To Walk In Night

by Nili

Just before Aragorn should travel back to Rivendell, a Mirkwood patrol is attacked and Legolas captured. When Aragorn finally finds him and his captors, both come to realise that a dark force is stirring in Rhûn that might destroy all they hold dear.

19. Shadowplay

Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

A/N:

Well, yes, I liked Reran too. I like most of my villains, I even liked Teonvan in the beginning. *ducks rotten fruit* I said, in the beginning. I don't like him anymore. He's beginning to scare me - and my alter ego, and that's not easily done... *g* Anyway, I'm sorry for killing him. Once again, the plot demanded it. He died for the greater good, or, in this case, for the plausibility of the story, if there even is such a thing here. *frowns* No comments about that, please.

I have to ask you once again though: Please - don't - kidnap - my - characters. I really don't know what it is about Celylith that makes several people want to kidnap him, and some have even started to stalk Celythramir. What is it with you people and silver hair? *g* So please: Leave them alone. I need them for the story, both of them, and they're beginning to get increasingly paranoid. *huggles them* Poor elves.

Oh, and just to let you know: I have two evil college papers due soon, so the update-rhythm might change from six to seven days. I didn't said it will, it just ... might. It won't be longer than a week since, no matter how much I have to do for college, I can still easily write a chapter a week, but I wanted to warn you beforehand. *smiles sweetly* I knew you'd understand.

Alright, here we are, they finally arrive at the evil lord's town! Yay them! Apart from that, we also meet the mysterious delegates from the South - anyone who can tell me what their and their lord's names mean gets a. a cookie, b. a copy of Teonvan's book "How to torture people and get away with it" or c. a clone of one of my OCs. I can't clone Tolkien's characters, sorry. *g*

Enjoy and review, please!

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Chapter 19

He was standing at the edge of the camp, his back to a large, comfortingly solid tree and his eyes wandering from one dark, silent tent to the next. It was still dark for sunrise was still at least an hour away, and yet he felt neither the urge nor the inclination to take some rest.

Cendan smiled thinly to himself. Yesterday he had overheard several of his men talking about how he didn't sleep anymore; they had been wondering how he was able to keep functioning without rest. They had been wrong, of course: He did sleep, but as little as possible and only where he was safe and couldn't be found. He was no fool, after all, and he didn't intend to make the same mistake Reran had. He would not be caught off his guard by Teonvan and his lieutenants.

The young dark haired man gritted his teeth, marvelling that it didn't produce any audible sound. He knew that Teonvan had killed Reran. He also knew that he would never be able to prove it; Teonvan was the captain now. In addition to that, Teonvan was one of their lord's favourites, and he knew whom their liege would rather believe: A commander who was in his favour or a lieutenant who still had little experience and was in addition to that also half-Easterling. Cendan growled inwardly. He could as well kill himself right here and now, the result would be about the same.

Still, he wished he could take his knife and kill Teonvan, wished he could watch how the mocking, teasing light in the brown haired man's eyes died with his body. How such a worthless creature and insufferably bad soldier had managed to surprise a man like Reran he would never understand – he had probably taken his two lieutenants with him, he reasoned, Caellan and Lybran, men who were just as despicable as their commander.

He had liked Reran, somehow; the older man had been a good and just captain, despite his sometimes fierce temper. He had always done his best to get all his men back home alive and in one piece, as a good captain should. Cendan wouldn't say that he had been Reran's friend, for that too much distrust and fear of their lord had stood between them, but that didn't matter in the slightest. The blonde man had been his superior, his captain. Whether he had liked him or not was of no importance, he had owed him his respect and loyalty and it had been his duty to protect him.

A duty he had failed, he thought darkly. Reran had died alone and abandoned, and he hadn't done anything to help him. Among his mother's people loyalty and honour were held in the highest esteem, and a soldier who hadn't managed to protect his superior's life deserved nothing but scorn and contempt.

And for that, for making him fail his duty as much as for killing his captain, he would kill Teonvan, one day. He wouldn't forget this, not as long as he lived. No matter how long it took, one day he would thrust his knife into the man's heart and watch him die with a smile on his lips. Vendettas weren't as common among his mother's people as they were for example among the Haradrim in the South, but it was still common enough a tradition for his blood to scream for vengeance.

And he would have his vengeance, eventually. He didn't know when and he didn't know how, but he would have it, that he swore by all the Gods in the Heavens. He didn't know where Reran's soul was at the moment, but he was sure the older man would appreciate the gesture.

But for that, he concluded silently, still not having moved an inch from where he was leaning against the tree, he would have to bide his time and avoid getting himself killed like his late captain. He had to admit that he was somewhat surprised that Teonvan hadn't tried anything yet, that he had neither tried to kill him too nor to have some "fun" with the prisoners. The only explanation he had been able to come up with was one he still thought highly doubtful: Teonvan wasn't as stupid as he had first thought.

He had never believed he would say that one day, but it appeared that the commander – no, the captain, he corrected himself wryly – was clever enough to know that the men wouldn't tolerate more of his foolishness. Right now, they wouldn't mention the little episode with Teonvan and the elf from a week ago, for that they were too afraid of what the man might do, but if he continued his little "games" and damaged the elf further, possibly so much that he died before they could deliver him to their lord, it just might be enough to make sure that something … slipped. A few hints here and a few pointed remarks there and the whole story would come out. Teonvan wouldn't want to risk that.

All in all, it was a situation Cendan could live with, because, otherwise, he would have to confront Teonvan openly, something that would be just short of suicide. He was still a little surprised, but Teonvan hadn't touched one of the prisoners, apart from a little blow here and there that they had even deserved most of the time. He had yet to meet more infuriating and more annoying creatures than the elf and the ranger, and he was rather certain that they didn't exist either. Lasseg had regained much of his former strength already and the cuts and bruises had almost completely faded, something that filled Cendan to equal parts with wonder and suspicion.

Back at home elves were regarded as something out of myths and were not exactly held in high regard. They were said to be dangerous, unpredictable and malicious, and more than half of the stories also claimed that even though they were beautiful to behold they were in reality evil spirits that inhabited fair bodies to torment mankind. Cendan had never been sure if that was the truth or not, and he had come close to abandoning such ideas since the elf they had captured seemed real and un-wraithlike enough (besides, he bled rather convincingly, too), but the elf's miraculously quick healing had put him on edge.

He did not trust the elf, and he did not trust the ranger. Both caused a quiet conviction to grow inside of him, and it wasn't the conviction that both of them were not going to give him anymore trouble. No, it was the conviction that, this time, their lord had made a grave error and that to get involved with rangers and elves was dubious at best, if not positively idiotic. That was something he would of course never say aloud, let alone say aloud in front of their lord, but it was what he was beginning to accept as the truth. These two were going to be trouble, even more than they already were.

The young man was still musing about the general unfairness and dangerousness of the world when a grey shadow stepped out of one of the tents and began to walk up to him, careful to make enough noise so Cendan would hear him and keeping his hands raised at his sides. All men knew that it wasn't a clever idea to surprise their lieutenant – those who did quite often found themselves pinned against a tree with a knife against their throats.

It took only a few seconds for the man to come close enough for Cendan to identify him: It was Menvan, one of his men who had been under his command ever since he had been promoted to Lieutenant three years ago. The most – and only – striking things about his outward appearance were his large, dark brown eyes that, right now, looked a little bit unsure, an expression that was to be seen there very seldom. The rest of Menvan was average: Average height, average weight, average looks. The young man was in fact so average that it was hard to remember what he looked like, even if one had seen him only a few seconds ago – which, of course, made him the perfect spy.

Menvan, however, had always said that he was far too attached to life (and his head) to become a spy and had therefore rather joined the army – a course of action that spoke for the man's intelligence. Spies who were caught by those they were sent to spy on were treated kindly in no realm Cendan could think of, and in most cases their deaths were a gruesome and exceedingly painful affair.

No, Menvan was right not to have chosen such a career, besides, the man was the born soldier. He was bright, able to shake the most amazing plans out of his sleeve (which even worked for most of the time) and more skilled with the blade than most men Cendan knew. He wouldn't be able to hit a house with a crossbow or an arrow even if he were standing right in front of it, but everyone had his weakness. Menvan, however, had fewer than most, and many men had died because they had thought him to be an easy victim because of his ordinary appearance. Cendan shrugged inwardly. Only fools judged their adversaries by their appearance.

A few moments later, the man had reached the lieutenant's side and came to a stop next to him, flicking a strand of brown hair out of his face.
"Good morning, sir."

Cendan forced his thoughts off Reran, Teonvan, his lord, their prisoners and Menvan's character and looked at the other man, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.
"Mornings usually involve light and the sun, Menvan, do they not?"

"Aye, sir," the man shrugged nonchalantly, but with a calculating expression on his face. "Usually, they do. But the men say you don't sleep anymore."

