree without a sound. His venture had been as simple as planned. He liked it when things went as planned. The bait had been set. He preferred an enemy who knew his skill. He knew that that could be one day his downfall, but when had he ever failed?

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, Aragorn had now shared all he had heard from the Dunlending, Ollen, with Legolas, including the proof that a wizard was involved.

Morning dawned shortly after they had retired again, though little sleep was to be had. The sky remained grey and stormy, though the rain had periodically slacked to drizzle.

Legolas straightened, his ears catching a recognizable sound. He looked to Aragorn who heard it as well. "Hoof beats, riding fast."

The horses’ ears swiveled forward. Their heads jerked upward as they sensed the other horse on the road. Legolas slung his bow over his back and trotted towards the direction of the road, with Aragorn following.

Staying just inside the protection of the trees, they arrived just in time to see the rider approaching at a gallop, heading towards the city. The black horse was lathered with sweat and its nostrils flared as one who had been running long. The rider was cloaked, but his hood was thrown back to reveal a bearded man who looked to be of Dunlending blood. He bore little gear.

"He must be the messenger Fasse spoke of," Aragorn whispered.

"Why would you say that? He could be any messenger." Legolas looked after the rider as he raced past and disappeared around the curve of the road.

"Because," Aragorn shrugged, "I have a hunch."

Legolas cast the ranger a sidelong glance, "I think I for one, have had enough of your hunches."

Never-the-less, the elf followed the human back to their makeshift camp. Hastily, they covered the ashes of their previous fire and collected any supplies they might need. For speed’s sake, they opted to ride closer to the city than leave the horse again outside in a secluded spot.

Mounted, they set out at a trot, picking their way more directly than the road, through the trees. By Aragorn’s approximation, this would cut a good ten minutes off their short trek. He hoped that they might reach the city a short while after the messenger did.

For once it seemed, Aragorn’s scheme worked. They found a safe place for the horses then quickly made their way to the city gates. Just as they passed through the high gates, they saw the messenger ride to the steps of the Chief’s lodge and hurriedly jump from the horse’s back, flashing what looked to be a letter at the guards. The guards immediately straightened bring to bare by their shoulders their lances. A steward of the house greeted the man, then led him into the house. Obviously, Aragorn’s ‘hunch’ had been accurate.

The rain had increased, aiding them again with their disguise. The two conversed quietly as they walked unhurriedly towards the house. "It seems you were right," Legolas said.

"We need to see that letter."

"Of course," Legolas said wryly. "But how are we to do that, safely?" He added with emphasis, the words of Lord Elrond and Gandalf coming to mind.

"Safety cannot always come first, when another’s life is on the line," insisted Aragorn.

"It will come first when it is ordered by your father and Mithrandir."

"Legolas! You cannot help without risk! Aiding someone, as Mithrandir ordered, requires risk at times. Surely you understand this." Aragorn shot back hotly. The tension between them tightened.

"Then what would you say we do now?" Legolas sighed. There was no reasoning with the human when he was in this mood.

"Get that letter," Aragorn said simply.

"That would mean venturing inside that house, full of guards and hot headed Dunlendings, not to mention perhaps a few orcs."

Aragorn favored him with a slight tweak of his lips, "Exactly."

Legolas pulled Aragorn down a lesser-populated road. "Have you lost your senses Estel?"

Aragorn broke free of Legolas’s grip on his cloak. "There is nothing else to do!"

"You are right," the elf sighed. He knew that this was their only other option besides hijacking the messenger and forcing him at sword point to reveal the name of his lord was. A new look twisted Legolas’s face, neither anger nor frustration, but pained distress. "Estel," Legolas said slowly, weighing his words carefully, "I will not lie to you. I was told to protect you, you know I would, even if I hadn’t been asked. Because of the importance of your life, I cannot let you go into that house. I simply cannot allow it."

Aragorn gritted his teeth, "And you think I can let you go in alone as you are about to propose? What about my loyalty to you? Do you expect me to disregard that just because of my heritage and my so called ‘importance’?"

A sad look passed across the fair features of the elf. "No, I do not expect you to understand, just forgive me." Before Aragorn had a chance to struggle, Legolas twisted Aragorn around, pinching a nerve area at the base of Aragorn’s skull. The ranger dropped like a stone, unconscious.

