Title: Delw yomenie (Deadly encounter)

Characters: All Peredhils, mainly Strider, Legolas……and something/someone deadly….

Timeline: Before FOTR

Rating: T

Warnings: Cruelty and maniacal behaviour. WIP.

Summery: Our Middle-Earth friends encounter something deadly…..

Feedback: YES! Please! looking-like-little-Estel-when-he-wants-something.

A/N: Many thanks to Trinilee for her fast beta work. Thank you! ;-)

Chapter 7 – Pursuers and Traps

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Disclaimer: I own nothing of the works of Tolkien. Neither books, nor movies. I just borrow them and try to give them back in one piece later. I make no money with this story. Please, do not sue me.

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Legolas stood stock still as he heard a sound in the corridor that was behind the door leading to the healing chambers. He held his breath and listened intently. Soft footsteps could be heard, but to Legolas' relief, they were heading away from the door he was hiding behind.

Slowly, the elf cracked the wooden door open and peered outside. Turning his head left and right, he observed the hall and, upon seeing no one, opened the door wider and stepped out into the corridor.

Only a few minutes prior, the sun had set. During the afternoon, the prince had carried out his plan and had managed to get his clothes. It had not been very difficult, as they had been stored in a cupboard near his bed.

Legolas had dressed after the evening meal, as all the healers and even the Lord of Imladris had left him to get some sleep. He had pretended to be tired and exhausted the whole day. In part it had not really been a lie. He was tired and exhausted, but he was also determined to help his friends. If that meant deceiving the Lord of Imladris, so be it. There would be enough time later to reprimand him for his disloyal actions.

So, as the sun had ended its way over the horizon and had gone to bed, the agile archer had slipped out of his own, donned his clothing and was now on his way to his chamber to retrieve his weapons.

Carefully, Legolas peeked around the corner and then rushed along the hall in the direction of the stairs leading to his room. One hand pressed firmly on his wound and the other near the wall to stabilize himself just in case he became dizzy, Legolas hastened up the stairs and then towards his room.

The few steps during the day in the healing chamber had helped him regain some of his strength, but he still felt the painful throbbing of the wound, and his legs felt weak underneath him. Luckily, the prince had not experienced any form of light headedness or dizziness since the early morning. It encouraged him that he was indeed on the mend and able to do what he had planned.

Legolas reached the door to his chamber, and after a quick glance down the hall, he opened the door and slid into his room. The room looked the same as it had done the night when all this had started.

But, it seemed, some servants had cleaned the room in the archer's absence. The bed was made, the curtains and windows open. Fresh clothes were draped over a chair and new candles were lined up along the wall.

But Legolas did not deign to look at it. After closing the dark wooden door softly behind him, he moved to the corner of the room where his weapons were stored. Making sure that his assortment of weapons was complete, the elf turned to his cupboard, taking out all the clothes he would need during the trip.

He then took his elven cloak, threw it around his slim shoulders and shouldered his bow and quiver, wincing slightly as he pulled the stitches. Legolas grimaced as he imagined Lord Elrond's face if he showed the healer torn stitches. That could be more deadly than his quest.

Shaking his head, the blond archer sheathed his twin knifes, closed his cloak as much as possible, took a last look around the room and headed to the open window that would lead to the wide balcony.

On his way he passed his desk, contemplating for a moment if he should leave a message to the Lord of Imladris explaining his absence and his behaviour. But, on second thought, once he was gone and the elven Lord found his weapons gone too, Elrond would sure come to the only explanation that presented itself. Namely, that Legolas had left Imladris like a thief in the night to go on some foolish rescue mission, alone and injured, weak and easy prey for the creatures of the night, whether they be animals or humans.

Sighing, the archer shook his head again. Those thoughts would not help him now. He was determined to carry out his plan and nothing he thought would change his mind. So, he passed the desk without stopping, opened the door leading to the balcony and stepped out into the cold night air. He gripped the railing and swung his legs over it. Taking a deep and steadying breath, Legolas closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer to the Valar to help him, then he let himself fall to the dark ground so many feet below him.