"Nonsense," the dark haired lieutenant shook his head, a part of him asking inwardly why he was even indulging this man. Probably because he was a good and loyal soldier, he finally thought. Menvan would never turn on him like Teonvan had turned on Reran. "Everyone has to sleep, even the elf."

Menvan looked at the other man with a sparkle in his eyes that very much said that he didn't believe a single word he had said, but refrained from protesting.
"If you say so, sir."

"Yes," Cendan nodded, a hint of a warning in his voice, "I do say so." He returned his eyes to the camp, noting that the other man avoided his gaze. "We'll reach the city this afternoon."

Menvan nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on his snow-dusted boot tips. Cendan wasn't in a very good mood – which was only understandable – and he would most definitely not bother his lieutenant by offering his opinions.

"I want you to send a messenger ahead before we leave," Cendan went on. "Pick the fastest rider and send him off at dawn. I am sure our lord wishes to be informed of our impending arrival."

"Yes, sir," Menvan nodded, wincing inwardly. Their impending late arrival; because of the whole business with the ranger they were almost a day late. He winced again. Their lord would not be happy about that.

"And make sure the prisoners' guards are doubled," Cendan added. "Now is their last chance to escape. I intend to prevent that, even if the … captain does not think it a possible threat."

"But you do?" Menvan asked quietly.

"Yes," Cendan nodded slowly, "Yes, I do. I think the elf's a lot stronger than he and the ranger want us to believe. I think his continuing 'weakness' is just a ruse to make sure that we won't get rid of the ranger." He nodded again. "They're clever; I have to give them that."

"And you haven't told Comman..., I mean, Captain Teonvan?" Menvan asked again, deciding to seize this chance to ask Cendan as long as he was in a rather talkative mood, something that did not happen very often.

"No, Menvan, I have not," Cendan shook his head, fixing blue eyes on the other man's face, apparently not at all bothered by his words. "And I see that you haven't either. Don't try to fool me with that daft, harmless expression of yours, I know you are a lot smarter than you let on. Captain Teonvan will have to come to that conclusion all by himself."

Menvan raised his head, and the somewhat timid façade he usually wore faded so quickly that it was hard to tell that it had ever been there.
"You have our support, Lieutenant, whatever you choose to do," he told the dark haired man. "If you wish it, the men will … let certain things slip. Nothing specific, of course, but enough to ensure that Teonvan will fall out of favour for good."

Cendan didn't react, his eyes still boring into Menvan's large brown ones. He knew that it was a sign of immense loyalty that the men were willing to do that, for him or for their dead captain, but it wasn't what he wanted. To have Teonvan fall out of their lord's favour what not enough, not nearly enough.

"You should be careful with such offers, Menvan," he told the brown haired soldier, his face calm and expressionless. "Should someone not as lenient as I hear them, you might pay dearly for them."

"As Captain Reran did, sir?" the other man replied, hatred and anger in his usually calm brown eyes. "I asked around, Lieutenant, inconspicuously, of course. No-one's seen the commander or his two … goons that evening, not between the time the captain left and about two hours before the scouts returned. They were gone for at least an hour, and no one knows where they went. Does that not strike you as odd?"

Cendan did not react, but inwardly he gritted his teeth very strongly. He had not had the means to ask these questions himself because that would have drawn too much attention, but Menvan hadn't had that problem. If he said no-one had seen Teonvan and his lieutenants, no-one had seen them, which only proved what he already knew.

"That will be enough, soldier," he said calmly.

The brown haired man was about to say more, but noted the dangerous sparkle in the other man's eyes just in time.
"Yes, sir."

"You will get the messenger ready," Cendan said, his voice hard and steely. He raised his eyes to the sky that was still rather dark. "Now would be good."

"Yes, sir," Menvan repeated obediently and turned to walk back to the camp, only to be halted in mid-motion by his superior's serious voice.

"Menvan," Cendan's voice cut through the cold, icy air like the steel of a blade, "I will forget your words, for I know you to be a good and loyal soldier. Let me give you a piece of advice though: Do not repeat them to anyone, not even to men of your unit. I would hate to find you with your throat cut one morning. Or," he added after a second, "to be there when they drag what is left of you out of the dungeons to be executed. Do you understand me?"

The middle-sized man looked at him with his large eyes and finally nodded. He didn't know what his superior was planning or even if he was planning something, but if Lieutenant Cendan gave you advice, you did well not to disregard it.
"Yes, Lieutenant," he said as he bowed his head slightly. "I understand. I'll get the messenger ready and not speak of it again."

"I hope so," Cendan nodded. "Because you'll lose your head in both cases if you don't. Go."

The other man merely nodded again and turned around, quickly disappearing into the direction of the tents. Cendan remained where he was for a long time, and only after the messenger had left, the sun had risen and most of the men had begun to stir did he return to the camp.

He was not stupid enough to try and challenge Teonvan now, he thought as he wandered down the soft slope into the waking camp. Now every such a thing would lead to the one, unmistakable and unchangeable end result: His untimely and painful death. Now that the burial had taken place he had no real proof, and his liege would never believe him. All he could do now was to ruin Teonvan's career, for if they got back with the elf and without Reran to insist on Teonvan's punishment, their lord would hardly kill him for losing his temper. And that, he thought darkly once more, was not enough.

No, he would bide his time, he decided as he reached the main fireplace. He would bide his time and be patient, and when Teonvan thought himself safe he would strike and finally end this despicable man's life, with his own hands and a smile on his lips.

It was a glorious day, everybody could see that. What most people couldn't see, however, was that there were other reasons for that except the wonderful weather – which really was quite exceptional. The sky was of a clear blue colour, there wasn't a cloud in sight, and the sun beamed down on the lands in earnest, warming the cold winter air.

The man standing on top of the outer ramparts smiled slightly, a sight that astonished half of the guards standing at a respectful distance and terrified the rest. Their lord seldom smiled in public, and when he did it was even more seldom a good sign. The dark-clad man, however, did not care in the slightest about what feelings he awoke in his soldiers. All he cared for at the moment was the fact that, a few hours ago, a messenger had arrived here bearing the news he had been waiting for.

He turned around and leaned back against the wall, looking into the direction of the castle. It was a castle too, in the truest meaning of the word: Imposing, tall grey walls formed tall grey buildings with few windows and even fewer decorations. The courtyards were bustling with people, most of them armed and wearing the livery of his house. It was a sight that usually filled him with satisfaction, and yet he found that he was too … anxious to feel anything but fevered anticipation.

The man frowned. He wasn't used to feeling anxious; it was a state of mind he was almost entirely unfamiliar with, or at least had been for long, long years now. He didn't approve of anxiousness, it was a state of mind that was typical for undisciplined, short-sighted and weak people. He was none of these things, something no-one in a radius of more than a hundred miles would have disputed.

That was mainly because most people in a radius of more than a hundred miles were neither stupid nor suicidal, but it was also the truth. He was going to achieve what generations of his forefathers had only dreamt of, and he was going to achieve it soon, or in fact now.

It was still a little bit hard to believe, he thought, even though he had spoken with the messenger himself less than three hours ago, or rather spoken to the messenger who had been too afraid to even raise his head. It was a behaviour that, under normal circumstances, would have either made him furious or have amused him, depending on how bad his mood was, but today it had simply caused him to dismiss the man with an impatient move of his hand.

Well, no matter how hard to believe it was: His men would be arriving today, or to be more precise, about now, which was the reason why he was out here on the outer ramparts of the castle anyway. And the most interesting thing about it was that they were bringing the elf with them, or rather an elf. He didn't really care who he was as long as he told him what he wanted to know; his identity was of no importance, none whatsoever.

For a moment, he considered the very remote possibility that the elf wouldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, an idea he abandoned almost instantaneously. The only thing that could destroy his plans now would be that the elf couldn't tell him what he wanted to know, not that he wouldn't. He was a man who saw violence and fear as a way to rule and a way to ensure that he kept ruling, and no-one knew better than he that Glamir was a master of his craft. He smiled thinly to himself. Oh yes, the elf would tell him everything he wanted to hear, it would only take some time, that was all. They were on a tight schedule, yes, but he still had time enough to watch his master torturer break the elf should he prove to be a stubborn one.

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't notice that a servant was walking up to him slowly and hesitantly, his grey and black livery in stark contrast to the costly robes the two men wore who were following him, projecting an air of indifference that marked them as outsiders. The servant traded a short look with the soldiers of their liege's personal bodyguard, only to receive an almost imperceptible shrug from one of the younger men. Wonderful, the man thought to himself, hesitating for the smallest moment. That was just his kind of luck, wasn't it, having to interrupt their lord when he was thinking…

After another moment he plucked up his courage and began to walk up to the dark-clad man who was still staring blindly at the castle, oddly comforted by the quiet, somewhat menacing presence of the two men at his back. It was they who had insisted on speaking with his lord, after all; it hadn't been his idea to climb up here and risk his life by disturbing his liege. He wasn't that stupid, none of the servants was, in fact.

