Visions of Betrayal

by Nili

In the middle of an uneventful summer a message reaches Rivendell: There is something amiss in the camps of the Rangers. Aragorn, Legolas and the twins wish to help, but soon they realise that, this time, the enemy might be much closer than they think.

26. Rules of Engagement

Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

A/N:

Well, have a look at this! I managed to post after "only" two months! If this is indeed the beginning of a trend, I shall will soon be back at the once-a-month schedule. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, but that would be a huge step in the right direction. I mean, I don't know how likely that is, seeing how I have only a few more months to write my thesis and it's then excavation time again, but we'll see. Let's hope I finish the bulk of the story before I once again leave the country. That would be really great. *doubtful smile* Oh, and thanks for your well wishes. The oral exam went well, and I am quite pleased with myself. *g*

I am, btw, glad that you liked Elvynd's little appearance. He's not having a lot of fun in Rivendell at the moment, let me tell you that. I can, of course, make no statements about the identity of the bad guy(-s). That would spoil the fun, and we really can't have that, can we? Let's just say that most will be revealed in about ... approximately four or five chapters. That's an estimate, of course, and knowing me (and my characters' proclivity for rambling on and on and on), it might be a bit longer, but not much. I have already failed to end this before Chapter 25, so I aim not to surpass the 30 by all that much. We'll see how well that goes. *g*

All righty, here's the next bit of insanity, namely Chapter 26 (wow, time really does fly when you're having fun, huh?). I think I managed to keep to last chapter's prediction of torture, blood and mayhem. Well, maybe more planning, torture, blood and Insane Rangers©. The mayhem will happen next chapter, so that means yes, this is a kind of cliffy. But not really, don't worry. Well, that's what I think anyway. *g*

As always, enjoy and review, please!

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Chapter 26

This was insupportable, Elladan thought. Because he had about no patience left and was very much in the mood to share his misery with his surroundings, he decided to let the others know.

"This is insupportable," he said.

Next to him, Legolas shot him a look that very clearly said that he was contemplating renewing their earlier argument and taking it to the next level, too, namely to that of physical violence.

"I am so glad you're sharing."

Elladan decided not to honour the comment with a reply. It wasn't that he didn't want to argue with Legolas – riling the wood-elf was one of the few true pleasures he allowed himself on a regular basis – but the last thing Elrohir had told him before leaving had been something along the lines of 'And if you don't do your best to get along with Legolas, I will hurt you, Elbereth be my witness. Do you understand me, Elladan?'

Legolas, it seemed, shared his opinion, doubtlessly out of the same reason as him, namely that he would burst if he couldn't yell at someone. The Silvan elf, however, either hadn't been listening when Elrohir had laid down the law, or hadn't taken him seriously.

Wood-elves could be incredibly stupid sometimes.

"Is there anything else you would like to add, Elladan?" Legolas went on, eyeing him darkly. "Like, maybe, pointing out that I am an idiot? You have only told me in Sindarin, Westron and Quenya. I am sure you know enough Dwarvish to manage it."

For a moment, Elladan was truly tempted to tell the other elf what an unbelievable idiot he was in the Silvan dialect of the Wood-elves of Mirkwood. He didn't speak it perfectly, mostly because it was almost impossible to get a wood-elf to teach a Noldo, but he definitely knew enough to insult someone. It would be a shallow pleasure, but it would show Legolas that he most certainly knew more languages than just Sindarin, Quenya, Westron and (all right, fragmentary) Khûzdul.

But no, that would not do. Firstly, they were surrounded by rangers who all had a far better command of the Grey-elven tongue than they let on, and it would not do to present them with even more reasons why Elves in general and they in particular were just one step away from gibbering madness. Secondly, he really didn't want to vent his frustration and anger on an (more or less) innocent person. And thirdly ... well, there was still Elrohir's threat to consider. His little brother could be downright frightening when properly provoked, even though that was something he would never tell him.

"I am not fighting with you, Legolas," was all he said in the end.

Predictably enough, Legolas looked disappointed before the look of mixed annoyance and simmering anger reasserted itself.

"Aren't you?"

Elladan sighed inwardly. How typical of his dear, stupid friend to make those few words into a challenge.

"No, I am not," he confirmed, very deliberately continuing what he was doing, namely stroke his horse's neck. If he stopped now, he would start pacing, and that wouldn't do at all. "Don't bother trying to make me angry. It is not going to work."

Legolas looked at him with unreadable eyes, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows. After a few moments of silent scrutiny he exhaled, turned around and sat back down on his log.

"It isn't, is it?" he asked rhetorically.

"No," Elladan agreed. "Don't misunderstand me, though. I would like to argue with you. Right now, there aren't many things I want, but yelling at someone or, better yet, killing someone is right at the top of my list."

"Then why don't you?" Legolas asked, cocking his head slightly to the side, in that particular manner that made him look like a two-week-old puppy. Elladan just knew that he was doing it on purpose. "Yell at me, I mean. Killing me might be a little bit over the top."

"Because Elrohir told me not to," Elladan told him curtly. "And I know better than to provoke him when he is in that kind of mood. There are less painful ways of committing suicide." He shot the wood-elf a sidelong glance, one hand still resting on his horse's mane. "Unlike you, I know better."

"Unlike me you know better?" Legolas repeated, apparently greatly offended. "I wasn't the one who couldn't hold his silence earlier today and almost got both of us shrivelled into tiny black lumps of coal."

Elladan gave him a flat stare.
"You do realise that Elrohir is not a fire-drake, don't you?"

"Someone should tell him that."

Elladan frowned. Legolas actually had a point there.
"All I am saying," he said, trying to get this conversation back under control, "is that this is unfair."

"Life's unfair. Deal with it or become a minstrel."

Elladan gritted his teeth. He should have known two things: One, that Legolas wouldn't give up so easily, and two, that he could be very, very annoying when he was frantic, worried and in pain.

Under different circumstances, the fact that Legolas was frantic, worried and in pain would have been enough to mellow him, but right now, he was dangerously close to not caring. It was, of course, mostly because he, too, was frantic and worried.

He wasn't in pain yet, but considering their luck, that would be only a matter of time.

"Let me rephrase that," he tried again. He found that he was displaying commendable patience and willingness to follow his twin's ... oh, all right, his twin's orders. "It is unfair that Elrohir, Daervagor and the others are out there gallivanting around the forest while I am stuck here with you, your demon-horse and almost a full company of bloodthirsty rangers." He frowned. "I do approve of their attitude, of course."

Behind them, someone cleared his throat. Elladan gave his horse a last caress before he turned around, his face darkening as he recognised Haldar. Elrohir and he had made their peace with the ranger – or maybe their temporary truce, to be completely honest –, but that didn't mean that they liked each other. The situation had not improved with Estel's capture. Rationally they knew that, even though it had been rangerswho had lost their human brother, they (and, by extension, Haldar) bore no guilt, but rationality had taken an inspired leap out of a window very early into this latest catastrophe.

"I would hardly call it gallivanting, my lord," the ranger said mildly.

Of course he wouldn't, Elladan thought scathingly. But no matter what, he was a fair elf, and he knew better than to actually insult one of the people he knew would give their own lives to save Estel's.

"It was a figure of speech."

Haldar looked slightly pained, as if he was fully aware of the fact that Elladan would have liked nothing better than to find a reason to yell at him (he did, after all, understand Sindarin perfectly). Legolas, who seemed to have donned his 'Behold, I am the Voice of Reason and Will Solve All Your Problems' persona once more, chose this moment to speak up, either because he found his non-argument with Elladan boring or because he, too, could see trouble brewing on the horizon.

"They are scouting," the wood-elf said, in a mild tone of voice that was belied by the slight tremor in his voice. Elladan wasn't sure if it was born of anger or fear or maybe both. "They could be getting chewed on by some wargs right now."

"You are telling me?" Elladan asked, incredulous. "I know that! And since I know my idiotic twin very well, I know that the chances of that happening are actually very high indeed!"

"Well," Legolas began, clearly wanting to remain polite, "it seems that he's had a spot of bad luck over the past few years..."

"A spot of bad luck over the past few years?" Elladan repeated. "That is a rather nice way of putting it."

"Elladan..."

Elladan shot the other elf a whithering look. He was in no mood to be polite or friendly.
"Over the past few years Elrohir has been shot with almost every kind of projectile you can think of, almost executed more than once, eaten by wargs, tortured by madmen, has fallen off horses, has been trapped in cave-ins, hit over the head, stabbed, concussed..."

"All right, all right," Legolas said quickly. He could clearly see the list going on and on and on (he, too, had been present for the 'past few years') and decided to stop this while he wasn't bleeding out of his ears yet. Haldar, it seemed, had been seized by similar feelings, and was nodding along fervently. "I understand what you mean."

"They will return soon, my lords," Haldar finally said, when it became apparent that neither of the elves was willing to say anything. "The ... place where those creatures are hiding..."

"The lair." Legolas' voice was completely serious.

"The lair, then," Haldar admitted. There was a tiny quiver at the side of his mouth that, under different circumstances, would have been a smile. "We think we know where they are, and it isn't further than a couple of miles away. They should be back soon."

"We do know where they are," Elladan said, even though he knew that that was optimism at best and dangerous blindness at worst. "We do."

But they didn't, of course, not really. As soon as they had discovered the tracks, they had had only one thing on their minds: Follow the trail, find Estel and Halbarad, and kill any and all orcs they could get their hands on. That in itself hadn't been surprising – Elladan was very aware of the fact that he, at least, had been thinking of nothing else for the past few days –, but what had come as a real surprise was the way Naurdholen had put his foot down and had refused to let them do anything of the kind.

Elladan hadn't even registered the ranger's presence before, not really. He knew that he was one of the three rangers who had survived the ambush in the village that had ultimately taken Daervagor's life, and that he was the one who had brought the news to the camp. And that, ultimately, was the whole extent of his knowledge of him. The man was respectful and slightly awed by them, like most rangers, and calmly effective, also like most rangers.

He was also Haldar's means of ensuring they didn't do anything reckless, and for that, as it turned out, Naurdholen was just the right person. He had remained polite and respectful, but he had also made it very clear that he did not intend to let them go anywhere, by clinging to their horses' legs if necessary. It had been annoying and infuriating (mostly because Naurdholen quite simply hadn't been intimidated by anything they said or did), but the man's calm refusal to obey their orders had been enough to bring them back to their senses.

Haldar had done well in choosing him, indeed.

In the end they had agreed to remain where they were until messengers could be sent to the village. Naurdholen had remained behind with most of his men, once more proving that he was no idiot. Elladan honestly couldn't say that he would have remained true to his promise to wait for reinforcements if he had been left to his own devices.