Gathering Aragorn in his arms he stole down the empty street and out of the city by a back way, blessedly unseen. His feet carried him to the place they had left the horses. Falmarin nickered softly at the elf’s arrival. Ralamir became instantly agitated when the horse saw his master in such a helpless state. "Worry not friend," Legolas spoke to the horse as he lifted the man to Ralamir’s back. "He is fine." He patted the bay on his strong shoulder, "Take him back to Fasse. Stay off the road and make sure not to let him fall," He directed Ralamir, who eyed him warily. Aragorn would stay unconscious for quite a time longer, hopefully until Ralamir brought him to the wizard. Aragorn would undoubtedly turn Ralamir around if he woke too soon.

"Wanne!" He instructed the horse. Ralamir looked at him one last time, then took off at a fast, but smooth walk, careful of his burden.

Falmarin looked to his master, unsure of what to do. Legolas smiled at the grey, "Don’t fret so Falmarin, they will be fine, I’m confident in Ralamir."

Falmarin snorted and shoved his head against the elf’s chest, as if saying "But do you know what you’re doing now?"

Legolas patted the horse’s neck, "Maybe, but as long as I’m getting him out of harm’s way, I suppose it’s at least close to the right thing." Rubbing behind the horse’s ear he asked Falmarin a favor, "If you would, wait here for me. I do not know when I will be coming back," he did not wish to outright say, if. "But if days pass, go to Fasse as well." Again he smiled at the horse, "Just use common sense."

Falmarin bobbed his head, but stared at him woefully. He looked far from joyous about this turn. Legolas pushed on Falmarin’s strong shoulder, "Go find somewhere out of site."

The horse walked a distance, then stopped to look back at his master, dark eye’s seeming to bare a frown of disapproval. Legolas waved him forward, then turned back towards the city, his back to the horse. He hated himself for the physical pain he had momentarily cause Aragorn, but he knew it would be but a pin-prick compared to the outrage the man would feel when he woke back in the supply cave of Fasse. He had given his word to Mithrandir and Lord Elrond. He had no intention of going back upon it. Besides, he reasoned with himself, he was more suited for this. One body, would be less noticed than two, not to mention that he would be able to travel faster and more silently than Aragorn. He would never had said so to Aragorn’s face, since it would likely grate on the man’s frustration even more.

He looked to the city. Legolas knew his job, and as impossible as it seemed he would do it, for both Aragorn’s sake and Fasse’s.

Legolas spent the next few hours, scouting and studying the house of Borlanon. From the number of guards stationed at each corner and at every visible entry, Borlanon was not a careless man, perhaps even paranoid for his safety. There were few windows, and approximately two cellars, two sentries guarded each of these possible entries. Legolas was sure that two against himself were simple odds, but he had also noticed, that inside the windows were two more guards. Who knew how many more perused the hallways and corridors who would be alerted at the slightest scuffle?

But there was one opening left relatively unguarded. The peaked roof of the multi-wing building sported four large chimneys. Legolas had no assurance that these chimneys were not locked or barred in some way, but at the moment, it seemed his safest entry. The trick was getting to the roof without being seen. He had charted a path from his observations and timed the passing of the patrolling guards. If all went according to plan, he would have a clear shot with a space of two minutes to make a dash to some conveniently placed food crates waiting to be stored in the cellar nearby. The difficulty would be the two sentries standing a few feet away guarding the cellar door. His solution to this was a palm-sized stone.

As for his escape, that was the one bright spot. He had observed that there seemed to be no hindrance for those passing out of the building. Perhaps it was because of Borlanon’s belief that no one he did not wish could get inside.

Legolas waited from his vantage point for the guard to pass on his rounds. The moment the sentry walked past him, he ran low diagonally towards the crates. Sliding behind them, he waited and listened for any sign that he had been spotted. When the patrolling guard came back and turned back again. Resetting his two minutes, he launched the stone accurately. It bounced noisily against the opposite wall of an inn. As planned it went unnoticed except for the sound. The guards turned towards the disturbance, momentarily distracted.

With light, soundless steps he flew up the boxes then coiled back and sprung from the top crate. He landed in a slight crouch on the slanted rooftop. Even he, an elf, could not completely muffle the slight thump at his landing. He stood completely still, low against the roof, listening. He knew not if he should feel relieved or worried that things had gone so smoothly.

After the short pause he crawled rapidly up the slope of the roof. Thankfully, the incline was just steep enough to hide him from view on the opposite side of the building, but not difficult to scale. He spared a brief glance backwards, the patrolling guard had just passed again, and the two sentries had returned to their post, oblivious of his presence.

Here he stopped in the relative safety of the joining crevasse of the main roof and an adjoining wing. Hunkering down, he surveyed his options. Chimney one was out of the question, due to the smoke rising from it. Chimney two was a possibility, but it was too far over to the busier side of the house. Being seen would be a greater risk. Chimney three was also out of the question, third closest, but it also puffed grey smoke. The fourth and last option was the farthest, but it held the best position.