When he was a mere ten feet away the dark haired man's head turned sharply to the side, and cold, slightly furious eyes scrutinised the servant who felt the distinct urge to jump over the wall to his right to ensure he didn't suffer too long before the end. It was at least forty feet down, and to fall to one's death was an incomparably quicker and cleaner death than angering his lord.

For a moment, the man truly contemplated jumping, before he sighed inwardly and bowed low before the other man, his eyes fixed firmly on his lord's expensive footwear once he straightened up again.
"Lord Súliat's delegates wished to see you, sir. They said it was most urgent."

The dark haired man nodded slowly, his anger at being disturbed dissipating when he looked at the two solemn-faced men behind the almost trembling servant. He did not know what they wanted, but he could very well guess. He sighed inwardly. He had known everything couldn't simply stay as good as it currently was.

"Go," he simply said and waved a hand into the servant's direction. He didn't look at the man who was scurrying off so fast that he might as well have been wearing winged shoes on his feet and turned slightly to the left, fixing an authoritative stare on the men of his bodyguard. "Leave us," he added quietly.

The soldier's captain looked up sharply and gave the two emissaries a dark glare, but nodded his head and motioned his men to retreat. The men walked down the rather narrow walkway to stop a few more paces away; still close enough to be able to intervene if their lord was threatened in any way but far away to offer some privacy. They didn't withdraw completely, of course – neither they nor their liege were stupid, after all.

The dark-clad man waited for the guards to withdraw to a respectful distance before he turned around, beginning to walk down the walkway into the direction of the nearest tower which were integrated into the ramparts at regular intervals. The two delegates were in the position to ask for a meeting at any time, but there was no reason to agree to one without letting them know who was in charge here.

"Come," he told the two men who had given him quick bows once he had turned into their direction. "Join me on a walk to the tower."

The older of the two looked at his companion and hurried to catch up with the dark haired lord, not willing to be left behind just like that.
"You promised us an audience yesterday, my lord, yet when we arrived at the appointed place at the appointed time we were told you were, what was the term … busy?"

"I was busy," the man ground out, trying to remind himself that he needed the money the lord of these two offered. Up until now the mysterious Lord Súliat had paid the gold he had promised, and if that source of income dried up… No, he thought quickly, he didn't want that.

"I see," the delegate said, drawing the words out in a way that conveyed that he seriously doubted the validity of the man's words. "Well, then…"

The dark haired man whirled around, a look of such fury on his face that it caused the two men to stop in mid-step.
"I am not sure I like your tone," he hissed at the older emissary. "Nor do I like what you are implying. Are you accusing me of lying, delegate?"

"No, of course not, my lord," the other man quickly bowed his head. "It is not my place to question the actions of one of my lord's allies."

"I hope so, my Lord Sangwar," the dark-clad man nodded, obviously carefully reining in his emotions. "I seriously hope so, or I would have to terminate the treaty with your lord by sending him your head and that of the young Lord Halyo."

"That would be most unfortunate indeed, my lord," the older man nodded, beginning to follow the other man who was slowly beginning to climb up the steps leading to the top of the watchtower. "Yet the treaty is why we are here. There seem to have been some delays, I understand?"

"No," the dark haired man shook his head slightly, "No delays. The plans stand. We march out in a week. Your lord will get your war, don't worry."

"My lord is not interested in war," the delegate shook his head as well, a calculating sparkle in his eyes. "He has merely seen a chance to aid you in regaining what is rightfully yours."

The other man stopped shortly, looking at both of them with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Of course," he nodded wryly.

Sangwar narrowed his eyes slightly at the other man's back, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that died as quickly as it had come.
"Yet I understand that you delayed your departure to wait for the arrival of some of your men, is that not correct?"

The dark haired man stopped on a small landing about three-quarters up the tower, turning back to face the two other men. He waited for a moment to make sure that his bodyguards who had certainly followed him had stopped as well before he began to speak, his voice flat and barely controlled.

"I do owe no-one an account of my actions or decisions, my Lord Sangwar," he began slowly, in a tone of voice that caused even the older delegate to inwardly nod his head in approval. "Yet I am willing to indulge you to a certain degree, in the name of the treaty between your lord and myself. If you have a question to ask, ask it here and now, unless you wish to test my temper with petty insinuations."

Sangwar might be many things, but he was neither stupid nor reckless, inexperienced or unskilled in the art of diplomacy.
"As you wish, my lord. I ask of you then: What do you want with an elf?"

The other man did not reply for a few seconds but merely stared at the two delegates, in his mind deciding that he had underestimated these men, and had underestimated them greatly. He should have known that they wouldn't remain in their quarters all day and do what they were told, but he honestly did not know from where they had managed to get this information. Only a few members of his war council knew about his plans of capturing an elf, and he was rather sure that these two were not part of his war council.

"I," he began, taking a slow step forward, "I would be very much interested in how you obtained that information. Very much interested indeed."

Sangwar did not move an inch or averted his eyes, proving that, apart from a shrewd and skilled diplomat, he was also no coward.
"A rumour I heard somewhere, my lord; nothing more, nothing less. It is true then?"

The man narrowed his eyes and refrained from losing his temper, something he was not used to. If he wanted to lose his temper, then lose his temper he did, and whoever crossed his way paid the price. That he couldn't harm either of the two men standing on front of him began to irk him immensely, especially considering their sometimes less than subservient nature.

He was still not sure what he should think of the two delegates his mysterious benefactor had sent these few weeks ago. The only thing he was sure of was that neither their lord's name nor theirs were real and that they were far cleverer than he had first thought. The first was proven by the small sparkle in their eyes that was visible every time the men heard their names or that of their lord, a sparkle that looked as if they were laughing about a joke only they understood, and the second by the fact that they had somehow managed to find out things only about ten other people in this city should know. The man smiled inwardly. He would have to have a talk with his war council, wouldn't he…

"It is of no concern to you," he finally answered curtly. "All you – and your lord, for that matter – need to know is that we will proceed as planned. The elf is part of the plan, and has been since the beginning."

Sangwar cocked his head to the side, his interest apparently piqued.
"I have met a few elves in my lifetime, my lord, and luckily never as enemies. They are a proud, arrogant, strong people. To make him co-operate with you might prove harder than you think. Besides, what do you hope to learn from him?"

The dark haired man gave the two emissaries a small smile, a smile that could have been taken right from their own lord's face, so full was it of hidden meaning and quiet menace.
"Oh, he will co-operate with me, trust me on this, gentlemen. He will tell me everything I want to know and everything I might want to know before this week is over."

He turned and once again began to climb the rough stone steps, followed by the two other men who traded a long look behind the other's back. It was clear that the man did not intend to divulge what he was planning with the elf. Just as well, Sangwar thought amusedly, they'd find out anyway. Everywhere, even here, there were people who were willing to share certain bits of information for the right price. If there was one thing he had learned as envoy in his lord's service, it was that every man had his price.

They reached the thick wooden door leading out onto the tower's platform and the dark haired man stopped, turning back to them with an intense, almost fanatical gleam in his eyes.

"I understand your concerns," he told them slowly, obviously having to fight with himself to remain so civil. "Yet I can assure you that everything is going according to plan. We will be ready to march in a week, even if the elf might be unwilling to share his knowledge with us."

"So he is no important part of your plan, my lord?" the younger of the two asked for the first time, awaking in the dark-clad man the powerful urge to have his tongue permanently removed. Who was this whelp to question him, envoy or not?

"Yes and no, my Lord Halyo," he said rather friendly and with an undertone in his voice that conveyed his displeasure at having to answer to someone who could be hardly older than thirty summers. "Everything else is in place. All I want is … reassurance, you could say."

The older of the two men shot his companion a very pointed look that told him rather clearly that he could expect drastic repercussions if he didn't stay silent, and inclined his head to the dark haired man, raising it again to study him closely.
"We've heard that you managed to convince the Easterlings' ambassadors not to cut each other's throats while serving you. May I congratulate you on that achievement?"

The other man gazed at the two with an emotionless face, proving to Sangwar once again what he had been suspecting from the very beginning: This rather unstable man didn't possess the slightest sense of humour.

"You are remarkably well informed," the lord nodded at the older man.

Sangwar shook his head and moved his hands in a vague gesture that was apparently meant to describe the many unexpected things that happened in the world and a man's inability to influence his fate.
"Since we seldom leave the castle, my lord, we hear many things."

The other man grimaced inwardly, ignoring the innocent expression on the envoys' faces. Of course the two of them didn't leave the castle, he had forbidden it after all. And one could say many thing about Lord Súliat's delegates, but they weren't stupid and knew exactly which lines not to cross.

