Whoops! I actually wrote this chapter months ago and published it on AO3 but forgot to do it on here! Sorry! Nevertheless, here's chapter four! Hope you enjoy! Chapter five is about one third of the way done! Please review or make suggestions - it really helps boost my motivation! :)

"What happens if we are too late?"

Moric couldn't help but ask, the question lingering on the edge of his thoughts ever since they had left the city in the company of the royal guards. He felt slightly guilty about drugging the guards, but he knew that they were only slowing them down. Plus, he couldn't deny that it had been amusing watching them drop one by one like a swarm of flies. Still, it was a necessary action and clever on Hadria's part. Nothing had gone as expected so far and he was beginning to worry. They should have acted sooner. If Rueben had the boy then all this had been for naught. Not to mention the fact that now a lot more people were involved so they would have to be extra cautious. He'd more than likely be imprisoned before all this was over with…That last thought caused him to sigh.

Sensing his distress, Hadria smirked. Moric always did worry too much. She could practically hear the thoughts as they raced through his mind. She grabbed his forearm in what she had meant to be a calming gesture as the pair continued their trek through the outskirts of the woods.

"Be calm, Moric," she advised, "We will deal with our problems as they happen – no sooner, no later. You should know by now that things rarely ever go as planned. All we can expect at this point is the unexpected, but I need you to trust that whatever happens I will see to it that we finish what we have started."

"I do trust you," Moric asserted, flicking his gaze towards the woman's face then down to the thin hand on his arm, "I just worry. We can't afford to make any more mistakes."

"Mistakes are unavoidable," countered Hadria, "But they can be rectified."

"Not easily."

Hadria stopped then, waiting for her companion to do the same. She needed to erase all doubt from his mind once and for all. As he faced her, he met her stern gaze, the flames of the torch glinting in her hazel eyes; he almost glanced away at the intensity of it.

"We will get the boy," she spoke with conviction, leaning in close to his face, "The means may change but the end will be the same. Understand?"

As he nodded, she reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder and smiled as he covered it with his own. Their moment was broken, however, when a sharp cry sounded from behind them, resonating through the night. Hadria spun around, dark hair flying, as she peered into the blackness.

"What was that?" she wondered aloud.

Moric lifted the torch higher, but to no avail. Its light would only cast so far.

"Do you think it was Rueben?"

"Possibly," the woman answered, eyes and ears on alert.

"Should we investigate?" Moric asked.

Hadria nodded, "Yes, but where do you suppose it came from?"

"From the east and just a little ways behind us. Definitely within the wood."

"Then let's go, but be as silent as possible. We don't know what we're dealing with," she warned.

With that, Moric took the lead and headed in the direction of the sound. Hadria lifted up her skirts and followed closely, both nervous and eager to discover the source of the cry. And both hoping it wasn't the boy.

Insurmountable pain thrummed through every fiber of his being. As he hit the ground, the breath was forced from his lungs and he struggled to let it back in. His chest stung with every intake of air and he brutally coughed it back out. Gasping and writhing, Legolas was all too aware of the throbbing in his right shoulder. He glanced down at the arrow protruding from his flesh and the blood that steadily soaked his tunic. The movement caused his head to spin and his stomach churned violently. He gently lowered his head back onto the hard ground and the feeling passed, but a dull ache in his skull remained. He reached up to break off the shaft, but found he lacked the strength, his arm falling limp beside him. He hoped the arrow wasn't poisoned since he was in no position to remove it. Otherwise, he was as good as dead. How could he have been so careless? He had watched the human archer draw his bow and still did not move, underestimating the man's dying strength. And now he was dying. No. He couldn't be. The arrow hadn't pierced anything vital. Then why was he feeling so cold? He grew nauseous again as beads of sweat formed on his brow, chilling him even more as they were caressed by the night's cool breeze. The sensation was an odd one. As an elf, he was never affected by temperature, but since forfeiting his immortality, he felt it keenly. He knew the meaning of the cold he felt now. He had heard it been described by many on the battlefield as the life left their bodies and they succumbed to death. He began to panic. What of Eldarion? Had he witnessed his Ada's fall? Or did he remain in the trees completely unaware? What of Aragorn? Did he yet live? Or would his precious son be made an orphan? He groaned, cursing the tears that leaked from his eyes. His body began to tremble and he tried to control his shaky breaths. No! He could not die! Not now! Not like this! After all he had been through in his long life, he would not meet his end at the hands of a rogue archer. And he would not leave his family without a fight. Willing his soul to hold fast, the elf prayed for strength; either the strength to go find help or the strength to remain until help found him.

