Chapter 1: Off Again

Imladris was a bustle of activity. With the coming of the last vestiges of fall, came both hunting and the preparation for cold nights and roaring fires. This year the gathering began early as it was foreseen that this winter would be one of special weight and length. It was also a regular habit that those living around the borders of the elven refuge often found shelter in the strength and security of Rivendell.

Two months time had passed since the return of Legolas and Aragorn, and with them the little known wizard Fasse, from Dunland. Their return brought long days of laughter and singing. Four days had passed before Gandalf had called Fasse away with him to attend the conjuring of the White Council. For a short time, Elrond was also called away as his presence had been requested in this meeting, leaving his second most steward in his place. With them had also gone, Legolas, whom had most regretfully been called back to Mirkwood for official matters.

This left the twins, Elladan and Elrohir, along with Aragorn. The house had remained quiet even after Elrond had returned a few days later. "You do not seem to function when one of you is missing," the elven lord and observed. "Without an even number, you limp together as a dog with only three legs."

The weeks had passed in mal-mood. Then there had come tidings from Legolas that he had escorted Fasse back to Mirkwood for a short while until he himself could accompany the wizard back to Imladris. This had heightened the mood considerably in the household, much to Elrond’s relief. Within ten days time, Legolas and Fasse were once again entering the doors of Rivendell.

"I don’t know why we still give you the guest room when really it is rightly yours," mused Aragorn as he accompanied Legolas to his regular quarters.

Legolas sighed happily as he breathed the fresh air of Imladris. "For the few weeks I was in Mirkwood I felt as if the life was being drawn from me." He placed his hands on the serpentine carved railing. "The forest has changed so much, as if a great haze of smoke has settled among the boughs."

Aragorn could see plainly the grief that the slow death of Legolas’s home was causing on his friend. Legolas had confessed as much of the pain. Unfortunately he had been at a loss of words for comfort. Instead he had stood with the elf for a good while until the sun had dipped behind the trees, talking of their adventure in Dunland as well as the goings on of both of their homes. It had seemed to help lighten the prince’s mood. By the coming of the call to the evening meal, the lame dog was whole again.

The meal had been interrupted by a loud bray. Oddly enough the elves seemed to look resigned and accustomed to this loud interruption. Gorban, the donkey of Dunland, had sauntered in glaring and snorting impatiently at Elrohir until the elf had scooted over to allow the creature room enough to eat from his stationed bowl of assorted fruits and greenery. Early on, Gorban had assumed his position at the right of the younger twin whether it be in hunting or simply about the lands. So in his stubborn donkey mind, Gorban had seen no reason why he should not be allowed at the dining table as well. Elrond himself had found out the strength of the will of the donkey when they had tried to remove Gorban from the room. And so it was that Gorban was now a regular at the meals.

"I really cannot intrude on your routine any longer," Fasse said as he leaned back in his high-backed chair.

"Non-sense, you do not intrude on us, friend." Elrond assured.

Fasse shook his head. "No, really. I think it is time I move on." The wizard fiddled with his bushy beard, nodding slowly. "Yes, yes, I need to find some place to settle down. One so hoary and brittle as myself can’t go unsettled for long."

"You would be welcomed to call this your home. But I understand your desire. Tell us though where you would go?"

Fasse thought for a moment, ignoring the eyes upon him. He seemed to be calculating something from the slow movement of his lips. "Perhaps Rohan as you so mentioned before. Maybe Gondor." He pursed his lips and paused. "What say you? Would Gondor look kindly on my presence in their lands?"

Elrond smiled fondly at the diminutive Istar. "I am sure they would welcome you. But if you truly wish to leave, then you must start out promptly. Winter will show her garb all too soon," he warned. Seeing that all had had their fill, including Gorban, Elrond pushed his intricately carved chair back from the table and stood. "But if you must go then I insist that someone of this house escort you to your destination, wherever it may be."

Looking to Legolas first, Aragorn rose. "I would go with you, friend. I think it is time I stretch my legs again." He nodded to the wizard with respect.

"And I as well. I would hate to think of you suffering alone with the dull company of this human." Legolas prodded with a straight face.

Elrond cast upon the elf a doubtful look. "You have not consulted with your father about this. Do you not have duties of your own in Mirkwood?" Relations were yet strained between the realm of Thranduil and the house of Elrond. Unfortunately Legolas and Aragorn’s friendship could only tear that gap further to strife if he was not careful.

"Nay, I have seen to those duties and I would breathe the air of Middle-earth while it is still fresh." The elven prince met eyes with Elrond then as they both knew of the ever-darkening presence that was continuing to spread over the lands.

Elladan looked ready to stand at Aragorn’s side before Elrond turned his attention to him. "You however, my son, still have duties to attend to I cannot send a passel of princes and elvish nobles out into the wild at once." Elladan pressed his lips together in a thin line but nodded resignedly, submitting to his father’s wishes. "Very well then, as much as I hate to see you three leave again, I must advise that you leave with all haste before the winter comes."

Fasse moaned then, rolling his eyes pitifully. "Oh deary, deary, does this mean I will suffer the agony of riding upon the back of that wild beast again?" Aragorn nodded and laughed. "Oh, perhaps I should not have even said anything," the wizard sighed.

The twins put aside their disappointment and Fasse his dread of riding upon a horse. For one more night, the halls were filled with merry singing and the telling of lore and tales. It was Legolas who excused himself first, followed shortly by Aragorn, then Elladan and Elrohir. It was Fasse and Elrond who remained awake into the early hours of the morning, speaking of the past, the present and the future as old friends on a winter’s night.

---

If there was such a thing as déjà vu then Elladan and Elrohir were experiencing it. It had seemed that only yesterday they were bidding farewell to both Legolas and Aragorn who were, as this time, off on what the twins saw to be just another adventure in which they were not included. The mature elven side of them though saw it for what it was as a potentially dangerous and tiring journey with rationed food and hard roots to sleep on. But the rational side was always so hard to agree with.

Ralamir stood beside his grey companion Falmarin while, with the two elvish horses grazed Gorban. It had been a struggle for the donkey to decide with whom to go, if donkey’s held any allegiances (as Gorban had quite strongly shown). It was a tug of grass bale between staying in Rivendell with Elrohir or going with Fasse to…wherever the wizard was going. Fasse had tried to talk the donkey into staying in Imladris, but this had only had the opposite effect. In Gorban’s mind this caused him to reason that the wizard would probably need his brains more than the elf did, though at times, he had decided, the elf did as well need his far superior intelligence. But as much as a donkey could reason, he had been assured by the yellow haired elf that he needn’t make any decisions yet and could simply come along as the pack-donkey again.

A third horse was also being led to join the three. She was an older, but strongly built mare of a pale grey as her growing number of years had faded her lustrous black coat. Fasse had eyed her warily while the mare had fixed him with an unenthusiastic frown. "Fasse, this is Nienna. She has seen many years, but is strong of heart and body." Elrond smiled at a memory. He decided to leave the temper character out. Fasse failed to notice that even Ralamir and Falmarin, two full-blooded stallions, gave the mare more than enough birth in passing.

"Do not dally or wait for anything. You are cutting it shorter than I would like. Stay in the lands of Rohan no longer than you must," Elrond warned. He watched Aragorn closely. Unknown to anyone else, Aragorn had confessed his trepidation at venturing into the lands of his heritage. "There has been both dark and light in your past, Estel," Elrond had said. "I understand your reluctance." Aragorn had bowed his head then, his hair hiding any expression that might have warred on his face. "Perhaps you will be spared." Aragorn had not known what his father had meant when he had said the latter, almost as an after thought. Many times, Elrond said things that he had yet to understand and had grown used to it.

Aragorn swung up on Ralamir, nodding his understanding. "We’ll return as soon as possible. I promise." With an impish grin to his twin brothers he spoke a word to Ralamir. Fasse wobbled, gripping the horn tightly as Legolas taking the mare’s lead led the unseated wizard from the courtyard. Turning in his bareback seat upon Falmarin, Legolas waved farewell then disappeared around the archway.

Elrond stood for a while after Glorfindel and the other elves of Rivendell had departed. Elrohir stood beside him, unsure of what to say or do. His father heaved a breath. "I do hope I have not made a mistake in letting them go. It all happened so abruptly."

Elrohir looked to his father questioningly. "What could go wrong? Well," he caught himself, tilting his head to the side, "beside the usual unorthodox disasters which usually follow Estel around." This elicited, much to the younger elf’s relief, a smile from the elven lord. "They’ll come back, just like they always have in the past."

Elrond turned slowly, "I hope you are right. I must not let myself worry so." He smiled wider then at his youngest blood son. He draped an arm around Elrohir’s shoulder, squeezing his shoulder. "But I have you to worry about now, with my undivided and unadulterated attention."

---

"So Fasse," Legolas called back to the lagging wizard upon Nienna. "Where exactly are we going?"

Fasse hands were gripped knuckle white around the shallow cantle of the saddle he wavered in. In all truth, Nienna was an elvish horse, born to be ridden without fastenings or restraints. But also in all truth, Fasse was not a horseman and need every fastening and restraint the elves of Imladris could dig up. So Nienna bore it with much pinning of ears and gnashing of teeth. "Perhaps we should not go so far as Gondor. Somewhere, anywhere closer that I may walk on my own two feet!" lamented Fasse.

"Would you rather walk in drifts of snow then?" Aragorn called from the head of the single file line they led down the path cutting along the side of a slopping meadow dotted with aspens. His answer was another agonized moan. Legolas edged Falmarin into a gentle trot, pulling Nienna’s lead. Fasse howled as he flopped helplessly about in the saddle. Gorban followed behind the wizard braying hitchingly. Aragorn passed his elven companion a sidelong glance. "That really was not a kind thing to do, Legolas."

Laughing lightly, Legolas looked over his shoulder at the wizard. "We’ll make a rider out of him yet."

"Hopefully before you kill him." Aragorn shook his head in disapproval. Legolas only smiled.

Like an arrow from his bow, Legolas spoke a word and Falmarin in a grey streak leapt forward into a strong lope, bringing Nienna behind them. "I will meet you in Gondor, ranger! Enjoy the winter that will be visiting your dragging feet!"

"Crazy elf!" Cried Aragorn as he watched Fasse bounce wildly in his unbalanced seat. The wizard’s shaggy beard blew up over his eyes, muffling his desperate howls and muting Legolas’s tinkling laughter. Shaking his head again he prodded Ralamir into a fast canter. This was indeed going to be a long, and testing journey.

Chapter 2: Eyes in the Dark

It was the fourth time the sun had risen late behind the Misty Mountains since they had departed from the comfort and safety of Rivendell. Four times she had yet to bestow any warmth on the chilled bones of man or wizard. As for how the elf faired, he rode upon Falmarin with a slight smile breathing deeply of the crisp – as he deemed it – air. Wearing only a light tunic, he had not even thought yet to don his thicker cloak. Falmarin also seemed completely at ease. This drove Aragorn and Fasse to no end of frustration that the elf could not even relate to there mild discomfort, though to Fasse it was far from simply mild.

Fasse, as far as his riding, had managed to become seated enough to cling with only one hand to the swell of the saddle while the other grasped his breakfast, an apple. "Is this what you traveling lads always live on?"

Aragorn had dropped back while Legolas rode ahead. "No not always, orc meat always keeps you ticking on a cold night." He stifled a chuckle at Fasse’s aghast expression. "I’m just joking with you, Fasse," he assured as the wizard showed no signs of catching his humor. Aragorn shook his head and chuckled.

Ten minutes up the trail they met Legolas standing beside Falmarin waiting for them, his expression though was one of seriousness. "Estel if you will," he motioned for Aragorn to dismount. They stood close, it was obvious that the elf did not with Fasse to overhear. "I fear there may be trouble ahead, or rather behind."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean?"

"I have seen the prints of wolves, a larger pack by the look of it, behind and before us."

"Surely they will not hinder us. Simple wolves would not dare to approach." Aragorn thought aloud.

"Unless they are not just simple wolves."

Aragorn frowned, thinking deeper into the meaning of Legolas’s findings. "You believe they are wargs?"

Legolas shrugged, "I cannot be certain. The paw prints are larger than the usual wolf."

"Wargs would not venture so close to Rivendell would they?" Aragorn had had few encounters with the ravenous beasts, and he did not relish another meeting any more than he would relish meeting a Balrog in a cage.

"Whether it be wolf or warg, they will be hunting for food for the winter." He looked to Fasse who was finishing off his breakfast, glad to be sitting stationary. "But we have less to fear if it is but a pack of wolves. Pray that they are not wargs, Aragorn. The game in this area has been sparse these last months, they will be growing desperate."

