Love of thy Father (6?)

Disclaimer: See previous parts

Notes: I will be continuing this ASAP, so Thanks to everyone that's already reviewed, and please bear with me. I WILL be finishing all my stories if you give me enough time, and remember, the Gods of Fan Fiction demand reviews!

"Past the flowing river hobbit wide, Mountain mist, Woodland dark, in the Darkened Fortress they hide. There should they die, forever in thrall shall they abide." A fell voice muttered into the dusk. The voice was not a voice made for sadness or burden. It should have been raised in song and its owner rejoicing in life. Instead it was cold as ice and the plants nearby suffered from his climbing despair, wilting just slightly.

"I wish you'd stop muttering that, Legolas." Aragorn sighed for perhaps the third time since they had arrived at the small clearing.

"We have to discover the answer, Aragorn." Legolas pointed out wearily, striding over to the human crouching down near the fire, feeding it with the small sticks already in a pile nearby. It was a testament perhaps to their worry that both Elf and Ranger failed to hear the soft thudding of the dwarf's heavy steps before he was practically on them.

"If only we had the hobbits with us now, eh?" Gimli spoke up, dumping his contribution to the firewood near his two startled companions. "As I remember it, they were always good at riddles."

It's difficult to say whether Aragorn's or Legolas' face showed the realization first. They looked at each other for a moment.

"Tell me, Master Elf, why didn't you think of that earlier!"

"I'll give you my answer when you give me yours!"

Gimli frowned at them, deciding that he didn't really want to know what was running through the heads of beings that would sit in the middle of Mirkwood forest yelling at one another.

"You damn fools, what are your rambling on about?"

"We'll depend upon the Hobbits, Gimli!"

Gimli blinked at Aragorn in confusion before turning slowly to the elf next to him.

"Legolas, can you decode rambling ranger?" He asked unsure about whether there was an enchantment on this part of the woods that made the reasonable speak nonsense.

"He's saying that we will send the Hobbit's a message, and get them to solve the riddle if we don't solve it ourselves before they do."

Aragorn nodded in agreement, his face slightly less grim than it had been earlier. Silence descended while Gimli thought about his proposition. Slowly he shook his head.

"How will we get the message to them now without going back to your halls?"

Legolas frowned thoughtfully.

"We will find one of my scouts. There should be some out this far. Meanwhile we have the best tracker in Middle Earth here, and we'll keep following them." He sighed, resting against the nearest tree "It's nearly dark, this forest is a dangerous place to travel in after nightfall so take your chance to get some rest."

They passed an uncomfortable night under the branches of Mirkwood, whoever was on watch slowly feeding dry sticks into the fire to keep it burning.

The sun climbed from it's cradle in the east, into the highest reaches of the sky where it brushed the stars before beginning to decent to it's western cradle to wait out the long hours of night. The orcs had refused to move during the daylight this time, having found a thick patch of wood to shelter in, so a small group of Uruk Hai, two of the leaders and of course their blindfolded young hostages kept going.

"Ow!"

Behind his blindfold, Lothlorn rolled his eyes at the sound of Gertol tripping over something yet again. Maybe she hadn't realized she could look out of the bottom of the coarse material, and if nothing else to see where her feet were going. He'd figured it out when dawn had broken, revealing the small slice of sunshine he'd had to strain to see through. Alleria, he guessed from the lack of noise concerned with unexpectedly tripping, had figured it out a few hours earlier. Still, the Princess would tell Gertol of this later, no doubt of it. They had shared everything in the last day, and he could hear them whispering between themselves even now, a few feet behind him. Maybe she was telling her about it now or maybe they were whispering about their fathers again.

The ground greeted him with a hard slap across the face when his toe caught in a root of an especially reproachful oak. He growled and shrugged off the course hand that dragged him to his feet once more. Fixing his eyes on the path before him he carried on determinedly, lapses like that, like taking his eyes off the path were not something that should happen. The one thing he thought he'd learnt was never to let your attention lapse.

