Hello, I'm back with more of my story. The disclaimer on Chapter One still stands.

Thank you to Faer and Jess for leaving me reviews. Encouragement is always appreciated, as are reviews. :)

[A/N] At the end of the chapter there are references to about three different places, all around the border between Mordor and Gondor, and I have no idea how to explain the geography. Just imagine Gondor, Mordor, and Amon Hen (where Boromir died) as three points on a triangle, and all the stuff I mention as being inside that triangle.

– CHAPTER FIVE –

Gimli knelt down next to the hysterical woman. "Madam! Calm yourself," he ordered her, but Tiri was too caught up in the situation to heed his command.

"Eldarion!" she continued screaming, and Gimli cursed in his native tongue as her cries gained the attention of the humans standing nearby. Gimli, left with no other alternative, slapped his hand over her mouth and twisted her head so that he could glare into her eyes. Tiri's eyes widened as she stared into the face of a very irate dwarf.

"Listen to me, woman," he growled. "Do you wish to attract more attention to the prince's plight, and further endanger him?" Tiri was frozen stiff with fear. "Do not call out to him again. The elf is following him, and will bring him back, but he will need help." Tiri blinked, and Gimli swallowed another curse. "You can help the prince by coming with me and telling Lord Aragorn what has transpired." Her eyes seemed to widen even more at this, and finally Gimli didn't hold it against her. He did not relish telling Aragorn that Eldarion had been kidnaped, either. "If I release you, will you hold your cries to yourself?" he demanded, and this time Tiri was able to feebly nod her head. Gimli grunted in approval and removed his hand from her mouth. Tiri took a few deep breaths, and clutched at her heart. "Are you injured, madam?"

"No, I am well," Tiri replied weakly.

"Come, and we will find the King." Gimli held out his hand to help her stand, but Tiri did not want to touch the weird creature anymore. Shakily, she pushed herself to her feet, fruitlessly trying to brush the dust off her skirts.

"Oh, the Queen shall have my head for this," Tiri mourned herself.

"Nay, Arwen is good and just, and it was not your fault," Gimli assured her.

"I should have been more wary."

"Do not blame yourself, for it will grow tiresome," Gimli grumbled, and started towards the grandstands. Tiri followed a few steps behind him, trying to recollect her few personal possessions and trying to decide to whom she would bequeath what after her premature demise.

They reached the stands sooner than either of them would have liked. The guards recognized Tiri, and were immediately concerned by her appearance and fact that the prince wasn't present. She started to stutter some sort of explanation, but Gimli would have none of their dawdling. He shoved between the two guards and started up the stairs, his heavy footfalls alerting all above him of his imminent approach. He reached the top step and glanced at the curious people eying him. "Aragorn!" he stated. "I must have a word with you."

"Gimli... it is the last shot of the competition," Aragorn replied carefully. He didn't understand the dwarf's urgency. "Can it wait but five minutes?"

"If your son's life can wait five minutes," Gimli snapped. Aragorn's eyes widened, and there was a gasp from behind him. Gimli peered around him to see Arwen standing, but her eyes were not on the dwarf, but rather the woman behind him. Arwen took in Tiri's dirty dress and mused hair, as well as the bruise that was forming on her cheek with an eerie resemblance to a human hand, and knew that much was amiss. Faramir had also stood, and moved now to his King's side, leaving Éowyn in her seat, looking over fearfully. A roaring cheer rose from the crowd below them, for the archery competition had ended. Now, the King cared not who won.

"Let us go then," Aragorn said quietly, ushering Gimli and Tiri towards the back corner where they could converse privately. Arwen was desperate to hear what had befallen her only son, but she saw that her daughters were also upset, and needed her reassurances. If only she could reassure herself.

"What saw you?" Aragorn demanded of Gimli in a hissed whisper. "And where... where is Legolas?"

"Aye, that I will tell ye," Gimli replied. "Legolas and I were returning, as the silly elf wanted to see the end of the archery competition, and we chanced a sight of your bonny lad playing a carnival game. The game, I might add, he was very bad at. Ye might consider it wise to learn him something about throwing stones."

"Gimli, I pray to the Valar that you have not adopted Legolas' confounded means of speaking in circles during the time you've spent with him," Aragorn said in frustration. "What happened to dwarves speaking directly to the point?"

"I'll have ye know, King, that a dwarf would never pick up the mannerisms of a flighty elf," Gimli defended himself. Aragorn groaned audibly.

"I apologize, good friend, I meant no disrespect. Please, tell me what happened to Eldarion!"

"Apology grudgingly accepted, under the circumstances," Gimli glared at him. Aragorn motioned for him to continue. "Aye, the boy was playing the stone-throwing game, which he was not very good at..." Gimli raised an eyebrow, daring Aragorn to comment. He was satisfied when the man remained silent, and continued, "when a dark stranger moved from behind the stand and grabbed the boy. The worker struck the woman, obviously in partnership with the dark stranger, then took off after them. Legolas is currently on their trail."

"Legolas ran after the men who took Eldarion?" Aragorn confirmed. Gimli nodded, and Aragorn breathed a slight sigh of relief. He knew the elf would stop at nothing until the prince was safe again. He looked to Gimli to give him a brief smile, but instead his eyes landed at the dwarf's middle, where no axe rested. "Gimli, where is your axe?"

"My axe? Why, I left it in the palace. Legolas and I agreed that we already scared the people enough as it was, and at the fair, there would be no need for an axe or arrows." Aragorn looked stricken at this information.

"Fool elf," he muttered, now worried for both his friend and his son.

