A/N: Hey guys! I'm sorry that this one was so long in coming. Life hit me like a freight train but from now on you should be getting weekly updates! I hope you enjoy and have fun reading!

Disclaimer: not mine.

No Way Out

Chapter One

Aragorn slammed two tankards down on the table, spraying droplets of ale across the rough wooden surface. Throwing himself into the chair, he stared across at a slim, finely dressed man. The man looked up, arching an eyebrow.

"Names Darrion," Aragorn announced, holding out his hand for the man to take.

The man went back to studying the map spread out in front of him. "Not interested."

"You will be." Aragorn leaned forward, pushing one of the tankards closer to the man. "I have a proposition for you that you will not want to turn down."

"Go away." This time the man did not even bother to look up, though he did wrap his hand around the mug. Aragorn inched his chair closer, looking around them. Bending low, he whispered.

"I know exactly who you are. I know what you do."

"Congratulations, Darrion, you can recognize a wandering peddler apart from a farmer. Now, unless you are interested in buying a fist in your face, I suggest you move along." His voice was cold and humorless but Aragorn chuckled.

"I am interested in buying something," Pausing once again, he glanced around them. The rest of the inn was bustling and busy. Loud laughter echoed back to them from the corner where a large gaggle of men and women were gathered. A weary, old, farmer was talking to anyone that would listen about next year's doomed harvest and a musician was playing a lively tune on his harp. Leaning in, Aragorn smiled grimly. "I am interested in buying a life."

The man froze with the tankard halfway to his lips. "I'm sorry, I am not Mandos."

"Don't insult me. You know exactly what I speak of." Aragorn took a large gulp of his drink, never breaking eye contact. "Your name is Alton and you are more in the business of wandering assassin than a wandering peddler."

Alton cocked an eyebrow before his lips pushed upwards into a thin smile. Folding the map, he stuffed it away into the inside pocket of his jacket. "You'll forgive my caution, Darrion. One can't be too careful." Aragorn nodded, watching as Alton turned to fully face him. Both men were silent as Alton eyed Aragorn critically.

"You don't dress like a man from Laketown or any of the other surrounding villages. What is a man who lives up north over the Misty Mountains doing here?"

"I've been searching for you," Aragorn admitted with a shrug. "Your fame as an assassin has grown even to those forsaken lands and I have a bit of a, well—situation—back at home."

Before he could continue, Alton raised a hand. "Before you go any further on some long, outlandish, and horribly boring backstory, let me inform you that I have a price and it is not cheap."

Reaching into his coat's pocket, Aragorn pulled a bursting pouch out and dropped it onto the table. The heavy thud and gentle clinking sparked a light in Alton's eyes. Picking it up carefully, he weighed it with one hand and raised an eyebrow.

He opened his mouth but Aragorn cut him off. "That's only half. The rest comes after you finish the job."

Alton's thin lips twisted upwards once more. "I would have accepted just this which makes me wonder. Who, exactly, do you want dead?"

Aragorn paused, biting at his lower lip. "As you so clearly stated I come from across the Misty Mountains. I run a—" he laughed a little, shaking his head, "less than honest business that the elven Lord up there, Elrond, is starting to take a personal interest in. I need you to kill the elf before he destroys everything I've ever worked for."

Alton stared at him for a second, his eyes growing wide. "You're not serious, are you?" he scoffed, draining the rest of his beer in one gulp. "First off, very few people even know how to find the hidden valley where Elrond Half-elven dwells and seconds, this is Elrond Half-elven we are talking about. If half the stories are true then he has survived kin-slayings, wars, the Battle of the Last Alliance and who-knows-what-else. He would see it coming a mile away, it's impossible!"

"Is it?" Aragorn paused, snapping his fingers at the passing barmaid, and waited until she had refilled both of their mugs before continuing. "Rumor in town is that Mirkwood's Prince—"

"That wasn't me. I just happened to be here. The wood elves caught whoever it was. A local young man, I think."

Aragorn bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and took a deep breath. Later, the time would come later. "What if I knew someone who could lure Elrond out into the open? All it takes is one well-placed arrow and even an elf would die." Aragorn edged forward, gripping Alton's forearm tightly. "Look at me, I'm desperate! I've traveled all this way and I'm willing to pay any price you name. You must help me."

Alton did not respond for several long minutes as he stared into the depths of his ale. "I would need more gold then what we are promising me. Add another bag and I'll do your dirty work."

Aragorn nodded without hesitation, sinking back into his seat. "Thank you, you won't—"

Alton cut him off briskly. "Oh, and I will need Elrond alone. You have to get him out there with no one else, do you understand?"

Aragorn's smile faltered. "That will not be easy. Elves often travel together and his sons or other famed warriors usual accompany him. Why do you need him alone?"

Alton chuckled, shaking his head knowingly. "I just do. Can you get him alone?"