Below the balcony, the prince's feet touched the wet green grass, faltering slightly. No sound had been made by them and Legolas was pleased with himself. Like a cat in the darkness he sprinted over the courtyard, his feet making only minor sounds. From the courtyard, he crossed the stone bridge and did not stop running until his swift feet had carried him safely and undetected into the forest that surrounded the Last Homely House East of the Sea.

He stopped a few feet into the forest and leaned against a huge tree. His breath came in short gasps and his heart was beating fast in his chest. He closed his eyes and waited until his heart had calmed and his breathing steadied. Then the elf opened his eyes and took a look back at the courtyard and the house. A pang of guilt erupted in his heart, but he bit his bottom lip and shook his head resolutely. No, he had come so far, he would go on.

He turned, shifted his bow and quiver into a more comfortable position on his back, so that they would not stress his side, and headed out into the night.

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At the same time the young blond archer began his track through the dark forest, a few leagues away, a black and dark clothed human rider set out to obey his master's order and deliver a message to a certain man in Bree.

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It had all happened so swiftly. They had not even noticed that they had entered a trap until they had been attacked from behind. And then, it had all gone so fast.

Elladan had fallen first.

The beast that had attacked him from behind and threw him to the ground, placing his big paws on his shoulders to make sure he could not get up. Its heavy and furry body had pressed the slim elf to the ground, making it impossible for him to move more than a few inches.

As soon as Elladan had hit the ground, the other wolves had attacked from all around them, snouts snarling and paws slashing. Elrohir had managed to let fly a few arrows, before the wolves had been too close to use his bow.

Switching to his sword and hunting dagger, the younger twin had slashed and stabbed left and right, over his back and straight before him, trying to kill as many beasts as possible and at the same time protect himself and his brother. It was more than even a son of the mighty Lord of Imladris was capable of doing. The beasts had been numerous and Elladan trapped under one of them, was unable to help his brother in the fight, but was fighting for his own precious life.

To the younger twin time had stopped. All he was focused on was fighting, fighting to survive. They were only wolves, not even wargs, but the animals seemed to be extremely hungry, probably due to the long and cold winter, and there were many of them. Every time the elf killed a beast, two others filled the gap and advanced on the fair being.

Soon, many cuts and bruises marred Elrohir's arms and legs, signs that the wolves had found holes in his defence and used them.

Elladan was doing no better. The wolf on his back was still trying to hold him down, his big paws on his shoulders, the sharp claws digging through the elf's tunic and into the soft flesh. Elladan could feel his blood tickle down his arms and wetting his shirt and tunic.

It seemed the wolf had noticed the blood, too, because it howled and then tried to bite the elf's neck.

In the last moment, Elladan pushed his head to the side, avoiding the razor sharp teeth on his neck. It took the elf all the strength he possessed, but after a long time of winding and kicking with his legs, he managed to turn onto his side, then his back.

That did not help his situation much, as the wolf's hairy face appeared in his line of vision. The snout was near his face, the lips drawn back over the teeth, exposing the deadly objects to the elf. Saliva was dripping on Elladan's face as the creature moved forward, paws still on the elf's shoulders, pressing down hard. Swallowing, the older twin racked his brain for a solution, for a way out of that situation. Nothing presented itself. No way out. No escape plan.

The beast crept nearer and the elf could feel it's hot breath on his fair skin. Elladan's eyes wandered around restlessly, he had to do something, and soon. Suddenly, when the wolf's snout was only inches away from his face, Elladan's eyes fell on something shining.

Metal that reflected the sunlight. Fast as only an elven warrior could react, Elladan stretched out his hand, gripped the metal object and rammed it deep into the wolf's vulnerable snout.

The beast howled with pain and stepped away from the elf, leaving behind a trail of red blood. Gasping for air, the older twin looked down at his hand. It held a hunting dagger, red with blood. It was an elvish dagger, his brother's dagger, to be precise.

With eyes as big as the moon, the older twin lifted his head and looked into the direction he had last seen his younger brother. His heart nearly broke at what he saw.

Elrohir was lying on the forest floor, unmoving, eyes closed. Around him numerous slain animals were scattered over the ground, but it seemed the two remaining wolves had succeeded in bringing the elf down.