Aragorn gnawed on his bottom lip, nodding. "We will move on then, considering we have no other choice at the moment. But I urge you to keep your bow at the ready."

Mounting once more, they started off again down the path.

---

Day drew on to afternoon, but with Aragorn’s better judgement they did not stop for a meal but rode on. The sooner they were out of this forest the better. The day passed without event but their usual banter was absent. Legolas would drift from the lead to the back, his pewter eyes shifting through the darkening trees. Across his lap laid his bow, ready at any moment, yet there was no occasion for its use. So night came again, colder and more uncomfortable than the last. "I will find no sleep this night, Legolas. I will take the watch. I have a feeling we may need it." Aragorn looked out to the haunting shadows of the forest.

Legolas eyed him doubtfully at first, but then nodded. "But do not hesitate to wake me if you find need for rest."

Aragorn turned to the elf, his eyes twinkling. "When have I ever thought twice on waking you?" The elf punched him in the shoulder, then leapt from the boulder they had been seated upon before the ranger had a chance to retaliate. Legolas failed to dodge the large pinecone.

Wrapping himself in his blanket he steeled himself for a long, cold night.

---

Eyes, golden orbs of malice, peered out from the cover of the trees. Lust danced as they looked upon the sleeping companions. Winter, cold winter, would be upon them much sooner than the elves had anticipated. These would serve as enough food for many days.

Legolas woke to the horrible feeling of many razor edged knives ripping at his throat. His ears ached with the screams of his friends as they awoke to the same agony. Death came with eyes of gold flecked with red.

---

Heart pounding, Legolas lurched to a sitting position. Rare was it that the elves lost control of their dreams. But this had been a nightmare if ever he had seen one. He subconsciously cast about with his gaze for his companions. Fasse lay flat on his back with his and Legolas’s blankets wrapped around him up to his nose. Aragorn had deserted his seat at watch the minute he saw Legolas startle. "Are you alright?"

Legolas passed a hand over his eyes trying to clear his mind of the horrible vision he had witnessed. "I believe so," he heaved a breath. "Something in my dreams startled me, that is all."

The ranger observed plainly the distress in the elf’s actions. "What was it?"

Legolas’s face pinched, unconsciously a hand reached up to rub his throat. "I’d rather not talk about it right now," he said quietly, thoughtfully. He heaved a breath, pushing his thoughts aside for a moment. "Now that I am up, why don’t you take some rest. Dreams will not visit me tonight, at least any that I wish to see." The elf pushed past the ranger, not waiting for a confirmation. Aragorn watched the elf swing into a tree, disappearing into the forest canopy. He lay himself down in the place Legolas had pre-warmed; thinking of what might have spooked his friend so. In good time, if Legolas felt the need, he would know. But it did not take the edge off of his curiosity, or his concern.

---

Fasse groaned, stretching his sore muscles. For the past days he had been walking bow-legged and his temper had been fouler than usual, giving Legolas and Aragorn all the more cause not to trouble him with their own worries. As long as they kept a sharp eye out, the wizard would be fine.

"How much farther?" bemoaned the wizard as once again Nienna lurched to a fast walk.

"A few more days and we’ll be in what used to be the lands of Eregion, but," Aragorn continued at the look of hope in Fasse’s face, "we will not be stopping there. At least we will do everything not to."

"Oh bother." Fasse huddled in his blanket atop of Nienna, wallowing in his misery. He was sore, he was cold and his face was numb, and he was hungry, all this just to get to Rohan? Could they just, take a boat, or something else? Gandalf had Gwaihir to cart him around, why couldn’t he have some kind of expedient transportation other than a blasted horse. It just wasn’t fair.

Legolas brought up the rear that day, and he was the first to feel the sting of cold ice crystals pricking his face. He stopped then trying to decide whether it had been a figment of his imagination. Falmarin pranced beneath him feeling his riders tension. "Aragorn."

Ahead, with Ralamir, Nienna and Fasse, Aragorn had also come to a halt. "Is that what I think it is?"

"I pray it isn’t." Oddly enough though they waited, no more of the phantom snow flakes fell. Uneasy, the three companions continued, subconsciously looking to the greying sky. That day their pace was speedier than the previous day’s, switching between a fast walk, to an easy trot, and at time to a careful lope. By this pacing, they covered much more ground than previously planned. In all their hearts the threatening cold spurred them to greater speeds, also temporarily causing them to forget the threat of the forest beasts about them.

It was that night though when the danger of the beasts forced itself upon the travelers. Weary and numb, they set up a small camp in the dark of the moonless night. Legolas gathered plenty of dry timber for a small fire. After a meager bite of rations, Fasse and Aragorn collapsed near the fire, succumbing to fitful sleep.

Though the weather had yet to effect him, Legolas could tell that the temperature was dropping, quickly. Sitting with his back to the fire so the bright light would not effect his vision in the dark, he settled into a state of careful alertness where every sound and movement was noted and analyzed. Unbidden, his dream came back to him, haunting his thoughts as he looked into the starkness of the forest.

Those yellow and orange eyes boring into him had burned a place on his memory. They seemed to leap and burst with flames. Abruptly the eyes changed before him, forming one, single eye. The pupil stretched, creating a long, vertical oval as of a cat’s eye. From it’s center leapt malice and struck despair in his heart, though he knew not why.

There was a soft snap. Legolas’s eyes flew open. He had not even realized he had shut them.

Eyes, there were eyes, golden orbs staring from the darkness of the trees.

---

Aragorn didn’t know what had woken him, but he knew that he had left the warm cocoon of sleep behind. Somewhat grouchily, he raised himself on his elbows, wincing as the cold air struck his face full on. Then he saw Legolas crouching rigidly, seemingly frozen in place. The elf was staring out into the night, his silver eyes wide in the darkness catching the dim light of the slowly dwindling fire. Slowly, as not to startle him, Aragorn inched towards the elven prince. "Legolas, are you…" It was then that he as well saw the glittering lights of the eyes.

"Put another log on the fire, but do not make any sudden moves." Legolas warned softly, his lips hardly moving. Doing as he was bid, Aragorn stirred the bright coals, poking life into the flames. The eyes seemed to draw back from the burst of the sudden flare of embers. "Wake Fasse as quietly as you can." Aragorn crept to the slumbering wizards side, touching his arm lightly. Fasse grumbled and rolled over. Frowning, Aragorn shook the Istar harder. One eye popped open, glaring at the ranger. "What you want?" was what Aragorn could decipher from the mostly unintelligible grunts.

"I need you to be very quiet, and not to make any sudden moves," he instructed in a level conversational tone.

Fasse’s eyes darted about their surroundings but did as he was told. "Great gobs of yrch spit!" he hissed when he saw the many eyes surrounding them.

"Exactly my thoughts." Out of the corner of his eye he watched Legolas stand slowly bringing the anxious horses closer into the circle. Nienna’s eyes were wide with fright, her whole body quivered as her equine senses blared at her to flee. Ralamir and Falmarin were not much better off. Gorban seemed to be dealing with the impending danger the best of the four horses. He stomped and tossed his head, waggling his ears almost as if he was glaring out at the blood thirsty beasts.

Legolas sidled up beside Aragorn beside the light of the fire. "They’re wargs Aragorn, hungry ones at that."

"I don’t believe I ever met one that isn’t hungry," the ranger commented dully. "I think we’re just going to have to wait it out until day light. Perhaps they’ll back off before then."

Legolas nodded, looking out at the eyes. He could not shake the vision he had had of the morphing of the eyes into one. It haunted him terribly. "I had a dream of the beasts last night."

"Is that what woke you?" Aragorn watched his friend closely.

The elf pursed his lips, but nodded. He shook himself, "I just hope what I saw is not a foretelling of the future." Before inquiring minds could ask further questions he brought the conversation back to the present. "It is odd. I did not think wargs traveled in such large packs."

"They don’t if I’m not mistaken," Fasse put in, eyeing the glittering orbs nervously. "Unless they know something about the coming days that we do not."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean?"

Fasse swallowed hard. "What I mean is that perhaps the elven folk were wrong about their weather predictions, if you get my drift." He coughed nervously, "No pun intended of course."

Legolas looked to Aragorn, pondering and idea before speaking what he knew the ranger was thinking as well. "What about the option of going back to Rivendell?"

Shaking his head, Aragorn scowled deeper casting another look into the forest. "I fear that will get us nowhere. As it is we are but a hard two and a half day ride from breaking from these woods. By turning back we would only give the beasts more time to gain their courage and attack – and I do promise you, if I know one scrap about wargs, then they will eventually attack."

Legolas nudged Aragorn in the ribs. "You’re doing nothing to help matters by telling horror stories."

For comfort sake they continued in a quiet stream of small talk, their eyes rarely resting on each other but constantly watching the eyes that would draw closer until Legolas could make out the huge silhouetted bodies. Drawing nearer, then they would leap back when Aragorn stirred the lulling fire back to vibrant life. Legolas would occasionally stand and do his best to calm the horses’ fear. It was a welcomed sight when the first dim glow tinged the grey sky. Pair by pair, the eyes would blinked out, disappearing as if they had been ghosts of their imaginations. But when the horses had at last stilled their prancing, Aragorn found the evidence, through crushed leaves and the like, that the wargs had not been but phantoms of their nightmares.

Sparing no time for a meal, they rolled their bedding and secured it to Gorban. It was as Legolas mounted Falmarin that he felt, and saw it, and knew that this was not but a passing fall. Snow, white and feathery, drifted from bruised clouds. "We must move, and quickly. If we can break from these trees we may have chance yet to make it Eregion." Aragorn called from the head of the small procession. Ralamir broke into a lope, feeling his rider’s urgency. The beasts were near, the horse could sense them all that day, running tirelessly behind them, just in the shadow of the trees. The snow had begun to fall in earnest, covering the ground in a quickly thickening blanket. The horses’ breath crystallized on their muzzles as they weaved between the trees. From early morning to the departing of the hidden sun they paced themselves as fast as they dared, but the wargs were ever following. At times Legolas would catch a glimpse of ragged hair hanging from lean bodies, or catch the scent of their soiled coats.

Then came the dreaded hour when they could travel no more and as before the glittering eyes of malice closed about them, closer Legolas thought than the previous night. All that night the fire burned bright. It was their one sure protection from the wild beasts. Again, they lay awake, watching and gauging the creatures actions. Fasse did find some sleep that night, laying close to the fire with Aragorn and Legolas crouched on either side of him. He assumed that he was safe as he would ever be.

Much to their dismay the snow continued to fall all through the night and into the next morning. The eyes blinked out, receding with the fading shadows, and as the previous day they took to the saddle as soon as was safe. This second day of their flight was much more trying than the last. The snow had seemed to let loose upon them, swirling between the shedding branches of the trees hiding obstacles that would rear before them, forcing the horses to make drastic leaps and swerves. With Aragorn at the front leading Nienna, Legolas rode beside Fasse, balancing and holding the unstable wizard upon the mare at those times when but instinct would keep one astride.

And so the day continued with the beasts loping after their pray, intent on their one goal. Tonight, tonight they would feast and bare back to their dwelling flesh, sufficient for many frigid nights.

Chapter 3: Blood and Tears

Aragorn crouched near the crackling fire. The wargs had drawn much closer this night, their courage was growing. As sickening as it was, he knew that if the pack struck as a coordinated body, then they would certainly overwhelm the three travelers. What was worse was the sleepless nights and grueling travel had begun to tell on all of them, except perhaps upon Legolas, but even he, as an elf, seemed to shine less in the darkness.

Now and then they would hear one of the wild beasts utter a guttural growl and the flicker of the firelight would reflect on long fangs. It was when Aragorn could see the trunk like forearms prowling just beyond sword reach that Legolas covered his hand with the sleeve of his cloak and reached into the fire. Gingerly he withdrew his hand, stood and threw a glowing object into the midst of the wargs. The beasts yelped and snarled in surprise, drawing back quickly into the shadows as the burning ember fell among them. Legolas looked after them, gauging their every movement with his keen eyes. "That may hold them for a while," he said softly. "But I doubt it will work for long. They will learn that they have no need to fear it."

"Now who’s being disparaging?" Aragorn muttered, sitting back on his heels. He shivered, shaking off the snow that had collected on his hunched back. The snowfall had yet to cease. Thought it did not hinder them so much now, but at this rate it was only a matter of time before the horses’ legs would become ensnared in the drifts. Even though their chances of making it through the night were dim, they had to start planning their next move. If the wargs were miraculously overcome, then the most reasonable action would be to head back to Imladris with all haste. But if the wargs still haunted the forest and they somehow got free and into the open plains first, then perhaps they could push on to a friendlier wild. He was still wary of stopping in any of the small villages which dotted Eregion at intervals. Elves had once dwelled in Eregion, but they had since all but vanished from the land, leaving men to dwell there. Though the reasons were unknown, there was yet a tension between the Firstborn and the men of the wild. Some of the bad blood could have been carried over from the Dunlending men who by word of mouth could have spread the false horror tales of the elves.

