**A/N: Greetings folks! Hehehe, just when you might have thought you had this story all figured out, BAM! Along comes chapter 8, throwing in a new twist to the story. Read on and you'll see what I mean…….**
After several hours of swift riding, Legolas noticed something different in the landscape in the distance. Concentrating his gaze, he could make out the sight of a grouping of large rocks and in amongst them there were dark figures moving about the dull flicker of a campfire. Wondering if Raneth had seen this as well, he turned to ask her.
"Can you see that encampment there by the large rocks?" he questioned.
"Yes," was her short reply.
"Are they friend or foe?" he continued, pressing for more information.
"They are men," she said, before returning to her silence. The moon dimly lighted her features to display a look of impassiveness mixed with seriousness on her face. She continued directly towards the encampment of men in the distance, her eyes staring ever onwards though the endless night.
Judging by the certainty in her reply, Legolas decided that these men were at least not enemies and posed no threat for the time being. As they drew nearer, he could count about twenty there, more than he had initially thought. The two were now in full sight of the group of men, some of whom were standing upon the rocks holding torches and others with bows in their hands ready to shoot, all watching their approach. Raneth gave them a strange wave of her hand and let loose from her lips a sharp whistle followed by a long, drawn out one. The men with the bows lowered them immediately and eagerly returned her wave. Shouts could be heard from the camp as the men gathered around those on the rocks.
"Who are these men?" Legolas asked as Raneth slowed her horse down to a slight trot and motioned for him to do the same.
"Friends," she said bluntly.
Within a matter of seconds they had reached the camp, came to a stop and dismounted. As the men greeted her with familiar enthusiasm, Legolas observed that there were at least thirty, all garbed in travelling clothes similar to Raneth's. By their appearances Legolas could tell that some of these men were of Rohan and others were not, but exactly where they were from he could not say.
As she went about exchanging greetings with the men, Raneth glanced at Legolas with a strange, somewhat bemused look on her face, as though she knew something he didn't. The wavering orange light cast by the torches seemed to spark an oddly sinister glint in her eye, though it lasted for barely a second to be replaced by a look of reassurance.
"Who is this other elf you bring?" asked one of the men, eyeing Legolas with suspicion.
"Hwa fylstan dat agan," replied Raneth in a stange language.
Legolas recognized this foreign speech as Rohirric, though he could not understand a word of it. Suddenly his senses alerted him that someone was pushing his way through to crowd of men to the front where he and Raneth were. It was yet another man, though this one was clothed in dark green instead of brown and seemed to be of greater stature than the others. His golden hair gave away that he was of Rohan, and though his face showed signs of weariness and experience, Legolas guessed him less than thirty years of age.
"Daromer!" Raneth exclaimed breathlessly as soon as she saw the man. She ran over and wrapping her slender arms around his neck, embraced him with a tight grip.
"Min frendscipe, deore Raneth," sighed the man contentedly as they held each other, oblivious to everything else around them, "Ic beon bliðe dat eower eftsith."
"As am I," replied Raneth stepping back from their embrace, though one hand still rested gently on his forearm.
"I was beginning to worry about you when you did not arrive last night," said the man, Daromer, with concern, stroking a back a lock of dark hair that had fallen across her face.
"You need not worry about me, you know I can handle any problems that may arise," she assured him, grasping his hand that was running through her hair and pulling it down to plant a light kiss on the inside of his wrist.
"Yes, I know you are right. But whenever you go off on your own I cannot sleep," he told her quietly enough so that none of the others could hear, except Legolas with his elf ears. She smiled at Daromer warmly, then turned her gaze to Legolas who was standing at a distance from them.
"As for the map, yes, I am in possession of it," said Raneth hintingly, "but I have found something that is of far greater value than the map. Something that will be sure to give a much higher profit."
"What is it?" asked Daromer.
"Not what but who," Raneth corrected him, then turned her watch to Legolas, "Bearn cyninga Thranduil dat sceadu holtwudu. Daromer, you understand what I mean, do you not?"
Legolas could sense that something in her words was out of place, but he was not completely sure what it was and his morbid curiosity kept him in place.
"Yes, I think I understand. Læccan him!" commanded Daromer to the men who were standing by, "Don nic for lætan ætberstan! Make sure he stays alive."
The next thing Legolas knew was that several men were striding towards him menacingly, their swords drawn. Finally it dawned on him what was happening. Raneth had betrayed him and intended to take him captive in order to draw ransom from his father. He knew he was on his own now with no one on his side, and left to his own devices.
There was little chance for him to escape on his horse now as the men encircled him, and he was still determined as ever to gain possession of the Mirkwood map. Knowing he was on his own now with no one on his side, he readied himself for a fight. In a split second he had an arrow strung in his bow, and skilfully released it, hissing into the neck of the closest man. But that did not deter the others from approaching even closer.
Legolas knew his bow would be useless in close range combat, so he dropped it and reached for one of the daggers he kept by his side. Aiming it with exact precision, he threw in a flash of cold metal it at another man. The only weapons he still had in his possession now were his quiver of arrows and another dagger. He drew out the dagger, slightly longer than the previous one and stood his ground ready to fend off his oncoming attackers. Steel rang against steel as the edge of his dagger met a sword. He fought back fiercely as another blade came at him.
But even as he used all his strength, the men outnumbered him greatly and he could not hold them back for long. After few more moments of intense fighting, his dagger was knocked out of his hand and under the full weight of four men, he was pinned to the ground. Legolas struggled to break free, but there was no success in his attempts. He saw someone walking towards him and looked up to see who it was. It was Raneth, and with a satisfied look on her face she said to him, "The ransom of a king is no doubt little compared to the ransom of a king's son, Legolas."
**A/N: The language between Raneth and Daromer is supposed to be Rohirric. Tolkien didn't really give much detail of this language in his books except that it is supposed to be like Old English, which I very loosely based the dialogue here on. I'm not an expert or anything on it, so don't get too mad if you see lots of errors in it.
Here's a bit of translation if you want to know what they were saying:
Hwa fylstan dat agan = Someone who will help us
Min frendscipe, deore Raneth = My love, dear Raneth
Ic beon bliðe dat eower eftsith = I am glad of your return
Bearn cyninga Thranduil dat sceadu holtwudu = The son of king Thranduil of Mirkwood
Laeccan him! Don nic for laetan aetberstan! = Capture him! Do not let him escape! **