As Elladan watched, one of the wolves sniffed at his brother's motionless form, then snarled and opened its mouth to take its bite. Elladan screamed in fury and pain and before he even noticed what he was doing, he was on his feet and had thrown the dagger at the wolf.

The animal collapsed where it stood, the dagger protruding from its throat, sending dark, hot blood everywhere. The other beast turned to look at the advancing elf and made itself ready to take the elf down.

It crouched into a position near the forest floor, ready to jump. Elladan drew his sword and without so much as stopping to get into a better fighting position, he rammed into the wolf and slammed the shining blade of his sword deep into the animal's belly.

Blood flowed over his hands and covered his tunic; it mingled with his hair and dropped onto his boots. But Elladan paid no attention to it. He threw the dead wolf away from him, disgusted, and then turned around to face the last remaining attacker; the wolf that had him pinned to the ground. It stood at the edge of the forest, it's snout bleeding heavily. Black beetle-like eyes were fixed on the older twin and the wolf seemed to contemplate his next move.

Elladan gripped the bloody handle of his sword tighter. He was ready. But, the wolf did not charge. It took a look at its dead companions, then at the elf. It howled again, deep and menacing, then turned and left the gruesome scene before it as silently as it had entered it.

It was over.

Elladan let his sword fall to his side. His blood was pumping fast through his veins and his breathing was rash and loud in his own ears. After only a second of standing frozen to the spot, the elf turned on his heel and hastened to his brother's side.

Kneeling down beside the unmoving elf, Elladan took in the many cuts and gashes that marred his twin's soft skin. "Oh, Elrohir, Elrohir, I am so sorry." Elladan gently turned his twin over onto his back and looked at his face.

Elrohir's eyes were closed and his skin was paler than usual, but he was breathing regularly and deeply. Elladan could find no deep wound on his brother's body and was beginning to wonder over the cause of his brothers unconsciousness. Then, a slow trickle of blood flowed down the side of the younger elf's face.

With trembling fingers, but as gently as he could, Elladan brushed back the dark silken hair and revealed a gash just over his twins pointed ear. It was not deep, but a heavy blow to the head could of course have caused the younger elf to loose consciousness. Elladan placed his sleeve onto the wound and called his brothers name. Finally, when Elladan's hollow feeling in his stomach returned, Elrohir's eyelids fluttered.

"Aye, brother, come back to me." Elladan pleaded, and only moments later his twin opened his eyes. "Welcome back, gwanur nin." Elrohir blinked, and then took in his brother's form.

"Are you all right?" Elladan could not help his relieved smile that spread over his face.

After Elladan had made sure that his brother was not seriously injured, he and Elrohir had cleaned their wounds and bandaged them. It had been a good decision to take so many healing supplies with them, and Elladan wondered for a short moment if he had inherited his father's gift of foresight. He had never felt as if he had, but the herbs and bandages that Elladan had used to help his twin seemed to be an evidence for that.

Shrugging, the elf abandoned that thought and instead helped his twin to clean the many wounds. Whatever had caused the older twin to take so many healing utensils with him, it had helped them now. It had taken the twins the better part of the afternoon to take care of their injuries and when the sun had disappeared behind the treetops, they had left the deadly scene before them and set out into the night again.

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Elrond walked down the hall leading to the healing chambers. His soft velvet robes were trailing behind him and is brown hair was resting in intricate braids on his shoulders.

The night had just begun, but the lord had a feeling that this night would turn out to be a long one. Quickening his steps, Elrond turned a corner and walked towards the big wooden door leading to the chambers of healing and therewith the room of the prince of Mirkwood.

The whole day Elrond had taken the time to now and then look in on the prince, making sure that he was well and resting. To Elrond's delight and worry equally, the young elf had appeared to be very still and tired the whole day.

Legolas had slept through the afternoon, not even questioning if he was allowed to sit up or get up. As Elrond thought about it now, a voice inside him told him that this was very odd behaviour for the Mirkwood Prince.

Normally the young prince would not stay abed a moment longer than absolutely necessary, and of course not when his friends were in danger. Elrond took a deep breath, furrowed his brow and quickened his steps even more. No, Legolas had truly behaved very oddly.