Aragorn shook his head at these thoughts. Men, he thought, even though human blood coursed through his veins, he could not help but feel separated and forever at odds with his own people. They spoke of the elves’ pride with scorn when they could not see their own folly. He was drug from the musing of his mind when Legolas rose again and hurled another firebrand into the midst of the wargs. Already he observed the wargs were becoming immune to the fear. "Soon I will have to start using my arrows," Legolas muttered, half to himself.

The beasts had even sooner begun to draw in again about them. They were tightening the noose about the travelers’ necks. Legolas winced as the flames scalded his hand, but still he threw the burning embers into the pack. This time it did little, to nothing. There was a sharp growl and then one of the huge beasts lunged ahead of his elders. Before the warg had chance enough to snap his crushing jaws, there was yellow and green fletched arrow protruding from its neck. The pack withdrew again, caring nothing for their dead number. It was by his own foolishness that he second-guessed his elders.

Legolas counted approximately to a round number, eighteen perhaps, and all far too large for his liking. So they waited, the firebrands doing nothing to hinder or scare the beasts away. Fasse, now wide-awake and trembling in his boots, stood back to back with Aragorn beside the blazing fire, his staff gripped tightly in his shaking hands. The wolves drew near again. Legolas’s bow was taut. The horses quivered and stamped, snorting and throwing their heads. The elf felt their instinctive fear, but he could also feel their loyalty. Their was no sound, save for the pop of the fire and the soft breeze. Even the wargs were quiet.

Then all hell broke loose.

---

Wargs from all sides leapt in one sudden frenzy. Legolas could loose only one arrow before the beasts were slashing at him within close range. His white knife flashed with a light of its own blocking fang and claw. The snarling wargs were all about him.

Aragorn felt adrenaline course through his veins as his sword scoured many backs. The wargs were not foolish in their attack or careless in their actions. He had yet to land a killing blow. Fasse, standing with his back pressed to Aragorn’s, whirled his staff catching many of the creatures’ jaws. His eyes were wide with terror, but he did not cringe from the fight. It was out of the corner of his eye that he saw Legolas being cut off from their protective circle. The wargs sought to separate them, and Legolas was being quickly being herded away from them.

The elegant curve of the knife wove mind-twisting patterns, but none of them were for show. The elven archer had hardly enough time as it was to bring to bare another defense against the monstrous beasts. He ducked, twisting below a swiping claw to appear opposite of the warg and deliver a stinging blow to the creatures back. It hardly severed the thick, top skin. He hardly had time to dodge to the side to escape his head being taken off by a leaping warg. Instead, the beast’s teeth sunk into his shoulder. He staggered beneath the weight of the warg, nearly falling. It was Gorban’s hooves who struck a quick death to the warg. Legolas hardly had time to recover before he had to whirl again to block the gaping jaws grasping for his flesh.

His blade singing in the frigid air, Aragorn brought the sword to bare on the nearest snarling wolf. The pressed in upon the two, giving them barely enough room to maneuver. But the moment that either of them struck, the hedge of snarling jaws drew back just out of reach. They seemed to play a game of teasing attack, then all at once they would surge as one body. One could never be prepared enough when this happened.

Aragorn feinted to the left then struck hard at a charging warg, for the first time striking a solid hit. The glittering tip of his blade sunk into the beasts belly. He felt Fasse at his back land another solid hit on one of the wargs skull. The creature yelped sharply, prancing back out of harms way while two others took his place. It was a longer skirmish this time around as the wargs ducked in clawing and growling. As he danced back out of reach he registered that Legolas was now added by something rather large and grey. Then he saw the huge waggling ears. He would have laughed if it had not been such a harrowing moment. It was then, when his attention was diverted that he made a fatal mistake.

The huge warg lunged, his sudden weight sent both of them tumbling. Far too close to the still roaring fire. Aragorn managed to twist onto his back, only to see the gaping jaws falling towards him. His hand grasped something rough. As the teeth flashed before him, he brought the thick branch around, jamming solidly in the warg’s jaws. The beast howled, snapping the branch as if it were but a dried twig in summer. Muscles rippled beneath the coat of thick fur. Aragorn was pinned, and there would be no getting up if help did not come from the outside.

Fasse was busy with his own battle, looking desperately over his shoulder at the unfair wrestling match going on behind him. Helpless with his own fight, he could do nothing but watch.

It was when the jaws all but encased his head, that there was a great rumbling beneath his head, shaking the earth. The warg’s howl of pain was cut short as his body was crushed beneath the might hooves of a dark bay stallion. The warg, bleeding and close to death still rolled to its feet, crouching, a demented light enflaming his yellow eyes as he lusted over the flesh of the stallion. The fight was short, but fierce as the huge warg and mighty horse dueled with teeth and hoof and claw. It was Ralamir who struck the killing blow to the wargs neck.

Aragorn, so consumed in this own fight for survival did not see the blood dripping from Ralamir’s neck, close to his broad chest. What he did see, was an opening. The wargs, many with deep scourging wounds had regrouped with only half of their number yet battling. "Fasse! Make for Nienna!" The wizard gave no sign of hearing, but did as he was asked, beating wargs with his hard staff all the way.

Legolas, hearing Aragorn’s cry, did the same. He spotted the dapple grey, thrashing with all hooves and teeth, the wargs dared not come near the horse. Gorban braying and kicking loped after the elf who was making his dash for Falmarin. Horse and rider met half way, with Gorban close behind.

Fasse clung to Nienna’s neck, as she whirled away from blood-seeking teeth. Aragorn had mounted by grasping the cantle of Ralamir’s saddle and swung up as the great horse charged from the fray. Wargs nipped and clawed at their heels, desperate not to let their prey escape their clutches. It was Ralamir who guided himself from the gathering of wargs, while Aragorn fought off their attacks from the saddle, slashing either side of the horse.

Legolas fared similarly with Falmarin and Gorban. The donkey bravely charged alongside the grey while Legolas defended their right. Then, with a great coiling of muscles, Falmarin launched himself over the head of the last warg, bringing them into open ground. All three horses and the one donkey, broke into a full run. It was a harrowing ride through the forest as the horses were hard pressed to dodge trees which loomed up in the whiteness of the air while the riders were also doing all they could to stay astride. The closeness of the wargs on the horses’ heels goaded them on.

After what seemed like an eternity, they broke abruptly from the heavy forest and onto the white carpeted plains. Never had Ralamir, Falmarin, Nienna or Gorban galloped so hard in their lives. The wargs did not slacken. Leaving bloody tracks even the wounded did not give into their pain. Ahead, but a few miles off, Aragorn saw the dark shadow of the first settlement of Eregion. If they could but reach it…

Ralamir’s hooves churned the snow, his neck was stretched and his nostrils flared to gain as much air intake as he could. He could not fail, it was not an option. Failure would mean death for his rider, not to mention himself. He could sense the wargs close behind, but they were lagging. It was becoming harder and harder to breath.

The blinding white landscape rushed past Aragorn in rushes of burning cold. He spared a glance back and saw that the wargs were indeed falling slowly behind and their speed could not match the elvish horses. It was only when he let the reins loose so that Ralamir could have his head free that his hand, as it slipped down about the horses neck, felt the flow of the life giving substance which streaming down the horse’s broad chest. His heart leapt into his throat as he looked back and saw a trail of crimson following them. When he drew back his hand, there could be no mistaking what the substance was.

Panic welled in Aragorn, almost overriding his thoughts of the wargs in hot pursuit. He could not stop Ralamir to give the horse relief – though he doubted the horse would stop anyway – that would only bring both his own death and the horse’s. Neither could he tell how bad the wound was. There was no other choice but to ride on.

But Illuvitar was gracious in his ways. The wargs dropped back, seeing their prey draw to near to the settlement of men, leaving Legolas, Fasse and Aragorn to run free of their fate. But Ralamir ran on. "Ralamir! Stop this!" Yet no matter how much Aragorn pleaded with Ralamir to halt and let himself be cared for, the horse would not stop until all danger was a league away. Strider was hoarse crying for Ralamir to stop. Ralamir did not stop until they were a half-mile from the village. But the faithful horse had run himself to his end.

Ralamir fell at the very end, sending Aragorn tumbling into the snow. "Ralamir," he cried again in despair as he crawled to the fading horse’s head. The loyal bay’s breaths came in gasping wheezes. Aragorn could not choke back the tears at the sight of the gaping wound at the base of his friend’s neck. But Estel would not let hope go until the end. Ripping his own cloak from his back he pressed it against the mortal wound, cradling the horse’s head against him. Ralamir’s dark eyes blinked slowly, growing dimmer as their light began to fade. Aragorn sobbed as the memories flooded back of his happy days as a child with this horse who’s large, understanding eyes always encouraged him to get back on and try again when he fell. The times when Ralamir had carried him through new territories; the times he and his brothers had raced across the plains. Aragorn bowed his head, burning tears scorching his frozen face. "No, please, Ralamir. Don’t go, please." His voice cracked at the end as the horse gave one last gasp; then they closed, forever. In the faithful companion’s last moment, his dark eyes had held Aragorn’s, with more peace than Aragorn doubted he would ever feel again. Ralamir had succeeded in the end, now he could rest.

The silence of the white expanse was broken with Aragorn’s helpless sobs, even as they were muffled against Ralamir’s soft bay neck. Aragorn clutched the horse to him like an abandoned child. Then Falmarin who stood at Ralamir’s side, let forth a great cry that pierced the air with grief. The delicate grey moved to mourn beside the weeping man, his head bowed. But Aragorn was oblivious to anything or anyone.

Legolas knelt at Aragorn’s side, saying nothing but draping one arm over his friend’s shoulder. Tears of his own grief stung his eyes, both for the loss of the dear horse, and for his friend’s mourning. He wished for nothing more than to give up here and rest, and allow Aragorn to rest, but he knew that this could not be. As cruel as the truth was, the wargs would follow their trail for the meat of the horse. Legolas would not dishonor Ralamir so. "Come Aragorn, let us lay him to rest." The elf had no way of knowing if he even heard him.

Aragorn could not calm his weeping, he could not hear or think of anything else besides his sorrow. He would not relinquish the horse to Legolas for a long while, his face remaining buried in Ralamir’s smooth black mane. For all that the horse had done for him, this was how he was repaid. It was not right. Silently, unconsciously, he whispered one word broken, "Ralamir."

Chapter 4: Recovery

Grieving would not pass from Aragorn’s heart for a long while. Ralamir was gone. He was numb to any other thought save his mourning. Ralamir had always been a taste of home wherever he went, offering his silent company when Aragorn felt the pangs of loneliness in his ranging.

Now riding behind Legolas on Falmarin he felt that the loss was more than he could bear. Silently, they made their way towards the settlement knowing that if they hazarded to continue immediately, the wargs would only regroup and try again once they passed the relative safety of the village. Though strong Falmarin was, it would be improbable that the horse could outrun the beasts again with two being upon his back. But even safety in Eregion was questionable.

Legolas had drawn his hood up to shadow his face, not wishing to risk the peering of unfriendly eyes. This felt too much like Dunland for his liking. He could only hope that this did not become as twisted as their ‘adventure’ in that hostile land. As they drew nearer to the settlement, Legolas’s keen eyes picked out the movement of the sentries who were questioning any incoming strangers. If he were asked, he would have preferred for Aragorn to do the talking, but as it was he could not count on Aragorn this time. The man sat stonily silent behind him, having said no word to him since they had fled the wargs. Worry ate at Legolas’s heart, but he knew he could not do anything about that yet.

Fasse had also been much quieter than usual. His eyes were yet filled with tears and an occasional quake of his shoulders hinted his grief. Though he bore no love for the art of riding a horse, his heart was broken at the death of a good and faithful bearer. Any being, with even the slightest humanity, that had been present to witness Aragorn’s sorrow at Ralamir’s death, could not help but feel a twinge of sympathy.

"Halt," the swarthy man stepped close to Legolas’s horse noticing that the creature bore no bit. "What business have you in these parts? You look as though you have been chased by the breath of a demon."

"You are close," Legolas said wryly, lowering his voice to hide his fair voice. "Wargs have pursued us we have only just escaped them."

The guard eyed them up and down, glancing at Aragorn who was looking back to the forest, his eyes lost. "And lost one of your beasts as well by the look of it."