The wait had almost killed him, Elladan was honest enough to admit it. Elrohir had remained outwardly calm, talking to Legolas in low Quenya – a conversation that Elladan hadn't even tried to overhear, preferring to pace up and down the road. The mere knowledge that Estel was somewhere at the end of that trail, that all he had to do was to mount his horse and follow it, was enough to make him almost mad with worry and restlessness. He had been only one step away from breaking his word in a very spectacular manner when hoofbeat heralded the arrival of the reinforcements, and Daervagor arrived with what seemed like every single warrior they had brought.

Some of the most nerve-racking hours of Elladan's life had followed, while they, Haldar and Daervagor had separated the men into groups and had chosen the van- and rearguard. There had been some mild disagreements (read, yelling) over the plan of action (Legolas and he preferred the 'ride in and kill everyone we can find' variety), but in the end they had agreed on something that all of them could live with, mostly because they were all very aware of one thing: That, if they didn't hurry up and got it together now, they would still be too late.

So they had got it together and followed the trail. It had been slow going, especially after they had reached a stream and the ground on the far bank sloped upwards and became ever more difficult to survey. In the end, they had moved in two groups, one led by Elrohir and him and one led by Legolas, Hírgaer and Tarcil, to minimise the danger of losing the trail completely. The two rangers were the most keen-eyed of the humans, and even Elladan, who was willing to acknowledge the fact that he had been in no mood to feel charitable towards anybody, had been forced to admit that they had performed extraordinarily. But still, if not for the fact that Elrohir, Legolas and he had been there to lead the rangers and everybody's sheer unwillingness to lose this one last chance they had, he was quite sure that they would have lost the trail again.

But they hadn't, and it had led them here, to a a small glade up a hillside that provided them with an excellent temporary camp. It was easily defensible, possessing only two exits, and anybody making their way through the thick undergrowth would be detected almost immediately. There were several tall trees that provided them with perches for the sentinels, and so Elladan didn't feel particularly at risk here, even though night had fallen quickly and completely an hour or so ago.

What agitated him was the fact that he had been left behind when his idiot brother had conspired with Daervagor to leave them and scout ahead. The idea itself had merit, Elladan had to admit that, especially since Daervagor and Haldar had looked at each other some time ago and had both agreed that they thought they knew where the tracks led. All doubts had been erased in the moment they had reached the small glade they were occupying right now, for there was only one place to go to from here: Down. And down meant down the hill, and towards the foot of the adjoining one, an especially rocky, steep elevation that Elladan could see even from here.

And at said foot were several caves.

They were not unknown to the Dúnedain, and not to Elrohir and him either. They weren't used for storage or as shelters like some others in this part of the Angle, but all of them were aware of their existence. The only reason they hadn't been searched yet was the fact that no one – not even Haldar who liked to play the role of the pessimist during their strategical meetings – had thought that the orcs would be able to travel this far without having to take shelter from the sun.

They had been wrong, had been wrong because they had arrogantly underestimated their opponents, and that more than anything else was searing Elladan's consciousness like red-hot coals. It was their fault that Estel had been missing for more than three days now, that they hadn't found him sooner. It was their fault. It was his fault.

All this didn't change the fact that Elrohir and Daervagor had taken Hírgaer and Tarcil – the two rangers least likely to stumble in the dark and fall flat on their faces – and had left to see what they could find out and if they were even right or if this was yet another dead end. Elladan had nothing against the idea of scouting ahead. It was the sensible and intelligent thing to do and could probably have been considered standard military procedure in such a situation. What galled him was that his twin had informed him, steely-eyed and very, very seriously, that he would remain behind. Elrohir had chosen two rangers above him in a matter that was so very, very important, and it hurt.

Objectively, Elladan knew that his brother had been right. He did have a temper, he was aware of that, and right now he was in such a state of fear, anger and apprehension that it was likely that even two mortals would be more helpful than him. Especially, he added, if one of the mortals was Hírgaer, who seemed almost elven in his ability to read trails and move in the dark. Elladan could still remember the ranger's words to Faedond, the ranger who had attacked and insulted Ereneth and him on the day they had received word of the ambush: "I could sneak up behind you and cut your throat, any time, anywhere. You would never hear a thing, and you damned well know it."

After seeing him today, Elladan did not doubt it for a second, and it explained why Faedond had, for just one second, looked openly apprehensive.

But objectivity had taken aforementioned swan dive out of the window earlier, together with rationality. And Elladan wanted nothing more than to move, to do something, anything that would help him forget the violent, seething emotions swirling inside of him that threatened to choke him.

"We hope we know where they are, my lord," Haldar interrupted his musings. "I really hate to say this, but we cannot by any means be sure. There aren't any other possibilities that come to mind right now, but that doesn't mean that they don't exist. I am sorry."

"Can you doubt it?" Legolas asked, taking the words right out of Elladan's mouth.

Haldar shook his head, his mouth twisting into a dark, sad smile.
"I can doubt a lot of things, my lord."

"But can you doubt this?" Legolas insisted, looking for all the world like a child looking for confirmation that the big bad monsters were in fact not hiding under his bed. Elladan would have liked to comfort him in some way, but he didn't know how, and so he remained where he was. "You and Daervagor, you seemed so sure..."

The blond elf trailed off, shaking his head. He was clearly unhappy that he had revealed his fears like this, in front of Haldar and who knew how many other rangers. Haldar looked at him with something very close to pity, but he was too intelligent and knew Legolas too well to show it openly. Legolas was King Thranduil's son, no matter how afraid and panicky he might be at the moment, and he would not suffer public displays of pity well.

"We are reasonably sure, my lord," Haldar amended. "Sure enough to halt the company and send out scouts. The caves would make the most sense, really. They are quite big and have only a few entrances. The main one is half-overgrown with ivy, granting further concealment, and it is still more or less within a reasonable distance from the village. More importantly, we cannot think of any other possibility close-by that would serve as well as this one. This has to be it."

"But you are still not sure." Legolas' words were spoken calmly and completely without emotion.

"No, my lord," Haldar admitted. "I am sure they will be back soon, and then we will have our answer."

Legolas did the only thing he could, namely glare at Haldar. He had accepted Elrohir's judgement – 'No, you are not coming, and that is final. Now sit down before you fall over and that demon you call a horse decides to eat you' – more gracefully than Elladan, but he hadn't been happy about being forced to stay behind due to his injuries. The two of them weren't the only unhappy ones, though; Ereneth had glared at his brother as if it was his fault that he had been denied permission to accompany the scouts. Naurdholen and his fellow survivors of the ambush had looked close to mutinous, and Lhanton, too, had looked decidedly unhappy. Elladan thought that the latter, at least, shouldn't be complaining, for it was a miracle of no small proportions that he had been allowed to accompany them at all, injured as he was. But he had pleaded with Daervagor, and Elladan supposed that it was the stark need to be a part of Aragorn's rescue that was so easily visible in Lhanton's eyes that had swayed the older ranger.

It was entirely possible. Daervagor, he was happy to say, had regained some of his spirits. The man who had led his warriors to their aid today was a far cry removed from the man they had left back at the village. He wasn't the Daervagor from before Cemendur's death, but he was not the empty-eyed, emotionless shell who had watched them ride out of the gate this morning.

"You are right, of course," Elladan finally said, when Legolas only kept glaring at the ranger who was beginning to show the first signs of cracking under the stress. "It is just..."

"I understand, my lord," Haldar said, when he trailed off. "I wasn't too ... happy ... myself to be left behind."

That, on the other hand, had been a good choice on Daervagor's part. A less able leader might have had problems keeping all of them under control, in one place and relatively quiet, even though 'they' were a company of highly-disciplined rangers and two slightly rebellious elves. Haldar, on the other hand, had no problems at all keeping everything under control, no matter what he thought about having to stay behind.

"What I find truly frustrating," Legolas said, apparently having realised that glaring at Haldar was, one, unfair, and two, unproductive, "is the way they have managed to conceal their trail. If we hadn't found it in the beginning, we would never have paid close enough attention to detect it. I think I will take great pleasure in killing the orc responsible."

"It has made our task much harder, that much is sure," Elladan agreed.

"It is against their nature to be able to do such things," Legolas declared sagely.

Their mutual declarations of what an orc should and should not be able to do was interrupted by two rangers hurrying towards them. Even in the darkness Elladan could see the excitement on their faces, and steeled himself for something bad. Knowing their kind of luck, it was only to be expected.

"Haldar," Ereneth greeted his superior, reaching the three of them first. Lhanton reached them a second later, panting slightly and favouring his left side. "My lords," Ereneth added, almost as an afterthought, giving Elladan a baleful glare.

Elladan almost rolled his eyes. So Ereneth blamed them, or at least him as an extension of his twin, for having to remain behind and letting his brother go off alone. Well, bad for him, he thought almost savagely. He had been left behind as well, and he was in no mood to take any undeserved blame. He had enough of the justified kind already.

Besides, no matter what Elrohir said, he was sure that the tall ranger was at least partly responsible for what had happened to Aragorn. He had stopped glaring at him and his brother at some point, but that didn't mean that he had forgotten. And Lhanton ... well. Elladan growled inwardly and directed a dark glare at the ranger. He was no fool and objectively knew that Lhanton had really stood no chance against a determined Estel, but right now that didn't mean anything.

"Yes?" Haldar asked, looking slightly apprehensive. It seemed that not only Elladan had come to expect havoc lurking around every corner.

"There are riders approaching," Ereneth reported. "Belvathor saw them as well."

"Is it them?" That was Legolas, desperately trying not to let his apprehension show.

"We don't know, my lord," Ereneth replied. "But it seems very likely. Orcs would not use horses, and we think them to number four or five. It must be them."

"It should be them," Lhanton amended. "On the other hand, it could be particularly sneaky orcs who use horses as decoys."

Haldar shot him a warning look that was almost immediately followed by threatening glares from Elladan and Legolas. Lhanton fell silent, chastised, but Ereneth ignored them with his typical, single-minded resolve.

"In which case they will most likely only be the vanguard, which will eventually lead to them slaughtering all of us." He grinned, momentarily seeming to forget that his brother had left him behind to go on a dangerous mission alone. "In any case, tonight should be interesting."

Haldar redirected his glare from Lhanton to Ereneth, and Legolas exhaled loudly in obvious annoyance.
"Are Rangers born fatalistic or do you have to practice to achieve this level of skill?"

"Always assuming the worst saves you from many an unpleasant surprise," Ereneth told him, looking at him and Elladan with solemn grey-green eyes. They were as changeable as his brother's, Elladan thought absently, even though Hírgaer's tended to be green more than anything else. "Besides, the worst does happen quite frequently to us, or so it would seem."

Haldar, who Elladan increasingly thought to be quite a wise man, chose this moment to change the subject. Elladan wondered if he could sense the mounting frustration in Legolas and realised that there was only one outlet for it, namely physical violence.

