Author's Notes: Well, I'm back after a very long break. Not so much a vacation as, well, slacking off. A round of gratitude is due to all of my reviewers, because you all help to point out things, inspire me, and keep me going.





It seemed that the instant Gondor was in sight (or rather, in the keen sight of Aragorn), the former Ranger drew himself up a little straighter in the saddle, and was a little more stern than he had been before. The children, Iryel and Tulien, hardly seemed to notice, or else were too weary from travel to pay any heed to 'Estel's change in demeanor.

In fact, Tulien was bordering on sleep, and Iryel's eyes appeared heavy even to Beregond who only saw her in short glances, when they rode into the white city. The sight quickly roused the two, but Estel now spoke to them more quietly, and pointed things out more discreetly.

When they stopped inside the palace gates, just before the royal stables, Aragorn swiftly lowered the children and dismounted. He gave the reigns to a groom, with a gentle word of thanks to his horse, and then turned back to the children. "Come, we must go to the queen immediately," he said, and held out his hands. Iryel took his left while her brother took the King's right, and they hurried with him into the palace of Minas Tirith.





Vel's shoulder ached and his fingers were numb, frozen almost. But this was nothing to him. He, Vel Ptens, conqueror of his own homeland, had faced worse injuries and-he assumed-worse odd than these.

An icy, solid hatred was growing in him and it caused him to smile, if only a little. He knew the feeling well. It only came to him when he had an opportunity to escape and kill his captors while he did it.

He let them think he was in too much pain to speak, and watched them closely. The best time to observe any creature, humans included, was when they didn't think they were being watched. ...That, or when they were frightened. Vel had a lot of experience with both forms of observation.

They had taken the arrow from his shoulder, and even bathed it in their renowned healing herbs (such things did not grow in Laskan). But Vel was not fool enough to take this as a sign of friendship. No, they wanted him alive for interrogation, and healthy for when he was to be tortured. Vel had been through similar treatment before, and in fact had done the same to countless people.

His eyes hardened with contempt, and he began to seek a way of escape. Not that he feared torture, and not that he would ever betray his plans; but one did not wish for pain, at least not on oneself.

There were two men and the Elf. He was unsure of the Elf's capabilities (the creature was blind, yet he had a feeling there were other capabilities gifted only to the Elder species) but he thought he had the men figured out.

He could not fight all of them at once. If he could separate the men, he could kill the remaining guard silently and have the Elf under his control once more. The Elf could, apparently, survive on his own, and Vel had to assume that it was possible for Glorfindel to make his way to help and alert the enemy to Vel's presence...and his injury, his isolation.

Vel began, slowly, to drag his feet ever so often. This slowed the group considerably, until at last Vel seemed barely conscious at all and they were forced to stop for the night.



It had been a long ride, and an even longer night for Legolas and his company. At last the Sun rose, spreading her warmth over a land that was wet with dew and cold with fear. Legolas had spent the night staring at the stars, worrying for Glorfindel and Arwen, Aragorn...

He watched streaks of color appear in the sky above him, thinking back to the sunrise he and Arwen and Glorfindel had seen, all those weeks ago. With a sick feeling, he realized he was no more at peace now than he had been then.

The elf prince had heard Arod behind him, pacing, but had put him out of mind until Arod rudely interrupted his thoughts by thumping his nose against Legolas's cheek. Legolas turned his clear gray eyes to his companion and found himself warmed by the spirit in Arod's red and white face.

"I am up, my friend," he assured the horse, rising gracefully to his feet. "And as I see you are refreshed, I suggest we start the day with breakfast before we move on."

Arod began his search for treats he always assumed Legolas hid in his pockets, and the elf patiently waited for his horse to finish. Arod lipped the hilt of Legolas' knife, and with a laugh the elf pushed him away. That hilt bore many scars now due to Arod's belief that it was, in fact, made of sugar cubes and not ivory.

"Sire," one of the men hissed, jogging up to Legolas. The man was red in the face and out of breath, but very excited. "I was scouting and I came upon a wolf; it was dead, half eaten in fact. Not far from there, four men were camped with a pack of wolves around them, tethered to trees."

"In which direction?"

"North, Northwest, about two or three miles from here," the soldier panted, motioning off into the thickest and darkest part of the woods.

"Alas that I was so lost in my own mind I did not see them! I hope that I can make up for my mistake now. Collerusc, gather a party of six elves and come with me. Hurry!"

Legolas was quickly joined by a group of the finest hunters of Mirkwood. They took to the trees and set off to find their enemy.



The night was windy and starless. Wisps of cloud blew across the night sky like specters' shredded tails, and the half moon could leave not even a trace of light for Vel's escorts. It seemed to the conqueror of Laskan that, aside from the clouds, they were alone in the woods.

Whatever it was that they had been bathing his wound in, it was working much more effectively than any medicine Vel had heard rumor of. His gratitude was grudging, however, as they would not leave him untied for any reason; when it came time to change his bandages, one Ranger stood watch while the other worked.

The night was an uneasy one already, only a few hours after sundown. With a quick smile, Vel reflected that it was only going to get worse as the darkness deepened around them. He could not count on anyone to come and save him, not even Gamphall...this was his escape and his alone. His captors would pay dearly.

He shifted, making it appear that he was uncomfortable, and half fell-half crawled- towards the small fire. One of the Rangers was sitting in front of it, but Vel could not see if he was asleep or not.

"My shoulder burns," he murmured after a while, when he had seen the Ranger's eyes glowing from the firelight. "I feel it may be getting worse."

The Ranger glanced at him, his expression tired or annoyed, or both. He pushed himself into a crouching position in front of Vel, leaning over him, and pushed aside Vel's tunic as much as possible.

Vel reached up, graceful and silent, but swiftly, and gripped the Ranger's trachea between his thumb and middle finger. The Ranger could make no sound as his air was cut off. His gasping went unheard by the other Rangers, who were scouting for wolves.

Vel released the Ranger when he went still, at last able to grab the coveted dagger at the dead man's belt. He cut the lower cords of his tether, hoping to keep up the appearance of being captive. Then he hid the knife under the folds of his tunic's long sleeves and listened breathlessly for the return of his enemy.

There was nothing.

"How do these men come and go so silent," he wondered aloud, feeling a slight chill in the air. "Surely they must be phantoms...or so I thought." He smirked at the mortal remains of the older man.

"Nay, not phantoms," a soft voice answered behind him. Vel started at the intrusive noise, but felt a cold blade against his neck and forced himself to be still. "Though you know this now. If it is one for whom the grave is but a temporary resting place, or one against whom your tricks cannot succeed, then you need to look no further than I." The blade was pressed deeper against his skin and the Elf's voice became a fierce hiss. "I was slain once by a creature both more honorable and terrible than you."

Vel reached up, a last effort to push the blade away and escape (this Elf was only blind, after all; once Vel was on his feet he would have the advantage) but Glorfindel felt his movement and reacted instantly, pulling the blade tight against Vel's throat and slid it sharply off.

Vel was helpless then. He bled and died there in the forest that night, for indeed his throat had been slit by an Elvish blade, wielded by one of the greatest Elven warriors who ever had served Middle-earth....

But no one saw.

More AN: Right, then. Tomorrow, I tackle Aragorn and Arwen's conversation. Suddenly hoping I didn't scare people off by killing my villain so suddenly...I blame it on the moon! It's the moon, I tell you! It's keeping me up because it's so bright tonight!