Chapter 8 – In the Night

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! ;-)

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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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A black shadow was rushing through the night. The hooves of his horse thundered on the forest floor, sending earth and leaves into the air. The horse's breath was fast and its neck was coated in white sweat. Foggy mist as white as bleached bones was blown into the chilly night each time the horse exhaled.

As the rider and horse made their way through the woods, the trees seemed to make way for them, the branches not hindering them and the leaves shrinking out of their sight. The blackness of the night embraced rider and horse, making them almost invisible. Only the constant pounding of the hooves and the frequently muttered words of the rider to hasten his horse on indicated their passing.

The rider was a hunter, sent to do his masters bidding. He would not fail. He would deliver his message, wait for the reply and then return to the camp. No one would be able to hinder him in his mission.

Another muttered curse about the horse disturbed the night, the pair rushed on and stillness settled once again over the forest of Imladris.

xoxoxoxo

The moon stood high in the night sky and the stars had awoken many hours ago to blink their light onto the earth below them. A cold wind had started to blow and the insects of the night had crept back into their holes to keep warm.

But a certain elf was still walking through the darkness, bow and quiver over his shoulder, his white, twin knifes securely packed, the green elven cloak drawn around his slim shoulders to fight off the cold that threatened to eat him alive.

Legolas was tired. For hours he had walked through the night, endlessly searching for any sign of either Estel or the twins. So far it had been no problem for him to follow the tracks of his friends. It seemed the men that had taken Estel had not been very careful to hide their way.

Sometimes, Legolas had wondered about the route the men had chosen, as it seemed to run in circles, but after he had crossed a small stream, the tracks had lead south and then southeast and Legolas had just known that he was going the right way.

The twins, on the other hand, had left as good as no signs, making it very difficult for the archer to determine whether they had taken the same way as he had. But, whether they had or not was not important to the prince. He knew he was right and if the two dark haired elves had taken a wrong turn somewhere, they would soon notice their mistake and follow the correct route.

Limping slightly, Legolas reached what seemed to be a clearing in the woods. The tree tops were hanging full with dense and thick leaves, leaving no room for the sparse moonlight to find its way to the ground. The branches seemed old and grey, the underbrush around the clearing was thick and dark. Feet could be heard running over the dead leaves on the ground and Legolas shuddered involuntarily.

He was not afraid of the dark, not since he had been a small elfling, but this part of the forest seemed, yes, it seemed almost evil to him, evil and dead. Legolas stopped where he was, at the outer rim of the tree line and let his gaze travel over the clearing before him.

His eyes could make out black shapes and crumpled forms on the forest floor and as soon as his brain had connected these forms to be corpses, his other senses sent additional information.

Blood, he could smell the copper liquid. The scent was strong and penetrating, as if the red fluid would be everywhere.

The second thing the archer's senses told him was that something had not only died in the clearing, but must have been slaughtered. The sweet smell of rotting flesh filled his nose and the scent of death laid itself like a blanket over the blond prince.

Slowly, Legolas unsheathed one of his twin knifes. Due to the dim light he could not see what was lying on the floor before him, even his good elvish sight could not tell him. Therefore, the archer crouched down low, his dagger before him and moved silently on.

In the short moments that he needed to reach the first dead body, gruesome images filled his mind. Scenes he had dreamt about, pictures that he feared. What if Estel was lying before him, somewhere in this clearing? What if the nightly human visitors had killed him, spilling his blood over the forest floor and leaving his maltreated and dead body to be devoured by the scavengers? He could not bear that if it was so.

Closing his eyes briefly and sending a quick prayer to the Valar, Legolas swallowed thickly and moved on. On the one hand he dreaded what he would find, but on the other he needed to know.

When he reached the first of the dark shapes, an overwhelming scent of blood filled his sensitive nose and Legolas had to breathe through his mouth to keep him from gagging. With every step he took, his eyes adjusted more to the form lying before him and then, when the elf was only a step away from the dead body, Legolas saw with relief that it was a dead wolf that was lying on the ground.