"I assume you made sure that none of the sentinels puts a few arrows in their chests?" the ranger asked, arching an eyebrow at Ereneth. "Such mistakes happen, after all."

The young half-Rohír had the good grace to look embarrassed.
"I didn't mean to hit Tarcil quite that hard. It was his own fault for not announcing his presence beforehand. I thought he was an orc."

"I hope you didn't tell him that," Lhanton commented softly.

"Of course I did," Ereneth said with his typical, disarming (and unfortunately also very undiplomatic) frankness. "Why wouldn't I?"

Lhanton opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. Haldar shook his head at the both of them, but did not allow himself to be sidetracked.
"Did you inform the rest of the sentinels, then?"

"Yes, Haldar," Ereneth said patiently. "Belvathor and I decided that, especially considering our future careers, shooting our Captain and one of Lord Elrond's sons would be unwise. And shooting my brother would be unwise no matter what."

There was a hard look in his eyes that Elladan knew very well, having sported it many times in the past. It was not lost on Haldar either, who looked at the younger ranger searchingly.

"Have there been any further problems, lad?"

Ereneth might be many things, among them stubborn and slightly hot-headed, but a telltale he was not. Elladan knew that there had indeed been 'problems', namely instances in which Hírgaer or Ereneth or both had seen it necessary to knock some heads together to emphasise their disapproval of being called traitors. He doubted that said problems – born of fear, anger and growing panic – had ceased all of the sudden, but he also knew that Ereneth wouldn't say a word to a de facto superior.

"No problems," the tall ranger said curtly. "None at all. We are one happy family, are we not?"

Ereneth, Elladan noted, could also be quite sarcastic.

"Aren't we just," Haldar said in the same tone of voice. "Come then, before one of our happy brethren decides that one of riders is an orc and puts an arrow through his head. Not that I don't trust Naurdholen to emphasise the importance of not doing just that." He sketched a bow at Elladan and Legolas before he turned to go. "My lords. I will be back momentarily."

"Unless, of course, one of them is an orc, in which case I think putting an arrow through his head is the right course of action," Ereneth said almost cheerfully as he followed Haldar, after a quick nod at the two elves. "It would be quite advantageous to make sure beforehand, though."

"Ereneth?"

"Yes, Haldar?"

"Just don't talk until your brother gets back, will you?"

Elladan, who recognised Ereneth's levity as the worry and fear that it really was, looked after him and Haldar, wondering if it was compatible with his pride to follow the two of them (most likely not), when he realised that Lhanton had remained behind. It was proof that the ranger was brave, or maybe slightly suicidal. Elladan briefly wondered if Lhanton was maybe confusing him with Elrohir, who had always tried to be calmer and more controlled in his presence.

"Lord Elladan," the man began, proving his speculation wrong, "I wish to ask your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" Elladan repeated brusquely. He knew that he wasn't making it any easier for the dúnadan, but, Manwë be his witness, he was in no mood to be accommodating.

Lhanton raised his head and looked straight at him, the healing cut on his face standing out in stark contrast against his pale skin. There was something dark and tormented in his eyes that reached out to Elladan, a dark despair that he could relate to only too well.

"I left him," Lhanton said, sounding so completely and utterly miserable that Elladan's anger diminished the slightest bit. "I know that you can never forgive me for that, neither you nor your brother nor you, my lord," he added, inclining his head at a stony-faced Legolas, "but I want you to know how very, very sorry I am."

Elladan couldn't bring himself to say anything for long moments, a myriad of thoughts swirling in his head. In the end he cleared his throat and shook his head.
"You were injured. Someone had to take Serothlain back to the village."

It was a statement and not an excuse, and all of them knew it.

"I still had full use of my right arm," Lhanton countered, lowering his eyes again. "I didn't have to go anywhere."

"Don't be a fool, ranger," Legolas said almost brutally, but the harshness of his tone was belied by the sincere understanding in his eyes. "If you would have stayed, all three of you would have been captured. You and Serothlain might even have been killed. There was nothing you could have done differently."

"There is a lot I could have done differently." Lhanton shook his head and gave a small, bitter laugh. "Valar, I could have done everything differently."

"No, you couldn't have," Legolas disagreed, his voice softening the tiniest bit. "Not if you wanted your comrade to live and notify your people of the threat they were facing. I am a wood-elf of Mirkwood, Lhanton. I know everything there is about necessity and sacrificing those you hold dear. You did nothing wrong."

"Maybe I didn't," Lhanton admitted, swallowing heavily. He seemed to be quite unaware of the fact that he was holding his injured left shoulder that was covered with a heavy bandage which was visible even through his clothing. "But I did nothing right. I left Strider to the orcs. I left a comrade to the enemy, a friend even. I will never forgive myself for that."

"You will have your chance at redemption tonight, dúnadan," Elladan interjected, doing his best to keep his voice steady. He still blamed Lhanton, blamed him for losing his little brother and the Hope of all of Arda, but he blamed himself far, far more. Besides, he understood the dark, guilty despair that hung over the man like a thick cloud. He had been in his position too many times, and it was somewhere no one deserved to be, least of all one of Aragorn's people who had really done all he could while weak and injured and terrified. "Help us get him back, help us get both of them back, and you will have our forgiveness."

And he would have it, too, because Elladan didn't care about anything at all, least of all who was guilty of what, if they only got Aragorn back safe and sound.

"You have my word, my lord," Lhanton assured him, the darkness in his eyes lessening somewhat. "I will do what I can to save them. But no matter what happens, I wanted you to know how sorry I am, and how much I wish things were different. How much I wish that I done things differently."

Elladan and Legolas only nodded at him, and Lhanton took this as his cue to leave. Elladan watched him go, idly wondering what had happened to the cheerful young man who had conned Celylith into a bet he very much doubted the wood-elf would win. The darkening of the world was seldom so clearly visible as in the mortals it touched and turned into darker, hardened and disillusioned versions of themselves. A sudden wave of sadness swept over him, a sadness for Aragorn and all of Middle-earth, for their failure to protect their little brother as they had promised their father and for his uncle's people who were fading into history amidst pain and blood and death. He couldn't breathe, the darkness and hopelessness pressing in on him on all sides, and he was saved only by Legolas' hand that suddenly gripped his shoulder, lending him strength and comfort.

"We will find him, Elladan, and he will be all right," Legolas said in a low voice, the cadence of his words suggesting that he had been repeating the words to himself like a mantra or a prayer. "If you believe in nothing else, believe in this."

"I know," Elladan said, swallowing and wiping angrily at his inexplicably moist eyes. "I know. Don't worry about me, mellon nín. I will be fine."

"But of course you will be," Legolas agreed in that particular tone of voice of his that suggested that you were a particularly poor liar. "Before this night is over we will have him back, and will have our revenge as well. Trust in this."

"I do," Elladan said, and found that suddenly, he could almost believe his words. "Valar, but I do."

Legolas nodded wordlessly. He would have been invisible in the profound darkness if not for the faint light that his body emitted. They were still standing like that when the sound of hoofbeat grew louder and louder until finally riders appeared between the tall trees, first one, then three and finally four. Elladan would never forget the sight of Elrohir and his three companions appearing between the oak trees accompanied by the silence of the other rangers and the quiet whispering of the tees.

Elladan could see his twin's face because of the light that his body emitted, but he wouldn't even have needed that small source of illumination. He knew Elrohir as well as he knew himself, maybe even better, and he could read him in the dark as easily as in plain daylight.

Elrohir dismounted, allowing a ranger to take his horse from him, and when he turned around, his eyes searching for the two of them, Elladan saw everything he needed, everything he had wished for, reflected in his twin's grey eyes. There was still fear there, and desperate worry and a wrath that secretly frightened him a little, but there was something else now. There was certainty, satisfaction and anticipation, and a wild hope that made his heart skip a beat.

Elladan took a deep breath and closed his eyes, offering the One a fervent prayer of thanks. And since he was a Noldo, maybe even more so than his twin, there was a dark smile on his lips when he opened his eyes again, because he and his had been terribly wronged, and vengeance was finally at hand.






Fifty-two. Fifty-three. Fifty-five ... no, wait. There was another number before fifty-five. Fifty ... fifty-four, yes, that was it. At least he thought so. It sounded about right.

A sudden stab of pain went through him, reigniting the agony thrumming through his body, and his concentration was torn asunder. In all fairness, it didn't terribly matter whether there were fifty-four, fifty-five or fifty-five hundred cracks in the wall opposite him, but it was the only way he could think of in which to distract himself from the situation he had managed to find himself in.

It wasn't easy to find yourself stuck in a dark cave as the captive of a horde of orcs who wanted nothing more than torture you to death and eat you, hopefully in that order. Not everybody could do that. It took real skill.

He still didn't really understand how it had happened, especially considering that he wasn't the one who found himself in such situations frequently. If he had had to name a particular ranger of the company, he would have chosen Ereneth as the most likely candidate to manage this particular feat, or maybe Ciryon. But wait, Ciryon was dead, and Ereneth might be, too. He wasn't sure what Ereneth's death would do to Hírgaer, but he suspected that the older ranger would manage to get himself killed in a very spectacular fashion while trying to avenge his brother. Knowing the half-Rohír, he would take a whole lot of orcs with him, too.

The crack of the whip interrupted his musings, and a second later liquid fire seared down his left side. The blow had hit where about ten others had connected with his flesh already, and the pain was bad enough to make the world go white and then black. His vision was reduced to a narrow, dark tunnel, and sounds seemed to fall away behind him until there was nothing but the fast beating of his heart. When he regained his senses, it was to the view of Skagrosh's face, yellowish eyes narrowed in something that looked like pure pleasure.

Halbarad was too weak and in too much pain to react outwardly, something for which he thanked Eru Ilúvatar with all his heart, but inwardly he cringed. A part of him was ashamed of the pure terror that the orc could awake inside of him with a single look, but a far larger part of him had ceased caring a long time ago.

"You're not passin' out, are you?" the orc asking, cocking his head to the side and studying him like a particularly interesting insect. "'Cause that would be a shame."

Halbarad didn't trust himself to control his voice, and so he didn't say anything. He wouldn't have known what to say anyway. Most versions of "You are going to die", "You are doomed, you just don't know it yet" and "I hope you fall over and die" had lost their appeal about two days ago.

"Ah, ah, ah," Skagrosh scolded and yanked on his hair (just when had he taken a hold of his hair, Halbarad wondered), and only now Halbarad noticed that his eyes had begun to slide closed. "None of that, now. Don't be boring."

Boring, Halbarad thought fuzzily. Had that ... creature really just called him boring? He ... he would make him pay for that, somehow.

"I wonder," Skagrosh began before he interrupted himself to yank on his hair again. Halbarad had just enough presence of mind left to wonder about the fact that it didn't hurt at all. "I really wonder if I have to keep both of you alive. Thinkin' about it, I rather doubt it."