Aragorn paused, lightly tracing the rim of his mug, and then nodded. "Out of curiosity, how do you plan to kill him?" he asked, but Alton only drained his drink and stood.

"He will be taken care of, that is all that matters. I assume that you want to leave as soon as possible? I can be ready in the morning. There isn't anything in this small, damp, rat-hole of a town anyway," he sneered, gathering up his cloak. Thrusting out his hand, he briefly shook Aragorn's before heading up the stairs and towards his rooms.

Aragorn remained seated, nursing his ale, for several long minutes. Once he was sure that Alton would not be coming back down the stairs, he retreated to a table in the corner that was submerged in shadows.

"He's going to do it," he said wearily, dropping into one of the chairs. The woman already sitting there bowed her head in relief, clutching her glass closer to her.

"Thank you, thank you for doing this," she whispered, her hands trembling as she raised the cup to her lips before brushing at a wayward strand of frizzy hair. Aragorn's eyebrows came together and his eyes went hard.

"Oh, trust me, Delilah, I'm not doing this just for you. He killed my friend and I'm not going to stop till I see justice served." Knocking back the rest of his drink, he tightened his hands around the mug to stop the sudden trembling in his fingers.

Delilah nodded, rocking a little where she sat. "You have to know, my brother would never have betrayed one of Thranduil's folks. He loved it when the elves would visit and he would talk with the ones that were willing late into the night. You have to understand that." Tears sparkled in her eyes and she forced herself to take a steadying breath. "Prince Legolas was never too high or mighty to talk to him—we didn't even know that he was the prince for the longest time. My brother never would have betrayed the Prince."

"I believe you, but it did look…strange," Aragorn sighed, leaning forward on his elbows and pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. "He was the last one to see Legolas before he disappeared in-between Mirkwood and Laketown." He paused, thinking back to his hurried conversation with Thranduil only a few days prior. Someone, (Alton, if he had to take a guess) had left a convincing trail of evidence that led from where Legolas had disappeared to the southern borders of the great forest. They had lost the trail just before it entered spider territory.

The master of Laketown had panicked, fearing open war, and had turned over the first person that was linked to the evidence; Delilah's brother. In terror, Delilah and taken the streets, pleading and begging to any elf she saw that her brother was innocent. At long last, one of Legolas' close friends had listened to her plight. Unsure of what to do and unfamiliar with human ways, he had sent for the only human he trusted; Aragorn.

Aragorn doubted that he would ever forget the stark terror that had filled his heart as he had read the hurriedly scribbled note that Legolas was missing, presumed dead. Fleeing Imladris less than an hour later, he had made the trip to Mirkwood in record time, not that it mattered. It had been a fortnight since the prince had gone missing and there was nothing that he could do that hadn't already being done.

With little hope, he had made his way to Lake-town. For the first time since the tragedy had occurred, Lady Mercy smiled down upon him as Aragorn tried to locate Delilah to hear her side of the story. Standing in the shadows of a doorway a vaguely familiar voice had struck up a conversation with a beautiful young woman. Turning, he watched in disgust as the man leered over the girl who could only be just entering womanhood. Unable to place the voice or the face, Aragorn had followed him for several hours until suddenly it clicked. The man was Alton, a famed assassin.

Aragorn had tried to find Alton once, years prior, when the main village leader in a town just north of Bree had gone missing. He had never caught him, though he had come close, and while doing so he had learned much about the man. The man had a unique trademark. Traveling from town to town as a wandering peddler, he would wait until his victims were alone before making any move.

They were never seen again as Alton vanished with his victim in hand to the Misty Mountains and, if the rumor was to be believed, they were left to a cruel, twisted, fate. Some said he left them shackled in a forgotten valley were they starved to death. Others said that he tortured them slowly, draining their blood drop by drop till their hearts stopped beating. The list went on but the truth was that no one knew. None of his victims had ever lived to tell the tales and their bodies had never been discovered.

Sighing, Aragorn resurfaced from his thoughts and reached out, patting her hand. "We will have your brother out of Thranduil's dungeons before long and Alton will take his place."

Delilah nodded listlessly and Aragorn squeezed her hand. She turned to look at him. "Aren't you afraid, though? You are putting your own friends in danger based solely off of the hope that he will lead you to the prince."

Aragorn shrugged. "Alton won't be prepared for that. Besides, if all goes to plan, I may be able to convince him to take me to his killing site before I get anyone else involved." She nodded even as her hands continued to twist together in her lap.

They sat together in silence and Aragorn leaned forward once again burying his face in his hands. The light of the dying fire painted the harsh lines of his shadow on the wall and illuminated his haggard look. A little while later, the Delilah staggered to her feet and walked in a daze out the inn's door. Aragorn blinked rapidly to clear his vision as he turned his head, guaranteeing her safe passage out into the warm summer night.

Taking a steadying breath, Aragorn rubbed wearily at his forehead in an attempt to ward off the headache that was already firmly in place.