Eyeing the street below once more, he took off just below the ridge of the main roof. A few seconds later he dove behind the chimney. It was soot blackened, but was cool to the touch and just wide enough at the top. It was a good thing he had come and not Aragorn. Estel would have had little to no chance of squeezing in. Once again, he scanned the surrounding streets for prying eyes. Coast clear, he steeled himself and slid into the long narrow shoot. Bracing his back against one side of the shoot, and his feet on the other side with his hands pressed against the blackened walls to the sides of him. Slowly he began inching down the long black shaft.

Lower and lower he slid. The back of his tunic and cloak becoming blackened by the thick soot. Breathing the thick air threatened to choke him.

Below him, he heard something that made his heart thud to his stomach. Muffled voices raised and fell in a heated argument, in the very room he was about to drop down into. He resisted the urge to slam his head back against the wall, cursing himself for his carelessness. He had not even take the time to listen for voices in the room! Now, he was half way down the shaft, precariously wedged in choking soot. The only thing keeping him from plummeting into a fireplace and then being decapitated by wild Dunlendings, was the strength of his back and legs.

His only option was to wait. And wait. And wait…

Minutes dragged on. His back burned, and his calves and thighs ached from the strain. Then with alarm as he was able to pick out a few words he realized that he was about to drop into the very stateroom of the Lord Borlanon, who was currently occupying it.

After what felt like ages, the voices faded, followed by the bang of a closing door. He waited a few minutes longer, listening intently. Then slowly, he began inching his way down. He winced when a dusting of soot sprinkled down. Lower and lower he maneuvered. Sparing a glance down he saw with relief the hearth. His legs threatened to seize up when he stepped down and put weight on them. Crouching, with hardly enough room, he removed the fire shield and stepped out cautiously. Looking about, he found his observations from the chimney to be true.

The room was large and nicely furnished, belaying the grunge of the exterior of the house. He could see only one door leading in or out. What caught his attention was the large desk set in front of the hearth. It was covered in parchments and bound notebooks. If Legolas had not been rushed, he would have found it intriguing to read through the many records, but pressed for time as he was, he dare not.

Then he felt reason to sing the praises of Illuvitar. What he had thought to be a trouble had turned out to be a blessing. Here, before him, was the letter laying open to the eye on the desk in an empty room. Scanning the parchment quickly he then was assured that this was indeed the letter he had come for. The information he found was alarming, but all he needed to clear Fasse of any doubt.

Then with sinking realization he saw that the letter bore no name or seal besides a blank, broken drop of wax. Surely, as he had surmised, there would be no name. The chances of the rider being attacked and the letter being viewed by unwanted eyes - such as his own - would be too great.

Hardly had he read the letter and tucked into the folds of his cloak, did the door bang open and armed guards flooded about him. In the doorway stood a dark faced man flanked by a richly dressed Dunlending, even behind them was a passel of armed men.

Legolas was cornered; his knives would do him little good here against these odds. He had walked ignorantly into a trap.

Night had come again, just as dark as the last, bringing with it the rumble of thunder. Ralamir did his best to keep from spooking at the threatening roar. His hooves trod slowly, his eyes wide, looking for landmarks he tried to draw from his memory. The sight of the fallen, deadened oak, wedged in the crook of a topless tree relayed to him that they must not be far off.

The burden on Ralamir’s back had not stirred the whole length of the day. The elf had told him not to worry, but the horse had cast uncertain glances back throughout the day. He wished more than anything for Aragorn to awake from his corpse like state and guide him. Though bright of mind among his own breed, he was still a horse and needed the hand of his master to show him the way.

There was a sudden flash followed by a sharp crack that broke the coal black sky. Ralamir nearly spun in fright, only did the reassuring weight on his back keep him from fleeing. In this short moment Ralamir beheld a welcomed sight as the illumination from the lightning lit the wall of an embankment just steep and high enough to be classified as a cliff.

Ears pricked forward, the bay pushed threw the thick shrubbery along the base of the cliff, careful not to rub too close. The longer he trod, the better his homing instinct grew. Then he caught a whiff of something man made. Pushing on, the smell grew stronger with each step until he stopped. In his mind, even in the darkness this place held a remembrance.

Ralamir eyed the wall warily, not at all eager to push through with a limp being on his back. He snorted, and nuzzled the shrubby cliff with his muzzle. Stomping a foot, he began pawing impatiently, letting a quiet whiney break the damp air in-between the claps of thunder.