He wasn't the only one. Halbarad, too, had wondered about it, and in the darkness of his cell he had decided that the orcs probably didn't need the two of them. They had killed Cemendur, but that hadn't been an accident. It had been done by the Master himself of whom everyone here, and that did include Skagrosh, lived in fear, and that meant that there should only be one of them here at the moment. The Master didn't expect anything else, and that, of course, meant that Skagrosh could kill one of them – probably.

It was that one small word on which their lives depended right now: Probably. Because Skagrosh didn't know for sure, and he wasn't prepared to risk being wrong. Halbarad could even emphasise. He could imagine what would happen to the orc if the Master returned and found that one of his two prisoners had been killed, in defiance of his (unspoken) orders.

When it became clear that Halbarad wasn't going to say anything, Skagrosh released his head with a growl of displeasure. Halbarad couldn't muster the strength to keep his head up, and so he just hung in his bonds, for the moment completely unable to straighten up. Skagrosh looked at him before he started to circle him like a wolf would circle its prey. Halbarad could do nothing but hang there and pray that Skagrosh either tired of him or he lost consciousness, whichever came first.

"I wonder what the Master wants you for, tark," the orc remarked, as he came to stand in front of him once more. "Don't see nothin' special about you meself. Barely any meat on yer bones."

This time, Halbarad did shudder openly. He really didn't like that particular comment, and he was quite sure that it had been meant very literal.

"I mean, sure, you're a pretty one," Skagrosh went on, continuing to circle him, "but not as pretty as your little friend."

Halbarad wondered for a fuzzy half-second if he should feel offended that he wasn't considered as 'pretty' as Strider. He decided against it, because, really, there weren't many things that were worse than being called 'pretty' by an orc, especially if he had you tied up and dangling from the ceiling.

"So, I wonder," Skagrosh said, reaching out with a clawed hand and grasping Halbarad's chin. "What makes you so special? What do you know? What does the Master wish to hear from you?"

Halbarad, who saw his first chance to put his finger where it really hurt, swallowed painfully.
"You'd really ... have ... ask him," he told his captor.

Because that was the problem. Skagrosh couldn't ask the Master, because he hadn't come since the night he had killed Cemendur. That had been five days ago now, and there had been no sign of him since then. Halbarad had been here long enough now to know that Skagrosh was nervous. Something had gone wrong, the Master had not come when he had promised he would, and now the horde was stranded in hostile territory without orders or a way out. Skagrosh was still keeping the others in line, but Halbarad knew enough about Orcs to be aware of the fact that that state of affairs couldn't last indefinitely. Sooner or later, the tall orc would lose the ability or the will to control the horde, and they would be free to do to them whatever they wanted.

Both Estel and he hoped to be dead by then.

Unsurprisingly enough, Skagrosh was not happy about his answer. The hand gripping his chin tightened, leaving yet more gashes on his jaw where the claws burrowed into his skin, and Skagrosh brought his head even closer, close enough for Halbarad to smell his foetid breath.

"I'll do that, tark," he told Halbarad in an almost friendly tone of voice. "I'll do that, and right after it I'll rip out your heart and eat it."

Halbarad looked at the orc with wide eyes. He might have heard several variations of the threat over the past few days, but this time, he was actually terrified, because Skagrosh was the one person here who could make good on his threat. Renewed pain shot through him as the orc wrenched his head to the side, looking at his pulsing jugular with eyes that were several nuances too greedy for Halbarad's taste, and he closed his eyes as a last resort until Skagrosh let go of him once more.

"You know how this is gonna end, don't you, boy?" Skagrosh asked, conversationally, as he ambled back towards the far side of the cave. A heap of instruments and tools, most of them blood-stained and rusty, lay there, and Halbarad resolutely refused to look at them. "There's only one way. You're gonna die here, you and your pretty little friend, and no one's gonna find you."

Halbarad would have liked to tell the orc that he was wrong, that the others – that his father – would find them, but he couldn't muster the sincerity. The apprehensive, gut-churning fear had turned into a kind of black, hopeless despair, even more so since Skagrosh had decided that he had restrained himself long enough now and that he was going to play with both of his 'toys' now. That had been about two days ago – or maybe three or four, who could tell in this perpetual darkness –, and a large part of Halbarad was already wishing for a quick death.

He didn't want to die, but he preferred any kind of death to having to betray their people to their most hated enemy. And if Halbarad was one thing, it was realistic, and he knew that he would break. Most men did, after all, and he was not the man Commander Cemendur was ... had been. But he was a ranger and he was his father's son, and if it was his fate to die here, then he would endeavour to die with the same honour as Cemendur.

There had been no honour in Cemendur's death, a small voice whispered inside of him, no honour and no dignity, especially towards the end, but he silenced it with a ferocity that surprised himself. It he broke down now, that would be the end of it, and he was not yet prepared to leave Estel alone, no matter how appealing death might be at the moment.

"Nothing to say to that, eh?" Skagrosh, Halbarad thought darkly, could sometimes be annoyingly astute for an orc. "That's 'cause it's true."

Halbarad still didn't say anything, which seemed to annoy the orc quite a lot. He just didn't see what purpose it could possibly serve to rile his captors further, and besides, he just knew that his voice would shake if he opened his mouth again. It didn't matter that both Skagrosh and he knew how very, very afraid he really was; he would be damned if he delivered the proof of it to the orc on a silver platter.

"You're really very boring," the orc declared, in a pouting tone of voice that, under different circumstances would have made Halbarad laugh. It was the exact tone of voice his youngest sister had always used to declare him evil and mean for not allowing her to play in the forest with him and his friends. "I think we've got to do something about that, don't you?"

Halbarad braced himself, expecting the orc to turn around with some new, terrible tool in his hands. Until now, Skagrosh had concentrated his 'interrogations' on Estel and left him more or less alone, relatively speaking. Only in the last few days, when it became clear that he would kill the other ranger in a matter of days if he kept going like this, had the orc started to have his little 'chats', as he called them, with Halbarad, too. A part of him was glad of the respite, and it made him feel sick with disgust and self-loathing.

But Skagrosh's hands were empty when he turned to face him. There was a grin on his face, though, a grin that Halbarad knew very well by now and that never, ever, meant anything good. Skagrosh gleefully turned to the side, addressing one of the orcs loitering by the entrance of the cave. The rest of the horde was not allowed to enter the cave or participate in the 'interrogations', which usually meant that they were a sullen, brooding mass blocking the entrance – because, no matter whether they could have fun themselves or not, no orc ever missed any kind of torture. The thus addressed orc, however, grinned and nodded and pushed its way through the rest of the spectators, a couple of the others following closely behind, and dread so heavy and choking that his heart stopped for half a second went through the young ranger.

"What ... what are you...?" His voice didn't tremble or shake, even though it sounded terribly weak, but Halbarad thought that some concessions had to be made.

"Ah, I just thought we should have some more company," the orc drawled, looking like the proverbial cat that had eaten the equally proverbial bird, or maybe like an orc who had finally decided that self-restraint was highly overrated. "And I've been wantin' to introduce you to a nice little friend of mine, who's been with me for a long, long time."

Halbarad's addled mind couldn't get much further than 'This is going to end very, very badly' before the orcs blocking the entrance shifted, allowing two burly orcs to push their way through. It was the smell that tipped him off first. It was something he had smelt only once, when he had been still a child. It had been a day he had almost died, and also the only day he had ever seen his father cry, of course only after he had snatched him and his younger sister from the jaws of certain death. It had been tears of utter and complete shock and terror, and Halbarad absently wondered if his father would cry like that when the others finally found their bodies.

A growl brought him back to an increasingly unpleasant reality, and Halbarad dreamily lifted his head as best as he could and looked at the warg the two orcs led towards Skagrosh. It was bigger than your average wolf, but not by much, maybe four feet high or a little more. It was long, though, at least seven feet, with longish, oily fur whose colour ranged somewhere between grey and brown.

The animal opened its very toothy, thoroughly impressive jaws and snarled at him as it was being led past him, and that was the moment when Halbarad decided that he had been wrong. The right time to die had been exactly five minutes ago.

The two handlers talked to Skagrosh for a few moments, both of them holding onto the thick, rusty chain that was attached to the warg's spiked collar. The warg, however, seemed not very interested in trying to attack the bound ranger. It only stood there, yellow eyes fixed unwaveringly on the human. Halbarad couldn't help but look back, right into the gleaming orbs that were full of voracious, intense evilness. This animal wasn't stupid; it knew exactly that it couldn't get at him and wouldn't waste any energy straining against the chain.

Skagrosh grinned at the other two orcs, who bobbed their heads in agreement, before he turned back to his prisoner. Halbarad, who still couldn't entirely avert his eyes from the embodiment of his childhood nightmares, decided that he could have lived happily ever after without ever having seen that particular kind of smile on an orc's face.

"So," the orc captain began while the other two led the warg slightly further away to a safer distance, "there she is. What d'ya think?"

Ah, Halbarad thought distantly. So the warg was female; that was the reason for its relatively small size. Skagrosh seemed to wait for a reply for a moment or two before he shook his head, sighing sadly.

"You're really, really boring, boy. But since I'm so nice an' all," Halbarad almost laughed at that, "I'm gonna tell you about her anyway. She's been with me a long time, and has always been a good friend. Not like these maggots here," he added, jerking his head into the direction of the other orcs, "they'd kill me in a heartbeat if they thought they could get away with it."

The two handlers looked decidedly innocent at that, but didn't try to protest. Halbarad could relate to that, of course. He would have loved to kill Skagrosh himself.

"But Ghashbúrz here," Skagrosh meandered over to the warg and patted its large head, something which the creature seemed to bear with surprising equanimity, "is something else. Something special. She's loyal, and she'd do anything I ask. Anything."

The large, wolf-like creature leaned into the rough caress, making Halbarad half-expect it to start purring any second now. It wouldn't have surprised him at this point, which either said a lot about Skagrosh and his minions in general or about his own psyche. Probably the latter.

"More than that," the orc captain went on, conversationally, "she's clever, ya know?" He looked at Halbarad as if he was really expecting an answer. "She knows exactly how far she can go. She can be real delicate."

Halbarad didn't like where this was going. His back was a single, pulsing source of agony and he was cold, colder than the cool air of the cave actually merited. Halbarad knew the signs of shock as well as the next warrior, but somehow he couldn't really bring himself to care. After all, what did it matter now?

"She will have to be tonight," Skagrosh commented wisely. "Because now, boy," the orc cocked his head to the side, grinning, "we're finally gonna have some fun."

For a second, Halbarad's addled brain couldn't quite follow, but then he laboriously turned his head and tried to focus his increasingly blurry eyes on what Skagrosh was looking at. He did it against his better judgement, and was immediately proven correct when his eyes focussed on two orcs dragging an unresisting figure through the jeering crowd and towards them. His heart literally seemed to freeze inside his chest, making him feel even colder, and he swallowed convulsively. Oh, Elbereth, no.