"Then let me show you something," he told them and moved forward, placing his left hand on the door handle and pulling it open.

The guards on duty gave his lord and his two guests a quick, shocked look, bowed deeply and withdrew to the other side of the circular platform high above the ground, doing their best to become invisible. Their lord, however, didn't pay them any attention but stepped forward, looking to the West where the sun was slowly beginning to set.

The two delegates followed the dark haired man out onto the platform, but froze in surprise when they surveyed the plains to the west of the city that spread out under them. It looked very different from when they had arrived here, and even though they had been prepared for what they would see, it was something entirely different now that they saw it with their own eyes.

The dark-clad man smiled openly, enjoying his guests' surprise. If there was one thing he hated, it was not being in control of a situation, and to see the two envoys so shocked pacified his more than a little frayed nerves.
"What do you think, my Lord Sangwar?" he asked softly. "That should be enough to realise my plans, shouldn't it?"

Slowly, the older man tore his eyes away from the rather impressive display of what money could buy you and gave the dark haired man a curt, respectful nod.

"Yes, my lord," he said seriously. "I think that should be quite enough indeed."

As soon as Legolas saw the dark, imposing mountains that were beginning to show on the edge of the horizon, still too far away for mortal eyes to see, he knew that they were in trouble.

That wasn't exactly true, he corrected himself after a moment, since they already were in trouble they would simply get into even more and deeper trouble, even though he had thought it rather improbable. He shot a look at the guards surrounding him and Aragorn, and nodded to himself when he saw that they were sitting up in their saddles and shooting the horizon furtive glances, as if they were expecting something to appear there any minute now. Oh yes, he thought. Deep trouble.

The elf gave his friend who was riding next to him a quick look, noticing that the man was looking at him with a curious look on his face. It was highly unusual that they were allowed to ride together, for the men thought them – correctly – far too dangerous if not separated. That they were riding next to each other could mean only one thing: They were close to their destination and the men were trying to minimise the chances of one of them escaping, something that caused a shiver of dread to run down his spine, because he really did not want to think about what would happen when they got there.

After making sure that the guards were too busy trying to spy the mountains he could already clearly see, Legolas stared straight ahead, keeping his voice so low that only a ranger would be able to hear his words.
"I know where we are," he told the young man in whispered Sindarin.

He didn't look at the young ranger, but without straining his imagination overly much he could almost see Aragorn arch a dark eyebrow.
"So do I," the man told him in the same language. "In Rhûn."

Legolas hid a small smile and shook his head minutely, wondering how someone of not even 25 years of age could be so annoying.
"Yes, that is quite correct," he told him. "But I know where in Rhûn we are. Don't try to see them, they're still too far away to see for Men, but there are some mountains appearing on the horizon."

Aragorn would almost have grinned openly.
"That's rather reassuring, since they should. I have seen maps of Rhûn in my father's library. There is a mountain range not far from the western shores of the Sea."

Legolas quickly checked if their conversation was still unnoticed – which was indeed the case unless the men simply didn't care if they talked to each other or not – before he answered.
"Aye, the Mountains of Rhûn, but they are still farther to the south. These here are the foothills. They are rather high mountains with twin peaks that are nearly always covered in snow. My people call them the Ered Dhuir."

"The Dark Mountains?" Aragorn asked wryly. "Charming."

"The name originates from their unusually dark colour," Legolas explained. "As far as I can tell, there's nothing there, no town, no city, even though there were some rumours lately, rumours of people disappearing around here."

"This is Rhûn," the man retorted softly. "People disappear here all the time."

"Well, I won't, and neither will you," Legolas whispered back. "We are close to our destination now. The men are getting restless."

"So am I," Aragorn replied darkly. "I had hoped we could escape today but…"

He trailed off and chanced a look at his elven friend, who nodded slightly.

"Damn Cendan," both of them hissed together.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and added darkly,
"I'd never thought I'd say something like that, but I somehow wish Teonvan were in charge of the guards, not Cendan. Teonvan would never have thought of doubling the guards today."

"It doesn't matter now, mellon nín," the ranger shook his head. "What's done is done. We might get a chance to escape when we've arrived at our mysterious destination."

"Oh, of course," Legolas muttered sarcastically, trying not to laugh since he knew it would hurt a lot. It had been a week since Aragorn had found him, and yet he was still far from healed. He wasn't as weak as they wanted the men believe, but he was not hale either. "As soon as these men have reached the impregnable castle of their evil lord and have thrown us into the underground dungeons guarded by a fire-breathing dragon, we will manage to escape. I see your point."

Aragorn turned his head, not caring if the guards saw him speaking to Legolas.
"Who said anything about a fire-breathing dragon?"

"That was just an educated guess based on our past experiences."

Aragorn was just trying to remember when exactly they had encountered a dragon, of the fire-breathing or any other kind, but before he had even opened his mouth to tell his friend that he was, once again, exaggerating grossly, Teonvan's voice interrupted his thoughts, sounding extremely pleased with himself and the world in general.

"It is very impolite to talk in a language your companions cannot understand. It might even be considered … offensive."

Aragorn turned slightly to the side, glaring darkly at the other man.
"You are no companion of mine, Teonvan."

Teonvan grinned a little, enjoying the furious looks his two prisoners shot him. It was almost a shame they would reach the city in a few hours, he thought. He might get rid of the two of them and be freed of the responsibility, but he would … miss them. He blinked a little bit surprised. He would indeed miss them, but then again, maybe he would be able to … visit them a few times while they were still alive – he did know Glamir quite well, after all. Then again, they wouldn't live long now, at least the ranger wouldn't, about that he was quite certain.

"Oh, but I am … Strider, wasn't it?" the man replied pleasantly and smiled at the younger man. "An interesting name you have there. How did you come by it?"

Aragorn ignored Legolas' cautioning look and gave the brown haired man the look, wondering for a moment of it was caution or cowardice that caused the other to stay safely out of their reach on the other side of the circle their guards had drawn around them. Probably the latter, he decided quickly.
"A friend gave it to me. You know what a friend is, don't you?"

Legolas would have loved to screw his eyes shut. Couldn't that stubborn ranger see that, right now, he was very high up on Teonvan's list of persons to have some "fun" with? He may not be very skilled at reading humans' emotions and intentions since he hadn't met all that many in his life until now, but even he could see that there was nothing Teonvan wanted more than repeat what he had done to him a week ago – with a few changes, maybe. Teonvan might be many things, but he wasn't unimaginative.

The man in question looked at the friendly smiling face of the ranger and tried to ignore the carefully emotionless faces of the majority men who were encircling the two prisoners. Even though they seemed to have accepted him as their new captain, they did not like him, he did not harbour any illusions about that. That was perfectly alright with him because he wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice every single one of them if he had to, or if it aided him in any way. As long as they did as he commanded he didn't care in the slightest, and they did do what he commanded. The necessity to uphold the chain of command and to follow orders was too deeply instilled in all of them.

He lazily nodded at Caellan, his large, burly lieutenant who was riding right next to the ranger, and a moment later the young man was almost thrown out of his saddle by a punch to his side, apparently much to the displeasure of both his horse and the blonde elf. Teonvan nodded contentedly while he watched the ranger slowly right himself again, his face of a sickly white colour. Caellan might not be a very intelligent man, but he definitely knew how to pack a punch.

"Yes, boy," he finally told the dark haired man. "I know what a friend is. A friend is a person who gives others power over you and what a sensible man therefore avoids."

Aragorn would certainly have replied something rather rash and ill-advised had he had any breath to do so, but since he was still contemplating just how many ribs had been bruised by Caellan's punch – right now he was still torn between five and all of them – he was far too busy breathing to be able to speak. Legolas, however, had no such problems and glared at the brown haired commander, pushing back dark memories that rose inside of him at the man's sight alone.

"You are a fool," he told the man, praying inwardly that Aragorn would remain silent this time. "True friends and family are the only things one can rely on in this world, and if you haven't realised that by now, you will very likely never understand it. I only hope I'll be there when that fact finally kills you."

For a moment, the elf's words in combination with his contemptuous face were enough to make Teonvan wish to stop, get another fire burning and pick up exactly where he left off when the ranger had decided to join them, but then he remembered that they were only about an hour or two away from the city. Cendan, his much beloved lieutenant, had sent a messenger ahead to inform their lord of their impending arrival, and if there was one thing he didn't want to do, it was to let their lord wait, not even to have some fun with the prisoners.

He gave his other lieutenant riding next to the elf another nod, and a second later the fair haired being's head was whipped to the side by a powerful blow to his face, something that filled Teonvan with rather a lot of satisfaction.