He didn't have to be told that, on the slim chance that he was able to convince Alton to lead him to Legolas, that he would only find a dead body. The mere fact that Alton was back in town was enough to know that he had finished whatever games he had been playing with the prince. Only the thought that he would be bringing Legolas' killer to justice brought a sliver of comfort to his aching heart.

"More ale, sir?" A cheery young maid startled him and he looked around. She had her hand out to take his mug but he shook his head. It was still half full.

"That will be all, thanks," he muttered, clearing his throat roughly. Something must have shown on his face and her smile faltered. Reaching out, she gave his shoulder a firm squeeze before moving on to serve a group of tipsy men.

Aragorn dropped his head back into his hands and forced himself to take several slow and steady breaths. When he raised his head again, his eyes were bright and firm. Alton would not get away with it, not this time.

Draining his mug, he threw a few coins onto the table and headed for his own room.

NoWayOut

Legolas leaned against the door, staring out over a wide balcony and into the brightly lit forest. His left arm was wrapped gently in a soft sling and he unconsciously rubbed at the dull ache that was deep in his shoulder. His hair, free of their braids, danced behind him in the fresh breeze that smelled…he couldn't quite decipher what it smelled like, something almost salty. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed into its gentle caress.

Something fluttered from inside the room and he turned to look. An orange butterfly drifted lazily in the faint breeze, before fluttering down to land on a painting of a delicate purple flower.

Legolas frowned. The scene looked familiar for some reason and he tilted his head, trying to understand. Unable to shake the feeling that this was important, he moved closer. The butterfly froze, melting into the painting until it was simply part of it. Reaching out, he hesitated briefly, before letting his fingers scraped against the dried paint.

"Haven't you heard that it is unwise to touch paintings as old as that one?" His father's voice sounded from the door and Legolas jumped. Thranduil hadn't knocked.

He always knocked.

Tilting his head to the side, Legolas stared at his father for a minute before smiling. "I seem to remember someone telling me that maybe a thousand times when I was an elfling."

Thranduil's grin split his face in two and his eyes twinkled as they had before his wife had died. "You didn't listen then and I doubt you will listen now."

"I don't know. I am a little older, a little wiser." Legolas walked towards the door that Thranduil was holding open. "Where are we going?"

"Just follow me, I have something that I want to show you," Thranduil smiled again, looping an arm around his son's shoulders. "And if I told you, then it would ruin the surprise." Legolas glanced around at the hallway in confusion. This wasn't his home, but the corridor looked achingly familiar.

Thranduil pulled him closer as they walked.

The long hallway stretched on for as far as the eye could see and they continued on endlessly until Legolas' legs had a healthy ache in them. The pain in his shoulder was now a throbbing agony that had spread all along his left side and up to his neck.

"Ada…" he stopped short as the pain spiked and he cried out, clamping a hand to his neck. "Ada, something isn't—" Legolas broke off, startled into silence as he looked into his father's face. Thranduil was leering at him, his lips bared to reveal long, pointed, teeth.

Blinking, Legolas watched as his father's features slid back into a concerned expression.

"Come, Legolas. You must follow me."

Legolas shook his head, his hand still pressed against the fiery pain in his neck and shoulder. His breath was coming in sharp gasps as he looked around him. The hallway had gone fuzzy and he blinked, trying to bring it back into focus.

"Legolas!" Thranduil's voice had gone sharp. Legolas spun around, instinctively moving into a protective stance. Thranduil scowled. "I told you to come along and I expect you to listen."

Legolas hesitated, his heart screaming at him to turn and run. A cold burst of air that carried the foul stink of something long decayed rushed up to meet him. He froze, unable to get his legs to move.

"Ada, what is down there?" Legolas' voice rose in pitch as he felt his heart hammering in his chest. He tried to move back but his legs would not work. Pain tore through his body and he felt all the strength leaving his limbs. Sinking slowly to his knees, he gazed up at his father through tears sparked by the pain.

"Legolas?" Just as quickly as the anger had come, it was gone and his father sounded concerned. "You don't look well. Are you—" Thranduil's face wavered and Legolas thrust out a hand for support as his body wilted towards the ground. Blinking feverously, he stared with horror and confusion as his father's face flickered between the features that he knew so well and those of a wide-mouthed monster.

"Ada—"

He clasped onto the ground, watching as his father knelt next to him. Only, it wasn't his father. Rotting skin was stretched tight across a bony face and where there should have been eyes there were only two gaping holes. The monster opened its mouth and a long tongue flicked out between rows of razor-sharp teeth. A long, soft hiss followed and a wicked odor filled the air. Legolas remained locked in place as fear overwhelmed him. Before he even had the chance to cry out, agony surged throughout his body and everything went black.

TBC...

Well, folks, there is the first chapter. Feel free to leave a review on the way out and tell me what you thought! Thanks so much for reading!