Legolas felt Aragorn tense behind him. "Aye, but not needlessly," he said quietly, more on behalf of Aragorn than the guard. "We wish only to stay for a few days at the most and recover some supplies."

The Hollin man weighed his words, then nodded stepping back allowing them to pass. Taking Aragorn’s usual course of action, Legolas went in search of a decent inn. The streets looked greatly more hospitable than Dunland had. It was the inn of the Lonely Traveler, oddly enough, that was Legolas’s first pick. Dismounting, Legolas made a convincing show of loosening his horse’s cinch while really speaking quietly with the horse. "Falmarin, you will stand out among these people, if threatened, do not hesitate to flee." Legolas paused, his breath nearly catching. "I cannot bear to lose you too." The grey bobbed his head slightly, turning to touch the elf’s arm with his muzzle. Legolas smiled and patted Falmarin’s shoulder.

Leading the way, Legolas drew a deep breath and opened wide the door to the inn. Fasse’s face warmed at once to the orange glow of the room and the shelter of the roof. Anything out of the snow and cold was good enough for him. As for Aragorn, he followed silently in their wake, staring at nothing. Legolas wished for nothing else than for his friend to wake from this trance, he felt more than a little unsure of how to proceed in an establishment such as this. Taverns and inns were not places that elves frequented. His face still shadowed by his hood he pushed his way through the jostling crowd.

"And what may I do for you, sir?" The rounded man swiveled to Legolas the moment the elf had drawn close to the tables.

"A room if at all possible."

"And a warm meal with some…"

Legolas looked sharply at Fasse, who was all to eager but too settle down here. "Just a room, thank you. We have two horses tied outside with a donkey."

The innkeeper pursed his lips under a ragged mustache, but nodded. For a moment he disappeared under the eve of the counter. There was a jingling of keys then he reappeared with a single iron key. "Crowded tonight with this weather, you’re in luck! This is one of the last rooms open. Just go up those stairs and straight until you reach the last door on the right. I’ll have your horses stabled." Then with a flashed grin, the rotund character bustled off to attend to another customer.

Fasse sidled up to the elf as they climbed the short flight of stairs. "You know, you really don’t have to be so…irritable."

Unfortunately for the diminutive wizard, Legolas was in no mood to be trifled with. "Fasse, you are no better than a hobbit when it comes to your stomach. There are more pressing priorities in life than to make yourself happy." Legolas rounded on Fasse, his voice low and hissed. "If I sought to appease my desires, then I would return to the wild and maim and destroy every last warg that yet draws breath. But in my anger, I would do not good." The elf turned on a heel and stalked down the hallway leaving Fasse to stare after him.

They were all tired, some more than others. Aragorn was bone weary and all he wished was to collapse in a heap and be allowed his time of grief. Emotionally, there was nothing left in him, he had shed his last tears over Ralamir’s thick mane. As if a dream had engulfed him, he felt the comfort of a bed beneath him, a pillow beneath his head. He could almost imagine he was back home. Home…

Legolas helped the dazed ranger to one of the two beds. Without resistance the human sunk to the worn mattress. Barely had Aragorn’s head touched the pillow that his eyes closed in heavy sleep. The elf lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, letting his posture sag. He himself wished for nothing more than a long dreamless rest, but there were yet wounds to dress and decisions to make.

"Would you like to have the bed, Legolas?" Fasse asked quietly, unsure of the elf’s mood at the moment. Even though the elf shook his head, Fasse had to admit that he had never seen an elf so exhausted. Closely, he watched as the elf drew off his long cloak, folding it in his arms. Though he was not astute in the mannerisms and health matters of elves, a torn and bloodied shoulder never was a healthy attribute. "What happened?" he asked dumbly as he stared at Legolas’s shoulder. Legolas blinked, wondering for a moment what Fasse was talking about. At the elf’s unsure expression, Fasse took it upon himself to remind Legolas by prodding the wound curiously.

Legolas hissed and drew back from Fasse’s painful touch. "Are you trying to make my life miserable or is it just a past time?"

Fasse’s bushy eyebrows peaked. "I was only trying to help," he muttered.

"By trying to make me bleed more?" Legolas glared but backed off on his momentary lack of restraint.

The wizard winced slightly, looking from the wound to his feet. "You probably should get it washed up, or something."

"You just don’t back off do you?" Legolas said hotly as he preoccupied himself with tending to Aragorn’s visible minor scratches. Though they really needed little attention, it was at least something useful he could give his hands to do.

Fasse sat on the edge of the opposite bed, watching the elf’s administrations. He tried to stay awake as long as he could, perhaps be of help, but the day’s harrowing events had had its toll upon his brittle bones. Sleep was beckoning, he couldn’t help this time but submit.

So Legolas was left alone to his thoughts, depressing as they were. Ralamir was gone; it was a loss that was nearly equal to loosing one of your family, especially for Aragorn. Perhaps it would have been different if Ralamir had died of old age, or at least in the comfort and familiarity of home. But the horse had died valiantly, protecting his friend and master. That was honorable in itself, but for Aragorn, it would prove a trial of his heart with the questions which would arise from his own guilt. Such as, could he have done something to avoid the warg? Could he have killed the warg himself and spared Ralamir? If he knew Aragorn at all, that was the next step.

Never the less, they would have to push on to Rohan, at the least, if not Gondor. The chances were they – Legolas and Aragorn – would stop at the Rohan and leave Fasse there. They would be taking enough risks as it was traveling in winter, but to hazard the extra leg to Gondor would be far too hazardous. They would turn back after bidding farewell to Fasse in the safety of the city.

That was if all went well getting out of this settlement. The faces which had crowded the tavern below had been not in the least bit welcoming. More than likely, a few of them had seen him ride in, scarce of tack upon Falmarin but handling the spirited creature as if it were being led on a lead from the ground. And more than likely, a number had remembered the parting of the elves and recognized him for what race he was.

Legolas still did not fully understand the animosity which chaffed between the elven race and the blood of the men of Eregion. He had heard rumor of an evil which had festered unknown amongst the elves when they had lived in these parts, an evil that had not been destroyed, but lay in wait. Maybe this was what drove the elves from this land. He could not be sure.

Legolas heaved a heavy breath, lowering himself gingerly into a hard rocking chair near the window. Lamplight flickered below on the street that was otherwise deserted except for the snow which was drifting lazily from the slowly lightening sky. Legolas tilted his head, realizing that really, it was just turning morning. Daybreak would be in but a few hours. Again, he sighed, letting his head fall back against the headboard of the chair, rocking it slowly. It had been a long day, a long three days, really. As the sleepless tension filled nights weighed upon him, he let his thoughts slip from his worries and decisions, allowing blissful rest to abide in their wake.

---

"I knew it! I just knew you’d go and forget about yourself!" Fasse hissed when he awoke to see Legolas asleep, with half lidded eyes, in a chair and his neck in a position that would give him grief for days. It was the yet untended shoulder that riled the wizard. "Trust an elf to kill himself."

Aragorn stood behind Fasse, silent as before though his face bore a heavy frown. He was tempted to wake the elf but was hesitant to disturb his obviously deep rest. Upon awakening, he had been disoriented and unsure of his surroundings when finding himself in a warm bed. The sight of the sun, lancing through the windowpane. Had warmed his heart for the first time since…since last night. Yet the joyful sight also brought him pain. Ralamir’s last sight had been a cold and sunless plain. Not even the moon had come out to say farewell. He turned away from the window, not wishing Fasse to see his barely restrained tears that pricked at the back of his eyes. Ralamir would not wish him to despair. He knew this, now he just had to accept it.

"Gah!" Aragorn looked over his shoulder at Legolas’s shout to see the dignified elf lying on his back, his chair tipped off its rockers. In fact that was very much how the elf was looking at Fasse at the moment. "Why do you insist on making my life miserable?"

Fasse’s hand was still frozen where Legolas’s wounded shoulder had been. Legolas glowered at the wizard while pulling himself off the floor. His rude, and painful, awakening had done nothing but put him in foul mood. "Deary, deary! Do elves seek to make their own life miserable by letting their shoulder fester into a bacterial breeding ground?" Legolas gaped at him blankly, unsure of quite what the wizard had meant. Fasse waved his hands wildly, his face crumpling and twisting in fits of frustration.

Aragorn appeared behind the wizard, brightening Legolas’s heart with a smile, though forced as it was. "He’s right you know. You should get that taken care of, preferably sooner than later."

"So you are on his side then? You would rather poke and prod me than just let me heal?" The elf said with a frown.

"How are you to heal if it isn’t cared for?"

"Naturally. Without painful salves or restrictive bandages."

"Then what of these? How did they heal?" Aragorn pointed to his arms where there had previously been four long raking scratches from a wargs claws that had begun to fade. "Tell me, did you not tend to them last night while I slept? Or is that some other kind of salve making these scratches fade?"

Legolas looked as if he were on the verge of pouting. "Aye, that was me. But remember," he waggled a finger at the ranger, "I am an elf and…"

"…We heal better than you humans." Aragorn quoted while suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, yes, I’ve heard that quite enough from you, and my brothers."

Legolas would not have submitted usually so soon in their argument, but he was really too relieved at Aragorn’s emotional improvement that he didn’t see the point in riling the human any more. If he knew his friend, doing something useful with his hands would help put Aragorn at ease.

While Aragorn busied himself over Legolas’s shoulder, the three talked of their next advance. Noon had found them and Legolas was eager to be off. It was their plan that they would scrounge what food, warm clothing, and unspoken, a horse, then be off this very day. So far they had been fortunate enough not to be forced into any close dealings with the men here. Hopefully, their bartering for supplies would go just as smoothly as their stay at the inn.

Legolas stood, nursing his smarting shoulder. "I will go then. I trust you two can handle finding supplies." Then he added with a smile, "Since you will need them more than I." Legolas was heartened at Aragorn’s half-hearted swat. He ducked from the room before Aragorn could threaten him further. The tavern below was just as crowded as before, making him wonder if perhaps some of these men did not just live in this room. Pulling his hood farther over his face, he stepped out into the open street. Cartwheels churned the snow and earth into sludge. Drawn by a great shire, the poor horse looked as if it had seen many days of toil with too little feed. His back was dipped and his feet were shamefully shod. Legolas frowned, this was no place to find a Mearas, but with a little aid from elven sense, he hoped to find at least a sound beast. I cannot search for a replacement for Ralamir, he reminded himself. Alas, that would be a doomed mission.

Trudging down the street, with all the human air he could muster, he went unnoticed mostly. His sharp eyes sized up every horse that he passed, though there were many, none of them looked close to anything that would survive even the shortest journey without collapsing. He frowned at the welts and sores that peppered many of the horses’ backs. No wonder Falmarin had stood out so in the eyes of the men here.

But there was one that had potential. Legolas stood just beyond clear site, watching five men fighting vainly with an ill tempered black whose coat had yet to loose its yellow tips from the scorch of the sun. The stallion thrashed his head against the confining ropes which sought to tether and bind him. Two men already sat on the sidelines nursing cracked skulls and rope burned hands. The horse let free a blood curdling scream as a man dared come too close.

Legolas shook his head sadly at the pathetic attempts the men took at trying to tame the beast. No, they were not seeking to tame the horse, but to break it. Cursing, one of the men stepped back from the fray, grasping his bleeding forearm, with his other hand he drew a sword. He raised it, ready to slay the beast and rid himself of the trouble he had brought upon himself. "Stop!" The elf heard himself shouting without rightly thinking about what he had to say. "Why not allow me to take this horse off your hands and let me at least put him to use."

But the man would not see reason as he pulled away from Legolas’s restraining hand. "The beast is dangerous." He narrowed his eyes, lowering his sword slightly, "And what would make you think that I’d give him freely to you."

Legolas weighed his words carefully. "Not freely then."

"Make me an offer." The man leaned upon his sword while a ways off the remainder of the men were unsuccessfully trying to bridle the horse.

"Twelve silver pennies," Legolas said, though it was higher than anything the man could hope for. But Legolas saw potentially a strong-bodied horse that could be mellowed by the elvish hand. He was willing to pay the price of the man.

The Eregion man pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Twelve? Surely you do not take me for a clueless horse trader. Look at the beast’s chest, it is as broad as a beer keg!"

Legolas fixed him with a shadowed gaze, freezing the man’s excuses. "Twelve. Or would you rather be a fool and slay it and gain nothing?"

The man sheathed his sword then, thrusting out his hand greedily for payment. "Fine then, I will be generous." His hand closed tightly around the silver pennies dropped into the callused palm. " ‘Oy! Let the beast go, if the elf wants it, then he can catch it!" With a malicious grin he turned from the elf and sauntered down the muddy street.

