Disclaimer: Not one Elf. Alas.

I know I'm taking too long for each chapter. ((sighs)) It's like the further I get into the story, the more I realize just how difficult it is to keep all the plot threads together, hopefully not let them get too tangled, and keep an eye on all loose ends. I think this is the last detective story I'll be attempting for a while.

I promise I'll finish this one. I'll just have to beg for patience while I chivvy stubborn Elves and recalcitrant Rangers into obedience.

Thank you to my wonderful reviewers: de-chibi-otaku, Wtiger5, Caelhir, Ybs, tearful-eye, Silivren Tinu, Sigrid Sigbjornsdotter, Pearlmaidenredskyla, Fareryniel, GreatGreenDragon, RadioactiveSquirrel, yenneffer, blindrain and invisigoth3.

Chapter 10: An Unexpected Exchange

Legolas waited until a pointed ear pressed to Aragorn's door revealed the sound of even breathing and a soft rap produced no answer beyond a muffled grunt and the creaking of the bed as its occupant rolled over. Then, grimacing a little at the pull on his injured shoulder, he filled his quiver and slid his bow and knives into their sheaths. To change from the garments and heavy, mud-encrusted (at Aragorn's insistence) boots of a young country boy to the soft browns and greens of archers of the Woodland Realm was the work of a moment.

A Lord of Ithilien, he reflected as he fastened his grey cloak, might possibly owe obedience to the King of Gondor, but the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen owed obedience only to his father. And tonight he was assuredly going to be the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. What his father did not know could not hurt anyone.

Legolas opened his window and smiled into the moonlight. He was used to hard riding and close battles, and it was likely that before the next sunset he would get both.

He did not leave a note for Aragorn – such a thing might fall into the wrong hands, and his friend knew him well enough to guess what he was doing. But he did trace a single Elf-rune into the ashes of the grate with a light finger: most people would not see it unless they were told, but Aragorn would notice and know he was safe.

When everything was ready, and his bed artistically rumpled, Legolas leapt from the window to the ground with a grace that belied his injury. He landed on his feet with the softest of thumps; before anyone could note it and think to look for the source of the noise he had pulled his hood up over his head and dived into the shadows. A guard walked past without seeing him, and walked back shaking his head. A dog barked in the distance. The young Elf waited for the activity to subside before he slipped from his hiding-place, as silent and stealthy as a cat.

With a bandage around his shoulder he would have preferred a gate, but they were all guarded, and while the wall was high it was far from insurmountable. Legolas hesitated only because of the moonlight, bright enough to reveal him to the most somnolent of guardsmen.

A cloudbank rolling across the sky gave him the opportunity he needed. It obscured the moon only for a few seconds, but they were enough for him to scramble up the wall, heave himself over it and drop down on the other side. His descent was somewhat less graceful than he would have liked: his shoulder gave a painful twinge that made him release his grip sooner than he should have done. But it did not matter. He was out. Nobody had noticed. He had work to do.

His first task was to go to the stables at the highest level to retrieve his horse. This time he scorned both the secret passageways and the public road, taking instead the most direct route between himself and his destination and vaulting over anything that was in the way.

It took him only minutes. With an admonition to the horse to be quiet – which, being an Elf-trained battle charger, it obeyed with such thoroughness that its hooves made no noise at all on the cobbles of the courtyard – he led it from the stables and through the deserted streets. The few guards who were on duty were easily avoided. It was only when he reached the gates that Legolas met his first real obstacle. The gates were closed at this hour, the guards would let nobody out without an explanation, and they all had orders that Prince Legolas was not to be permitted to leave the city at odd hours.

Legolas was about to launch into a story explaining how he was not an Elf and he only wanted some air, but the guard's sceptically-raised brows stopped him. He considered simply telling the man to stand aside and let him pass – if he sounded enough like his father, the guards tended to decide that an Elven-warrior who was present was a greater threat that a King who might or might not hear about it – but he suspected that Aragorn would be angrier than usual, and he did not want to cause serious trouble.

For a moment he stood biting his lip, hand on the bridle. Then a familiar figure stepped from the gatehouse.

Legolas smiled. "Eldarion!"

"I should not let you go," the young man said, crossing the distance between them at a leisurely stroll. "You are injured. It is the middle of the night."

"Yet you are here," Legolas pointed out. "And you can have had no other purpose than to see that I could leave unhindered."