"Here we are..." Skagrosh said softly, but interrupted himself when the orcs came to a stop in front of him. His face became that particular kind of calm that Halbarad had already learned was a very bad sign. "What have ya done to him? I've told ya not to mess with my toys, haven't I?"

The orc holding onto Estel's left upper arm exchanged a look with the orc holding onto Estel's right upper arm. The young ranger's head hung down onto his chest, dark, blood-matted hair obscuring his features, but apparently Skagrosh was expecting him to be in better shape, or at least conscious. Why he would do such a thing, Halbarad did not know. He very much thought that Skagrosh should possess intimate knowledge of Estel's state of health, seeing as it had been him who had been torturing him for days.

"Nuthin', sir," Orc Number One protested. "Found him like that in his cell, we did."

"And then you kicked him around a bit, didn't you, snaga?" Skagrosh snarled back, striding over to the two orcs and staring at them with evilly glinting eyes. "I've told you not to touch the two of them. I've told you to keep your filthy paws to yerselves!"

"But, sir..." Orc Number Two began, only to receive a ringing slap for his troubles.

Skagrosh began to yell at the two of them in Black Speech, Strider hanging between the two chastised orcs, forgotten. Halbarad tuned the three of them out, by now very accustomed to orcs yelling at each other and bashing each other's heads in, and stared at Estel. He hadn't seen him with his own eyes since he had been thrown into this nightmare; they had only been able to communicate through the fissure in the wall. The last time he had seen him had been seemingly an age ago, back in the camp when everything had still been all right and everybody had still been alive.

Back then, he had looked very different, and a whole lot more like himself.

He had known that Estel would be in bad shape, no matter how much the other ranger had tried to downplay his injuries. But after the first two days, his voice had got weaker and less convincing, and his attention had been disrupted and wandering when they had managed to speak to each other. Rationally, he knew that he had to be injured badly, especially knowing Skagrosh's opinions about what was fun and what wasn't. And even while Estel didn't talk about what was being done to him, Skagrosh had no such problems. He was clearly an orc who believed in sharing.

But to see him like this ... well. That was something else.

For one thing, it put Halbarad's own injuries into rather harsh perspective, because Estel looked horrible, and he didn't have to see his face for that. His shirt had disappeared at some point over the past days, exposing a torso that looked as if someone had used it as a punching bag. Well, that was only true if that someone had been wielding clubs and really sharp knives. Most of the raw patches littering the other ranger's upper body looked bad, crusted and dirty. They were hard to see anyway, almost hidden by all the bruises, cuts and contusions. Halbarad was no healer, and didn't know more about the healing arts than your basic first aid that every sensible warrior learned sooner rather than later, but what he did know was that this kind of injury was most likely very bad. What he also knew was that the wound to his right upper arm was definitely bad, especially considering that it was obviously infected.

Skagrosh had finished yelling at the other two orcs, gave both of them a last punch to emphasise the point he had supposedly just made, and turned around. Halbarad hurriedly tore his eyes away from the broken body of his fellow ranger and did his best to appear as if he didn't care at all that their captors had finally begun to get clever and and use them against each other.

"So," the orc said, rubbing his hands in gleeful anticipation. It was something that accentuated the sharp claws at his fingertips, and something that no one in their right minds would ever want to see an orc do. "Let's wake your pretty little friend."

He gestured at the two orcs, who stepped closer with identical grins, their earlier animosity apparently forgotten. Halbarad half-expected them to chain the other ranger to something, but apparently Skagrosh was only prepared to deal with one prisoner at a time. Or maybe he had forgotten to bring his spare pair of chains.

Skagrosh's method of waking someone seemed to consist of grabbing their hair and jerking their heads up. In Estel's case, it seemed to work, because out of all the bruises and contusions there came a moan that sounded far weaker than Estel would have been comfortable with had he been fully aware of his surroundings.

"Look who's decided to join us!" Skagrosh said, all but beaming at Strider as soon as he opened his eyes. The other ranger's eyes were clouded and unfocussed, and it seemed to take him a while to realise where he was. "Sleeping during a meeting is ... rude, that's what it is, boy. I'm disappointed."

Estel blinked, trying to clear his throat. Halbarad wasn't even sure if the other ranger was aware of his presence. He doubted it. Yesterday – or maybe earlier today, it was hard to say in here – the older man had been almost incapable of speaking, even though Halbarad had felt that he had tried his best not to let him notice.

The other ranger shook his head softly, as if attempting to concentrate. His eyes wandered over Halbarad, showing no reaction to his presence at all, before they came to rest on the two orcs holding the warg's chain. The warg chose this moment to cock its head to the side and bare its teeth at them, and something changed in Strider's eyes. It was as if a shutter had come down, blanking out anything he might have really felt, darkening them to the colour of wet slate. A moment later he looked up at Skagrosh who was watching him closely, and there was nothing at all in his eyes when he spoke up, the hint of a mocking grin on his face.

"And here I ... try to model my life ... after your ideals, orch."

Strangely enough, Skagrosh only grinned, patted Strider's cheek in a strangely gentle manner and turned around to Halbarad.
"See, boy? This is what I call fun! A little conversation ain't so much to ask for, no?"

This wasn't conversation, Halbarad thought. This was an attempt at suicide. Not that he was surprised, mind you. He had been talking to Lord Elrond's sons, after all.

"So," the orc went on, turning back to the other ranger. "Pay attention now, pretty boy."

Estel hadn't even tried to get his feet under himself and was hanging between his two guards. Halbarad didn't know the other ranger all that well yet, but he knew one thing: He was proud, and wouldn't let his enemies see him like this if he had any other choice. Maybe he was a little too proud for his own good, even by Dúnedain standards. It was no wonder, of course, with him having been raised by the Elves and all. But still, in situations like these, it could be a bad thing, especially if you didn't possess elven regenerative powers.

"I've decided," Skagrosh went on, returning his attention to the half-conscious ranger, "to make this a little bit more interesting. 'Cause, boy, one thing I can tell you: Your little friend here is awfully boring."

Estel's mouth quivered in a way that might have been a wry smile.
"He's got ... other qualities."

The orc seemed to frown for a second, as if he was truly considering this.
"Well ... screams nicely, he does, but then again, so do you. So, I ain't sure if I should count that."

"Generous."

"Ain't I just?" Skagrosh agreed congenially. "So, we're having a little problem here, don't we? I really wanna have something to tell the Master when he comes back. And you two ... well. Boring, both of you."

"We're sorry to disappoint."

If he could, Halbarad would have clapped his hand over his mouth. He hadn't wanted to say that out loud. He hadn't even said it in his head. It had just ... come out, just like that. It had to be Estel's fault; his 'kill me already, I dare you' attitude must be rubbing off on him.

"Well, will you look at that?" the orc captain drawled after a moment, after having got over his shock of hearing Halbarad speak. "He's a good influence on you. Makes it almost fun, don't it?"

"Almost," Halbarad agreed, surprising himself with how calm his voice sounded.

Skagrosh wasn't paying him any attention. He was conversing with the other orcs in Black Speech, the sound of which making Halbarad flinch, and suddenly several things seemed to happen at once. The two orcs holding Strider between them stepped closer, eliciting a barely muffled moan from their captive. At the same time the orcs holding onto the chain attached to the warg's collar took two careful steps closer, giving it some additional slack. The warg got to its paws in a fluid move, arching its back in an oddly and very disconcertingly catlike manner, and ambled the two steps closer. It seemed to know exactly how far it could go without tugging at the chain attached to its collar – which, in this case, meant that it stopped about three feet from Strider and maybe five from Halbarad.

Halbarad quickly glanced at the older ranger before he fixed his gaze once more on the very fascinating cracks in the wall opposite him, knowing very well that Skagrosh was watching the both of them with rapacious glee. There was still no discernible emotion on Strider's face, but there was a hard set to his bruised, bloodied mouth that Halbarad had seen too many times on his father. It was usually just before he had done something he knew would end badly for him, like argue with his wife.

And how right Estel was, Halbarad thought, feeling how his mouth became dry. This was going to end very, very badly for both of them.

"So, my little rats," Skagrosh finally said, grinning so broadly that it should have dislodged his jaw, "you get one last chance, since I'm not unreasonable."

"To do what?" Strider asked between gritted teeth. "There is ... nothing ... we can tell you, because you ... you don't know what you want ... want to hear."

"Oh, I wanna hear plenty, boy," the orc replied, the grin on his face even widening. "And I know I wanna hear you scream again. After all, you do it so prettily."

This time, there was a hot flash of anger on Estel's face before he shut it away behind that invisible, impenetrable wall of his.
"Na i nathath Udûn, glamog."

If there was one thing Halbarad had learned over the past few days, it was that it was not a good idea to throw Sindarin insults at orcs, and especially not at Skagrosh. It didn't matter that they didn't understand what you said; even orcs figured out that you were not complimenting them if you spoke in that tone of voice. Not that he didn't agree with the sentiment – Valar, he did – but ... well. Attempts at suicide and all that.

Unsurprisingly enough, Skagrosh was not pleased with being insulted in Elvish. Without taking his eyes off Strider, he reached out and grabbed the warg's chain from the orcs holding it. A moment later he stepped forward, bringing the warg with him. He was still grinning at Strider when he spoke a single word in Black Speech. The animal bounded forward with an almost happy-sounding growl, and then all there seemed to be was movement and blood and Estel's sharp cry of pain.

It seemed to be going on forever, but Halbarad knew that it probably didn't last much longer than ten or fifteen seconds. A very detached part of him was aware that his chained wrists had started bleeding again from where he had rubbed them raw in his attempt to escape his restrains, but he didn't feel any pain, not even from his lacerated back. All he could concentrate on was the sight of Estel twisting in pain, the two guards barely able to hold him between them, and the warg bloody well trying to rip his leg off.

"Stop it! Stop!!" For a moment, Halbarad wondered who was yelling the desperate words and how he could possibly hear them over the sound of the other ranger's agony, but then he realised that it was himself. "Stop it! You are going to kill him! Please, stop!!"

Skagrosh ignored him. He wasn't even looking at him; his yellow eyes fixed unwaveringly on the sight of his captive squirming in helpless agony as if it was the most exquisite thing he had laid eyes on in a long time. After an eternity, the orc barked another command and jerked on the chain. The warg twisted its head a last time, the powerful jaws clamping down even harder. Strider's scream rose once more before it ended in a strangled groan as the warg released its hold. The creature returned meekly to its master's side, idly licking at the blood covering its jowls.