It mattered little to Legolas whether the horse was free or chained. "Tol!" he cried. The black’s head swung around, his feet planting into the snow mid lunge at the elvish cry. Intelligent eyes stared back at the elf. Legolas sucked in a painful breath at what he saw. Dark, comprehending eyes met his, eyes that told a story and were willing to listen to another’s.

Ralamir’s eyes.

Legolas felt the curious stares on him, but chose to ignore them as he approached the horse. It ducked its head but stood still, and continued to do so even as Legolas swung himself up onto the creature’s broad back. There was a collective gasp from the onlookers when Legolas rode the horse from the square, lacking bit or saddle.

But there was a pair of eyes that did not look on so kindly. Envy and greed burned in the dark depths of the horse trader as he watched the elf ride confidently from the square.

---

Fasse blew a breath of exasperation as the shopkeeper again shook his balding head. "It is just a cloak, not a mithril vest!" The shopkeeper just bobbed his head and turned away to a more patient customer. Fasse grunted and stalked towards out the door to collide with Aragorn. "Gah! Block headed fools think someone would actually buy that coat." It was just then that the man that had been right after him pushed past the two, cloak on arm. Fasse groused. "Any luck for you?"

Aragorn shrugged, "I suppose, I took the supplies back to the inn and loaded them on Gorban while you were in here haggling. Besides your cloak, I think we were successful. Legolas should be…" He trailed off when a great commotion went up a ways down the street at the front of the inn they had stayed at the pervious night. Then he caught a whiff of smoke on the air, and saw a great burst of orange flare from the roof of the inn.

Before he had a chance to react, two sets of hands grabbed his shoulders roughly. "I’ve got ‘im!" one of the men shouted. "This is the one that set the Lonely Traveler on fire!"

Chapter 5: Horsetrader’s Deceit

Raging fire leapt from the roof of the inn. Men had already assembled, passing heavy wooden buckets down a single file line, doing all they could to save the brittle building.

Legolas took in the commotion outside the inn. Those who were not helping milled about a good ways away from the danger of the flames. It seemed the whole town had converged to this point. His heart was in his throat when a cry went up as the roof of the small stables caved in. But he need not have feared for at that moment he heard a familiar whinny, followed by an unmistakable braying.

"Arson fire…found him…taken away…stranger…" Legolas whirled, his keen hearing picking up the muttered gossip spreading like a plague amongst the towns folk. Deep in the pit of his stomach he already knew who it was the people spoke of, though he wished to deny it.

"Who caught him?" questioned a curious bystander.

"Nevens, the horsetrader, claimed he saw the stranger leave the inn a few moments before the fire broke out all of a sudden. He was taken to the old manor where the hearings used to be held…"

Legolas needed to hear no more. "Falmarin, take Gorban and find Fasse. Wait for us outside the town," he whispered hastily in elvish. Obediently, the grey nickered softly, reluctantly doing as he was bid. At a word the black horse Legolas still sat astride, pushed from the crowd, plunging back down the muddied streets.

---

"If you would but listen to me…"

"Silence!" Shouted the rotund man seated stiffly behind the desk. His jowls quivered in the effort of raising his voice. By his clothing and prestigious environment, Aragorn guessed him to be what would loosely be described as a ‘judge’. Aragorn clinched his fists in their tight bonds with barely constrained aggravation. If only they would allow him to speak, then this whole unneeded mistake would be set clear! Arms crossed, with a sickeningly smug expression, the man who had become known as Nevens, stood a few feet to the right of the man behind the desk. The ‘judge’ again bent over his paperwork, pushing his spectacles higher upon his short, puggish nose. The crinkle of paper, and the scratch of a split-tipped feather was all that was to be heard.

Aragorn was watching Nevens though. The man had an air of, could you say, slyness, about him. He also seemed to be waiting for something. Ever so often, the small man would cast an anticipating look at the door, his hands working eagerly grasping his forearms. What the greedy little man waited for, Aragorn wasn’t sure, and wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. It was obvious, Nevens was up to something. And Aragorn was not sure it was entirely legal.

Slowly the judge/clerk looked up from his slow scrawling writing, eyeing the ranger from foot to toe. He grunted, "So, you’ve been charged with arson, have you?" As Aragorn opened his mouth to respond, the fat man thrust out a hand, "Don’t answer that, it is not in your rights."

Aragorn balled his fists, grinding his teeth. He couldn’t suppress the sound of frustration that boiled in his throat. They did not need this delay, it would only allow the winter to take more control over the land. Legolas was going to kill him.

Speaking of Legolas, at that very moment there was a great bang which echoed through the hollow confines of the manor, followed by a raised shout cut short by a curt growl in elvish. Another small man – small men seemed to be abundant in this settlement – bustled in the door, clambering and jawing about something unintelligible. The poor man had hardly gotten the understandable word, "Someone" out, before a definitely taller, and more regal figure pushed the man aside.

"What is this about?"

Aragorn groaned. He would have slapped himself if his hands were free. "Great entrance," he mumbled.

Legolas’s sudden appearance actually startled the fat judge/clerk to a sad excuse for standing. Aragorn had begun to wonder if the man was even capable of such movement. "What is this?" he shouted, his jowls quivering in barely constrained rage at the unplanned interruption. "Who let you in?"

"It’s him!" Nevens cried all at once, pouncing forward towards Legolas, whose features were still obscured by his hood. The horsetrader needed no facial features to distinguish if this was whom he had wished to lure into his greedy clutches. The elf had enough bearing and noble air to him to recognize from a league off. "He stole my horse!"

Legolas tried hard not to gape. "I paid you fairly for the beast. More than it was worth in fact."

"You tricked me," glowered the horsetrader.

"Then that was by your own folly."

"Enough!" screamed the clerk, slamming his meaty fist against the desktop like a mallet. "Guards!" he howled to the two shabbily uniformed men flanking Aragorn. Two more positioned themselves behind Legolas, seizing his wrists. It was not a wise move. The two guards found themselves taking an inadvertent nap flat out on the hard floor. But the elf had not choice but to submit when a knife was placed dangerously close to Aragorn’s neck.

Matters only got worse when Legolas’s hood was thrown back, revealing his race. "An elf!" cried Nevens. "I should have known. Only they would be so treacherous and deceitful."

Unfortunately for Legolas, it seemed that his race would justify a solid strike to the side of his head, more out of surprise on the guard’s part. Legolas suppressed a wince, blinking away the blood that slowly oozed from the split skin. The blow had been enough to send him stumbling, he would have fallen if not for the firm hold of the men.

Nevens lips twisted into a sneer as his scheme turned out for the better. "My good Master Ebner, I have seen these two strangers mingling together. The man surely must be guilty if he takes company with this creature. You hardly need the evidence that he was the last one seen departing the Lonely Traveler before the fire." Nevens voice was low and deceitfully convincing. "And the elf for that matter is a danger to our towns folk." Then he added, "Not to mention he swindled me out of a horse."

Ebner’s fists clinched convulsively on the arms of his chair. His small, beady eyes darted from one face to the other. Apparently the pressure was too much for him. "Nevens, you know more of this than I. Why don’t you decide the outcome?"

The horsetrader bowed graciously, placing a hand over his heart. "Your faith is not misplaced. I will deal with this incident swiftly, and thoroughly." Ebner nodded, adding three more chins to his previous two.

This did not bode well, for either Aragorn, or Legolas.

---

Fasse hadn’t a clue of what to do now. He was alone in a town of potentially hostile nature and he didn’t even have a scrap of food. That was all with…

Without warning, something grabbed the back of his cloak, dragging him away from the crowd before he could utter even a terrified whimper. Just as his mind cleared enough to struggle, the iron grip released him. He fell with a squelch into the mud, instinctively throwing his hands over his head in a defensive gesture. Minutes ticked past before he peeped between his arms. Two gangly ears flopped into view, followed by a chiding snort. "Heh," Fasse chuckled nervously in embarrassment. Both Falmarin and Gorban stared down at him, somewhat confused at the wizard’s behavior. "Well it would be you two who would come pull me out of the muck and drop me in some more."

Unspoken, Fasse really was quite relieved that he was now accompanied by some familiar faces – though equine may they be. Now, whether it would do him any good besides psychological comfort was undetermined. With the help of Gorban’s ears, he managed to pull himself up, or should he say, Gorban managed to pull him up. "I do say, I’m not quite rightly sure what we should do next." He unsuccessfully tried to scrape the mud off himself. "Deary, with Strider gone and the elf off somewhere else – no doubt in the very heart of this mess – I’m quite at loss." Fasse blew a frustrated sigh when his fretting accomplished nothing but smearing mud all over his clothing. "I wasn’t made to do all this sneaking about."

Falmarin gave a deep-throated nicker, tossing his head. Fasse glared at the horse, waving his hands. "I know, I know, you beast. Of course we’re going to rescue them. By the Valar," he moaned, "you think I would leave them to be tormented, or worse." The grey snorted. "You have no faith in me! Didn’t I go back for them in Dunland when they had gone and got themselves all in a tangle, just like this time I might add?"

Fasse grasped his staff, trying his best to pull himself up into as much of a heroic posture as he could muster. "Might as well not put it off." He waggled a finger at the donkey and the horse, "And I even have an idea of how to help them."

---

The cell had definitely not been constructed for the comfort of its inhabitants, but Legolas could truthfully say it was much more ‘pleasant’ than his stay in the Dunlands prisons. For one, he thought wryly, his back hadn’t been whipped raw. "Nice accommodations they’ve set us up with." Legolas heard Aragorn say from the cell next to him. The stone wall kept them from seeing each other, but the wall facing out was made of heavy iron bars, allowing them to hear each other clearly.

Aragorn heard Legolas grunt a reply that was for the most part unintelligible. "Really was a wonderful entrance you made back there," he mused.

Grunt.

The ranger hated sitting here, twiddling his thumbs, unable to do anything. It was all to odd to think that his death would come from the hand of such a despicable, and pathetic excuse for a man such as Nevens, a horsetrader. Then an abstract thought struck him. "Legolas, what do you suppose Nevens’ motive was in accusing me of setting fire to that inn?"

He heard another groan, "Enlighten me, Strider."

Aragorn ignored the heavy sarcasm. "Legolas, he said you stole a horse from him. What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Such as, what did you do? Did you do anything that would rile him, or make his hatred for elves increase?"

Legolas was quiet for a moment, running over the words and actions that had taken place, thinking on them as if through the horsetrader’s eyes.

Nevens raised his sword, ready to slay the beast and rid himself of the trouble it had caused him. "Stop!" a voice suddenly interrupted. "Why not allow me to take this horse off your hands and let me at least put him to use."

Inwardly, Nevens bristled at the pompous assumption that this cloaked man could handle a horse better than he. He shook off the restraining hand which held his sword at bay. "The beast is dangerous." He narrowed his eyes, lowering his sword slightly, "And what would make you think that I’d give him freely to you."

The Eregion man pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Twelve? Surely you do not take me for a clueless horsetrader. Look at the beast’s chest, it is as broad as a beer keg!"

The shadowed figure fixed him with a level stare. "Twelve. Or would you rather be a fool and slay it and gain nothing?"

Something in that stare had frozen Nevens’s heart. The man sheathed his sword then, thrusting out his hand for payment. "Fine then, I will be generous." His hand closed tightly around the silver pennies dropped into the callused palm. " ‘Oy! Let the beast go, if the elf wants it, then he can catch it!" With a malicious grin he turned from the elf and sauntered down the muddy street.

Then he stiffened as a word, an elvish word, brought control over a formerly uncontrollable beast.

"Horsetraders are not the sort that like to give good deals, as much as they say it is their goal. Their objective is to come out ahead, and you, in a sense, ‘swindled’ him out of that. Quite severely I might add." Aragorn surmised after Legolas had finished. "You being an elf only added insult to injury. I think the hatred for your race has only festered over years of ignorance and division from contact with other peoples."

Legolas shrugged on his side of the wall. Though it did him no good in the long run, knowing at least why someone hated you – in a vague sense – did take the bite off, a bit. Aragorn did not help matters by insisting to continue his wondering.

"Do you think that Nevens was trying to get back at you by luring you here with me?"

Legolas groaned, his head throbbed where he had been ungraciously clubbed. The distracting ache in his shoulder did not help matters. "Strider, I really don’t know. But if you ask me, it just doesn’t sound plausible that this, Nevens, would go through this much trouble just to get back at me." The elf nursed the side of his head with his palm. "There’s probably something in it for him. Maybe favor from the higher ups of the town." He sighed, "I really don’t know, and knowing won’t help matters much, I think."