Another thought entered his mind, unbidden and unwanted. What if the young archer had...But, no, he would not do something like that, the lord thought. He would not? Are you certain, Elrond? Another part of his mind asked him, causing the Lord of Imladris to close his eyes for a second and sigh deeply.

Of course Legolas would, he just hoped that he had not.

But when the Lord of Imladris entered the healing chambers and then Legolas' room, when he saw the empty bed and the crumbled sheets, Elrond let his head fall and closed his eyes in defeat, all hope lost.

Legolas was gone.

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Night had stolen itself over the hunter's camp, making the tents disappear from sight and the fires shine more brightly. A few minutes ago a black clothed rider had left the camp and since his departure, the camp had stayed quiet and still.

Nightly sounds could be heard, the shrieks of owls, the low chirping of nocturnal insects and animals. The stillness was interrupted now and then, by the crackling of the fire and when a branch in the fire cracked it seemed to be the loudest sound at all.

The hunter's were crouched near the warm fires, rubbing their hand together to keep them warm, some of them eating the remnants of the evening meal. None of the men smoked, it would just make them good targets in the night, a lesson most of them had learned the hard way.

Inside one of the tents, a ranger was sitting against the strong tent pole, his head resting against the wood, eyes closed. His breathing was not as deep as it normally was, his face was pale and stood out starkly against the dark hair and the red welts on his neck.

He seemed to be asleep. In truth, the ranger was trying his best to stay awake. The whole day he had been alone in the tent, no Dagnir, no Bauglir, for which he was very grateful. But, as much as he liked to be alone, the fact that no one had come to him had meant no water to drink, or food to eat.

Over the day Estel´s throat had began to hurt more fiercely, sending sharp pain through his neck every time he swallowed or took a deep breath. His breathing had not bettered, either. His chest by now did not only hurt, it ached terribly. The broken rib caused him to sit as still as possible. Being bound to a tent pole was a great help for that, but with Taran on his lap or in his arms all day, his rib had been pushed and jostled more than once.

Furthermore, Estel felt every breath he took deep in his lungs, every time eliciting an itching feeling causing him to suppress a cough. He had had pneumonia more than once during his childhood. Enough times to know that it was not pneumonia, but something very similar. When Estel had come to that conclusion, he had felt even more miserable.

He was a good healer and could deal with most human illnesses and prevent them from manifesting themselves, but in the situation he was in, it was highly unlikely that he would get the needed herbs and supplies to do so.

The ranger's heart had become heavy as he had thought about the little adan in his arms. Taran was so young, so cute, so adorable and so vulnerable. If Estel should fall ill, it would only be a matter of hours until the little child fell ill as well. And Estel highly doubted that these hunters knew how to deal with an ill child.

Therefore, the ranger had tucked the blanket more carefully around his shoulders and the boy, speaking softly to the bundle on his lap, telling him stories the whole afternoon to keep him occupied and quiet. The speaking had not helped his aching throat but only served to make it even more sore, but at least, the boy had been enchanted by the words and the tales, listening with big eyes. When the sun had neared the horizon, the child had fallen asleep and Estel had let himself relax in his bonds and had rested his head against the wooden beam.

So he had sat for nearly two hours now, the last half hour fighting to stay awake. He did not want to sleep for fear of the hunters, and what they could do would they find him so inattentive. Furthermore, he had no desire to show them how he truly felt. It was enough to be handled like a sack of grain; they need not see that he was injured and most likely ill.

Therefore, the ranger concentrated on the sounds of the night and thought back on the days, only a few days ago actually, that he had sat under the blanket of the stars, in the forest, on his way home, before a crackling fire that had warmed him, alone in the world and content that it was so.

Estel listened to the nightly animals, the soft murmur of a nearby stream and so occupied were his ears with this sounds that he nearly missed the sound of boots on the wet grass before the tent. When he noticed them, he opened his eyes and eyed the tent flap, only to see it being opened and one of the hunters entering. It was the same man from the morning, who had brought him something to eat and some water, and again the man carried bread, water, milk and some fruit.

He placed it before the ranger, gave him a disgusting look and then exited the tent, leaving the flap slightly open so that a gush of cold night air swept in. Estel shivered and sighed. It was just his luck. Only moments before he had considered being finally warm enough to feel all right. Now, the cold wind that embraced him made him shiver.