All of the sudden, sounds and sensations rushed back as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been emptied over his head, and Halbarad had to suck in a deep breath as the jeering of the orcs and the soft growls of the warg washed over him like a tidal wave. His body hurt as if he had been hit with a large, blunt stick for a prolonged amount of time – which, considering how things were going, was probably only a matter of time –, and he realised that he had been twisting in his chains with such force that he must have almost dislocated his shoulders.

"You see?" Skagrosh's voice came to him through a thick cloud of horror and quickly fading disbelief (they hadn't just really done that, had they?), and he slowly raised his eyes and looked up. The orc rested his hand on the warg's large head, rubbing the coarse fur with obvious affection. "Ghashbúrz here's an artist."

Halbarad couldn't possibly have agreed, even if he hadn't felt so terribly sick to his stomach. Estel was hanging bonelessly in his captors' hands, his head resting limply on his chest. If not for the strands of long dark hair moving once in a while, Halbarad would have thought him dead. The other ranger's body was twisted to the side in the vestiges of lingering pain, granting a very disconcerting view of what had once been a perfectly healthy leg.

Well, it still was for the most part, if one disregarded the bloody mess that was Estel's thigh. Halbarad was most definitely not a healer, but he knew a bad wound when he saw it. Blood was dripping to the floor of the cave in a steady stream from deep, ragged gouges that the warg's teeth had left behind, staining the ground and Strider's dark breeches. Suddenly, all the fear and panic that was pounding against Halbarad's ribs from the inside disappeared, leaving nothing but raw fury behind.

"If this wound is not bound properly in the next few minutes, he is going to die." He stared at the orc with more calm than he would have thought possible two minutes ago. "Is that what you want? That he dies? That he dies and your master returns to find his dead body, which, oh, what a surprise, cannot tell him anything anymore? If that is what you want, then, well, you're on the right track!"

Skagrosh looked at him, radiating satisfaction which only dimmed slightly at Halbarad's acerbic words. After a moment he handed the warg's chain to one of the orcs who had stepped closer at the sight of bloodshed and wandered over to where the orcs were holding Estel's body upright. He reached out and lifted his head up by the hair, exposing a face that was so pale that the numerous bruises looked even darker, almost as if they had been painted on. There was a trickle of blood running down his chin where Estel had bitten his lip in a futile attempt not to scream. His eyes were open but glassy, and Halbarad seriously doubted that he could really see anything.

"So pretty," the orc said softly, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "That spark I told you about, boy?" he added, cocking his head to look his captive in the eye. "Now you look at me and tell me that it's still there, still untouched, and see if I believe it."

Estel didn't say anything, and if there was anything to read in his eyes, Halbarad couldn't see it. After a moment, the orc released his grip on his captive's hair and took half a step back, watching closely how the ranger fought to keep his head up. In the end, gravity and shock won out and his chin sunk back towards his chest, prompting a chorus of comments and jeers from the surrounding orcs.

Skagrosh looked at the half-conscious ranger for a second longer before he turned around, eyes alight with something that Halbarad absolutely refused to contemplate, no matter how furious he was at the moment. And that was really very, very furious.

"And here we have the little one," the orc went on, stepping closer to him. "Not quite as ... sparkly, but still close enough. And so ... angry, ain't we?"

"Why?" Halbarad asked, the fury giving him the strength and courage to get the words out. "Why do this? There is nothing he or I can tell you, even if we wanted to, because you don't know what to ask! You are killing him! If you don't see to that wound soon, you will have killed him!"

"I ain't killin' him," the orc said, shaking his head. "Not yet. And," he went on, reaching out with a long, sharp-clawed finger to tap Halbarad on the chest, "as I said, the last time the Master was here, there was only one of you. And guess what?" he asked, leaning closer and looking at Halbarad with his yellow, gleaming eyes, "I think there's gonna be just one of you when he comes back."

The orc's proximity and the mere fact of being touched by him was enough to make the fury inside of him waver and retreat, but Halbarad clung to it with every bit of strength he still possessed.

"Your master will not come," he announced, putting every last bit of his dying hope into his voice. He looked at Estel's broken, bleeding body and felt the anger reignite. "And you know why, orch? Because by now our people will have found him and strung him up on a tree like the murderous coward that he is."

Halbarad barely felt the blow that whipped his head to the side. He was beginning to see why Estel kept antagonising his captors; it was quite satisfying in a weird, suicidal way.

"They won't stop looking for you," he went on, raising his head again and watching with some amount of satisfaction how the orc captain's face began to darken with fury. "And sooner or later, they will find you. You can't hope to hide from a company of Rangers, not forever. And without that master of yours? You don't stand a chance at all. They will find you, and they will kill you. All of you, and that little pet of yours, too."

This time, the blow really did hurt. It apparently took Halbarad too long to raise his head on his own, and so Skagrosh reached out and yanked his head up, his clawed hand buried in his captive's dark hair. In the background, the warg growled low in its throat.

"D'ya want to feel her teeth as well, tark?" the orc hissed, pulling harder. With his arms chained over his head, Halbarad couldn't compensate and couldn't help but grimace in pain. "She can eat you bit by bit, bite by bite. D'ya want to ask your little friend over there how it felt when she tore into him? D'ya want to watch how she continues with him? 'Cause I can arrange that. I will arrange that. And even if they find us, even if that little fantasy of yours comes true, you'll both be long dead and rottin' in the ground by the time they do."

Halbarad bit his lip against the tearing pain in his scalp and did the last thing his captor probably expected: He nodded earnestly, his mouth trembling as he tried not to let the pain show on his face.

"Most likely true," he agreed, bringing out the words through gritted teeth. "But you know what?" he asked, looking at the orc out of the corner of his eye and giving him a dark smile. "I cannot seem to care anymore."

Skagrosh stared at him for a while, narrowed eyes seemingly boring into his very core. Then he released him and whirled around, stalking back towards the orc holding the warg's chain. He snatched it out of the other's grasp with a growl, to the obvious delight of the huge, wolf-like creature which immediately got to its feet, a huge, toothy grin on its hideous face.

Halbarad tore his eyes away from the creature and the blood still covering its fangs and closed them, exhaling softly. The orc was right: They would die here, both of them. No matter what, no matter if Skagrosh had someone bind Estel's wound, the other ranger would die, and soon. And if he himself was really lucky, he would soon follow him.

He felt Skagrosh walk past him, a low growl betraying the passage of that terrible pet of his, and he suddenly found himself doubting that very, very much indeed.






He liked Elrohir. He really, really did. It could even be said that he loved him, like the annoying, overprotective brother that he'd never had. But if he didn't start seeing some sense soon, he would conk him on the head and then, maybe, cut him into little pieces.

Well, not necessarily. He would most likely leave him in front of a troll cave, who would then proceed to cut him into little pieces themselves. That would be far less messy for him.

"I will say this only once more," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm and under control. "I know that you, being a Noldo, might have a problem understanding me, but try to pay attention. I am an adult and quite a capable warrior. Furthermore, I am the crown prince of Mirkwood and in no sense, shape or way at all your subject or that of your father. You will not tell me what to do."

"I am not trying to tell you what to do," Elrohir said, in that maddeningly calm tone of voice that never failed to infuriate him. "I am trying to tell you what not to do."

Legolas gave him a dark look, the kind he usually reserved for orcs, Mirkwood's master healer Hithrawyn, and Celylith when he was once again trying to sneak in an 'adorable' orc cub and thought he wouldn't notice.

"Mincing words does not become you, Elrohir," he said, aspiring to the same kind of calmness that Elrohir radiated. "I am going to come with you, and I don't care what you have to say about it."

"And the fact that you sound about twenty-five years old and as if you are telling your nanny that you will stay up till after midnight, no matter what she says, is a complete coincidence, isn't it?"

Legolas slowly turned his head and redirected his earlier dark look, this time enriching it with the definite threat of immediate violence. Somehow, he had allowed himself the illusion that he wouldn't have to fight both of the twins on this and that at least Elladan would be sympathetic. It had been clearly a misconception, born from the fact that earlier Elladan, too, had been made to stay behind.

Apparently, their having-to-stay-behind experience had only made Elladan more willing to please his brother, coward that he was.

"Let me try to summarise this," Legolas said, still holding onto that preternatural calmness that he couldn't quite explain to himself. "You, who are no superiors of mine, want to order me to stay behind while you go into an orc-infested cave with a group of people of not even a fraction of my age, not to mention experience. You want me to desert you while you go into danger and darkness, like a weak-minded coward. You want me to stay out here while you try to rescue my friend." He glared at the two of them. "You know what? You can go to Angband for all I care. I am coming with you, and, short of tying me to a tree (which, frankly, I would not recommend), there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop me."

The twins exchanged a look. Behind them, the rangers were gathered in two groups, which were both receiving instructions from a tense-looking Haldar and an even tenser-looking Daervagor. Among them, Legolas recognised Naurdholen, the thorn in their side who had prevented them from following the trail immediately, and Ereneth, who stood out by his height alone. They, like their comrades, looked serious and very attentive, eyes dark and unreadable in the dying moonlight.

"All right," Elrohir finally said, conceding the point for both of them, "you can come with us. But at least two rangers will always be at your side. No, excuse me, I must correct myself: Two rangers will be glued to your side. And I will give them the order to hit you over the head with something very hard, and I mean very hard, if you so much as look as if you want to try and lose them."

"I hadn't thought you could actually order them to do anything," Legolas said thoughtfully.

"Most humans will do almost anything if you look at them long enough, you know that as well as I do. Even the Dúnedain." Legolas found it strangely comforting that he wasn't the only one who thought it acceptable to use that particular strategy. "And besides, I am sure that Daervagor won't mind."

Legolas had to admit that the twin most likely did have a point there. Daervagor wasn't really fazed by much anymore, and right now he was ... focussed. Very focussed. Legolas seriously doubted that he would notice if a bunch of rabid ferret had been busy gnawing off one of his legs, as long as they didn't interfere with him planning the assault.

"Most likely not," he agreed. He looked at the twins, still suspicious of some kind of ploy. "Why was that so easy?"

The two of them looked at each other again. Sometimes, Legolas truly wondered what it had to be like to be able to communicate with each other so easily and without words.
"Because you are not going to listen to us anyway," Elladan answered. "It would be pointless to argue any longer."

Legolas arched an eyebrow.
"When has that ever stopped you?"

"I cede the point," Elladan said with surprising affability. "In addition to being pointless, it would also be time-consuming. And time," he added, "is the one thing we don't have."

He was right, of course. Legolas agreed with him completely. But it was very, very disconcerting to see the twins so reasonable, and to have them make so much ... sense.

"I ... all right," he finally said, blinking. "So you will not try to stop me?"

"You are your father's son, my friend," Elrohir told him with a small, wry smile. "I doubt that there is anything that could stop you now, short of a blow to the head. Which, incidentally, as I might add, is exactly..."

"...what my two friendly guards will do should I try to slip away. Yes, Elrohir. I heard you the first time."