---

It was not a wizard’s usual duty to perform incognito acts of daring do. Neither was it usual for a wizard to perform incognito acts of daring do with a horse and a donkey breathing over his shoulder. His situation would only worsen when he reached the manor where Fasse had over heard that now two criminal strangers were locked in its prison. Fasse still wondered abstractly why a manor, as the one he looked upon, would sport a prison to dirty it. No wonder, he thought dully, of course he would have to rescue the two fiends again.

Chapter 6: Entry and Escape

Fasse eyed the darkening sky, rubbing his hands over his arms. It was cold and it was snowing again. He didn’t like being cold, and he didn’t like snow. Snow made him cold, and cold made him a grousing, grumbling wizard. What made his whole unpleasant situation worse, was that he had to be uncomfortable in secret. His scheme was shady, but with the help of an item he had picked up on the way over to the manor, it just might work.

Falmarin’s head suddenly bobbed up, his ears pricked forward. He stood stock still, a building nicker growing deep in his throat. But the whiney got no further than a snort. Fasse watched the horse closely, not sure what the blasted creature was up to this time.

An answering bugle broke the silence of the growing darkness.

Fasse groveled his head in his hands. "No, no," he moaned, "No more horses."

But it seemed this was his fate, to be ever hounded by the equine race. A shadow on the white backdrop of the snow, the black horse was an enigma in the darkness. Legolas’s black find dropped in beside Falmarin, very much at ease as if he had known the grey horse for all his life. Fasse groaned, his shoulders slumping. "You must be that new demon that that fool of an elf picked. Figures that I would have to be the one that got stuck with you." If truly the horses understood him, they showed no sign of picking up on his sentiment.

Taking a deep breath and clutching his item to his side, Fasse stepped boldly out from the protection of the eves. Might as well get this all over with.

---

"It’s cold," Aragorn commented, not really to anyone. He had to admit it, but he was bored. He almost would prefer if someone would come and attempt to rough them up so at least he could have something to preoccupy him. Almost, would prefer. Legolas obviously did not share his sentiment.

When sharing this thought with the elf, the prince had cut him off before he could finish. "Aragorn! Do not even say it! I have a terrible feeling that you would get little of the ‘roughing’ and I would take the scourge." Unfortunately the elf was most likely right in this assumption. And so, Aragorn kept this thought unspoken.

"Yes, Aragorn, to you it is cold."

"But not to you? No of course not," Aragorn fiddled with the long chain which bound his hands together in front of him. "You’re an elf; you never feel cold."

"Not necessarily."

Seeing perhaps a conversation, or at least an argument, the man pressed the elf further. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Legolas said from his side of the wall, "that elves can feel cold, sometimes."

"When?"

"Well," Legolas thought for a moment. Really, he could not remember ever really being cold, but he had heard of elves in severe winters feeling the mortal sensation. "When it is really cold."

"It is really cold," the ranger muttered.

"To you, human."

"You still haven’t answered my question."

"I did."

"Not enough."

Legolas groaned, "Strider, how much more do I need to tell you? Elves get cold, sometimes, on rare occasions."

"But what do the situations have to be like?" Aragorn pressed further. Aggravating Legolas was so much more entertaining than counting the stones in the wall.

"I don’t know, Strider. I’ve never been in those situations, so how am I supposed to know?" The edge in the elf’s voice betrayed his growing frustration.

"So you’ve never actually been cold?"

Legolas blew a heavy breath. "No, I’ve never actually been cold."

"So do you think that if you were out in, say, a really long snowfall and got caught in it with nothing but a cloak for let’s say, a month, would that make you cold?"

"That would make me dead," Legolas answered wryly.

"Well then let’s say if you were stuck in a snow fall with an extra coat for a week without shelter…"

"Yes, that may make me cold. Is that enough information?" Legolas sighed in relief when there was no answer. The silence was welcome. That was until he heard steps descending the stairs.

---

After much shooing and scolding, Fasse managed to persuade the three horses to remain outside and not follow him into the manor. Goodness knows he’d draw enough attention waltzing in with a donkey and two horses.

He noticed a change in his attitude the moment he set foot inside the double doors. Unlike Dunland, the entryway was not guarded lock and key. This was a town, by definition, and this manor was a public place for the raising of complaints and concerns. At least, Fasse thought, it was partially a public place. There were after all prisons and the like here, not to mention the double dealings and deceit which surely festered inside these walls.

Pertaining to his attitude, he was immediately lightened in spirit partially because he was at last out of the driving snow and chilling air. It was the simple pleasure of warmth which succeeded always in putting him in a much more agreeable state of mind. Now, if only he didn’t have to rescue anyone.

"Good evening, sir. What may I do for you?" Fasse was greeted by a diminutive man – even more so than himself – behind an equally small desk crammed with papers and the like.

The wizard drew himself up, bringing to bear as much wizardry authority as he could muster. "I’m here to see the jailer for those two strangers brought in earlier."

"Hmm," the clerk disappeared beneath his desk for a moment. He popped back up with a large leather bound book in hand. The worn cover was covered with a layer of thick dust which billowed like a cloud around it when the clerk flipped the book open. "And what might be your name, Mr…."

Blast it all, he hadn’t thought of having to have an alias. Improvise, he told himself as he gaped for a name. Naturally, he chose the first that came to mind besides his own. "Eh? Oh, it’s…Mr. Elrond." Fasse kicked himself mentally. He could only pray that this land had not heard the name of the elven lord.

The clerk stared at him over his uselessly small spectacles. An eyebrow arched skyward. "Hmm, yes, Mr. Elrond. As I was saying – or rather about to – I do not see your name anywhere on the lists."

Fasse grimaced. Thankfully his hoary beard was there to hide it. "Why would I even be on the lists?"

The clerk coughed, his owlish eyes blinking once, very deliberately. "Everybody who wants to go further than here must be on the lists, Mr. Elrond. The jailer never filed anything about you coming." The clerk waggled a finger before ‘Mr. Elrond’ could contest. "But, I could go ask him if he was indeed expecting you."

Fasse squeaked. "Heh! No, that would be all too entirely out of the way for you, my good sir." The wizard licked his lips nervously, getting a mouthful of his own mustache. "Really, actually, I meant for it to be an, ah, surprise for the good chap." From beneath his cloak he drew a wrapped package. "I had the intention of delivering a present to him from, a friend."

Surprisingly, the clerk laughed. It was a very funny laugh in itself, sounding very much like rusted pennies rattling about in a mithril bucket – though why any dwarf would waste mithril on a bucket, who knew. He nodded to the package, "He will like that. Dallered is quite the, connoisseur, though he is a bit rough about the edges." Then the serious, scholarly clerk returned. "I suppose I can let you by this once. But next time," eyed him chidingly, "make sure you are on the lists." He stood, "Would you like me to take you down that way?"

Fasse shook his head, "No, no, you’ve done far too much already. But if you could just point me in the right direction…"

The clerk pushed his chair back, its legs grating against the wood floor. He moved to point down one of the hallways. "Follow this hallway, there will be three doors. Go through the middle one. After that, you’ll run into another clerk – much like myself. Give him this," the clerk thrust a sheet of paper with hasty scribbling on it. "Then he’ll let you through. You’ll see three more doorways; go through the one on the far right. Go down that corridor and you’ll see a staircase. Go up the staircase and keep going down the hall. Go five doors down and go into the sixth. There will be another clerk there, give him this," again, the clerk pushed into his hands another parchment. "You’ll need to go through the door – there’s only one in this room – and down the corridor until you hit the third door on the left. Open that, and there will be the stairway that will lead down to Dallered." The clerk smiled pleasantly, obviously missing the meaning of Mr. Elrond’s slightly blank expression. Very much like a wall that has bounced many thrown stones off it. Or more simply, a mind that has heard much, but comprehended little. "You can’t miss it."

Fasse’s gurgled a thanks. He turned to the long hallway. A hand fell on his shoulder, turning him around. "That hallway, Mr. Elrond."

"Heh, yes, yes of course."

The clerk bobbed his head to the wizard. "Have a good night, Mr. Elrond."

---

The swarthy jailer appeared before the bars of Legolas’s cell. "You have a visitor."

The ‘visitor’, was far from anyone Legolas would ever want to have visit him. Two men pushed in, looking no more enthusiastic about their job than Legolas was about it. Elves were on the level of demons in their uneducated minds. Legolas remained crouched with his back against the wall, his stare piercing both men. It was an unnerving, if not nerve-wracking, to have an elf – any elf - fix you with his most knowing and contemptuous gaze. It seemed to be something that came naturally to the Firstborn race.

Legolas had taken much study in mastering this technique.

Sweat beaded on the unfortunate two guards’ foreheads, as with cautious, quaking steps they proceeded forward, acheingly slow to their employer. "Fools! You shake like a leaf in a summer gale. Take him, and do not be so slow about it."

Goaded on by the displeasure of the horsetrader, now town official, the men attempted to take the elf by the shoulders. But there was no elf to grab.

Legolas darted from under their hands. Bound hands did not impede his agility. The door was wide open, inviting his escape. It was his chance, and he was not one to pass up chances.

But Nevens was not so foolish to proceed to take an elf with a mere two men. No sooner had Legolas set foot outside the cell, was he set upon by Nevens’ back up of five armed men.

Aragorn, in the next cell over, pressed his face to the bars, trying to catch a glimpse of the commotion by Legolas’s cell, no doubt caused by the elf. He could only dare to hope that the prince had managed to break loose. It would not be such an improbable accomplishment; he had seen Legolas break from far tighter situations. Of course, not always without a few minor injuries.

His hope was flamed at the pained shouts and curses uttered by deep man-ish voices.

"You imbeciles, take him now!" raged Nevens. The men had drawn back, a tight ring pushing the elf back against the wall. They had learned the hard way not to get too close the elf, lest they earn themselves more black eyes and kicked guts. "Are you so afraid of one unarmed elf that is bound with chains?" The truth was, they were. Nevens’ face flushed red. "Take him, I say!"

With Nevens’ sword prodding the hapless hired guards’ backs, they tightened the half circle about the elf. Their assorted weapons raised they pressed in all at once.

He tensed, coiling back like a cat ready to spring, as a mixed variety of implements of impending pain descended down upon him. Once again, the men found that the elf was just not there anymore.

Legolas sprang low at the level of the men’s knees. His body slammed full weight against the shins of the men, knocking their legs out from under them, providing a wide gap in their pinning wall. He rolled to his feet, hitting the ground running. As smoothly as a Breelander thief, he confiscated the ring of keys from the stunned jailer’s hands.

Aragorn caught the keys that Legolas shoved hastily through the bars. Deftly, he worked the different keys, blessedly it was only on his second try did his shackles snap open, falling to the floor with a satisfying clank. Sparing no time to rub life back into his pinched wrists, he set to work on door. Unfortunately the angle and narrowness of the bars prevented him from making much progress. Meanwhile Legolas was busy dodging the swipes of the guards who had clumsily gained their feet, after much tripping and cursing.

Finally, the door clicked.

The elf spun like a top, kicking and keeping at bay any who drew too near. The numbers of his opponents were growing as officials of the town passing above the stairs heard the commotion and called for help. He was much relieved when the door clicked behind him. "Nice of you to join me."

"Lets just get out of here before more come." Aragorn pressed as close to Legolas’s back as possible.

Their advance went all together too smoothly. Legolas worked one hand free, utilizing the length of heavy iron as a swinging weapon. It was an effective deterrent. With a skillful twist, he even managed to tangle the chain around the hilt of a man’s sword, tugging it from his grasp, providing Aragorn with a weapon.

But all in all, fighting on the offense was much more difficult than fighting to kill. When fighting wargs, orcs or other murderous beings you needn’t be cautious where your weapon fell on your enemy. And so it was that Aragorn missed the dagger pulled from Nevens boot and hurled at Legolas’s unprotected side.

Chapter 7: Chaos Together

By the time Fasse had reached the end of the long corridor, he was already regretting having not asked the clerk to lead him to the jailer. He did, however, remember to go through the middle door.

Upon opening the door, Fasse had found himself in a spacious library of sorts. This was secondary since he was nearly nose to nose with a lanky, stick-like man with sagging features and a nose that looked as if it had been punched and abused one to many times.

"Who," the clerk eyed him disdainfully, "are you?" His voice was horribly nasal, probably due to lack of air passing through the flattened nose.

Fasse took a while to collect himself, still not yet recovered from the surprise waiting for him inside the door. "Eh, ah, I am Mr…eh…Mr. Elrond." He nearly slipped and spouted out ‘Gorban’.

The clerk moved with stiff-jointed strides to his chair. His knees seemed to hardly bend and he crackled with every movement. He struck Fasse as a very, stiff character. "Do you have a pass, or are you on the lists Mr. Elrond?"