"Do be careful with what you say," he advised his two captives. "We'll reach our destination in a few hours, and my lord is not as lenient as I am. You might regret such uncourteous words in the future." He turned to Lybran who was just massaging his knuckles that seemed to ache after having made contact with the elf's cheekbone. "Let's pick up the pace. We wouldn't want to keep him waiting, would we?" Teonvan was already spurring on his horse to return to the head of the column when he quickly looked back over his shoulder and added with a nasty side glance, "Oh, and no talking from now on. We wouldn't want the two friends here to get hurt because they couldn't keep their mouths shut, would we?"

Legolas blinked in an attempt to clear his vision of the grey spots that had begun to close in on him on all sides, and simply stared at the man's retreating back while he waited for the world to stop spinning. The men only ever hit him in the face, apparently afraid to aggravate his injuries, but Aragorn wasn't so lucky. He took everything back, he thought wryly as he glanced at Aragorn to see if the man was alright. He didn't wish that Teonvan were in command of their guards, because if that were case, they would already be dead now.

A few moments later, the men began to pick up the pace, and Legolas spent the next few hours with dark contemplations of what could be waiting for them at the end of this journey. It was a question that had never been far from his or Aragorn's mind in the past week, even more so after they had found out about these men's association with Adruran.

The elven prince once again shot his human friend a quick look and even received a curt nod in response. Legolas kept studying his friend's still rather pale, bruised face out of the corners of his eyes, beginning to feel panic creep up on him. If their situation hadn't looked bad before they had known that these here were Adruran's associates, it definitely did now.

Legolas sighed inwardly as he thought back to their meeting with the dark haired, ruthless and very, very skilled human commander on the slopes of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. It was only because of the man's somewhat interesting way of defining the word "reasonable" that Aragorn still lived, since he had foregone a chance to kill the young ranger after it had become apparent that his cause had been lost. The encounter with Adruran and his men, and especially with Geran, a man whom he had killed with great satisfaction, had been anything but pleasant, but it had taught Legolas a few things, and all of them boded ill for them now.

The main thing it had taught him was that whoever their lord was, he was dangerous and he was desperate. He had sent a group of more than twenty soldiers – and good soldiers at that – to retrieve a buried treasure, an enterprise whose chances of success had been more than slim from the very beginning. The men who had survived the battle had been too afraid to even tell them their names when asked about their identities or their lord, and he had even watched one of them commit suicide rather than allow himself to be captured.

Legolas gritted his teeth as the fury that was attached to the still fresh memory welled up inside of him. It had been the sensible thing to do for that man too. After what he had done to Aragorn, he would have killed him himself had the man lived even a second longer.

Fact was that this was the one mysterious lord on Arda by whom he did not wish to be captured. If even Adruran's and Reran's men were afraid of him, Legolas didn't even want to find out how he would treat them – or, more precisely, he added, the panic in his heart even growing, how he would treat Aragorn.
There was really no reason he could think of right now why the men should keep the ranger alive once they reached their destination, none at all. If what he had heard about that lord was correct, he would hardly clap Aragorn on the back, declare that it had all been a mistake and that he was free to go. Legolas smiled inwardly. That would be a rather pleasant development – extremely unlikely, but pleasant nonetheless. He would give everything to know that Aragorn was safe and as far away from Teonvan as possible…

His frantic musings that were beginning to go round and round like the wheel on a cart were interrupted after almost two hours when a man at the head of the column called out, something that caused all the men's heads to snap up.
"There! The city!"

Legolas raised his head, inwardly cursing himself for not noticing sooner that they had reached their destination. His eyesight was far superior to that of any man, and he should have seen the city before them! Trading a quick glance with Aragorn, Legolas raised himself on his horse as much as his bonds allowed him, and got his first good look at the city that had appeared in front of them, looking dark and forbidding in the slowly setting sun.

The first thing Legolas noticed was that it was nearly perfectly round in appearance, encircled by a thick, circular, thoroughly efficient-looking wall that was at least 25 feet high. It was built of grey, quadratic stones that appeared as massive as the mountains behind the city, and round towers were visible every once in a while, covering every single square inch of the outer side of the wall. There appeared to be only four ways into the city, by four gates that were located almost exactly to the north, south, west and east, and large wooden doors that looked solid enough to keep a horde of trolls out barred the way.

There were a multitude of other things Legolas noticed as he studied the city as they drew closer, so close that he could even begin to see single houses along the four main roads, but two seemed to struggle for domination in his mind: One, that there really was a castle in the very centre of the city, looking even darker, more menacing and simply eviller than the rest of the city, and that, outside the city gate facing to the west, the one to their immediate right, there was the biggest assembly of tents he had ever seen in his life, and he had seen quite a lot of encampments.

It took Legolas only a moment to realise what kind of camp this was, and he gritted his teeth tightly as his eyes wandered over the multicoloured tents. Unless he was very much mistaken and this was the biggest and most militaristic group of gypsies on this side of the Misty Mountains (who shouldn't be in the possession of chariots anyway), this was an army camp. They were drawing closer to the towering walls of the city, more than close enough to count the tents and their occupants.

"Great Manwë," he finally whispered in Elvish, trying to keep his voice steady and not at all caring what the men might do if they caught them talking to each other again. "Easterlings. There are hundreds, nay, thousands of them."

Next to him, Aragorn had turned an extraordinary shade of white as he quickly turned his head to look at their guards, only to turn back to his friend when he saw that the men were at least as distracted as they were.
"At least seven thousand, I'd rather say more." He locked eyes with Legolas, shocked. "There is only one thing anyone could want with seven or eight thousand Easterlings."

Legolas nodded darkly, his silver-blue eyes turning the colour of a deep, troubled pool.
"War," the fair haired elf whispered. "The Easterlings never gather in these numbers unless they want to do battle." His eyes widened slightly, and a new urgency spread over his face. "We must get back to Mirkwood, Estel, we must warn the king! Eight thousand Easterlings on our southern border, that is…"

"A nightmare," Aragorn nodded grimly, his eyes being drawn back to the camp that was slowly disappearing behind the rounded city wall as they drew closer to the northern gate. Even his eyes could clearly see the men that seemed to fill every single square inch in front of the gates, laughing and talking to each other or sharpening the blades of their swords and axes. "They could invade Wilderland, or Rohan, or attack Gondor by advancing through Ithilien! Or cross the Anduin and attack Anórien!"

"This is bad," Legolas mumbled softly, his eyes darting from left to right. He hadn't expected anything like this. Why would someone who was about to start a war draw unnecessary attention to himself by kidnapping one of the Elvenking's subjects? "This is very bad. Strider, there's nothing to the North that could stop nearly ten thousand Easterlings who invade without warning! We do not have the strength to stop them, and neither have Lake-town and Dale!"

"My father would help," Aragorn tried to reassure his friend as they passed the huge gates, their guards drawing even closer to them in case they tried to bolt at the last second – something that would have been eminently stupid, of course. "And so would the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. And Gondor wouldn't tolerate such a large hostile force on their northern borders either."

"Maybe," Legolas shot back, ignoring his guards' dark looks who seemed anything but pleased about the fact that their two prisoners were once again conversing in that strange language of theirs. "But my people are fading, Estel, you know that as well as I do. And the Gondorians are hard-pressed to keep their borders as it is; they wouldn't be able to send aid even if they wanted to."

Somehow, it irked Aragorn to hear the elf say such things about his distant kin in the south, but the truth of Legolas' words could not be denied. He knew from talks with his father, brothers and rangers that Gondor's resources were stretched thin at the moment, and the last thing the new Steward Ecthelion needed was a war that would force him to pull off troops from his eastern border.

"You're right," he whispered softly, "Let's see if we can escape then, shall we? I think we'll stand a fair chance – unless there is a fire-breathing dragon, of course. I hate dragons."

Legolas gave the man a small, uneasy smile before he redirected his attention to his surroundings, just in time to see the large doors made of hardwood swing shut behind them with a sound that would have appeared ominous and foreboding even to the most unbiased person. He shot Teonvan who was riding in front of their little troupe a quick look. The man appeared disconcertingly subdued and serious, something that couldn't be good. He really was not looking forward to meeting this mysterious lord…

The street leading up to the castle seemed to be one of the city's largest, with quite a lot of shops, taverns and the like. To Legolas who had seldom visited the cities of Men nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but Aragorn knew immediately that something was wrong. The sun hadn't even fully set, and still there were almost no salesmen praising the quality of their merchandise, no potential buyers wandering from door to door or children running up and down the street in an attempt to escape their mothers who would soon come looking for them. The few people that were out on the street flattened themselves to the walls of the buildings once they caught sight of their group, and if it was unusual to see a group of seventeen humans escort two bruised prisoners to the castle, they surely did not show it. Not even the presence of an elf was enough to cause the people to look up at them or after them for longer than absolutely necessary.