"I simply wish to make sure of that," the younger twin told him. "We are not doing this out of malice, Legolas. We are concerned."

Legolas followed his friend's gaze to his right hand which was visible where he had pushed up the sleeve of his shirt. The linen bandage that covered the still healing burns on his hand and forearm had been pristine and crisply white once, but that had been this morning. Since then he had ridden countless miles and followed a carefully concealed orc trail, not to mention almost got into a fist fight with Elladan, all of which had resulted in a muddy grey colour. Suddenly self-conscious, he rolled down his sleeve and raised his chin, looking at Elrohir mutinously.

"I am ambidextrous."

A real smile spread over Elladan's face at that. It was short-lived, but it was still the most genuine sign of merriment he had seen on either of the twins' faces in several days.

"I know you are," the older twin told him. "But it's not only your hand. There is still your side to consider, and your shoulder. Your overall condition is ... poor, let's leave it at that."

Legolas sighed, realising that this was far more effective than simply yelling at him or accusing him of idiocy (besides, Elladan had already done that). When the twins looked at you like that, with their large, wounded grey eyes, they looked far too much like Aragorn when he was trying to win you over with his puppy dog stares. And that, Legolas thought, was really nothing he was prepared to contemplate right now.

"I know that," he admitted, running his left hand through his hair. "I am no idiot." He pretended not to hear a snort that could have come from either or both of the twins. "I promise you that I will be careful, and that, as soon as this is over, I will swallow whatever vile potion you concoct in that magic cauldron of yours."

Elrohir shot his brother a vaguely amused look.
"We like to call it a pot or a kettle. The word 'cauldron' suggests ... sorcery."

"Not to mention the word 'magic'," Elladan added.

"Witchcraft, magic, medicine ... it's simply a matter of labelling," Legolas waved their words aside. "But I do promise. There is nothing else I can offer you."

The twins once again exchanged one of their looks.
"All right," Elrohir finally said. "That will be enough, then. We trust you."

"You do?"

"We do," Elladan affirmed. "Everybody knows that you Wood-elves have an overly large sense of pride and honour. We trust you to keep your word."

There was an insult in there somewhere, apart from the obvious, of course, he was sure of that. He didn't really care anymore, though, so he decided not to pursue it.

"Thank you," he said in a tone of voice that, under different circumstances, could have been called sweet. "Shall we, then?"

The twins nodded at him, joining him as he started to make his way towards the place where the rangers were gathered. It was silent for approximately three seconds before Elrohir cleared his throat and gave Legolas a sidelong glance.

"So ... has your shoulder been hurting today?"

Legolas rolled his eyes, barely refraining from clenching his left fist.
"No, Elrohir."

Elrohir nodded thoughtfully but was apparently not so easily diverted.
"What about your stitches, then? They haven't come out yet, have they?"

"No," Legolas said shortly. His side didn't even hurt at the moment, even though he knew that it would as soon as he did anything strenuous, like mount a horse, run or take a deep breath. "Serothlain's fiancée took a look at it yesterday morning, what was her name again...?"

"Hasteth," Elladan supplied helpfully.

"Mistress Hasteth, of course," Legolas repeated. "She took a look at it and told me that she'd be more comfortable leaving them in for another day or so."

"I see." It appeared that Elrohir was not prepared to chance Hasteth's wrath. The woman might be small, but she could be just as frightening as Lady Gaerîn, the master healer in Rivendell who was usually in charge of patching all of them up. "What about...?"

"If you ask me about my hand, Elrohir, I will hurt you, Manwë help me."

"Elrohir," the older twin said calmly, "he promised. Let it be."

Elrohir gave his brother a dark look, and the silent dialogue between the two of them was still going on when they reached the rangers, standing around their leaders in small groups. They were checking their weapons and equipment now, leaving behind everything that wasn't completely essential for their mission. The tension filling the air was almost as great as the one fluttering inside of him, but somehow it made Legolas feel better. It wasn't helpless anymore, it was purposeful. They were here, they had found them, and they were doing something, Elbereth be praised.

Haldar and Daervagor stood next to each other, facing away from them and apparently deep in hushed conversation. They were still up the hillside, looking down on the dark opening of the mouth of the cave. They had left their horses and packs with a couple of guards back at the clearing, and had made their way here in a surprisingly and commendably quiet manner. There were scouts scattered around the entrance of the cave, all of them quite visible to Legolas but probably close to undetectable to anyone not possessing elven eyesight. Unfortunately, an orc's night vision almost rivalled an elf's; all of them knew that. There was nothing for it, though, and so they had decided to run the risk and had instructed the scouts to be very, very silent.

Up until now, no one had been detected or killed in a messy way, which Legolas counted as a win. The way things were going right now, almost anything that didn't result in dead bodies (orc bodies excluded) counted as a win.

"Is everything ready?" Elladan asked when they reached the two of them.

Both rangers jumped in surprise, even though most people wouldn't have noticed. Neither of them gave them the satisfaction of turning around to face them, and suddenly Legolas felt pity with them, even with Daervagor. Being human had to be like living in eternal shadow or underwater, forever unable to truly see or hear or smell or feel what surrounded them. Legolas could not imagine being so ... closed off from the world, and for a second he asked himself how anybody could live like that at all.

"Yes," was all Daervagor said as they joined the two of them. "The teams have been assembled. As soon as Ereneth is back, we can proceed."

Ereneth, Legolas thought somewhat resentfully. Wherever he turned, wherever he looked, the half-Rohír seemed to be. It wasn't that he distrusted him, but ... well. He distrusted him, somehow. He had been there when Aragorn had been abducted, he had been involved in the search, and now he was the one who knew this cave system. There were other rangers who knew of its existence, but Ereneth was the one who had been able to remember details about its layout. The only saving grace was that he really and truly believed that the tall ranger wanted to help find Aragorn and Halbarad, which was also about the only reason why he hadn't hit him over the head with something yet. But he knew something, and he had no idea what, which was what truly vexed him.

As soon as this was over, he was going to have a little chat with him. He was reasonably sure that the ranger wasn't going to enjoy their conversation even one iota, and he didn't care how much Hírgaer glared at him.

"We are still talking about several groups?" Elladan asked, frowning in either doubt or disapproval. "Because, well..."

"We know, my friend," Daervagor said with a somewhat long-suffering sigh. There was underlying tension in his voice, showing how close to gibbering panic he really was, but he seemed to see it like Legolas: They were finally doing something, and that in itself was enough for now. "We know what you think about such a multi-pronged plan of attack. But we have no choice."

And they didn't. If Ereneth was right, which no one truly doubted, then the cave had at least five bigger entrances, and who knew how many more they didn't know about. The five of them had struggled with that for quite some time. They had had two options: Either wait and try to discover as many additional entrances as possible and seal them off before making a move, or make their move now, using only the ones they knew. Both options had their risks, and the debate had been heated for a while. But while the let's-go-now-consequences-be-damned approach held the risk that their targets would be snatched away at the last moment as the orcs made a last-minute escape, the other one had the very great disadvantage of wasting even more time trying to figure out where exactly all the entrances were located. It was the argument that had decided the matter in the end. If they moved now, they risked losing Aragorn and Halbarad again at the last second, but if they waited any longer, they very well might lose them anyway.

And, as far as Legolas was concerned, he would prefer Estel dying in the knowledge that they had come for him and failed, than thinking that they had abandoned him and his cousin.

"So," Elrohir said, before his brother could once again begin to describe just what he thought of their hard-won plan of attack, "are we still talking about five groups, then?"

"We have it down to four now, my lord," Haldar answered him, pointing to the right at the part of the hill that was more heavily wooded than the rest. "The entrance over there must have collapsed during the recent storms. There are rocks and splintered tree trunks everywhere; it looks as if half the hillside collapsed on it. Tarcil and Belvathor had a look at it and reported that no one could still be using it, and they tried it themselves. Belvathor is quite slim and not too tall, so I am inclined to believe them. Even if the orcs could still use it, they could never get Halbarad through there, let alone Estel."

Haldar had a point there. Aragorn was easily the tallest of the rangers here, even though Ereneth came very close, and Halbarad wasn't short either. It had to run in the family.

"Good," Elladan said, nodding his head. "We don't have much time left. The sun will come up in about half an hour."

They were indeed pressed for time, which was yet another reason why Legolas felt as if his insides were slowly liquefying out of sheer nervousness. An orc's night vision might be exceptionally good, and their day vision not too bad either, especially considering that they usually spent the days in their caves and holes, but they did have one weakness. During daybreak, in the short time when night made way for twilight and then the new day, they didn't see all that much.

Legolas had seen it a few times, when pursuing orc hordes that had strayed too far from their holes. In those short minutes of true twilight, they were uncoordinated and seemed to have real trouble focussing on their surroundings. It was temporary, of course, but they intended to use that weakness, and use it well. The orc captain (or the person behind all this, or whoever it was that was responsible) had chosen this site well, and he had posted enough guards to cover an area thrice as big. But they stood a real chance of surprising them if they timed it just right, if they attacked at the exact time that the sun came up. No, he had to correct himself: They would surprise them, and they would show them just what happened when you went up against the Elves of Mirkwood.

Or the Noldor of Rivendell, or the Dúnedain of the North, for that matter.

"We have made some slight modifications to the plan," Daervagor inserted, seemingly ignoring Elladan's comment. Legolas understood, because ignoring Elladan when he was in this kind of mood was usually the best thing to do. "We still have some minutes before Ereneth should return. Would you like to go over them with me one last time?"

"We would," Elladan and Elrohir said in unison. "There is one other thing, however," Elladan added after half a second.

"Yes?" Daervagor asked, carefully polite.

"We would think it best if ... if..."

"I would like to stay close to Haldar's troop," Legolas said, sighing inwardly and deciding to try and get this over with his dignity as intact as possible. "I think it would be best."

Elladan and Elrohir looked decidedly innocent. Haldar looked doom-struck, as if Legolas had just told him that he would like to take a quick dip in the lava pools of Mount Doom and would love it if he would join him. Daervagor first looked confused and then, after a quick look at the twins, immensely amused. There was a real, genuine twinkle in his eyes when he nodded at Haldar, who had the distinctive look of a rabbit facing down a snake.

"I am sure that won't be a problem, my lord."

Haldar shot his captain a look that could have melted forged steel. Daervagor seemed very unimpressed by it, which seemed to enrage Haldar even more. But he was a ranger, and a respectful one at that, and so he only gritted his teeth and nodded.

"Of course, my lord," Haldar said, giving Legolas something that he clearly thought was a smile. "My men and I would be ... delighted."

"And we trust you to take good care of him," Elladan inserted, giving Haldar a meaningful and rather threatening look. The 'Or else' went unsaid, but it rang quite loudly through the silence.