At least he was truly awake now. Straightening himself in the bonds that held him, he gently shook the sleeping boy awake. Taran yawned widely, then blinked with tired eyes at the world around him and, seeing the food, gave a happy whoop and tried to grab the bread with his small hands.

Again, Estel fed the boy the bread that he drenched in the milk and some of the fruits, until Taran was finished nibbling away happily. The ranger himself was not very hungry.

Sighing, Elrond´s youngest son took the rest of the bread and took a bite, chewing it carefully before swallowing. As soon as the bread entered his throat, such a sharp pain exploded in his neck that it brought tears to his eyes. While holding his breath, Estel swallowed the bread completely, leaving him trembling slightly and with cold sweat on his brow. He chanced a deep breath and felt his neck constrict painfully. With a shaking hand he replaced the bread on the tray the man had brought and instead took the water.

The clear liquid would hopefully ease the pain. After only a small sip, Estel decided that drinking was as bad an idea as eating. Nevertheless, the ranger knew his body needed the water and he forced himself to drink it all.

When the tall man who had brought the food returned to the tent and found the uneaten bread and fruits, he gave Estel a wicked grin and left. The ranger had the foreboding feeling that in the morning, there would be even less bread and fruits. But, actually, Estel did not mind as long as there was enough for the little adan.

The tired ranger nestled the boy into the blanket once more, making sure that he was completely covered. Estel rested his head against the wooden tent pole, trembling slightly from the cold that sneaked up his body, closed his eyes and although he tried to fight it, he soon fell asleep.

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Bauglir was sitting near one of the small fires. His head was turned in the direction of the licking flames, but his eyes stared unseeing in the distance. The man was holding his evening meal in his hands, a bowl of sweet smelling stew, made from berries, nuts and edible roots.

He had not even tasted it and slowly but surely the stew turned cold, but Bauglir had no thoughts for that. His mind was running in circles around one topic. How to get away from his captains scrutiny and to the ranger?

Actually, it was not that difficult. Dagnir stayed in his tent most of the day, not mingling with his men. Today Bauglir had had many opportunities to pay the ranger a visit, but with his captain so close it had been too dangerous.

One of the man's hands went down to his leg, massaging it slightly. He had washed and cleaned the injury, bandaging it carefully. It had not been deep, only a reminder for Bauglir. It had made the hunter furious to be treated like one of the other men under Dagnirs command. He was his second in command; he needed no 'reminder'.

A hateful expression flitted over the man's face and he looked even darker and crueler than he usually did. For the other hunters around the fire it was a sure sign that they should stay quiet and out of Bauglir's reach for a time. One never knew how the captains second in command would vent his anger, or on whom.

Bauglir thought about the next few days. Dagnir had ordered that they stayed in the camp until the rider was back from Bree, then they would pack up and move on, further south and therewith out of the immediate reach of the elves. The open plain would not cover them enough from any pursuers, so they would head into the direction of the Misty Mountains, seeking shelter and enough cover to move on undetected.

Perhaps, the hunter thought, there would be some opportunity on the way to the mountains, or later, when they were hidden by the huge masses of stone. With a crooked smile, Bauglir came to the satisfying conclusion that his captain could not have his eyes and ears everywhere.

Once the plan went on, Dagnir would have his hands full with the setting of the trap for the father of the child. Certainly his captain would want to do the handing over of the boy by himself. Bauglir snorted with that thought. If the father of that child really thought he would get his boy back with a bit of money, he was more stupid than a cave troll. Bauglir had no illusions over the fate of the little boy. His captain would never give the boy back, never. Not for all the money in the world.

Dagnir was not interested in the money, but in other things, revenge one of them. And he would have his revenge on the boy's father. Bauglir did not know exactly what had happened between the two men, that had been before his time, but whatever it had been, Bauglir had no doubt that his captain had something else in mind than money. The ransom they would get would be for the other hunters; their payment.

Bauglir shifted his position slightly and turned his eyes from the fire before him to the dark tent some feet beside him. And that ranger, that would be his payment. He would make sure of that.

And who knew, perhaps he would even get that blond elf in the end.

End of chapter 7

Tbc asap

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