Aragorn shuddered. This city was afraid, from men down to women and children. These humans weren't afraid in a way that would be justified by the fact that there were a few thousand Easterlings camping on their doorstep; it was a fear that went deeper, far deeper. The dark haired ranger watched how a young mother pulled her two children close to her as they passed her, shielding them with her body as best as she could. These people were so afraid that they didn't even know what it meant not to fear someone – and he could just guess who that someone was.

He took his eyes off the blonde woman and slowly shifted his gaze to the castle, all the while trying to make sense of this situation. The humans here looked like the usual kind of men one could find in the northern parts of Rhovanion, just like those that inhabited Dale and the its sister-town Esgaroth. They weren't Easterling, he was sure about that, so why would the men camping outside the walls ally themselves with the lord of this place?

They were drawing closer and closer to the castle, and Aragorn saw that it was built of a dark grey, almost black stone that seemed to absorb most of the dying sunlight, swallowing it like a sponge absorbed water. The walls were at least forty feet high and so solid that Aragorn almost immediately lost all the hope that still lived within his heart. There was no way they would get out of there once they were inside.

There was nothing they could do to prevent just that, however, and so they soon passed the bridge that stretched over the moat and rode through the gates that looked even more ominous and foreboding than the city gates. The horses' hooves connected loudly with the swept pavement as they entered a large, grey and thoroughly dreary courtyard, the dreariest and at the same time busiest courtyard Aragorn had ever seen. People clad in grey and black liveries hustled to and fro, and there were more soldiers than one could count. Something like panic began to spread in the young ranger's heart. He would have preferred a fire-breathing dragon now that he thought about it.

They were slowly nearing the large, thoroughly intimidating main building, and Aragorn's attention was attracted by the dark banner that flew from its highest tower. It was a large, square, black piece of cloth, and the ranger's keen eyes effortlessly saw the white thread on it that depicted what looked like a ruined city next to a river. There also was a mountain behind the city, and red thread was added skilfully to the picture so that it seemed that the buildings were on fire. Aragorn felt how the feelings of dread multiplied tenfold. What kind of person would choose that as a banner?

Before he could find an answer to that question, Ráca was jerked to a stop – something that the black horse did not enjoy overly much and promptly bit the man who had grasped her bridle. The man screamed in pain and rage and raised a hand to strike the insolent animal, but either the horse's threatening neighing, Aragorn's murderous look or his companions' teasing laughter convinced him otherwise and he settled for pulling the ranger off the horse.

Aragorn continued glaring at the man for a few more moments while he was roughly shoved forward until he was standing next to Legolas who was held by the arm by an especially emotionless-looking Cendan. Now that he had spent some time with the other man, Aragorn knew that Cendan always looked impassive and expressionless, but the more emotionless he looked the more agitated he truly was. Right now, he concluded, Cendan was very unhappy. Well, he wasn't the only one, he added wryly. He wasn't exactly ecstatic with joy to be here, either.

Next to him, Legolas was looking up at the flag that was fluttering in the icy winds and frowning heavily. It was one of the most depressing banners he had ever seen, but that was not what held his attention. He knew that motif; it reminded him of something – if he could only remember of what…

He was brought out of his thoughts when Teonvan bowed to a man wearing dark heavy robes that marked him of a man of some importance, and he tore his eyes off the flag and fixed them on the commander's face who came to a stop in front of them, trailed by a group of guards wearing the now familiar grey and black livery.
"The officers will come with me, the rest is dismissed," he told the assembled men.

The men nodded and began to walk off into the direction of another building that looked like a barrack of some sort – then again, Legolas thought, most building here looked like that so he might very well have been mistaken – and before either the elf or the ranger could blink they were surrounded by a group of rather large, rather menacing looking guards.

Teonvan turned back from where he had been giving instructions to his lieutenants – and had been ignoring Cendan in the process – and grinned at the two of them, a malicious sparkle in his eyes that Legolas had hoped never to see again.
"Well, well, well, it's almost sad, isn't it? We have really reached the city and must soon part."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes at the man, trying to distract himself from the slowly growing fear in the pit of his stomach.
"My heart bleeds."

The other man grinned even more broadly as he took a step closer to the ranger.
"Be careful, boy, or it really might. I'll see you again no matter what, trust me."

The younger man did not reply, mainly because Legolas had rammed an elbow into his bruised ribs, and so Teonvan turned back around, bowing again to the man in the dark robes in his oily, overly deferential manner.
"Our lord is awaiting us?"

The man looked evenly at the brown haired commander, distant loathing in his eyes, before he once again fixed them on the fair haired elf who was pretending not to notice the amount of attention he received.
"Come."

Well, Legolas thought dazedly while they were pushed forward, up the stairs and through the dark door leading into the main building, the people here didn't appear to like Teonvan overly much either – they appeared to have more common sense than he had been willing to give them. Then again, nobody with any common sense at all attacked one of his father's patrols.

They were led or rather pulled through a maze of dark, narrow corridors and encountered rather a lot of people, all of them either guards or servants who did their best to melt into the stone walls once the troupe of guards reached them. Legolas looked at a young girl of not much more than twenty years of age with shoulder-length brown hair and bright blue eyes who pressed herself into a small niche to let them pass, and a sudden stab of pity went through his heart when she looked at him with wide eyes before casting her eyes to the floor, studying her dark coarse shoes as the soldiers went past her, giving her a few pointed looks and making loud, lewd remarks. He did not envy her.

His thoughts were abruptly taken off the servant girl when they were pulled to a stop in front of a large double door that seemed to be just as dark as the rest of this accursed town. The man wearing the costly robes nodded at Teonvan and turned on his heel, walking back the way they had come. Had Legolas not been so worried and on the edge of a full-fledged panic, he might even have enjoyed the look of fear and terror on Teonvan's face, but the way things were he could only try to calm his breathing and not lose what was left of his composure. What if this lord had Aragorn killed, or worse, gave him to Teonvan before ordering his death? What if…

The elf's musings were interrupted when the man stopped and turned back to Teonvan who was eyeing the door with trepidation, annoyance in his voice and on his face.
"What are you waiting for? Lord Girion awaits you! You are already almost a day late; don't make everything even worse by keeping him waiting now!"

Teonvan bowed his head and replied something, but Legolas was far too occupied feeling as if someone had just hit him over the head with a large, metal club to notice. Girion? Had that man said his lord's name was Girion? But … but how was that possible, that would mean that…

The flag he had seen suddenly filled his mind's eye, and he knew where he had seen something like it before, more than two hundred years ago now. O the Valar, he thought dazedly, could it really be? He knew that Aragorn was looking at him in concern, but before he could assure the man that he was fine or could share his newfound knowledge with him, the doors were pushed open.

Cendan grasped Aragorn's arm and pulled him forward and suddenly Teonvan was at Legolas' side and did the same, and a second later the two of them were dragged into the dark room that seemed to become even darker when the door closed behind them with a heavy thud.

TBC...

mellon nín - my friend

Well, that might have been a little cliffy. Just a little one of course. But I think I have given you loads of clues now - anyone should be able to realise who that evil overlord is, right? *nods* Right. Well, for those who don't figure it out, he will of course divulge it and his evil plans in the best tradition of Dr. Evil, our two friends realise that fire-breathing dragons will be the least of their worries and we have a little bit ranger ... angst. *hangs head* Alright, alright, ranger _torture_. Fine. *evil grin* As always: Review? Please?

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Additional A/N:

