A/N Credit to my beta Ink Stained Quill for helping me face my phobia of writing action head-on and making this chapter an awful lot more exciting than it would have been otherwise!

CONTENT NOTE: We see a very low point in Maglor's thought processes in this chapter, involving a wish for death. If you would rather not read about this, please skip the section in Maglor's POV beginning 'After laying two false trails...' and resume in Newt's POV at 'Two false trails with dead ends, a worryingly precarious...' It should still make sense as the Maglor section is mainly introspective rather than plotty.

Chapter Three: More of a Chaser, Really

Maglor awoke to the uncomfortable sensation of someone pulling his ear tips back and forth as if trying to work out whether they were attached. He jolted to consciousness with the realisation that that was exactly what was happening, and that he was seated with his back against the cave wall, his hands and feet bound, whilst his captor investigated his features. He took a deep breath against the lingering dizziness – his head throbbed, but he'd taken far worse concussions in battle – and cautiously tested the strength of the bonds. Relieved, he realised he could probably break them, but he was going to have to time it well so he could outrun his captor before she ensorcelled him again. And this time, he was going to have to watch those pointed sticks they carried and try to use his superior reflexes to determine if their long-range powers could be dodged like crossbow bolts. Noticing he was awake, the woman began firing questions at him, but he shook his head and explained in Quenya that he did not understand her. She huffed and straightened her robes as she stood up, and then a sudden sound struck dread into Maglor's heart. It was another loud crack, which must signal the arrival of one of her allies. A man sprinted in, exclaimed when he saw him and had a rapid-fire exchange with the woman before approaching Maglor and repeating her investigations himself. Maglor gritted his teeth and endured it, terrified by stirrings of the anger he thought he had thoroughly quashed, sorely tempted to break his bonds then and there and throw the man against the cave wall. Never to cause another death, he reminded himself, not wanting to risk forgetting himself and going too far if he acted on his indignation. Besides, there was nothing these people could do to him that he didn't deserve. Far better to escape without injuring them if at all possible, so he could avoid being a tool in whatever human power games they wanted him for without bloodshed.

His opportunity came when the man stepped back, satisfied that his ear tips were indeed genuine, and started conversing with the woman again. They kept glancing back at him, but apparently confident in the strength of their bonds, they gradually became more and more drawn into their discussion, which sounded like it was developing into an argument. Unsure of whether yet more of their friends were going to arrive, Maglor made his move.

In one fluid motion, he tore himself free and leapt to his feet, sprinting for all he was worth down the narrow tunnel. Spells pursued him through the air, jets of light burning their way past his face. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved that his battle instincts were still alive and allowing him to dodge the beams with speed. The exit was within his reach, and Maglor lunged, aiming for the opening and leaping to avoid a blue streak at the same time. To his horror, his momentum launched him straight into the path of a bright white curse. It flung him, helpless as a rag doll, and he slammed hard and painfully into the cave wall for the second time. A sickening crack rang out as the bone in his upper arm splintered. Fire raced up his arm, leaving him gasping for breath and his head spinning. Freedom was so close. Gritting his teeth, he rolled with the spell over the corner of the rock, over the threshold, and onto the beach.

Swaying with shock and pain, he gained his feet again and ran, when the nightmare yet again grew worse. There was another loud crack and looked over to see another man who had just appeared out of nowhere and to his horror, Newt, collapsed on the ground next to him. His two original captors emerged, yelling to the newcomer, who whirled around and sent a jet of red light Maglor's way.

For the second time that day, he found himself in a situation completely beyond his understanding. Overwhelmed by the rush of the fight, which he hadn't felt for millennia, and dreading what would happen if he ended up in the hands of those humans again, he let his instincts take over and fled.

It was a rough apparition: travelling as someone else's unexpected side-along always was. It was a miracle neither of them got splinched, quite frankly, although Newt did fall off the man's back and vomit as soon as they landed- not quite the entrance he was hoping to make, but at least he had made it to the smugglers' hideout. He whipped out his wand as he scrambled up, expecting to have to duel his unwilling taxi and astonished he hadn't been hexed yet. He froze in a crouch and took in the situation with one glance.

The magical humanoid he'd met earlier (and oh how he'd hoped that 'New merchandise' didn't mean him) was in the process of making a break for it. Two other smugglers, the wizard from the bar and an unfamiliar witch, emerged from a fissure in the cliff wall, shouting "stop him", to their newly-arrived colleague, who staggered forward, assuming that Newt had been incapacitated by the apparition, and sent a stunner at the creature, who dodged. Newt had seen enough. He Stunned the man he'd apparated with in the back and cast a shield charm as the other two cried out in anger, suddenly registering his presence, and attacked.