As the minutes dragged on, Ralamir grew more and more impatient as the wizard inside failed to notice him. Throwing caution to the wind, he let out a full blast bugle, his flanks shaking as his lungs heaved. It wasn’t long before a shaggy head poked from the shrubs. Ralamir had reason to bestow on Fasse a smarting nip.

"I say, I say! Don’t be so testy beast of man! My ears aren’t like they used to be you know." Fasse peered about, his head still all that was showing, "Dear me, what happened to the elf lad? Or your ranger?"

Ralamir’s ears pinned in aggravation, butting the odd Istar. "Deary indeed!" Cried Fasse when he caught sight of the human lying over Ralamir’s broad back. The wizard pushed the shrubs back far enough for the horse to pass without disturbing his burden. With last withering look, Ralamir passed within.

The smell which had led the horse turned out to be a pot of soup over a small, smokeless fire. Where Fasse had dug ingredients for a soup was a mystery, but the wizard seemed to have odd talents. Fasse pulled the dead weight of the ranger from Ralamir’s back, careful to be gentle lest he rile the temper of the beast again. He inspected the man for any wounds or illness, but found nothing to warrant his unconsciousness. He was no healer by any means, but he would have had the basic knowledge to tell if the man had been stabbed or mortally wounded in some way. Blood was the usual side effect. (A/N: You did hear the sarcasm…right?)

Fasse sat back, puzzled, then shrugged and went back to his soup. But as he turned to rise, a pair of fiery eyes and a snort warned him back. Ralamir stood with his head lowered forehead to forehead with the wizard. From the light in the horse’s eyes, Ralamir had no intention of letting Fasse eat his soup before Aragorn awoke, alive and well. Fasse sat back down with a grunt.

Thankfully for him, Aragorn was not long in showing signs of awakening. Slowly, his eye’s blinked open, blurry and confused. With a groan he pushed himself up on his elbows, trying in his muddled state to sort out his surroundings.

"Haloo and good waking to you! I say, I say, you gave your beast quite a scare." Fasse clucked in his face, sparing the man no peace.

Aragorn blinked at him, working on clearing his head of the cobwebs. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely.

Fasse sat back, tsking and shaking his shaggy head. "Why should you ask me? You only just arrived in your incapacitated state. Your devilish beast practically bowled me over with his incessant stamping and butting. With all your elvish steeds, why you choose such a…"

"Fasse!" Aragorn interjected hotly, "Please! Your babbling is not helping matters," the shaggy wizard cocked his head at the upset man but remained silent. "Let me think for a moment."

Ralamir’s twitched his ears forward, watching his master intently as Aragorn pressed his thumbs to his forehead. Fasse shrugged, and wandered back to his soup. Unspoken, the wizard itched to ask if they had found anything that would help him out of his dilemma, but wisely thought it best to let the man think first. He was finding these rangers to be quiet the temperamental sort, they and their horses as well.

Aragorn wracked his brain for the words and memories to fill the empty gap of time in his mind. Up to standing outside the Dunlending lord’s estate speaking…something…to Legolas, he recalled, but beyond that, there was nothing. The next memory was waking up just a few moments ago. He abruptly leapt to his feet, the room spinning haphazardly. "Fasse, where is Legolas?"

Fasse glanced at him, mid bite. "The elf? I do not know. It was just you and that beast of yours. Unless there is another cursed animal pawing at…"

It seemed Aragorn was making a habit of awakening to find Legolas gone. A bad habit at that. He looked at Ralamir standing beside him. If only he had Legolas’s elvish ability to speak with the horse. Then slowly, he unconsciously sunk to the floor again as memory suddenly flooded back…

"I can’t believe he did that." He whispered in shock at the aggressive action his gentle friend had taken. Disbelief was all that kept him from full-blown fiery rage. To protect him. All he had heard while growing up, all he had experienced from his brothers and family, was to protect him. Had they ever thought he might be tired of living in an impenetrable shell? "I can’t believe it!" As the situation sunk in, burning anger and frustration welled up within him. Ralamir jerked his head and shied as Aragorn swung his arms up above his head in anger. "He has no sense in his sun bleached brain. What nerve would allow him to do this?"

Fasse, not entirely sure what the young man was ranting about, did his best to offer his condolences and advice. "Now, now. I’m sure he had his reasons, one way or another. He’ll be fine on his own for a bit. I’m sure he’s had…"

"I’m sick of this." Aragorn began to pace, his jaw clinched. "Will I be grey and still have them coddling me?" Fasse looked ready to interject about grey hair, but no sooner had his mouth opened than did Aragorn pierce him with a vehement glare. "You don’t understand. The block-headed, stiff-necked, human ‘protecting’, elf will go throw himself into some situation that no one could come out of alive! In the name of protecting me because of my need." Aragorn fell again onto a crate of dried goods. "Most likely he’s already in the blasted building and is standing at sword point," he said bitterly.