Eldarion seemed to consider arguing for a moment, then he shrugged and smiled back at the Elf as he unlatched the postern-gate.

"Make sure you return unharmed," he warned Legolas, pulling the gate wide and standing back. "It will be my head on the block of something happens to you. I have no doubt that my parents will happily give me up to King Thranduil if it keeps them safe from his wrath."

"I will be fine," Legolas said, sounding as exasperated as he felt. "I have been riding by myself before, Eldarion."

Eldarion shrugged. "Precisely. And since you go looking for trouble, you are likely to find it. I am not objecting. I doubt that would do much good in any case. Just be careful."

Aragorn's practised eye was not deceived by the rumpled linen. He had abetted enough of Legolas' night-time escapades, and joined in enough, to know the difference between a bed that had been slept in and a bed that had been worked over by an Elf who fancied his powers of deception. This was assuredly the latter.

He swore under his breath. He could feel in his bones that this meant trouble.

He cast a quick glance around the room to see if Legolas had left him a message. He had not, but Aragorn did find the cloak and boots that served as the Elf's "disguise" in a corner. The unwonted untidiness surprised him – Legolas was not in the habit of leaving clothes lying about his bedroom. He picked them up, searched the cloak and found nothing concealed in it, and finally left them where he had found them. Perhaps the Elf had been attempting to replicate what he tended to describe, with an aristocratically-wrinkled nose, as "Mannish disorder".

He went down to breakfast. Rosiriel and her children were sitting in the dining-room.

Aragorn had met the children before, briefly, but he had not had the chance to speak to them. He reflected, now, that perhaps it had been a mistake not to try to find out what they remembered of the night of Idhren's death. Children frequently noticed things that their elders missed.

That, then, was what he had to do. Questioning the children could most certainly not be entrusted to Legolas. The Elf had learnt enough, in his time with Aragorn, to conduct a somewhat normal conversation with a Mortal adult. The only human children he had met were Eldarion, Aragorn's daughters, and Faramir's children; and they had all been trained from their babyhood to make allowances for the strangeness of Wood-elves.

Aragorn greeted Rosiriel with a smile and the children with another.

"It is a pleasant morning," he offered as he sat.

Rosiriel nodded. "Do you plan to go riding with Doron again today?"

"I think not." Aragorn gave her a self-deprecating smile. "I am not as young as I was. My body would protest two consecutive days of hard riding."

"And I expect you have work." Rosiriel smiled at him, but it did not quite reach her eyes. "Nórui told me you are one of her father's most trusted and experienced stewards."

"It was kind of Lady Nórui to say so." He turned his attention to the children. "And what do you have planned for today? Lessons?"

"Not today," answered the eldest, a boy around twelve years old.

"They have been given a freeday," Rosiriel explained. "They have been working hard of late, so I thought they deserved some time to themselves. I do not know what they plan to do, though."

Eldarion was speaking to the Captain of the City Guard when they heard a shout from one of the men standing watch at the gate. Exchanging a quick glance, they hurried up the stairs of the watchtower.

There were five riders approaching them – Elves of Eryn Lasgalen, based on their clothes. They all seemed to be riding armed, although they were too far away for Eldarion to be certain. He could not tell who they were, but the sunlight glinting off the bright golden warrior braids of the lead rider gave him a very good idea.

"Ai Elbereth," he breathed. "This will be trouble." Then he called to the men below, "Open the gate!"

He hurried down, straightening his tunic, taking off his cloak to shake out the wrinkles as best he could, and trying to smooth his windblown hair.

He had just finished polishing his sword with the edge of his cloak and managed to slide it back into its sheath when the riders reached the gate. The Captain of the Guard should have stepped forward to welcome the visitors, but the man appeared to be tongue-tied, and Eldarion could not blame him. The Elves were not fully armed, but they all carried either swords or bows; and although they were smiling now, Eldarion knew that, with what he had to tell them, there was a strong possibility that the smiles would disappear.

"Aran brannon." He bowed to the lead rider, and reached to hold the bridle of his horse while he dismounted. "Mae govannen. We were not expecting you for some weeks. You should have sent word that you were coming. We would have received you with honour."

"Mae govannen, Eldarion." Thranduil leapt off his horse, his feet making no sound at all as he landed on the cobbles. "I need no formal reception, and I wanted to surprise Legolas." He glanced over his shoulder at his companions, who had also dismounted. "You have met Thorontur and Arbellason before, I believe. And of course you know them."