He feinted, clutching his arm as if wounded, concealing the subtle flick of the wrist which released his secret weapon. It always paid to have something up your sleeve when you were dealing with smuggling rings, after all. Especially when you were doing it without your wife and occasional bodyguard. The smugglers barely had time to smirk before a scaly blur of brilliant purple and green was homing in on them like a deadly, lightning-fast kite. The Swooping Evil knocked the wizard's feet out from under him, emerging into a sharp climb which sent the witch sprawling backwards with a blow under her chin, then settled imposingly on the wizard's chest. It was all over almost as quickly as it began. Newt could only just make out the retreating back of the magical humanoid.

"Hey! Wait! Please, I can help you!" he yelled desperately. He might have imagined it, but he thought that perhaps, just for a second, the figure stopped moving before it vanished into the distance.

"Bugger," he swore, heart still going wild with adrenaline, torn between running off after him and stopping to think first. His decision was made for him by slurping sounds, reminding him that even if they were smugglers, he probably shouldn't let his Swooping Evil eat their brains.

"Gregory, we've discussed this. Brains are off the menu," he lectured sternly, as his sidekick reluctantly returned to his sleeve. "You did well though. Thank you. I'll make sure to get you something nice once this is all sorted," he added, earning himself a happy chirp before Greg rolled himself back into his cocoon.

Glancing into the distance and seeing no sign of the enigmatic creature, Newt realised that he'd be in for a night of tracking anyway, so he might as well make sure he did a proper clear up before he went. He Disarmed and bound the three smugglers, levitating them into the cave one by one- and if they accidentally bumped into the cave wall slightly more than necessary, well, it was much less than they'd seen fit to do to other living beings. Once he reached the inner cave, he took a moment to allow himself his rage and sorrow over the jarveys in their cramped cage who had obviously bitten and scratched each other in their agitation and confinement, the mokes so terrified they'd shrunk to almost invisibility, and the lobalugs forced to live in foul water in a dirty tank. Only a moment, though: years of dealing with similar situations had taught him to carefully set aside his emotions and focus on the practical ways he could help.

A short while later found the jarveys adding tunnels to the burrow system in the case, spewing profanity enthusiastically (Newt's Norwegian vocabulary had considerably increased); the mokes, now measuring a few centimetres, cautiously peeking out from the undergrowth Newt had provided for them; and the lobalugs dreamily jetting through the crystal-clear water of their bubble. He hadn't checked them over as thoroughly as he usually would, beyond healing obvious wounds and ensuring they were in no immediate danger- that would have to wait until later, as he had another injured creature to track down first. There was blood that looked almost human but slightly lighter, near the entrance to the cave, which provided a worrying explanation for the creature's odd posture as he ran away. Newt already blamed himself for this entire situation, for not following the creature before he got captured, and resolved that he was not going to let someone frightened and hurting run off into danger again.

He took a few moments to investigate the rest of the cave in case he could find anything useful. It was quite a shock when he picked up a map from one of the shelves and realised exactly where on the coast they were: he had realised that his quarry was fast, but he hadn't counted on his stamina. To get from where they had met earlier just north of the village to this far south, he must have run about fifty miles in one go. And now he was running again, with a suspected shoulder injury. What a day the poor guy's had, Newt sympathised. Tries to do a good thing only to convince himself he's insulted a vengeful god, spends the whole day running away from him then gets captured by more of these unscrupulous beings, gets injured whilst escaping and then gets chased by the first one again. All Newt could do was find him and do his best to regain his trust and prove that allowing him close would end the nightmare rather than extending it. He left the cave just as the smugglers were beginning to rouse- he'd have to alert the authorities to that situation, but the marvellous creature they'd tried to capture took priority. Let them spend the night tied up in their own prison, uncertain of their future; maybe that would give them some perspective on what they had put their victims through.

Night had well and truly fallen by the time Newt emerged onto the beach. On foot, he'd have no chance at catching up, but Newt had never been so grateful for Theseus' multiple attempts to turn his little brother into a decent opponent at Quidditch. He Summoned his broom from inside his suitcase, attached the case to the back with a few decent sticking charms and some twine for good measure, mounted up and kicked off.

When he needed to be, Newt made a very good Chaser.

After laying two false trails, scaling a highly dangerous cliff path one-handed, disappearing into the forest and checking multiple times for sounds of pursuit, Maglor finally let himself collapse. The day's events had tested even his elvish endurance; at his prime, they wouldn't have, but elven healing relies heavily on the connection between hröa and fëa, body and soul, and the current state of Maglor's soul was anything but conducive to healing and rejuvenation. The most pressing issue of the moment was the ugly open fracture of his upper right arm, and the numbness in his usually sore right hand that signified nerve damage. It would need to be set, but the position meant it would be impossible to carry out himself, as he'd done when he had broken his leg at some point during the Fourth Age. Losing the use of his right arm would be a death sentence: it was hard enough surviving on his own with his burned hands, and he only managed that situation by reminding himself that he deserved every agony that came with gripping something, since it was his over-reaching greed in pursuing the Silmarils that put him in this position in the first place. In a moment of utter despair, Maglor was tempted to just let himself die. He had resolved to endure the ages, living on in loneliness and repentance, but no-one could truly know the awful, bone-deep fatigue that came with eking out a solitary existence for millennia before they'd lived it. Had he known, he probably still would have chosen this path, but he was beginning to contemplate the prospect that at this point, with this new setback, he simply could not go on any longer. Mandos would be just- he would keep Maglor confined in his halls and unable to hurt anyone else, that was a given.