Sirithiliel - Well, yes. These men are part of the same army, which means of course they know the ones from Erebor. *g* And no, it's not good at all.
Aratfeniel - There are quite a few people who would want to kill Teonvan, I'm sure. You can kill the doll, no problem, but since I'm not sure what do with the real thing, I'd ask you to leave him alone for now. *g* Great you like Rashwe. He's going to make a few more appearances, don't worry, but I think you're right: He hates all those of the House of Elrond.
Deana - Well, yes, there's something wrong with Legolas. He's out of his mind, but that's nothing new. LOL, now that you mention it, Reran sounds a little bit like 'Rerun'. The pronunciation is similar anyway, so it doesn't even matter. *g*
Alasse Tiwele - Well, no, I guess not. If one doesn't like the first story, one will hardly read the second one. *g* About the change of perspectives: If I understand you correctly, it's FF.net's fault. I used to have a large free space between the single paragraphs, but after chapter 16 FF.net screwed with the formatting and deleted it in every single chapter. I haven't found the time to re-post every single one of them. From chapter 16 on it should be easier to read again. But I don't use *~*, mainly because that line between the two stars is kinda hard to 'get' on my keyboard. *shrugs* C'est la vie.
TrinityTheSheDevil - *shakes head* Yes, indeed. They're screwed. And yes, there will be some ranger pain in the future. You don't need to boil Teonvan or anything. And don't try to shift the blame on some illness or something! You're simply evil! *g* LOL, I can very well imagine Rahswe chasing the men around! He'd have a lot of fun doing it! *nods incredulously* Uh-huh. Your pet warg. Your dyed pet warg. Sure. *holds out hand* Give him here. Now. Come on!
Nikara - It's always hard keeping everything apart. I mean, it's hard to forget what everyone knows or doesn't know. All you can do is pray that you don't mix up too much. *g* Great you liked it, here's the next part!
Red Tigress - It's supposed to be like that, slightly frightening I mean. 'R' for 'Rotten luck' is true though, isn't it? Their luck _is_ rotten... Poor them. *huggles them* At least they found the tree, that's something, right? *g*
Sadie Elfgirl - No, really, I liked Reran too. But he had to die, I'm sorry. LOL, yes, Cendan could slip and push Teonvan in. I can just picture it: "Oops, I tripped. I didn't mean it, really! It was an accident! And now: Free drinks all around!" I like the falling on his own knives though. Very likely too. *g* And I don't 'jerk' my characters around! They do that all by themselves, it's no fault of mine, really! *innocent look* And don't worry: The next bit is here, yay! *g*
Bookworm, .303 - Don't worry, I don't think it's your computer's fault. FF.net does that all the time. It hates me and about ⅔ of all the other authors. *evil grin* Would you care to define 'not too badly'? It's a rather vague term, isn't it... A lot of people seemed to miss Rashwe, I really don't know why. *g*
Elenillor - Really? Your professor can't have done that because because of that one word too much! And yes, the chapter WAS longer than 15 pages. I still manage to keep them under 20 pages, but only barely. *hangs head* I'm pathetic.
Alilacia - Cendan's mother's people (don't you just love genitives? *g*) are the Easterlings. She's from the East of the Sea. Well, as I said in the A/N, I liked Reran too. But I had a good reason to kill him - at least I think so. I can't remember it now, but I had one, I'm sure about it. *evil grin* Yes, Elrohir as a hobbit IS quite an interesting idea, isn't it? Well, I didn't like the film overly much. I and my friend decided after half an hour that it was exceedingly funny - which it was, let's be honest. LOL, you have a "Likeable Bad Guys List"? Well, Cendan most definitely fits in there. And I use "*" instead of dots when I review. I HATE FF.net. *grrr*