Fasse shook his shaggy head, "No, no I have a, what-do-you-call-it, pass."

An eyebrow arched, stiffly, peaking like the Misty Mountains. The clerk hmm-ed for a count, looking over the hastily scribbled parchment Fasse handed him. "Very well then," the clerk abruptly slammed a heavy stamp on the parchment before shoving it back to Mr. Elrond. Without a last word of either farewell or ‘be gone’, the clerk burrowed his stubbish nose into a worn leather book. And when Fasse tried to ask for directions, he received a withering glare that would put the real Mr. Elrond on edge.

But now Fasse was faced with the horrible decision as to which door to take, for as the first clerk had said, there were three doors. But as before, the stiff man held up a hand and shushed him. "Oogh," the wizard moaned. After much deliberation and pointless philosophizing, Fasse chose the door to the far left.

Unfortunately, as he found out after at least half an hour of wandering through more studies, getting yelled and emotionally beheaded by many an enraged clerk and official, he had chosen the wrong door. Never had he imagined from looking on from the outside that the interior of the manor was so immense. It seemed he had stepped into a whole other city that boasted of libraries and rooms of knowledge and endless studies, very much as he had heard Gondor described.

And so, Fasse with many wrong turns, worked his way back to the room where he had started his wanderings, a whole hour wasted. The stiff bodied clerk quirked an eyebrow jerkily before swiveling back to his papers. Librarians, Fasse glowered inwardly. Always there when you don’t want them, and when you do, they won’t have you.

Two doors left; at least he had a fifty-percent chance of choosing the right door. Being the somewhat symmetrically minded wizard that he was, he chose the door opposite of the one he had just come from, the farthest to the right. It was by the smile of Illuvitar that he did. He was presented with another long corridor that opened into a gapping hall, lined all around with a balcony, providing access to multiple unlabeled doors.

The only problem was, there was both a staircase leading up and a staircase leading down from the balcony though Fasse had no way of knowing which one was meant to lead up or lead down. The only sure thing he could really recall was the vague number six and five – but of course he had no clear idea of what they stood for.

It was a surprise, to say the least, to emerge from a relatively unoccupied study to pop out here in a bustling open room. The befuddled wizard was finding it quite hard not to imagine he had stumbled unwittingly – as many of his actions were – into another city by some means of uncontrolled and chaotic magic. Blinking owlishly, he chose the right staircase, reasoning that things that were right ought very well to be on the right. Who would put the right staircase on the left after all?

The next decision Fasse was faced with, were the numbers. He surmised correctly that they must have something to do with the doors and which one he should pick. How did six and five go together? Should he add them and choose the – he counted on his fingers hastily – eleventh door? He could very well just try every door he supposed, but all the time wasted could be the beheading of Legolas and Aragorn. Fasse shuddered at the thought. To be alone…no guide, stuck forever in this Illuvitar forsaken white plained land with a herd of horses threatening to devour him if they did not get their elf back? Or for that matter, their human?

Nay, he was a wizard, not suicidal.

Fasse flexed his palms, flicking his fingers against one another in a nervous habit he had picked up a good…minute ago. He gnawed on a strand of his beard, the gears squeaking in slow revolutions in his head were almost audible to the passer-by. They needed oiling.

Then it came to him. A candle flaring to light above the wizard’s head could almost be seen. Why not just try doors five and six? Obvious as it was, it was a break through for the wizard’s thought development. And if that didn’t work, then, to borrow the colloquialism, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

The fifth door proved to be most certainly the wrong door due to the dead end storage room full to exploding with mothballs. The next door down however looked frightfully more accurate. Frightfully, because there was, again, a clerk. However, he was not half as razor tongued as the last, maybe that was because the harshest words, or sounds, that gurgled from the clerk’s throat were full-bellied snores. This clerk definitely had enough belly.

Though Fasse didn’t know this at the time, this corpulent man was the very judge-like-clerk that had admitted Nevens to be Legolas and Aragorn’s ‘prosecutor’. If Fasse had known this, he would have been greatly heartened to know he was drawing nigh to his goal.

But currently he was faced with the dilemma as to how to go about waking the drowsing man, tactfully. There was always poking the clerk, or patting his balding head, shouting or pulling the chair out from under his weighty girth, but none of those sounded very tactful. He would also like to escape in full form without any missing limbs. Then there was the option of simply sneaking past and leaving the man to his dreams.

Fasse had just decided to settle upon this last choice, and had not stepped further than the drowsing man, did a hand snap out, catching him back by the hood of his cloak. The wizard’s eye popped wide in surprise.

"And where do you think you are going?" a voice that likened to a bubbling stew pot grumbled from behind him.

Fasse flexed his shoulders, chortling nervously. "Heh, me? Oh, I’m just here to give a present to the Dallered fellow. Mother’s request you know."

"Dallered doesn’t have a mother."

Fasse’s toes curled in his boots, his voice raised a agitated octave, "Deary, deary! Everyone’s got a mother!"

The clerk, named Halbred narrowed his beady eyes till they nearly disappeared in his layers of plentiful flesh. "Dallered’s mum wouldn’t be making any request when she’s ten feet under."

The wizard dearly wished for the power of persuasion. "Let’s just say that I know that his mother would want me to deliver this too him." Remembering the slip of paper still stuffed in the deep pocket of his cloak, he pushed it across the desk.

Halbred frowned, muttering curses about midget over-lording clerks before he bad naturedly bashed a heavy stamp onto the parchment. He shoved it back to Fasse, a glower firmly twisting his flab. "Now get out, and don’t wake me next time."

Again, Fasse was not allowed to ask any questions. With the withering scowl scorching him where he stood, the wizard scooted to the only door he saw. Three more doors could be seen at the end of a long narrow corridor. This passageway was much darker than the others he had passed through. The floor was scuffed and chipped in a few places. His steps echoed dully in the hallway. They sounded almost tired and worn out.

How many times Fasse had been faced with decisions in the past hour, he wasn’t sure. But he was sure that it had been too many times. At least this time he actually remembered what he was looking for, if not what door. His instructions had been for the door that would have a stairway leading down from the top. Unfortunately, all of the doors had a stairway. Just his luck.

Using a process of elimination starting at the right, he skittered down one stairway then back up. The first two led to nothing but some storage rooms, there was no Dallered the jail keeper. So using his astute mind, he guess the last door was the right one. Finally, he sighed. It sure had taken him long enough.

But upon, descending the stairway, he found that there was no Dallered here either. The room, though he wouldn’t really call it a room but a closet, boasted of only a desk and a chair in their crudest forms. To the left was another long open stairway that curved, obstructing his view. Though he hardly needed vision to tell what was unfolding in the prisons below.

---

Legolas feinted with a slight dip of his shoulders, cleanly missing the clumsy swipe of the blunt end of a spear. He could not, however, explain the abrupt fiery agony that seared in his side. Hadn’t he dodged that blow? His hand instinctively pressed to his side, dislodging the hilt of the knife that bit into his side. For a horrible moment he lost all concentration and stumbled, nearly causing him further injury. It was Aragorn, pressing firmly against his back that brought him back to the moment. He willed himself to push aside the pain, until Aragorn and himself were well gone from this place.

Unaware of the injury Legolas had taken, Aragorn parried blow after blow with the unrefined and cumbersome weapon forged by the men of Eregion. "Can you break to the stairs yet?" He asked, as loudly as he dared.

"Aye, just tell me when."

Aragorn gauged their tiring opponents. "How about…now." He felt Legolas push off his back, catapulting through the thin human barricade surrounding them. Using the gap Legolas had provided, he backpedaled from the confining ring of men before twisting to high-tail it up the flight of steps.

Legolas lunged up the steps by three, the enraged shouts of Nevens echoing up the long passage behind them. The clatter and banging of the men in hot pursuit followed closely. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he made sure that Aragorn had escaped safely. Seeing the ranger at his heels, he was much relieved, daring to hope that events had taken a turn for the better, despite the pain still throbbing in his side. He had spared the time yet to see the extent or cause of the wound, and he did not spare the precious little time they had now.

Allowing the fading vestiges of adrenaline to goad him on, he sprang nimbly up the last few steps…to run smack into Fasse.

---

Fasse squeaked in fright as a russet clad, flaxen haired body bolted into him. He was only mildly appeased at the yelp it gave. Both were sent tumbling. Strider was next to trip over their tangled knot. "Flaming Valaraukar! Don’t frighten me so! What do you think you’re doing being rescued without me? I was supposed to do that!" Fasse raved, obviously not hearing – or at least no comprehending – the angered shouts echoing up the long staircase.

Strider pulled the wizard to his feet. "Fasse, now is not the time!"

Legolas pulled himself to his feet painfully, his side aching from the impact. Thankfully, no one noticed his distress. That was probably due to the raging faces tearing around the corner of the stairway. "Run!" he cried to the wizard, barely having enough breath.

Fasse squealed, stumbling back as the men converged on them. He raised the closest thing to a weapon he had. The wrapped elongated package he had brought as a bribe for the jailer, cracked open upon the head of the unlucky assailant that just happened to be Dallered, the jailer, spilling crimson liquid over the balding head. Dallered had gotten his wine after all.

Aragorn pushed the stunned wizard back up the last flight of stairs, Legolas close behind. He failed to notice that the elf was lagging. Hauling the wizard back to his feet before he could fall on his face after tripping on his tattered cloak, Aragorn hurtled up the stairs. Only a little farther and they would reach the door to freedom. What lay outside, he was not entirely sure since they had been tightly blindfolded when brought in. All he knew was that they had taken many turns and ascended and descended many steps. Their hope would – regretfully – lie in Fasse’s memory of how he got in.

That was not the most comforting, or assuring, thought he had.

Chapter 8: Through the Window

Legolas grasped his side tightly, trying to distill the distracting pain from his mind so he could focus on the task at hand, running. His other hand gripped his knife tightly, much to their relief, they had found their weapons leaning idle against the wall. It felt good to feel the cool handle against his skin. Along with their weapons, they had recovered their light satchels. It seemed that all Hollin had come out chasing them. Their trailing pack of aggressors kept growing.

Ahead, Aragorn prodded the uncertain wizard on. Clearly, Fasse hardly had a clue of how to get out. It was only by the blessing of Illuvitar that they had not run into any dead ends yet. He hated to be a skeptic, but it was only a matter of time.

Thankfully, Illuvitar was kind again, allowing their dead end to come at an opportune time when the shouts of the men had faded back as they lost their weaving trail. "We’re lost, aren’t we?" sighed Aragorn, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

Fasse sunk onto a crate, stamped ‘fragile’. Mournfully, he moaned in despair, "Deary, deary! ‘Tis not my fault that those blasted beasts chased us here! Oh woe and disappear! we will be forever stuck in here."

"No, they’re more likely to find us and kill us," Aragorn said. The wizard let out a howl of fright. Aragorn clamped a hand firmly over the shaggy mouth. "That will not help matters." Fasse whimpered, settling himself for moaning quietly and huddling disparagingly on his box. Aragorn’s eyes searched every corner for a way out, other than venturing out into the hall again. Unfortunately, these Hollin men were not the sort for secret entries. By the way things were going, it was looking more and more that they would have to leave the same way they came in, wherever that may be. "Legolas, what does your elf eyes see?" In the silence following, Aragorn thought that the elf was surveying the walls and ceiling, but the elf did not speak. Aragorn straightened from where he crouched, turning to where the elf sat. "Legolas?"

Legolas, in question, knelt hunched over his knees, trying to subdue the angry burning in his side before Aragorn noticed. His effort had been in vain. The ranger was at his side, clasping his shoulder worriedly. Leave it to the man to fret over a minor wound.

Aragorn hissed a curse. This was not what they needed, especially at a time like this! He kicked himself mentally. Blaming Legolas for being hurt was hardly right, or helpful. He severely doubted the elf would seek pain, but then again, elves were strange folk. "Must you always be so heroic, crazy elf?"

If Legolas heard him, the elf didn’t respond. He was finding it more profitable to remain hunched in a tight, motionless, ball. He would heal, the pain would pass, this was nothing, he reasoned. The elven prince would have said as much to the worried Dúnadan, if he could have found the breath. Half-heartedly, he tried swatting aside the hands seeking to dislodge his other hand from where it clutched the wound. His only result was causing himself more discomfort.

"You stupid, block-headed creature," Aragorn muttered angrily when he finally pulled Legolas’s hands away. "Fasse, watch the door, tell me if you hear anything." The elf took Strider’s momentary distraction as an opportunity to scoot away to safety. He didn’t get far before the ranger clasped him firmly by the shoulder, holding him at bay. "You stay there. I’m not finished with you."