The moments since his father had awakened him passed in a blur. Eldarion had climbed as high as he could up into the tree, just as instructed. He was amazed when the mighty oak had answered his plea and eased his ascent. As he settled onto a particularly thick and level branch, he had heard the whizzing of arrows and understood why his ada had wanted him to hide. He wrapped his arms securely around the tree trunk, nails digging into the bark, eyes shut tight. The little prince waited for the danger to pass and his ada to join him, just as he promised. His heart pounded in anticipation as he heard more arrows soar through the air. Please don't hurt my ada. The boy held his breath when after several agonizing moments he heard an unfamiliar pained groan. He could only assume someone had been wounded. Did that mean it was over? Had his ada killed the bad men? Just as the feeling of hope started to consume him, another sound echoed in his ears – a cry whose tone and pitch sounded scarily familiar.

"Ada?!"

He opened his eyes, peering through the trees to scan the forest floor. Though it was dark, the moon was high, emitting just enough light to allow visibility. His breaths became more frequent and shallow when he noticed the dead bodies of two strange men. His breaths stopped all together when his eyes landed on a beloved form that was writhing in obvious pain.

"No!"

His hands started to shake and tears soaked his face as he tried to climb down the tree. His ada needed him. He had to hurry. He miscalculated a step in the midst of his inner turmoil and just barely managed to reach out and grab another branch before plummeting to the ground. The shock of his near fall caused him to still. Once more, he wrapped his arms around the tree trunk and tried to control his panicked breathing. As he settled, he glanced down, realizing he still had quite a ways to go. When he made to step down again, a sudden thought caused him to pause:

"No matter what you hear or what you see happen to me, stay up in that tree. Do you understand me? Will you do this for me, please?"

He had promised his ada that he would stay in the tree no matter what. But his ada was hurt. And the bad guys were dead now, right?

An unexpected sound ended his indecision. He twisted his body around in search of the source of the footfalls when he noticed a tiny light moving in the distance. As it drew closer, he recognized it to be a torch. A tall, cloaked man handled the torch while a woman walked beside him. His heart and mind began racing when he realized the pair were heading straight for his ada.

Legolas heard the pair long before he saw them. Through his abnormally jumbled thoughts and senses, the sounds of crunching leaves evaded his ears. The only problem was that he could not tell from which direction they were coming from. The elf attempted to raise his head and see, but the action made him ferociously dizzy. He was helpless; left to wait as the sounds drew nearer and nearer.

After several moments of tortured anticipation, two figures were hovering over him, faces contorted in shock and concern. Though he blinked rapidly to clear his blurred vision, he could tell that the figure closest to him was a woman and the other a man. He tried to scramble away from them and reach for the dagger in his belt, but a firm yet gentle touch to his chest stopped him.

"Be still, Prince Legolas. We mean you no harm."

The smooth, feminine voice didn't sound threatening, but he'd been wrong before. Warily, he stilled and met her fretful stare.

"Can you speak, Your Highness?"

Legolas opened his mouth to say yes, and was therefore shocked when nothing but a pained whimper passed his lips.

"Shh, it's alright. My name is Hadria and this is my friend Moric. We're going to help you. Do you understand?"

He closed his eyes and gave a brief nod, welcoming the light touch to his brow and hoping these strangers were being sincere. Their names meant nothing to him; He still had no clue who they were or why they were here, but he could ask his questions later.

"Good. Now, can you wiggle your toes for me, my prince?"

With great effort, Legolas managed to flex his toes, the movement visible through the skins of his boots.

"No paralysis then," Hadria stated, seemingly pleased, "Aside from the obvious arrow wound, you appear to be concussed. Did you fall?"

Again, Legolas gave a brief nod.

"Then you're lucky not to be in worse shape."

Abruptly, the woman gripped the shaft of the arrow and turned it slightly. The arrow didn't budge, but the sensation sent a new shock of pain rippling through the elf's body and he cried out. His trembling intensified and his face paled dramatically.