Turning quickly to examine the other shapes, the prince counted at least twelve dead animals. Many of the wolves had been killed by a knife of some sort, but when Legolas reached the side of a larger wolf, he saw a green arrow protruding from its neck. He crouched down and pulled the slim wooden shaft out of the dead animal.

Holding the arrow close to his face to examine it, Legolas gasped as he recognized the intricate tip the arrow had and the careful fletching. He knew that arrow. It was Elrohir's. Legolas knew the twins' arrows as well as his own. Often enough, when they had been together, they had shared tricks and tips as to how to make the perfect arrow.

Standing up, Legolas put the arrow into his own quiver and took another look around, this time searching for other signs that the two Noldor elves had been there. Now that he knew what he was looking for, his sharp eyes soon found more arrows and, to Legolas' horror, used bandages and herbs.

Kneeling down quickly, the blond archer examined the soiled bandages and the bloody herbs. One of the twins must have been injured, or perhaps both. The amount of bandages could have been for one badly injured elf or for two elves with only minor wounds.

But, Legolas thought, if either Elladan or Elrohir had been hurt badly in this fight, they would surely have gone back to Imladris, would they not? Stupid elf, Legolas reprimanded himself. Of course the twins would not head back to Imladris just because of a triviality such as an injury. Those two were stubborn enough to walk to Mordor and back with nothing more than one arrow if it was necessary to rescue their little brother. They would not turn back, only when it was absolutely necessary for their survival. And even then, Legolas thought, it was doubtful.

Nodding to himself and trying even more to convince himself that his friends were fine, Legolas eased himself to his tired feet. It was time for him to move on. With a bit of luck he would catch up with the twins. The fight with the wolves surely had cost them time, and if Legolas sped up, then perhaps he could reach them before dawn.

Of course the two brothers would not be happy to see him, injured as he was, but Legolas was sure that the twins had always known that he would follow them. He was Legolas, prince of Mirkwood, fighter in his royal army and best friend to a certain ranger, actually. And as much as the twins called him so, he was no Lornalas.

Turning to go, Legolas froze in his steps as he heard a soft growl behind him. He turned, very slowly, only to find himself face to face with a large wolf, its snout full of blood and the dark black eyes shining hungrily in the night.

It seemed that the twins had forgotten one of the wolves.

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"How fares your shoulder?"

"Hm?" Elladan replied absentmindedly. For the last few hours they had walked in silence through the night, slowing their pace somewhat so they did not loose the travellers' tracks that they followed even through the night.

They had paused an hour or so ago to check their wounds and to make sure that they were not bleeding, and after re-bandaging them they had set out again. Elladan was worried about both his brothers now, as Elrohir was still slightly unsteady on his feet.

As they had walked on, the older twin had found himself lost in his own musings. He was worried about Estel. What would the travellers do to him? Had they hurt him? Was he injured? Where was he? And, most importantly to the elf: was he still alive?

Musing over these things did not improve Elladan's mood, and although he knew that he would get no answers to his questions, he could not help formulating them in his mind. He was the oldest brother, for Elbereth sake. It was his duty to protect his siblings and to keep them from harm. It was his fault. At least, Elladan thought, Elrohir's current state was.

If he had just heard the wolf sneaking up on him, or if he had reacted faster, or if he had been stronger. He could have helped his twin in the fight, and then perhaps Elrohir would not have been injured. Elladan sighed, he was so lost in his own thoughts, that he had already forgotten his brother's question.

"Elladan? Are you alright?" Elrohir's now slightly concerned voice sounded beside him. Elrohir had been watching his twin since their last stop and his brother's continuing silence had made him worry.

The younger twin knew perfectly well that his brother suffered from the "It was all my fault illness", as his father used to call it. Seeing his twin so lost in his own little world had made Elrohir wonder whether the illness had just broken out in Elladan.