Little did he know just how true his words were.

---

"Bind him."

The circle tightened around the lone elf. They were taking no chances, leaving no openings. Legolas tensed as four flanked him with lances pressed against his chest and back. Two more stepped from the ranks with heavy iron bindings. He was stuck, there was no fighting his way out of this one if he wished to remain alive. He could do nothing but stand submissively as the men ripped the shrouding cloak away and pulled his arms behind his back, roughly clinching the tight bindings around the soft flesh of his wrists. His hands were not the only part of him that chaffed at this bondage.

From the doorway, the lordly man motioned to the two men, "Search him for it." At his bidding, the men who had bound him first removed the two most obvious weapons then patted him down. Triumphantly, the shorter of the two men pulled the letter from the inner layer of his tunic and handed it back to the commanding man, whom Legolas now knew to be the one and only Chief Borlanon.

"Welcome, elf." Until now, the almost ranger like man beside Borlanon had not spoken. His voice was deep and held a sinister tone to it. "I was expecting you would be dropping in eventually." He stepped forward until he was face to face with the elf, his dark eyes hooded, "I thought I’d prepare a welcoming party for you. After all, we did start out on the wrong foot that night I came to pay you and your friends a visit." The deep voice held so much contempt and smooth sarcasm you could almost taste it. Vanen turned to the side, taking a sharpened letter opener from the desk. He made a show of admiring the intricately tooled handle, inset with jade. Slowly, thoughtfully he rolled the handle about in his fingers. "As you already know, I’ve been told to kill you. Pity you didn’t make it easier for me and just bring your human friend along with you." A pleasant smile laced his face as if he was relating his disappointment that Aragorn was not joining them for a dinner. "But I suppose I’ll just have to settle with you for now." Vanen stepped until he was almost toe to toe with the bound elf. He rested the knife against Legolas’s throat. A bead of crimson slid along the blade. "Which is perfectly fine, since I have," he paused as if looking for words, "pressing debts and issues to settle with you first." He tapped the knife lightly against Legolas’s throat then turned away again, taking a step back. "But, I have decided that my goals would be best fulfilled if I allowed you to enjoy Dunlending hospitality a mite longer."

Legolas felt his heart leap as Vanen’s scheme became obvious. He was meant to be bait. Bait to draw Aragorn into Vanen’s clutches. With a most un-elvish snarl he jerked against the bonds holding him. The men’s hands tightened on his arms, spears were instantly penning him in. Vanen on the outside of the bristling ring of weapons met Legolas’s fiery gaze. "I’m sure your friend will not wish to miss out for long." Vanen pivoted on a heel disappearing out the door. Legolas wished to fight, wished to grasp the man’s neck for all he was worth. But he was held helpless as the Dunlending guards dragged him away down the opposite corridor.

---

Aragorn was in a foul state of mind the next morning. Fasse had coaxed him to take some rest during the remainder of the night, but it had done little to ease Aragorn’s fiery temper. As much as he hated to admit it, Aragorn’s worry was quickly overriding any anger he held against his friend. After all, he tried to reason, he should be mad at the elf. Legolas had not turned up that night or even passing into later morning. Half of him expected the elf to appear at his shoulder as he had done so many times before, a habit that drove Aragorn’s nerves to their end. But the other half, the half of reality, knew that if Legolas did not come soon…

Aragorn continued pacing, a path worn in the dirt floor. Fasse sat in his chair, one weathered hand propping his shaggy chin in its palm, lightly dozing. His mind was in turmoil. He glared at Ralamir who stood, immovable as a stone wall at the entrance of the cave. Aragorn would have been long gone if not for the horse. The bay had taken up a stiff residence at the entrance, nipping and pinning his ears whenever Aragorn attempted to pass him. The stallion proved to have a strong will, and when he did not wish something, you could sway him no other way. With only one entrance, in or out, Aragorn was stuck inside the cave, by a horse no less, while his friend was probably trapped hand and foot in a cell. The ranger dared not think further on the elf’s condition.

Ralamir’s ears suddenly perked, his head raising as he listened to something unheard yet by Aragorn. The horse stomped a hoof, his nostrils quivering. Aragorn stopped his motion, though mad as he was with the horse he trusted the creature’s scenes. Dimly, he heard the flap of wings and a loud cawing. Ralamir stamped and pawed, he tossed his head and was obviously sensing so