"The arrow is lodged in his bone, most likely the shoulder blade," the woman announced to her companion, "and he is going into shock."

"What should we do?" came the rich, rough voice of Moric.

The man held up his torch to get a better look at the monarch, taking in his dilated eyes and dampened skin.

Hadria reached into her bag and pulled out the same sleeping draught she had used earlier, wrenching off the cork and moving a hand behind the prince's head.

"Prince Legolas," she began, "I need you to take a sip of this. It will help with the pain."

He eyed the bottle skeptically and shook his head.

"Please," the woman begged, "Trust me."

Holding her gaze, he could sense no malice and felt his resolve waning. He sighed, praying that he wasn't about to make a stupid decision. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth, the woman smiling in encouragement. Three drops of liquid landed on his tongue, the taste bitter. He swallowed with some difficulty before his head was lowered. Immediately, his body grew lax and he felt overwhelmingly fatigued. His eyes drooped shut but he was still aware of rustling and movement taking place around him. Soon, he blocked the noises out, his lasts thoughts of his husband and son before giving in to sleep.

As the prince surrendered to sleep, Moric turned to Hadria who sat still at the elf's side, seemingly at a loss for what to do. He had been surprised to find the prince, of all people, injured and alone and he was sure Hadria felt the same. After all, what did this mean for the boy? For the king?

"What now?" he asked, breaking the silence.

The woman appeared to snap out of a trance, shaking her head before gazing up at Moric.

"I do not have the supplies to treat him properly," she admitted, "He needs to be taken back to the city."

Moric's eyes widened in surprise, "What are you saying?"

"What I'm saying," Hadria began, "is that we need to return to our new guard friends and escort the prince to the Houses of Healing."

"But - "

"Otherwise, he will die."

Moric cursed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

"Just think Moric, if we can get the prince on our side we can have greater access to the boy."

"How do we even know the boy is alive?" Moric hissed, "He could be in the same shape as the elf or worse!"

"He lives," Hadria argued, but didn't offer an explanation, "As does the king."

They stared at each other for a moment before Moric sighed and rested a hand on his hip.

"What's the plan then?" he asked dejectedly.

Hadria glanced back down at the slumbering elven royal.

"I'll break off the shaft and secure his arm in a sling. Believe it or not, we don't want to remove the arrow totally because it's helping to clot the blood. We'll have to be careful not to jostle his arm too much though or we'll cause further damage to the tissue and muscle. Afterwards, we'll head back the way we came. The guards should be awake by the time we reach them. Leave the explaining to me."

"Very well," Moric nodded.

"But first, search the area. The prince's attacker may have left evidence."

As Moric delved deeper into the wood, Hadria turned her attention solely to the injured prince. Gripping firmly at the base of the shaft, just above where the arrow pierced flesh, she used her other hand to snap the end off. The elf's face twisted in pain, but he did not wake. Casting the broken weapon aside, she reached for the dagger in the prince's belt and began cutting the bottom of her skirts with which she planned to make a sling. Satisfied, she returned the dagger to the prince and started to securely wrap the fabric around his arm, torso and shoulder before tying it in place behind the elf's neck. Moric returned just as she was finishing up.

"It seems our prince fares better than his attackers. Two of Rueben's men lie dead. No signs of any others."

"Let us be on our way then," Hadria replied, "You'll have to carry him."

Moric passed the torch to his companion and bent to lift the limp elf in his arms. Hadria used her free hand to hold the prince's head steady. Once secure, Moric was surprised at how light the body felt – must be an elvish thing.

With one final glance at their surroundings, the duo made quick work to retrace their steps.

"Don't you plan on stopping sometime soon? We've been at it all night!" Rueben grumbled as he struggled to keep up with the determined king.

A few paces ahead, Aragorn tugged forcefully on the rope securing his prisoner.

"You don't have the right to complain," he sneered, "It is because of you and your men that we do not stop."

Though Aragorn could not deny his own tiredness, he refused to give in. He was hot on the trail and would not rest until he held his husband and son in his arms. He had gone for more than twenty-four hours without sleep during his Ranger days, and even during the quest; this time would be no different.