The events of his capture and escape were so bizarre that he was beginning to wonder if the Valar had decided to punish him with madness, and all this was simply a nightmarish hallucination. Thinking back, he had concluded that, impossible as it seemed, these magically overpowered humans must have invented a way to travel long distances and make it seem as though they had appeared out of nowhere. Newt's appearance in particular had shaken him. He briefly considered the possibility that he was in league with the others and had told them to set up a trap for him but opined that this was unlikely. He always made sure to completely cover his tracks whenever he left a place, so there was no possible way that Newt could have known about his old hideout, and besides, the interior of the cave suggested a long-term operation was based there, and Newt had only met him today. Therefore, that suggested the disturbing possibility that Newt had fallen foul of these bandits for some reason and he was being taken prisoner; in Maglor's one glimpse of him as he fled, he had not looked in good shape. Maglor thought he had heard Newt calling after him at one point, but unsure of whether he was imagining it, and if he wasn't, whether it was a trap, he decided it was safest to flee.

Given that Newt was probably in danger, he seriously considered going back to try to help him. He had been very forgiving about the whole kidnap-and-rescue mess and seemed like a gentle soul; the other- wissards? was that the word?- were clearly part of some sort of thieving gang, and Maglor didn't like to think of what they might do to someone opposing them. But then again, he was unsure of how much he could do, weaponless and injured as he was, and with only the most basic knowledge of exactly what powers these sorcerers had. He might fashion a slingshot and attempt to sneak up on them, but he didn't trust himself not to get captured again and make the situation worse. And then there was the fact that his attempt at 'rescuing' Newt earlier hadn't exactly been helpful.

In just one day, an entire existence stretched out thinly like butter spread over far, far too much bread had suddenly been interrupted by a barrage of things that didn't make sense. He wished that he could simply forget about this situation entirely and return to a life alone on the shore with his guilt and his grief because although they made terrible companions, at least he understood them.

But it appeared that he wasn't going to be allowed to do that. About a mile and a half away, the forest suddenly illuminated with some sort of non-natural, magical, golden light.

Two false trails with dead ends, a worryingly precarious cliff path (how on earth did someone with burned hands and a suspected shoulder injury get up there?), three warming charms against the Norwegian night air, and two circuitous searches through the treetops of the pine forest later, Newt finally gave in, descended and cast Appare Vestigium. He had been trying to avoid that, though it was a very handy tracking charm for analysing traces of magical residue, knowing that the signature golden light would alert his quarry to the pursuit (not to mention giving him yet another scare). However, remaining unseen himself would do no good unless he could find the object of his search. The tall and lithe golden outline of the escaped captive ran lightly along a barely existent path, and Newt gripped his broom firmly as he set off in pursuit, belatedly remembering to protect himself with an Impervius charm against the whipping branches and pine needles of this lower part of the forest. He kept casting Appare Vestigium at intervals as he went, occasionally having to double back when he lost the trail, but eventually he reached a tree where the slightest displacement of pine needles demonstrated that somebody had recently been sitting there. The tracking spell confirmed this, as well as that said 'somebody' had leapt to his feet and sprinted off. A couple of calculations confirmed that this was probably when he had seen the light from Newt's first spell, and that even if he was running at his superhuman speed, he couldn't have gone too far since. Grinning, Newt climbed steeply until he was skating over the treetops again. He cast a Supersensory Charm, resigning himself to the inevitable headache that came with using it twice in one day, and scanned the forest below for signs of movement, holding his lit wand between his teeth.

On the point of descending and starting the laborious tracking process again, Newt's efforts were rewarded. A dark figure darted out of the way of his light where it streamed down into the forest, and even better, it was heading towards a clearing. On fire with the thrill of pursuit despite the temperature, Newt accelerated and dived down towards the clearing with all the speed he could safely muster (and a little extra which probably wasn't safe at all). Landing clumsily but mercifully avoiding crashing, he swung himself down from his broom just as the creature darted into the clearing and froze on seeing him with an expression of utter horror.

Long habit had him dropping into an easy crouch, baring his neck and holding his hands up in submission.

"Hello there, so sorry I startled you, there's no need to be frightened," he said, low and soothing, and since explanations probably weren't going to cut the muster in this improbable situation, he did the first thing he could think of to prove his trustworthiness. Very slowly, he let his broom drop to the ground next to him, untied his suitcase and rummaged around in it, aware of the creature's widened eyes tracking his every move in the wandlight. Finding what he was looking for, he extended his hand and draped the item over his open palm.

"I think you left your cloak."