His question about his brother's injured shoulder had not been answered and his second statement had not even lead to a reaction from his twin. Elladan was stoically looking to the muddy forest floor, seeking the traces of the nightly travellers and following their route southwards.

Sighing inwardly, the younger twin started another attempt to reach his older brother: "What do you think, brother? How far has Legolas come yet?" This garnered a reaction from his twin. Elladan stopped in his steps, looked up, and then turned surprised eyes at his twin.

"You do not think he followed us? He cannot be that stupid. He is injured and father would have his hide if he…." As Elladan saw his brothers arched eyebrow and the twitching lips, he stopped in his rambling.

He sighed loud and turned his face to the stars above him: "Ai, Elbereth, why me?"

"Because the Valar hate you, dear brother." Elrohir smirked and walked past his brother through the trees. After a moment, his twin had caught up to him, now fully alert.

"Elrohir, now honestly. Do you think he is really that stupid that he would disobey ada's wishes, sneak out of the house and into the forest, to follow a trail that even we have difficulty in seeing, in a night as dark and cold as this, with his injured side and so weak and exhausted from his blood loss and the fever as he is?"

Another elegantly arched eyebrow and a lopsided grin from his twin was his only answer. Defeated, the elder twin turned his gaze to the forest floor again, murmuring softly under his breath about stubborn Wood Elves and thick headed blond archers.

But as much as Elladan and Elrohir feared for Legolas' safety, as much did they hope that he would somehow find their brother, too, and be able to help him.

Who knew what awaited the twins in the forest. Maybe it was not their fate to rescue their little brother, and if that was so, then perhaps the Mirkwood prince would have the chance to save Estel's life once again.

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First, he did not know what had woken him, or even where he was. Or why he felt so cold and bruised. Then he opened his eyes to the complete darkness of a tent at night, and his memories came back to him.

He sighed inwardly, so that had been no bad dream, but harsh reality. Estel shivered slightly in the cold. Why had he woken? According to his stomach, he was everything else than hungry and his eyes did not show him the cause for his waking either.

But after a moment of complete silence, his ears did: someone was sneaking around the tent, according to the muffled but heavy steps, a rather heavy someone. Estel turned his head in the darkness towards the sound. Whoever was outside, he was nearing the tent flap. The ranger gulped, but braced himself. Whoever might enter the tent, he was ready.

When the tent flap actually opened, giving the ranger a brief glance at the sky rich with blinking stars, a shadowy figure entered the tent, standing out against the light of the dying fires and giving Estel no clue as to who had entered.

The tent flap closed with a soft sound, shutting out the light and leaving the two humans in complete darkness. For a short moment the figure just stood there, tall and stiff, starring down at the ranger, unmoving.

Estel took a deep breath and then he arched an elegant eyebrow, much like his foster father did. That he could not identify the intruder meant not that he could not show him that he was not frightened by him, or intimidated, even though the ranger was.

Midnight visits usually meant nothing good, and hidden midnight visits while you were kidnapped, were even worse.

The dark man looming over the bound ranger shifted his weight slightly and then he moved closer to the ranger. He crouched down before him and looked Estel in the eyes. Silver ones met red ones. Estel knew immediately who had paid him this late visit when he saw the eyes of the man.

Finally, Dagnir had come.

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Gleaming, hungry eyes were fixed on the elf over the clearing. The wolf's chest was heaving and saliva turned red from his blood was dripping onto the wet grass. The vivid ears were pressed to the enormous head and the snout of the beast was sniffing the air. The wolf lowered his head and a deep and menacing growl came from deep inside his throat.

The beast was angry, but moreover, very hungry. Its last prey had escaped, but this one, would not.

Legolas eyed the wolf warily. It was big, enormous even. Not the biggest wolf he had ever faced, but the elf realised that the beast could cause him trouble. His side was not yet completely healed and the long trek through the night had not helped his weakened condition. It had only served to make it worse.

As the wolf was too close for him to be able to use his bow, Legolas slowly reached up with his left arm to unsheathe his second dagger. In a surprisingly slow motion, so as not to startle the beast, the elf gripped the shaft of his white knife and lowered the weapon to his side.