Eldarion inclined his head formally to Thorontur and Arbellason, whom he knew as Thranduil's most trusted friends and advisors, before exchanging a smile with the last two Elves.

"Saeldur. Rochendilwen. You are welcome in Minas Tirith."

Saeldur smiled, a bright, merry smile that made him look oddly like Legolas, although the two young Elves were as dissimilar in appearance as Elves could be. "You look terrified out of your wits, Eldarion. What has the Elfling done now?"

"Perhaps we should discuss this at home," Eldarion squeaked.

Thranduil laughed. "I see that Legolas has managed to surprise me – unwittingly, no doubt." He clapped Eldarion on the shoulder. "Very well, Eldarion, I will speak to your parents first. I hope that will give my son time to make himself presentable and remove all signs of whatever escapade he is engaging in just now."

"I hope so too, my King," Eldarion said fervently.

"Naneth, we have a problem."

Arwen looked up from her book, eyes flickering suspiciously from her son to her oldest daughter to the Dwarf who stood between them, twirling his axe nervously between his hands.

"What is it? What have you done now?"

"The King is here."

"Estel?"

"Not that King."

"Éomer? But why should that be..." Arwen trailed off, understanding dawning as she looked into three terrified faces. "Not... not Thranduil?"

Eldarion nodded miserably. "He wanted to surprise Legolas."

"Where is Legolas?"

"I do not know." Eldarion shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable, and Arwen frowned. This was most unlike him.

"Send word to your father... Or to Nórui. They will –"

"He is not there." Eldarion looked terrified now. "He... he left the city in the night."

"Left the city? But... where did he go?"

"I do not know."

"And who let him go? Estel has given standing instructions that Legolas is not to be permitted..." She stopped, staring at her son in horror. "You let him go?"

"He swore he would return unharmed."

"You let him go without even finding out where he was going?"

"He said he was going riding."

"Eldarion!"

"There is no point blaming the boy," came Gimli's gravelly voice. "No doubt most of the fault in this lies with the pointy-eared halfwit. The question is what we should do now. For the moment Faramir and Éowyn are keeping Thranduil occupied, but at some point we are going to have to explain to him that we cannot produce Legolas."

"Do not be absurd," Arwen hissed, dropping her book and getting to her feet. "One does not explain things to Thranduil, and certainly not when Legolas is involved. My father did not live as long as he did by explaining to Thranduil that he could not produce Legolas."

"But Naneth," Eldarion protested, "it is a fact. We cannot produce Legolas."

"That is the kind of thing your father would say," Arwen said. "Your uncles and I, on the other hand, have frequently prevented diplomatic disasters by producing Legolas when everyone from Glorfindel to the oak-tree outside his window insisted that it could not be done. Did he have anything with him, Eldarion?"

"Just his weapons – his bow and knives. And his quiver."

"Sheaves of spare arrows?"

"No."

"Then he has not gone far. He may already be on his way here. Eldarion, you go after him."

"But he could be anywhere! And not even Adar can track Legolas if he has decided that he does not want to be followed."

"You should have thought of that before you let him go."

"But even if I find him, what shall I do?"

"Bring him back here."

"What if he will not come?"

"Make him."

"Heis stronger than I am."

"My most beloved child," Arwen said, smiling with a sweetness that all those who knew her knew to dread, "I quite understand that it is difficult, perhaps even impossible, to dissuade Legolas from doing something foolish, especially if he has already set his heart on it. But if you do not achieve that task in the next two hours, you will have to discuss the situation with Thranduil."

Eldarion swallowed. "I will find Legolas."

"I thought you would."

Aragorn sat with Nórui in her study, to all outward appearances examining the accounts of one of her estates, but really making her go over the events of the night of Idhren's death in minute detail, hoping that something would present itself, some fact that had seemed unimportant earlier, something out of place that had escaped notice at the time.

So far, they had met with no success.

"This is hopeless!" Nórui snapped in frustration when Aragorn asked her, again, to attempt to remember her movements on that evening. "I can remember nothing more than I have already told you. It has been too long!"

"Lady Nórui, I know it is difficult, but if you could just try... It might help us discover the truth of your husband's death and exonerate your brother."

"My brother."

Aragorn sighed. "I know you are angry with him."

"He believes I killed my husband! Even worse, he believes I killed my husband and now I sit idly by while he takes the blame for it! I never imagined he thought I could..." Nórui shook her head. "He thinks I would betray him to his death, and such an ignominious death. He thinks I would let him go to the gallows for murder if it were in my hands to prevent it. I... I do not know what to do."