*

Legolas quickly came to the same realization that Aragorn had as he ran through the twisted dark alleys of Minas Tirith; he was chasing two possibly dangerous men, and he was unarmed. Not completely at risk, however, for he had two small daggers on him, one hidden in his right boot, and the other in his left gauntlet. They would not do much for him in battle, but at least they were something.

After leaving Gimli with the frantic nurse, Legolas had darted around the fair stand and was confronted with two dark alleys. He stood silently for only a moment, until his keen Elven ears picked up the sound of retreating footsteps. Two men, one holding something burdensome, he grinned, and started silently down the alley.

The two men had taken great advantage of the extremely short head start they had been given, and it took Legolas a while to catch a sight of them, though he could usually hear their heavy steps. He finally caught sight of them as they reached the gate that led out of the great walled city, and slowed with slight relief. The guards would undoubtedly stop the two men, and rescue the prince. Legolas was shocked, then, when the two men ran right up to the gate, and one of the guards moved to open it for them! Grinding his teeth together in a manner that he had picked up from Gimli, and also Aragorn on occasion, Legolas charged forward again. Obviously, the spiteful lies the men had been spreading reached further than just the common folk.

Legolas reached the gate, and was not wholly surprised to be stopped by the same guard that had let the two men pass with his prince. "I must ask your reason for leaving so suddenly, Master Elf," he said, with barely concealed hostility. Legolas decided that he wasn't going to honor the man with an answer. Instead, he leveled him with a Look that only one of the Firstborn were capable of, one that would have made an any lesser man wet himself. The guard still took a cautious step back, his hand going to the sword at his side.

"It is obvious that you fail to still honor your King," Legolas seethed, "but failing in your duty to protect a citizen of Gondor is a failure to honor your captain, and most of all, your country." The man audibly gulped, and suddenly felt shame at what he had done. It would have been un-elflike to roll his eyes, so Legolas refrained. He was about to demand the guard open the gate when a second one walked up, sword already drawn.

"Hey, Beregond, are you gonna let a shifty elf talk to you like that?" he asked. He nearly spat the word "elf." Legolas didn't give Beregond a chance to reply. He moved forward and unsheathed the man's sword before either even realized what was going on. Fighting with the two guards would be a waste of time, so Legolas turned and dashed towards the gate. It was locked, and there was no way he could break the lock. He jumped straight up once he reached the iron bars and caught the top rung, just out of reach of the traitorous guards that tried to drag him back down. He slid the sword into his belt so he could have both hands free and nimbly climbed over the top and dropped down the other side. The guards were trying to unlock the gate to chase him, but in their haste they couldn't fit the key in the lock correctly.

"Just let 'im go. Gondor is glad to see 'im gone," the man who had addressed Beregond earlier said.

Legolas spotted the two men about a mile away, taking horses from a waiting farmer. The dark man threw Eldarion's limp body over the saddle and then mounted, tugging the reins of the horse sharply. The horse reared up on its hind legs, but could not unseat its rider. It came down into a hard gallop, which the worker found hard to keep up with.

Putting his innate Elvish endurance and speed to the test, Legolas started after them, thankful that the riders did not control the beasts well, which slowed them down. The riders stayed along the outskirts of the Druadan Forest, which kept them easily in sight. Unfortunately, they were quickly approaching the Anduin and the wetlands just under the foot of Ephel Duath, the shadowy mountain range that divided the evil land of Mordor from Gondor. It would be harder for Legolas to follow them without giving himself away, as there were less trees to duck behind.

The men rode to a copse of trees just before the Anduin and Nindalf[1], where Legolas could see numerous other men waiting, all seated on horseback. A quick count revealed that there were twenty of them. The elf could not fathom why so many men were needed, when two had successfully captured the prince. His question was soon answered as a man Legolas had never seen before barked a short order, which Legolas could barely hear, but not make out the words, and then three quarters of the men started riding directly at him. The remaining riders, including the man that held Eldarion, continued fleeing North.

Releasing a Dwarven curse he had picked up from Gimli, Legolas frantically tried to come up with a means of escape. He had no long range weapons, and by the time the men were upon him so he could use his newly acquired sword and daggers, he would not be able to fight them off. Had it been fifteen Orcs running his way, Legolas wouldn't have minded, but men were notoriously smarter than the foul creatures of Mordor, and they rode horses, giving them an advantage of height.

Suddenly, a memory flashed through Legolas' mind. He was again on the Quest of the One Ring, with the Fellowship. The remaining eight members of the Fellowship had just reached Amon Hen and were under siege by the Uruk-hai. The Horn of Gondor had been blown. Boromir was defending Merry and Pippin. The hobbits were throwing rocks at the Uruk-hai to try to slow their advance.

A grim smile broke across Legolas' face. It was not the means of defending himself that Legolas was most keen on using, but retreating was not an option, and he had not his bow and arrows. He quickly scanned the ground for some fist sized rocks and picked up as many as he could carry. The men were closing the distance between them quickly, and Legolas took a calming breath. He waited until the men were within five fathoms of him, and then threw the first rock as hard as he could, aiming for the lead rider's head.

He had, fortunately, much better aim that Eldarion and hit the man neatly in the middle of his forehead, knocking him from his horse and unconscious. Pleased that his plan had worked, Legolas launched more rocks at them, successfully knocking four more men off of their horses and stunning at least three others. He continued throwing the stones until the riders were upon him, and then he drew the sword he had lifted from the honor-less guard. "Valar, berianin," he asked silently, glancing briefly towards the West. Moments later, he was surrounded.

tbc...

[1] "...down into the Nindalf, the Wetwang as it is called in your tongue. That is a wide region of sluggish fen where the stream becomes torturous and much divided." -Celeborn, The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien. This is part of the same marshland as the Dead Marshes.

Valar, berianin = Valar, protect me (Sindarin)

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