"I am," Legolas forced out between gritted teeth. "I’m just fine," wince, muffled groan, "now leave me," not so muffled groan, "be."

For good measure, Aragorn poked the elf’s wounded side a little harder than need be with the cloth he was using to clean the wound. Legolas clinched his fists, looking very much like he was ready to pummel his former friend. "You’re lucky."

Legolas pressed his eyes shut, willing the discomfort to leave him. "And pray tell why that is?"

Aragorn ripped a long strip of cloth from the elf’s cloak, then proceeded to wrap the wound tightly. He took his time before answering. "The knife – and don’t you dare say you did this by tripping and gouging yourself on table – grazed over your ribs, hopefully missing any vital parts. Illuvitar knows, you wouldn’t be plotting vengeance on me if your ribs hadn’t been there." He tugged the last wrap tight, garnering an equally tight wince from the elf. "But don’t think that gives you any right to go and fall off any cliffs, save any rangers, or anything else that would get you hurt, or shall I say further hurt."

Legolas batted Aragorn’s fretting hands aside. "You sound just like your father."

"It runs in the family," Aragorn smiled ruefully. "Can you walk? Or shall I have to carry you?"

"I am just," Legolas struggled to gain his feet, it took longer, and was more painful that he would ever admit, "fine." The Dúnadan eyed the wavering elf cynically. He would just have to trust Legolas until the elf fell over.

Fasse squeaked behind them, his small eyes widened. Aragorn noticed that he no longer needed intelligible words from the wizard to get the gist of what the shaggy Istar was trying to convey. Whether that was a good thing, he was not entirely sure. "Quick now, we have to leave before they come back and figure out where we have holed up."

Ears attuned for footsteps, the three stole from the room. The corridor was empty, but the unnerving thing was there was no way of knowing where they were, where they were going, and whether the next door would lead to a room full of hostile Hollin men. It was a gamble, but all of them wanted to get out of this building and on with their job. So far, and for a good while longer, things went suspiciously well. Fasse had even said he recognized where they were. But that was part of the start of their troubles.

"I’m positive, I am! There’s a monster in that room, he’s as skinny as a twig, but don’t let that fool you," Fasse rasped. "He’ll for sure know that we’ve escaped and he’ll have my beard shorn off and my head…"

"Fasse!" Legolas hissed. "Calm yourself. Worrying will get us nowhere. It will only make things worse." He gripped the panicking wizard’s shoulders. "Listen to me, do you have any idea where to go after that room?" Fasse shook his head miserably. The elf gritted his teeth, keeping his temper at bay. "Aragorn, wandering aimlessly isn’t doing us any good."

"Then what would you suggest, Legolas?" Aragorn said, his tone clipped.

"Let me go ahead and find a way out, there will be less chance of me being seen." Legolas reasoned urgently.

The ranger shook his head adamantly. "No, I’m not letting you do that again. Last time you suggested that I had to save you from a Dunland prison."

"Aragorn, what else would you have us do, wander blindly back into captivity? I’ll be fine."

"I’ve heard that far too much this day." Frustration boiled in the ranger, frustration because he knew that the elf was right.

"I have to do this. It’s the only reasonable way."

Aragorn’s temper flared. "And if I don’t let you, will you knock me out again and send me back to Rivendell?"

"Why won’t you let that go?" Legolas clinched his fists. "I had to do that as well. Admit it." His tone softened, "Strider, don’t worry, I will be careful."

Aragorn’s brow furrowed, he clasped the elf’s shoulders tightly, shaking him gently. "Promise me you won’t do anything heroic? Promise?"

Legolas smiled softly, "You worry too much, Strider. I said I’d be careful."

"You said, that doesn’t always mean you are," he groused. Aragorn heaved a breath, "Please don’t do anything stupid."

Legolas grinned cheekily, "Me? Do anything stupid? Gah, never!" He reluctantly unfastened the quiver and bow from his back, handing them to the man. "Somehow I think I would be to easily seen if I hauled these around." Taking his long knife, he tucked it into the folds of his cloak, carefully out of sight. "Now stay here, and keep out of trouble."

Aragorn watched the elf slip down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows. Pulling Fasse into an empty room, he wondered what devilry had convinced him to let Legolas do this thing.

---

Fasse’s monster had proven to be not quite as fearsome as he had described. The lanky clerk sat stiffly behind his desk, though Legolas could not see the clerk’s face, he could imagine a flattened nose from the grating breathing. Unfortunately the clerk also sat facing the most plausible door in the room. But many things were possible with the silent steps of elven feet. It took only a small distraction to provide a way for Legolas to slip through the door without the clerk noticing. Getting back in would be harder.

Once through the doorway, Legolas ducked close to the wall. As it was night in Hollin, it was mostly empty except for the few late workers. But apparently the guardsmen had yet to give up their search for the demon elf, the old man and the strange human. Below, prowling from door to door, sought the men. They had barred all entrances from the large hall, making any escape without confrontation impossible. That is nearly impossible. There was still at least one exit unguarded. It was high and made of glass. The trick would be getting up there. With furtive movements, Legolas crept to the end of the balcony, keeping low.

Crouching next to the railing, he watched carefully the activity below. The window was high set in the stone wall, square and relatively large with a ledge wide enough for one to sit almost comfortably.

His lips twitched in a shadow of a smile of satisfaction. At least he knew the way out, and even how to escape from this wretched labyrinth. Now all he needed was the materials. He retraced his steps by way of the shadows, back to the door. Only here did he rise to his full height. Banishing all trepidation, he wrapped firmly on the door. What better guise than to walk in without fear or slinking, under the pretension that he was no more than a visitor?

There was a scuffle of papers, and the creak of a chair before a disgustingly nasal voice called him in, sounding quite put off at the disturbance. Shoulders back, a pleasant smile wreathing his face, he entered. The clerk blinked in confusion, his mouth gapping like a fish out of water. "You’re a…you’re that…"

"Elf? Yes, you would be quite correct in that assumption, a tribute to your common sense. You needn’t fear me at all, I’m just here to tie a few things up."

The bony clerk hadn’t but blinked, than when he opened his eyes, his hands were tied securely behind his back with his own shirt tail, his feet secured to the chair legs, and his mouth gagged with the long kerchief that had formerly been draped about his neck.

The elf was gone. And so was his letter opener.

---

Aragorn paced the room that they had holed up in. This reminded him far too much of Dunland. Again he was bound to waiting with no other choice. It was no less than infuriating.

Fasse huddled in a corner, chewing on a scraggly strand of his beard. He muttered strange words to himself, words that Aragorn had never heard before, but sounded as if they were said in another tongue. Perhaps he was trying to work up some food spell.

The Dúnadan resisted the urge to slam his fist through a wall, lest he reveal their hiding place. "Curse it all, where is that elf?"

"He’s only been gone but a few minutes, Strider."

Aragorn turned angrily on the small Istar. "And how would you know?"

"I’ve been counting."

The ranger grunted in barely restrained frustration. He couldn’t stand this anymore, he had to go out there. His hand gripped the door handle, tugging it open. Or would have tugged it open if it hadn’t flown open on its own accord, sending Aragorn stumbling back.

"Mae govannen, Aragorn Arathornion!" laughed Legolas, after closing the door softly. "Going somewhere?"

"By Elbereth, I’m sure you will be the death of me one of these days."

The elf laughed again, "Surely, I thought it would be the other way around?"

Aragorn shook his head reprovingly, "By the smug look on your face, I guess your mission was successful?"

Legolas blinked at the man, as if the very idea of him failing was preposterous. "Completely. I just need a few things." With no other words, the elf set to bending what looked to be a letter opener in the crack of the door, leaning his weight against the hilt.

"As if with your weight you could bend a stick. Legolas, you’re going to hurt yourself doing that. Let me do it, whatever you’re doing." He held up a finger when the elf opened his mouth, ready to form his well-known words. "And don’t even think about saying that you’re fine."

The elven prince pursed his lips, piercing Aragorn with an uncomfortable stare – on Aragorn’s part – that would have sent most men, and elves into fits of quakes. Aragorn while in the company of elves, had since become immune to elven stares. Never-the-less, Legolas stepped back, allowing Aragorn to take his place. "Just do what you must, I wish to be free of these dark walls and to be on with our task."

He chose to ignore Fasse’s grumble of, "You make your ‘task’ sound like a bad thing."

"Falmarin will never forgive me for leaving him alone like this for so long," Legolas spoke aloud, more to himself than anyone else. Unintentionally, his words had prodded a yet aching wound on Aragorn’s heart he had only just started to heal from. Aragorn’s hands clinched tighter around the elegantly twisted handle of the letter opener, the lines of his faces tightening. The elf noticed this change, realizing what he had said. "Aragorn, I’m sorry, I…" he fumbled for the words to say.

Aragorn shook his head. "It is no fault of yours, friend." He pushed the hilt fiercely after a brief pause. "It takes so little to, to make me remember. It was only an innocent remark." He tugged the blade from the crack, handing it to Legolas, the blade now bent in the shape of a sharp hook. By the slight smile on Legolas’s face, he guessed he had bent it correctly. Aragorn sat silently beside Fasse, watching Legolas weave a strand of strong elvish rope he had salvaged from his satchel around and through the twisted handle. Twisted, just how he had failed to save Ralamir. Aye, it was a twisted fate.

He was roused from his thoughts, to Legolas shaking his shoulder urgently. The elf’s voice sounded tense. "Aragorn, we must leave. Someone is approaching." Legolas helped Fasse to his feet, shouldering on his quiver. "Once through that clerks station, there’s a balcony overlooking a large chamber. Unfortunately, all doors are guarded down below. Fortunately, there’s a window. Unfortunately, it’s high. Fortunately, this," he dangled the fashioned grappling hook, "will get us up." The elf whirled suddenly, his body tense. "Quick! We must go before they find us."

But it was too late. Just as they blew out the door, the shouts of a company of men rang from close behind. The clerk moaned into his gag, his puffy eyes wide at the sight of the three fugitives fleeing past. Aragorn would have laughed at Legolas’s work if situations had not been so dire. If Illuvitar granted, there would be time to laugh afterwards. Not bothering to use the door handle, he bowled it over with his shoulder, the hinges popping off like frogs on a lily pad.

Legolas took the lead, forcing himself yet again to push aside the pain throbbing in his side. The window was just ahead. He started to swing the hook, the rest of the rope coiled in his left hand. He let the rope fly, praying that his aim with a hook was as true as his arrows. He only had time for one try. The hook crashed into the windowpane, shattering the glass and soaring downward. Internal instinct waited until he felt it bounce against the outside wall, then he pulled. The hook caught.

He leapt. His feet hit the wall climbing. With elven agility that would sicken every mortal, he made it up the wall in record time, pulling himself up onto the ledge. Aragorn had already pushed Fasse as high as he could on the rope. Legolas heaved the wizard up by the rope, his lightly shod feet finding invisible grips and foot holds on the far from roomy ledge.

The men were closing in on Aragorn down below, from the chamber on ground level, guardsmen were already joining together and clambering up the stairs. Legolas had never been more grateful that they did not sport bows. If Aragorn could but get above the swords, and none of the men had skill enough to throw a knife – accurately at least – then maybe, just maybe they would get out.

With one last heave, he pulled Fasse up onto the ledge. Looking down again he saw that Aragorn was cornered below, the men gave no quarter. There was only one thing to do. Two arrows thudded into the wood floor but a few inches from the closest man’s toes. The ranks drew back, surprised and afraid. "Now, Aragorn!"

He had no need to speak, the ranger was already on the rope, Legolas helping him from above, while keeping a careful eye on the men. Already they were shouting and for backup to catch them outside. They were too late. Without a backward glance, Legolas, loosed the hook, and both man and elf launched themselves from the window.

Chapter 9: Back to the Snow

Falmarin and the black struck a ghostly site flying down the shadowed streets, one glowing eerily, while the other bled into the black night like a gaping hole in the air. That is it was magnificent if you didn’t notice Gorban lopping behind with Nienna goading him faster. The grey elvish horse had sensed his master.

Then from the shadows materialized a group of men, torches raised. Falmarin screamed in rage at the inconvenience. He had no time for this delay! Two men drew near to quickly retreat again as two sharp hooves struck out. The black beside him pivoted sharply at Gorban’s gasping bray. Three men had managed to throw a noose over the donkey’s head, drawing back quickly and tightening to the rope tightly around the creature’s neck. Gorban thrashed and pulled, bucking and fighting to be loose of the choking thing. The donkey rushed a man, butting his head forcefully into the unlucky mortal’s chest, sending the man flying back. But again, the noose yanked him back. Gorban