"I need no one to take care of me, Elrondion," Legolas said, feeling how his patience slipped once again. "You would do well to remember that."

"He is not even close to healed yet," Elrohir added, acting as if Legolas hadn't even spoken. "We would ... appreciate it, Master Ranger."

Haldar looked from the twins to his captain, shooting him another scorching look.
"Of course, my lords. We will do our best."

Daervagor was an intelligent man, and knew that Haldar – under enough stress already as it was – was only a step away from committing gross insubordination. He gave the twins a quick look and decided to make a strategic retreat.

"So," he began, leading the twins over to where their impromptu map (made of earth, an assortment of smaller daggers and what looked like every single whetting stone of the company) was located. "We thought it would be best if my and Naurdholen's groups went first and got into position before the other two make a move. Furthermore..."

A moment later the three of them had disappeared in the crowd of rangers who were already assembling in their respective groups. Among Haldar's men Legolas could see Lhanton, who looked especially tense in the pale moonlight, an impression that was only emphasised by the long cut running down the side of his face. There was a tension hanging about him that was also detectable around Ereneth and that Legolas could quite easily understand. It wasn't only that Daervagor and the twins would never forgive the two of them if they didn't get Aragorn back, but it was that they would never forgive themselves.

He could emphasise, because neither he nor the twins would, either.

Resigning himself to the fact that he would have to wait another ten minutes or so before they could make a move, he turned to Haldar, who still looked at him as if he had orchestrated all this just to make him miserable. Under different circumstances, that just might have been true, but right now he was about as happy about all this as Haldar was.

"This was not my idea," he told the stony-faced ranger. "I am as thrilled about this as you are."

Haldar gave him a dubious look. Legolas would almost have smiled. This was good, this was normal. Teasing Haldar – or rather, terrifying him – was amusing. In a guilty pleasure kind of way, but still. Considering how very and completely not-normal all of this was and how close he was to losing his composure completely, it was very welcome.

"I see."

"You think I would want this?" Legolas asked, arching an eyebrow. "I have been grown-up and a fully capable warrior for centuries. For millennia even. I don't need you or your men to keep an eye on me."

"Of course not," Haldar said quickly. "I am not sure even Lord Elrond's sons would be up to the task."

Legolas shot him a filthy look. Haldar returned it evenly. He was getting a lot better at that, Legolas noted.

"Do not let yourself be intimidated by the twins. They won't do anything to you, even if you fail to 'keep an eye' on me."

Haldar looked at him as if he had suggested that he stop breathing.
"I will take your word for it, my lord."

By now, the rangers of Haldar's group had stepped closer, having finished their preparations, and Legolas forced himself to give Lhanton a nod of greeting. Rationally, he understood what the ranger had had to do and that he hadn't stood a chance against Aragorn, but that didn't mean that he could just forget. He should probably make sure that neither he nor Ereneth ever crossed paths with Celylith again. He hoped that Celylith would understand (and preferably not kill anyone), he really did, but in matters like these his childhood friend tended to display a distressing lack of understanding.

"We are ready, sir," Lhanton reported, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Haldar and doing his very best not to look at Legolas at all. "Ereneth is driving his brother and everybody else mad, which I take as a sign that Hírgaer's group is ready, too."

"Good," Haldar said, nodding. Judging from the cautious expression on his face, he was very aware of the tension between Legolas and the young ranger. "Any problems?"

"None," Lhanton said curtly. "Not yet, anyway."

"Let's see how long that lasts," the older ranger mumbled pessimistically. "Who lent you a blade?"

"Torthagyl," Lhanton replied with a small wince. "I barely dare use it. He told me in no unclear terms what would happen to me should I return the sword in less than perfect condition."

"You will get your own back soon enough," Haldar said and nodded at the cave below them, referring to the sword Lhanton had given to Aragorn before they had been separated. The fact that the young ranger had given Aragorn his own sword, trying to give him even the slightest edge in the fight to come, was one of the reasons why Legolas hadn't killed him yet. "And until then, Torthagyl's will do. You can say what you want about him, but he knows his blades."

"Indeed," Lhanton agreed. "So, we are as ready as we'll ever be. Now all we need is Naurdholen."

"He should be here soon enough," Haldar said quickly

"Unless they were caught, of course," a voice at the back of the group said, and Ereneth became visible, an almost cheerful smirk on his face. "In which case it will be the will of the Valar."

Legolas turned to look at the tall ranger, who was thankfully still a couple of inches shorter than him.
"It wouldn't be the will of the Valar," he said, in a voice that brooked no argument. "It would be monumentally bad luck and an option I am not ready to contemplate."

Haldar, obviously aware of the fact that Legolas' patience was hanging by a very, very thin thread, jerked his head at his men in a very meaningful manner. Rangers might not eavesdrop, but they surely knew how to read between the lines, and within a matter of seconds the men had dispersed, joining Daervagor and the twins who were standing at the very edge of the hillside. Lhanton and Ereneth remained, however, Lhanton most likely out of a deep-seated desire not to have to face the twins unless completely necessary and Ereneth because he just hadn't noticed the tension, as he usually didn't. Ereneth, no matter how annoying Legolas found him, was very refreshing in that regard.

"Sometimes," Legolas said through gritted teeth, "the Dúnedain brand of pessimism is close to driving me to distraction. And, let me make note of that, I do hail from Mirkwood, which, unfortunately, isn't the safest or brightest place at the moment."

Lhanton and Ereneth exchanged a look.
"We like to call it 'experience'," Ereneth told him.

"I am sure you do," Legolas said with a completely insincere smile. He took a deep breath and turned around to Haldar, forcing himself not to snap at the rangers. It wasn't their fault; it was simply that he was frightened and panicked and so tense that he it was a miracle that he hadn't snapped in half yet.

"They mean well," Haldar told him after a moment or two, nodding at the two rangers still standing behind them.

"I know," Legolas told him, forcing down his irritation. "Ereneth tends to do it in a rather ... unique way."

Haldar nodded in agreement. It was silent for a few moments while both of them looked down the sparsely wooded slope onto the hill opposite and the dark mouth of the cave. Legolas had the feeling that, if he only tried hard enough, he could see the shadows of the orc guards that he knew were posted there.

"We will find them," Haldar told him when the silence stretched and became oppressive. He was fingering his strung longbow in a not so hidden nervous manner. "I know it in my heart. This time, we will find them."

"I hope you are right, Master Ranger," Legolas replied, trying not to let the man see how nervous and doubtful he really was. "But the cave is a maze, and not even Ereneth could remember more of its layout than the basest of facts. There is no telling where they are keeping Estel and Halbarad, and no way to block all the exits to prevent the orcs from escaping with their prisoners at the last moment." He shook his head, studying the cave and its surroundings, and finally sighed softly. "This is not going to be easy."

The ranger gave him a small, sad smile.
"Nothing worthwhile ever is, my lord."

Legolas looked at him, deciding that, if this wasn't the man who had involved Aragorn in all this, he might end up liking him. He wasn't about to tell him that, of course, and he was saved from replying by Ereneth and Lhanton, who stepped closer in the exact same moment that Legolas saw a flicker of movement ghosting across the cave's entrance. Two orcs appeared for a second or two, nothing but dark shades against the deeper shadows of the cave.

All of them froze on the spot, even though they knew that the orcs couldn't see them. The orcs seemed to gauge how much time they had before daybreak, gesturing at each other while conversing in their foul tongue. For a second, Legolas was back in that small cave, weak and helpless and unable to do anything while Buzgókh and his friends burned Celylith. He shook off the feeling with far more trouble than he would have liked, forcing himself to stay calm. The two orcs were still there, talking to each other, and without conscious thought Legolas turned to the person closest him, namely Haldar.

"If they ... if they capture me again..." he began haltingly.

"I know, my lord," Haldar said, patting his bow meaningfully. "Shoot you."

Legolas stared at the ranger, as close to completely incredulous as he had ever been.
"No! No, no, no, no, no, shoot them! Honestly, what is wrong with you people?"

Behind them, Ereneth and Lhanton stared at the branches of the nearest tree, struggling to keep their faces serious. Legolas looked back at Haldar, who had the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable.

"I am sorry, my lord," the ranger said, inclining his head. "I just ... assumed."

"That I can see," Legolas told him. This was becoming far too surreal, and it seemed like a very good place to end this conversation. "I am going to join the twins and Daervagor. As soon as Naurdholen and the others arrive and everything is ready, I will join you and your men." He turned to leave, but stopped and turned back around. "Just ... just don't shoot me, will you? There is only one rule: Don't shoot me, shoot the orcs."

A smile tugged at the corners of Haldar's mouth.
"We shall do our best, my lord."

Legolas rigorously suppressed the urge to smile and turned around without another word, walking towards where Elladan, Elrohir and Daervagor were deeply immersed in conversation with Hírgaer and another ranger he didn't recognise. Rangers ... Valar, what a strange bunch. He could probably count himself lucky if he didn't end up with an arrow in his back because one of the rangers wanted to help him.

Then Naurdholen and the other scouts arrived, and suddenly Legolas didn't think about trivialities like who was going to shot whom and why. The only think he cared about at the moment was Aragorn, and how he would be damned if he allowed the young human to end up like Celylith, broken and not even half-alive.

First Celylith, then Aragorn, Legolas thought as he increased his pace, feeling fury build inside of him. The Noldor might have seeking revenge down to an art form, but he was his father's son, and he, like Celylith, did not forgive certain things.

TBC...

Dúnedain (pl. of dúnadan) (Sindarin) – 'Men of the West', rangers
mellon nín (S.) – my friend
tark (Black Speech) – Man of Gondor/of Númenórean heritage
snaga (B.S.) - 'slave', used for the 'lesser' breeds of orcs
orch (S.) - orc, goblin
Na i nathath Udûn, glamog (S.) - (Go) into the pits of Angband, orc

So, everybody's angry, and Aragorn and Halbarad (who, as it seems, got infected with Aragorn's very particular way of Dealing With One's Captors) are in very, very deep trouble. So, what else is new? *g* The Ingenious And Timely Rescue, you ask? Well, it's underway. It really is, I promise. *g* So, stay tuned for mayhem, blood and Very Angry Rangers And Elves With Sharp Implements. And, as it so happens, the best-laid plans of mice and men ... uh, elves ... often DO go awry. Don't look at me like that. You know how I am. *g* So, as always, reviews make me happy. Very much so, even.

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Additional A/N:

Many apologies to asdfjkl;, Beltainwitch, shieldmaidenofthecarribean, Clodia and MeLaNY8. Since FF-net is evil and mean, I reply to reviews via a huge group email. Therefore, if you wish to be included, please make sure that you have a working email address listed on your profile page or, if you wish to review anonymously, that you leave your address in a way that FF-net won't find edible, so to speak. Sorry for the inconvenience, and thank you very much for your reviews!