Legolas, his own midnight blue eyes not leaving the animal before him, stepped back and readied himself into a fighting position. Taking a deep breath, he shifted his weight onto his left leg, and waited.

After a few moments in which neither elf nor wolf moved, the animal started forwards, growling menacingly, fangs barred. Step for step the wolf came nearer, growling constantly and showing its white and deadly teeth.

Legolas waited. He did not move. Neither towards, nor away from the predator. He wanted the wolf to make the first move, his chances of survival would then be better. The animal would attack soon; the elf was convinced of that. He took another deep breath, gripped the handles of his twin knives harder, and waited.

He did not have to wait very long. With a vicious snarl the huge beast leapt towards its prey. Paws high, teeth barred, saliva dripping from the snout, the beetle-like black eyes boring into its prey, its heavy body flew through the air.

With a deafening crash, elf and wolf collided. A painful scream filled the air, followed by a low howl. Then the fighters thumped onto the ground and lay still. Silence settled over the clearing once more.

Another being had just lost it's life that night.

xoxoxoxo

For a long moment neither of the two men said anything. They just stared at each other, each of them contemplating, it seemed, what would come next. When Dagnir's eyes left the ranger's and settled onto the small bundle in the blankets, an unidentifiable shimmer seemed to creep into his eyes and his lips twitched slightly.

Instinctively, Estel pressed the little boy tighter towards himself, as if to protect him, although he knew that he could not stop Dagnir doing whatever he was going to do.

The captain didn't seem interested in telling the ranger why he had come. Instead he stared as if transfixed at the sleeping child. Almost as if it was something he had long waited for and was not sure that his dreams had really come true.

When Estel could not stand the silence and the predatory look on Dagnir's face, he cleared his throat and stated in a voice more confident than he felt: "Why does the captain have to sneak around at night? Do you not trust your loyal servants?"

At first, the other man did not answer. Then, with great difficulty, it seemed, Dagnir averted his eyes from the child and faced the ranger. "That is none of your business, ranger." Estel just raised his eyebrow. So, it was not his business, eh? Who had been kidnapped? Who was sitting bound to a tent post on the cold floor? Who's friend had been injured, probably even killed?

His thoughts must have been clearly written on his face, as the captain frowned and then seemed to consider his options. Finally, the captain had come to the conclusion, that telling the prisoner could do no harm.

"I am sorry you have become entangled in this ranger, but it was your own fault, and what I do or don't do, is solely my own business. And if I want to sneak around at night in my camp, where my men stand guard, to speak with my captive, and to make sure my prey is well, then that is my business." Every time Dagnir said the word "my", he pronounced it as if he wanted to make sure that even the dumbest person understood what he meant.

And what he meant was clear to Estel. Dagnir saw his fellow hunters as his possession, things with which he could play with as he liked. They were hired killers, ready to do what he told them. They were interchangeable as was he, Estel.

A few more minutes the two men held eye contact, and then suddenly, the rangers lungs constricted once more, resulting in a painful coughing fit. Estel shivered as he tried to stop the coughing, annoyed and angered that his body had decided to show his weakness. After some more coughing and painful tries to control his breathing, Estel manages to suppress the coughing at last.

When he looked up, fully suspecting to see Dagnir smirk at him and tell him how pleased he was to see the ranger suffer, all his searching eyes met was the concerned face of the captain.

Dagnirs eyes were clouded slightly, his brow furrowed and he had leant forward a bit, as if to take a closer look at his captive. After eyeing the ranger up and down, the man finally said: "You do not look good. Are you ill?"

Estel would have laughed, had he not known that it would result in another coughing fit. Ill? Had that man had just asked him if he was ill? It was the most stupid question Estel had heard in a long time. No, of course he was not ill. Why should he be? Because he had walked through a forest at night, with cold mist and without a cloak? Because he was sitting bound to a tent pole in a tent as cold as a grave with a blanket that was not large enough to use as a towel? No, why should he be ill?