May - Hmm, I do see your point. One thing is that I don't follow C&S' universe, and have therefore not really decided how well the twins knew Legolas before he ran into Aragorn. I think they knew each other and were even friends, but not very good ones. As to Legolas' naiveté and innocence: I don't think that Tolkien pictured him as particularly naïve. I think he's certainly innocent in a way that most elves are (unless, of course, they are Kinslayers like Galadriel or other interesting things like that), but naïve ... I don't know. He's a wood-elf after all, and in Mirkwood you tend to lose such things as naiveté rather quickly, especially after III, 1050, which is about the time that the "Shadow" fell over Greenwood. *shrugs* That's just me, of course, and I didn't mean to imply that the twins are only worried about Aragorn. I just think that - I know that that sounds evil - considering Aragorn's importance as the Hope of Men and the fact that he is their brother, after all, (at least it's my interpretation that they would really see him as such), the twins would be more concerned about Aragorn than about Legolas, at least at first. Kind of an instinct, if you wish. *g* Well, as I said, that's just me.
Marbienl - *g* I see. Well, "talen" and "Zahlen" does sound rather similar. I'll remember that. And yes, I believe that Thranduil wouldn't pay for one of his subjects. No king or government can bow to blackmailing, and I don't even think that Thranduil would have paid for Legolas. He's not that kind of king. *g* *shakes head* No, no pleasure slave. Those are hardly important to gain "what your forefathers have dreamt of", huh? Hmm, sorry, but the next ED has already my sister's personality, and, belive me, she's scarier than you. *shudders* Much, much scarier... I knew about the maggots. Have you seen Gladiator? It's in there. It worked quite well too, I'm told. And I don't think that Rashwe would forgive Elrohir, no matter what he'd do. He hates him. *g*
Gwyn - Yup, loyalty has nothing to do with personal feelings. Well, most of the time it has, but still. *g* Hmm, you want to see Legolas angst? I think there's some in the next few chapters, even though Aragorn is most definitely worse off. *huggles ranger* Poor boy.
Strider's Girl - *g* They're always in more trouble than they realise! They're kinda stupid, aren't they? *shakes head* Males. And yes, the twins and Celylith ARE insane. Considering the company they keep, it's only natural. Glorfindel is really to be pitied. *g*
TheRowan - Good question. One of my dictionaries says it's a word, the other says it's not. The internet dictionary also says it's not, so I guess you're right and it's not a word. I'll change it ... some time. When I have too much time at my hands, which will be ... never? *g* Thanks for pointing that out though. LOL, yes, 50 things out of 100 would be Teonvan's presence and existence in general. He REALLY doesn't like him. Great you like Rashwe. He's ... cool. Cool but evil. *g*
Zam - For crying out loud, Reran was NOT a precious! He was evil! Bad! Mean! Yes, I liked him too, but that's beside the point! *takes Mighty Authoress Control of Doom™* Thank you! What havoc I can wreak with this... Mhahahaahaha! *runs off cackling evilly* Take Saruman and be happy. He's a freak and a pervy hobbit fancier. You can have him. And don't kill Caellan. I still have plans for him, I think. LOL, I can just picture Sauron with the Happy-Face-mask. He's look like a really nice guy, I'm sure... ROTFL! Celylith? Sugar-muffin? Oh, that's priceless... *giggles* Sugar-muffin... And I agree with Glorfindel: He should have stayed in Valinor. Manwë and Mandos are probably still laughing about that one... *g* And the answer to your last question is: I don't know. Take your pick: Either elven horses live considerably longer than normal ones, or Glorfindel is unimaginative and calls all his horses Asfaloth. *g*
Elvendancer - So you got your sister to read this, huh? Well, if she's starting in the beginning, I guess we'll see her ... sometime tomorrow in a year. *g* And I know what you mean, my sister and I don't exactly hit each other all the time (for which we're a little old), but we do it from time to time nevertheless. It's great fun! *g*
Jazmin3 Firewing - *evil grin* Well, don't count on it! Cendan's not going to be content with 'just' turning Teonvan in - not that it would have been of much use anyway, but that's a different story, or rather a different chapter. And Estel doesn't know the word himself! He wasn't even born when that happened, besides, I don't think Erestor is stupid enough to let Glorfindel do something like that ever again. So, the only ones who know the word are elves, including the twins. They might tell someone later, I don't know yet. And no, I never thought of one, and if it appears here. I won't write it out either. Sorry about that. *g*
Narina Nightfall - *shudders* I don't understand that obsession with abbreviating almost every word you come across. And you can always get yourself a beta reader. I don't have one myself, but most authors do. And I don't know why, but I just didn't want them to start talking about Adruran. I guess I think it would be unlike them, volunteering any information or talking to each other when others can overhear them. Uhm, and you do realise that Galalith is dead, don't you? And Celylith might find indeed a new pet. I have something planned, even though I don't know if I'll manage to put it in. *shrugs* We'll see. As far as I can tell, Easterlings and Haradrim are not the same people. The Haradrim are from the South and dark-skinned, while the Easterlings live in the area around the Sea of Rhûn and east of it. They are distantly related to the Men living in the North and descendants of the Men who betrayed Fëanor in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. As far as I can see, they have nothing to do with each other. *g* You haven't been deficient in praise. Thanks a lot for all your kind words, I am glad you're enjoying this. *huggles*
Tychen - Well, yes, one of these days the drawing away attention - bit will come back to bite them in the a**. Just wait for it. *g* Glad you liked the up to date info about Rhûn. I just thought that such things could very likely really happen, considering the Elves' immortality and all that... And I must regretfully inform you that it's indeed rather unlikely that one of the two happens. Sorry. *g*
Alariel - *blushes* Thanks! I am very glad you're enjoying this story this far. Thanks a lot for the review - they make me smile and grin and do various other silly things! *g*
Jenihenpen - *g* That's the problem with WIPs, isn't it? I hate them myself, but I don't have the patience to wait until a story is fully posted. it's my own fault, I guess. I wouldn't call it stamina, it's more stubbornness. I refuse to let a plot tell me what to do, and I am far too perfectionist to stop posting a story. *g*
Karone Evertree - *shrugs* I don't know where these thoughts come from myself. They're suddenly there. Vicious, evil plot bunnies. *tries to shake them off* Back! Back I tell you! *gets chased away from the computer* Back!
Bailey - *confused* I didn't say that, did I? Aragorn is in this chapter, and so is Legolas. Just because I didn't say he would be in it doesn't mean he isn't. *g* I like "elficide". Sounds interesting. I don't like termites either. And I don't think that Aragorn will ever learn to keep his mouth shut. *shakes head* Nah.
Lyn - Well, I wouldn't exactly call it "senseless torture". You may call it "flimsily justified torture" or "nearly senseless torture", but not just "senseless". *thinks and then breaks down sobbing* Alright, it was nearly senseless. I caved in, my alter ego made me do it. There are no quick rescues in my stories though, I'm very sorry. Uhm, about the 'repetition': That was intentional? The phrase "almost understand Teonvan" was repeated on purpose, kind of like a running gag. It's even a stylistic device, it's called 'iteratio' in Latin. And about the Teonvan-not-obeying-Reran-thing: You mustn't forget that this isn't a modern or even a normal "old" army like maybe the Roman army. In this one, the most important thing isn't your rank, it's who's in the evil overlord's favour and who isn't. Cendan most definitely isn't, and Reran isn't really either, while Teonvan is. I would agree with you that, usually, every commander has the means to ensure that his orders are obeyed, but Teonvan had been sent on the mission by special request of their lord and he enjoys his favour. Reran didn't dare do anything that would really upset his lord. *shrugs* That's my interpretation of the whole thing anyway. Thanks for the review!
Crystal-Rose15 - No-one will ever understand FF.net, I fear. I most certainly don't. Uh-huh, a balrog the size of a Macaw parrot? And he likes carrots? That's an ... interesting balrog you have there! Oh, and I'd say all of them have heard that particular speech quite a lot of times. It would surprise me very much otherwise. And to be honest, I am quite surprised myself that so many people like Celylith. I like him too, sure, but not THAT much. Well, the CLF certainly does. *g*
Fewer Brain Cells Than A Garden Hose - *giggles* I STILL like that name. Ah well. *watches as Teonvan explodes randomly* Al-right. Whatever you say. And I think Zam might indeed have started a CELF, so to speak. She likes him too, God only knows why. *shakes head*
Shauna - *darkly* Beetroots can be very intelligent vegetable. They are in fact THE most intelligent vegetables ever! *g* *hugglees Speedy Award* Thank you! I usually need three or four days a chapter. Most of the time four days though. Great you liked the fire ants and termites. I don't know where that idea came from either, I most certainly didn't plan it. Uhm, Lasseg means "Little Leaf", therefore Leafie, just in case you didn't find it. *g*
Firnsarnien - *ominously* And so you should be. Teonvan is not to be trifled with. Plus, he's an idiot. Well, I guess that would be possible for Cendan, but it's not his way, is it? He's not the kind of man who would murder someone in his sleep. Idiot. *g* LOL, glad we agree that Teonvan served SOME purpose. I would have hated to have created an useless villain. Hmm, I'll think about not killing Anardir. No, let's say I won't kill him. Not that that's going to do him any good, but... *g*
Carrie - I'm glad your op was a success! Congrats! *confetti falls from ceiling* I hate doctors, hospitals and everything connected to them, so I'm glad you made it. Hmm, I don't think that Cendan is redeemable, at least not in the sense that he will see the error of his ways and will try to become a better person. That would be very much unlike him. Hmm again, Glorfindel losing his cool? That just might happen. I don't know yet, but it might. LOL, yes, the tree-branch-thingie is indeed only a splinter. As always: Things can get much worse... *evil cackle* And now that you mention it, all this might indeed be a reason for Aragorn to choose exile. I would have. I would never again have left Rivendell. *g* And yes, there might be another story with Elrond after this one. *huggles* Great to have you back!
Emiri-chan - *blushes* Well - thank you? I'm glad you like it of course, even though there are loads of authors I could never compare with. Try Thundera Tiger or Littlefish - they are just ... wow! *g* But thanks nonetheless. And I would try and read some of your stuff, but I have never in my whole life watched any of these Japanese series - Manga or Anime? Or whatever they may be called. I wouldn't know what they're about at all. Sorry. *g*
Lynette - Yes, that is of course the main problem. Our favourite ranger is just extra baggage, isn't he? I don't know yet if the bad guys will find out who Legolas is. I kinda want them to, but I would have to put it into the chapter I am currently writing and don't really know how to do it. *shrugs* We'll see. Is it really that complicated? That's the problem when you're planning stories - to yourself everything appears easy to understand and reasonable. *g* Thank for reviewing!
Ellyrianna - Uhm, yes, I guess I can. I can do this to you, because I am the Almighty Authoress of Doom! Mhahahaha! *runs away laughing evilly* LOL, I was laughing so hard! Legolas had had his fun? He's really being selfish, isn't he? Well, let me think... We have a bit of mistreatment this chapter and a LOT more next chapter, so much in fact that it should even make you happy! Don't worry, there will be some angst soon. I promise. *pats her back*
C. Hobbes - *pales* A literary analysis? Oh please, don't do that? As soon as you start really looking at my weird little stories, you would notice the plotholes ... then the implausibilities ... then the weird little coincidences... *shudders* No, we can't have that. *blinks* The Triplets of Bellville? I've never heard of it. Is it good?
Snow-Glory - Well, yes, I guess it was a little bit un-elf-like. But he was very worried and upset, so I guess he can be forgiven this once, don't you think? Besides, I needed them to find the tree somehow. It wasn't really his fault. *g* It's my alter ego's, as always.
Firniswin - Oh, don't worry. It happens that Real Life doesn't allow you enough time to review. Uhm, you like Aragorn's and Estel's oddness? There's something wrong about that! *g* And who doesn't like Glorfindel? I love him too! *huggles*
Starlight - Na ja, ich dachte, sie koennten mal ein bischen Glueck gebrauchen, wie wir alle. Abgesehen davon kann niemand so viel Pech auf einmal haben. Wer ist denn hier noch normal? Wir ganz sicher nicht, und wenn es dich gluecklich macht... *zuckt Schultern* Keine Angst, du musst mich nicht mit Reviews bestechen, dein 'Gespraech' kommt schon noch. Ich weiss noch nicht, ob die Boeslinge herausfinden, wer die beiden sind. Wird sich noch herausstellen. *fieses Grinsen*
Miaow Artsy - I would be mortified as well if I had to work with my childhood hero. Well, I don't really have a childhood hero, I guess, but I would be mortified if I had one. *blinks* You can bake with a microwave? Really? I didn't know that. I always thought you used an oven. Well, I use one. Thanks for the cake anyway. And please put back Celylith, or his father should it have been him. I need both of them. *glares grimly* Thank you.
Estelreader - Thank you. I'm glad to hear that you liked the dialogue. That's the reason why the chapters are so long too, I can't make them stop. I know, I'm rather pathetic. *g* You're on the right track too with all that pain, angst, hurt and comfort of course, and no, I wouldn't kill him, at least not in such a story. Since I don't write AUs I could only write one of these Aragorn-dies-and-Legolas-sails-to-Valinor-stories, and they're much too sad for me. Thanks for the review! *huggles*
Grumpy - LOL, it would be very interesting indeed if the trees started fighting back. Poor Elrohir. But you're right, at least they're not completely clueless anymore. That's something indeed. *g*
Miruvor - Yes, I liked him too. He had to die, sorry. *g* You're right, there was a lot of cluelessness, but now they have finally put two and two together. You're right, it only took them two weeks or something. *shrugs* They're a little bit stupid sometimes. I hope this update was still quick enough!
Suzi9 - LOL, indeed. Mutiny is fun. Go join your respective armies and try it. *g* AT LEAST 30 chapters, mate. I'm really sorry, and I'll try not to exceed it by much, but I don't think I'll be very successful. *hangs head* They just don't shut up! *large grin* Oh yes, CONSTANT VIGILANCE! If Reran had read HP, he would still be alive. I'm sure Celylith would accept your bet. He would lose a lot of money though. *g* I'm glad you liked the fire ants/termites. I swear I don't plan these things, the ideas just ... well, ambush me. Yes, that't the correct term, they _ambush_ me. Vicious little things. *g* Well, technically Aragorn is of course not a Noldo, but his elven forefathers and -mothers were Noldorin, for the most part, with a dash of Sindarin blood and a bit of Maia, of course.I am very happy to hear that your head is better of course. And of course I love you! *huggles* You're my only Scottish reviewer I know of! *huggles even more* I'm sure the grades aren't THAT bad, right? And you passed Latin and Old English, congrats! *confetti falls from ceiling* Well done! And I am looking forward to those pics!
Amelie - What do you mean, you can't sleep? I mean, I can always sleep? Is that a real illness? Imsomnia? That's bad... *shakes head* Poor you. I really hope you'll get better soon. Well, yes, maybe the twins and Celylith will save him. Then again, maybe they won't since they're days behind them. *g* Nope, you won't find out all about the evil overlord's plan this chapter, try the next. Then he'll explain everything, I promise! Get better soon!

*shakes head* Do you see that? Now the formatting is almost back to normal – almost. I will never, EVER, understand FF.net… *grrrr* Oh, yes, sorry: Thanks a lot for the great reviews!