Not long ago, dawn had broke over the horizon, making tracking both his family and Rueben's men all the easier. Crushed leaves, snapped branches, and boot impressions guided his way, spurring him onwards and offering hope. Rueben grunted and panted as he followed, but Aragorn held little sympathy for the man's exhaustion. As far as he was concerned, it was his own fault. But this was nothing compared to the punishment he had planned for him should his loved ones be harmed in any way.

Aragorn paused in his chase, Rueben nearly running into him, when he noticed a change in the footprints. The distance between each step of matching prints started to decrease, indicating a shift from a run to a walk. He looked up and scanned the surrounding forest, eyes landing on a cloaked figure lying still amongst the brush. For a moment, his heart stopped. He rushed towards the figure, sighing in relief when he saw it wasn't Legolas. He turned the figure on his back, feeling a small amount of pride when he noticed his husband's arrow sticking out of the man's chest. Searching once more, he noticed a second figure slouched behind a tree just a few feet away. Walking over to it, he recognized the face of the young archer, another of Legolas's arrows hitting true.

"Damn." Reuben said, his tone laced with mild disappointment.

"You should have known it was folly to send two men after an elven warrior."

Rueben gave a mordant smile, "It's a mistake I won't be making again."

"Agreed," Aragorn said in complete seriousness, "After all, it's hard to make mistakes from prison."

The smile dropped from Reuben's face and he cast the king a scathing look. Aragorn gave his own mocking smile, satisfied at the feeling of having the upper hand. He was feeling hopeful. If Rueben's cronies were dead, then they hadn't managed to take his son. Speaking of which…

Aragorn dropped his gaze to the forest floor, reexamining the tracks of his husband to get a sense of which direction he went. His prints were easy to distinguish; the long and slender impressions vastly different from the broad and heavy depressions belonging to the men. He was following Legolas's path toward the river when a voice rang through the trees.

"Papa!"

Aragorn's head shot up, frantically looking about as he started running towards the call.

"Eldarion!"

"Papa! Over here!"

He turned to his left just in time to see his son scaling down a tree and plopping onto the ground. As the boy spun to face his father, Aragorn had never seen a more beautiful sight. Though his hair was disheveled and clothes slightly tattered, he was alive. And that was all that mattered.

Father and son raced towards one another, relief shining in their eyes. Aragorn dropped to his knees, not caring that the fabric tore, and held open his arms as the boy drew near until he collided with his father's chest. Aragorn enveloped him in a fierce hug, one hand holding the back of the child's head while the other wrapped around his middle and pulled him close.

"Oh, thank the Valar!" Aragorn mumbled into the boy's hair.

Eldarion had buried his face in the man's neck, tears soaking the exposed skin. After several precious moments, Aragorn pulled back and cupped the boy's face in both hands. He took in the dark circles under his son's eyes and the way his whole body seemed to shake. He wiped away lingering tears with his thumbs.

"It's okay, ion-nin. We're okay. I'm here now," he reassured the boy as he glanced around, waiting any second for Legolas to appear.

"No, Papa! It's not okay!" the boy wailed.

"Ssshh," Aragorn tried to soothe, stroking his son's face, "What's not okay? Where's Ada?"

At the mention of his elvish father, the boy wept harder, "They took him!"

Aragorn's blood turned to ice. He took a deep breath and firmly grasped his son's shoulders.

"Who, Eldarion? Who took him? Tell me what happened?"

"T-two bad men were coming after us," he said between sobs, "Ada told me t-to hide in the tree! A-and then I heard Ada cry and I looked down and he was lying on the ground! He was hurt! I w-was gonna help him but a strange man and woman came from that way and they took him!"

Aragorn drew the boy to his chest once more, moving his hand in small circles over the child's back. He looked in the direction his son had pointed and stood with the boy in his arms. He turned to Rueben, having momentarily forgotten about the other man. He was surprised that the man hadn't tried to run while the king was distracted. He was even more surprised at his continued silence.

"Do you know who they might be?" he asked, "This man and woman?"

"They're not with me if that's what you're asking," Reuben replied.

Growling, Aragorn strode forward, jerking Rueben along behind him. He reached the small clearing that his son had pointed towards, noticing a broken shaft strewn upon the ground. The arrow did not belong to Legolas. Searching, he did not see the arrow's other half and that worried him. As he crouched down he sighted a small red stain in the grass. Dropping a finger into the liquid, he confirmed it was blood – he didn't want to think about whose. Inspecting the grass more closely, he observed how some of it was bent – a body had lain there. He placed a hand on the grass, hoping to feel some lingering warmth from the figure which had lain upon it. He did not.