There was silence now from the two females, and the only thing that could be heard was the marching feet of the orcs, the hooves of three horses and somewhere behind him the oak was still complaining about its hurt root. And so it stayed for a little while, his suppressed anger stopped him from hearing Gertol's muffled sniffs or Alleria's nervous habit of cracking her knuckles.

Ackler and Hersh burst into the largish room near the top of the tower that was currently serving as their inner sanctum. Hersh, the taller and undoubtedly handsomer of the pair, sprawled himself across his personal seat, turning the fairly simple padded chair into a podium, and somehow managing to display himself to his best advantage. Annoyed with his brother, Ackler tossed his cloak at him before marching smartly to his own seat situated behind the room's only desk, a grand affair with all the complicated weaving patterns of Imladris twisting and turning in their black lacquer casings, matching the carvings on the black marble flooring which spiralled outwards and up the obsidian walls, even over the bookshelves filled with scrolls and precious few codex. Behind this centrepiece, Ackler turned on his brother.

"Stop preening, you bloody wench! No one can see you!" Huffing, he all but threw himself into his bookcase until he was up to his elbows in the old scrolls. "One of these days I'll let Lob have his fun with you."

Yawning, Hersh closed his eyes, rested his finely drawn hands behind his head after tucking long silky black hair behind pointed ears. He met his brother's hostile eyes without any hesitation or any actual emotion.

"You'd do no such thing, brother mine, because while you have the brains, and Lob has the strength, I have the silver tongue required to bring about certain aspects of your plan." He stretched languidly. "You have all the charm of an Orc horde. You can't afford to kill me."

Ackler snorted and drew out a map from the wall of scrolls behind him, a small cloud of dust following it. Hersh smirked to himself and flung the cloak onto his brother's seat with a snap of the wrist. "Not yet, little brother. Not yet."

"Never, my dear Ackler. Never." Hersh smiled sharply at the frustrated look on his brother's face. "But I'm already weary of this bout of sibling rivalry. Tell me what you have planned for our young guests."

Ackler looked over at the eager look in his brothers' eyes with pleasure. At least it could be said they had that much in common, a vested interest in causing as much pain as they possibly could to their enemies. Not like Lob. No, the only things that hulking fool had ever shown any interest in was weapons, women, wine, and occasionally a bit of swift vengeance. Usually in that order he noted with a barely perceptible wrinkle of his nose from disgust. His youngest brother was infinitely better than Lob, so perhaps he could share just enough with him.

"Come here then, my ignorant brother." He flattened out the scroll set before him and weighted down the corners. In his eagerness, Hersh had launched himself out of the chair with a good deal less grace than with which he had entered it, his young face as eager for bloodshed as any dark lord could wish. "Let me tell you the next part of my plan."

Desperate to distract himself from thoughts that would only make him trip again, he had returned to his original line of thought. Never mind about what had gotten him here, what about the girls? Alleria was older than him, it was true, but only by a few months and she didn't get the sort of training that he got by living in Mirkwood, did she? Would she have figured out that if you kept moving the way your hands were positioned, their tied hands would not cramp as badly? Or that rotating your shoulders every ten minutes or so would provide temporary relief? How were either of them coping with the lack of food? The lack of rest? Someone or something tugging roughly on his ropes distracted him from these external thoughts, and their steady trudge came to a halt. His feet were aching too much, and his head packed with too much sense for him to be in the least relived by the stop. There had to be a reason.

It didn't assure him in the least when he was proved right. Rough hands once more grabbed hold of him, lifting his feet from the floor however much he struggled against it. With his eyes covered, the stench of Orcs so close about him almost overwhelmed his senses, and his ears pricked from the sheer noise of their armour combined with their thumping feet.

AUTHORS NOTE:

I realise that it's been an unbeliveably long time since I last updated my fics, but I promise you I will set about finishing this one first after my exams finish in May. Until then, please be patient just a few weeks more, and take a look at my rewrites of the first three chapters to tide you over.