But although all those thoughts were racing through his mind, all Estel answered was: "This is my business. Why should you care?" And really, if Estel thought about it, his health was nothing this man cared about, his life, maybe, but not his health.

In the darkness of the tent, Estel saw the eyes of the captain lighten a little, as if he was contemplating the situation. More minutes passed and the silence that reigned was not broken until Dagnir finally got to his feet, straightened himself to his full height, looked down upon his captive and nodding, said in a voice void of all emotion: "You will sit near the fire tomorrow. But I warn you, ranger, one false move..." Dagnir trailed off, but there was no need to finish the sentence; Estel could clearly picture what would happen if he so much as breathed in the wrong direction.

With that, Dagnir turned round, opened the tent flap, and left as silently as he had entered, leaving Estel in the cold darkness again. The ranger could hear the other man's footsteps on the wet grass, crunching small dry leaves as he went. Some moments later even those sounds were gone and Estel was left alone to his thoughts.

Closing his tired eyes, Estel wondered for a few moments why his captor had visited him, but abandoned this line of thought almost as fast as he had brought it up. It did not really matter and whatever Dagnir had wanted to do this night, Estel could not care less.

What made Estel curious though, was the last statement of his captor. It seemed this man was concerned about his health. But that's ridiculous, the ranger thought. But, on the other hand, this new turning of the events could offer some opportunity for him.

If he was untied from the post, if he could walk around, perhaps even fully untied and without any bonds, then maybe, just maybe, there would arise a chance of escape. Estel had to admit that those chances were slim to none, but with the tiniest portion of luck…

Resting his head on the post, the tired ranger thought about his new possibilities. Before falling asleep again, he sent a quick prayer to the Valar to keep his family and friends from harm and to give him that bit of luck that he would need.

xoxoxoxo

Stillness had settled like a cloak of death over the clearing. No bird could be heard, no nightly owl screeched. The black trees loomed over the scene like mourning witnesses and the leaves trembled. All sounds had vanished and the silence was deafening.

In the clearing itself, neither of the two combatants had moved. Still and silent they lay on the ground, no movement stirred the air, no breath coming forth. All that could be seen, had one looked, was the steady flow of crimson blood that turned the grass red and created a puddle on the rain-soaked ground.

Then, the shape on the ground moved. It was as if the two beings were rising together. After some shifting, a slender white hand appeared from under the animal, placed itself under the wolf's furry body and pushed heavily.

The dead wolf slid down the elf's form and Legolas lay on the earth, panting and refreshing his lungs. A silver white knife handle protruded from the wolf's chest, exactly were the animals heart was. It had killed the beast instantly.

The elf's chest was heaving heavily, as the dead weight of the animal had pressed the air out of Legolas lungs when they had crashed to the ground. Slowly, the archer moved into a sitting position, reflexively placing his hand over his aching side. The wolf had missed the old wound with his paws, but nevertheless, the collision with the animal had made the injury scream in protest at the treatment.

Legolas took some more deep breaths before he hoisted himself to his feet. After retrieving his knife from the animal and cleaning it, he re-sheathed both of his weapons. The attack had not taken long, but he had to hurry if he wanted to catch up to the twins.

Sighing, the elf looked around the clearing to make sure that this dead wolf was the only predator that had been left, then Legolas withdrew his hand from his side. The wound throbbed painfully and the archer was not sure if he wanted to risk a look at it.

Knowing that he had to and that there was no way to avoid it, Legolas lifted his green tunic and looked at the bandages at his side. To his utmost relief, the white bandages were not soaked in blood as he had feared, but merely a medium sized red spot had appeared on them. The elf had probably not even torn any stitches.

Replacing his tunic and re-shouldering his bow and quiver, Legolas turned to the direction he knew the twins had taken, and then, without another look back, he headed off into the night to do what he had set out to do.

End of chapter 8

Tbc…