As he rose to his feet, he spotted two new sets of footprints. One was short and wide, the imprints sinking heavily into the ground – a man, no doubt. The other was short and slim, barely leaving an impression upon the earth – probably a woman. His son had seen true.

"Don't fret, Eldarion," the king spoke into his son's hair, "We're going to get your Ada back."

Tucking his son under one arm and leading Rueben with the other, Aragorn followed the retreating steps, hoping for the sake of the owners of these new prints that his elf was alive and well.

To say that Fendrel was furious would be an understatement. After slowly coming to and realizing his men were in a similar state and their escorts gone, he felt utterly betrayed and equal amounts foolish. He had warned that woman – Hadria – that if she proved to be untrue the consequences would be severe. Apparently she thought the threat idle since she found it safe to drug the royal guards and make haste. Now here he was a good day's ride from Minas Tirith, with a large company of men, and absolutely no idea where to go. To turn back to the city would be a waste of time, the royal family was in danger and they needed to be found quickly. He supposed they could abandon their northward trek to this so-called cottage, if it even existed, and make straight for the river. There, the party could split, one travel upstream and the other down.

Fendrel was pulled from his thoughts by the shouts of his men.

"There! Look there! Someone approaches!"

"Swords at the ready!"

"Stay put!"

Fendrel finished strapping on his vambraces and moved in front of where his soldiers had gathered, peering at the figures in the distance. As they drew closer, he recognized them immediately, slightly surprised to see them returning at all. His surprise was short-lived and soon replaced with a burning anger. These two would not get away with what they had done – return or no. He began marching forward, eager to dispense punishment. However, whatever reprimand he had been prepared to give died as he noticed the lifeless body Master Moric was cradling. His march turned into a sprint.

"Prince Legolas!"

At his cry, several of his men began to follow, concerned and eager to assist their royal charge.

"What have you done?" Fendrel shouted as he made to take the prince from Moric's arms.

"Peace, my Lord!" Hadria plead, "We have saved him, not hurt him."

"Why should I believe you?" Fendrel asked, eyes aflame, "You drugged me and my men and left us unguarded despite me going out on a whim and allowing you to join us!"

"I know," the woman began, "And I apologize, but time is of the essence and we cannot afford to argue the justification of my actions. His Highness is gravely wounded. He has an arrow wound and a concussion. He already has a fever and if he is not further tended to an infection is sure to set in."

Fendrel glanced down at his prince. His complexion was unusually pale, even for him, and sweat collected along his brow. His cheeks were flushed and his body trembled. Blood was already soaking through the makeshift sling he assumed the woman had prepared.

"He needs to go back to the city," the woman said, "To the Houses of Healing."

"What of the King? Prince Eldarion? Where are they?" Fendrel asked.

"We do not know," Hadria confessed, "We found the prince alone, except for two of Rueben's men which the prince had managed to kill."

"So you were right then? This Rueben is the one behind it all?"

"It would appear so."

Fendrel sighed and scratched at his head.

"The prince will go back to the city," he began, "But we cannot abandon the king and heir. Hadria, you will return to the city with three of my men. Moric, you will join me and the rest of the company and show us where you found Prince Legolas. From there we will search for this Rueben and King Elessar."

Moric and Hadria shared a looked before nodding to the officer.

"Very well," the woman agreed, her response cut short by a groan from the prince.

"We must hurry," said Moric.

Eying the pair, Fendrel turned around and began barking orders, explaining which men would be joining him and which three would ride back to the city. When all was settled, Hadria mounted a horse, one of the guards coming up behind her. On the horse beside her, another guard held Prince Legolas, tightening the straps they had arranged to secure the prince to the saddle. Before doing so, she had given the prince more sleeping draught; just enough to keep him from waking during the journey that would no doubt aggravate his wounds.

Fendrel approached the saddled party.

"I bid you a safe journey, my friends. Ride hard."

With that, he slapped the haunches of the nearest horse and sent it flying. The other two horses followed suit. Hadria spared a glance backward, watching as the troop grew smaller and smaller with every stride she took towards the White City.