"Have faith, Lady Nórui," Aragorn said gently. "We well find out the truth of this. I promise you that. But you must try to remember what happened."

"I do not know. I... I was in my dressing-room. I had just undone my hair when I heard the sound. At first I thought a carriage had overturned in the yard, but then I realized it had been too loud and violent for that. I hurried downstairs."

"Your dressing room is opposite what used to be your bedroom?"

"Not quite opposite. It is a little further down the corridor. I have not been able to make myself sleep in that room since... since Idhren's death."

"I understand. Do you still use the same dressing-room?"

"Yes. I considered using another – the rooms on either side of it are empty – but it seemed foolish. I... I have been considering leaving Minas Tirith in any case. I have nothing to keep me here now, and I might find some diversion in the management of my estates."

"What did you when you heard the noise?"

"I ran downstairs."

"Did anything seem different? Unusual or out of place for some reason?"

"No, I –" Nórui broke off, eyes going wide.

"What is it?" Aragorn prompted.

"When I went up to my dressing-room I... I thought something was different. Not wrong, you understand, but just as though someone had rearranged the furniture. And then when I left..."

"Yes?"

"I... I had a moment's feeling that there was someone else running along the corridor with me. I do not know why – perhaps I heard something or caught a glimpse of movement. But when I reached the stairs, I was alone. I could not think about it then, and afterwards in the confusion... I forgot. Do you think..." She shivered. "You do not think it was... it was some unhallowed spirit, my King?"

"I doubt it," Aragorn said, although he felt a strong urge to shiver.

"But if it is –"

"That is why we have Legolas with us. Elves have no fear of the shades of mortals. I do not think so, though... Why should there be a shade in this house? And why should it want to harm your husband? No, Lady Nórui, I think I can safely assure you that it was a hand of flesh and blood that stabbed Idhren. We will find out whose."

"My King, I think –"

Nórui broke off with a cry, which Aragorn echoed when he saw blood blossoming on her gown and the tip of an arrowhead just poking through her shoulder.

"We are cursed," Bainmeril said in despair.

"You are not cursed." Aragorn put in the final stitch, cut the thread, and held out his hand for the bandages. Bainmeril gave him the strips of linen she had cut, and he began wrapping Nórui's shoulder. "Nobody is cursed. There is an explanation for this and we will find it." He tied off the bandage. "What you are, at the moment, is fortunate. The man who fired this had appalling aim."

"He fired from the third floor of the next house... It is at least twenty yards, and there was a wall in the way."

"My friend would have put a hole in the centre of a silver penny at that distance, and he would not have bothered to aim first." He helped Nórui sit up. "You are confined to your room, Lady Nórui. The windows will be closed, there is a guard at the door, and you will eat nothing that is not given to you personally by either Bainmeril or me. Or my young friend Hawkeye, when he returns. Lady Bainmeril, will you send for Lady Nórui's personal maid? I have instructions for her."

"Yes, of course."

As soon as Bainmeril left the room, Aragorn looked at Nórui.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"I do not know what you mean," Nórui said, but the bright scarlet of her cheeks said she was lying.

"Lady Nórui, I am not a fool, and I was trained by one of the finest Healers in Middle-earth. I cannot help you if you insist on concealing things from me. Why did you not tell me?" Nórui averted her eyes and Aragorn sighed. "Please, Lady Nórui. If I am to do anything for you, you must trust me. Can we at least agree that this will not happen again?"

A knock at the door spared Nórui from replying. A chambermaid slipped in, bobbed a curtsey, and said, "If you please, Master Longshanks, there is a letter for you."

Aragorn took the scroll she handed him, rolled it out, and cursed.

You utter idiot, [the letter began without any salutation] how could you let Legolas out of your sight for an instant? Do you not know him at all even now?

Thranduil is here now, demanding his son. I have told him that you are going to produce Legolas by this evening. Now locate the Elfling, wherever he is, and drag him back here. I do not care how you do it as long as we can present him to his father in one piece and without having suffered any permanent damage.

Aragorn cursed under his breath.

"I must go," he said aloud. "I have some urgent business. Lady Nórui, I will try to return by nightfall. If I am still alive at nightfall. And when I return, I will want to know more about this. How many people were aware of it, for one thing."

He strode out of the room.

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!