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 9 – Sending for help

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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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Leaning against a tall oak tree, Legolas closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He was tired. For long hours his feet had carried him through the nightly forest, leading him south and towards his friends. But now, in the ghostly hours of the morning, his feet were sore and his shoulders ached.

The elf was not fully healed, and his body had not hesitated to tell him that over and over again. After his near deathly encounter with the lone wolf, Legolas had set out with fast steps, eager to reach the twins. But only an hour later his legs had begun to wobble dangerously beneath him and he had had to take a short rest.

Where he had thought in the beginning that the rest would be the first and only one, his legs had forced him to stop frequently and to make longer and longer stops. A feeling of defeat had begun to settle in his stomach and with every rest he took, he felt lonelier.

Time was running through his grip like water was running in the Anduin and Legolas knew that his plan of catching up with the twins was ruined. He would be lucky if he made it back to Imladris on his own.

But although he had faced all these obstacles, the prince was not willing to give up yet. He had come so far already, he would go on. Legolas had sworn that even if the Valar sent him more wolves or thunderstorms or ice and snow, he would go on, come what may.

Sighing inwardly, Legolas pushed himself from the tree trunk and was about to start out again, when his sensitive ears caught a sound. He tilted his head to the side and listened with his breath held. There, the sound came nearer. And it was quite loud now after the hours of complete stillness in the forest.

Legolas knew that sound. He had heard it so many times in his life, almost daily, that he came to the conclusion that he was no longer alone. With the speed and agility of his kin, the blond archer climbed up the tree he had previously leaned on and crouched down on one of the branches.

From here he had a good look at the forest below him. He saw the underbrush, the wild flowers that would rise as soon as the sun would wake them and he could see the little stream of crystal clear water below him.

Since the clearing that he had crossed only a few hours after he had departed from Imladris, the stream had been his constant companion and the elf had wondered whether the hunters had used the stream as an orientation mark.

All his thoughts were driven from the archer's mind, however, as the sound drew nearer to his hiding place. Taking his bow from his shoulder, the elf notched one of his yellow fletched arrows, directed his bow at the way below him, secured his grip on the branch and waited for the sound to reach him.

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He slowed his horse and let his gaze travel over the surrounding trees. It was early morning, the hours where the world decided to wake or sleep on. The trees were looming like black statues over him and the forest floor was wet with moisture. The animals of the night had hurried back to their quarters and the hunters of the day had not yet woken. It was the hours of ghosts.

The man was tired and exhausted, as was his black horse. Both had thundered through the night to reach their destination but the muddy forest floor had forced them to ride slower than the rider wanted.

The flanks of the horse were heaving and white foam had wetted its mouth and face. The mane of the animal was sweaty and clung to its head as if it had rained for hours. The beast was tired and now and then the horse tripped over roots and branches. It was time for a brief rest, for both, rider and horse.

Slowly and cautiously the rider approached the stream before him. The water seemed to call to him to drink it and the rider felt, for the first time that night, how thirsty he was. Another quick look at the trees around him told him that he was alone.

With tired limbs the dark clad man slid from his horse, took the reigns and led the thirsty animal to the gurgling river. The horse, sniffing the refreshing water, stepped eagerly onto the small bank and, bending its head down, drank with big gulps.

The rider, however, loosened his water flask from the saddle and drank from it, his eyes never leaving the trees and the dark underbrush. He was cautious and he had all cause to be so. The mission the rider had set out to fulfill was crucial to his captain. Loosing the note he had to deliver meant failure and failure meant certain death for him.

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The arrow tip never left the man on the ground. Legolas moved his bow and with it, he accurately aimed at the rider. He saw how the man slid from his steed and then loosened his water flask to drink. What sparked the elf's interest was that the rider never stopped searching the surrounding forest, as if the man expected something or someone to attack at any moment.

To the archer's relief, the rider had spared his hiding place only a cursory glance, concentrating more on the lower bushes and scrub instead of the green treetops. For the hiding elf it was a sure indication that the man had either little experience with elves or was not thinking that someone would attack him from the treetops.

Whatever it was, for Legolas it meant an advantage, should he decide to attack the man or the man decide to kill the elf. For now, the prince had no reason to let his arrow fly. Nothing the man had done indicated that he was more than a weary traveler.

A small voice inside Legolas whispered words of warning, but Legolas paid it no heed. Not as long as the man did nothing more than refresh himself and his horse. So, the blond elf followed every movement of the stranger and waited.

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After some minutes of loud gulps and swallows, the tired horse had drunken enough and lifted its head. Its ears flickered slightly and the steed turned its head into the direction of the forest behind it, as if it had heard something the man had not.

Patting the horse on its flank, the rider tightened his dark cloak around his broad shoulders, and then bent down to refill his water flask which he had drained in his thirst. The water below him was dark and at the same time clear and glittering, reflecting the fading stars from the early morning sky.

The cool water slowly flowed into the flask and the rider let it cool his hand and fingers. The long ride had made them stiff and achy. When the flask was filled, he stood up, corking the flask in his wet hands. He turned to his horse, then turned back to the river and crouched down again.

He frowned, but nevertheless put his hand into the cold water once more. It seemed as if he were trying to cool it or wash something. In truth, when the rider had turned into the direction of his steed, his watchful eyes had caught a reflection in the water, a movement in the trees above him. The rider had bent down again to take another look and to make sure that, whoever was sitting in the tree, would not suspect anything.

After glancing in the dark water for several more moments, the rider smirked slightly. It was an elf. A damn elf was sitting in the tree, watching him. With his one hand still in the running coldness, the rider opened his dark cloak with the other. He felt inside the cloak for some moments, and then his hand reappeared with a dark object clutched in it. As he was crouching with his back to the elf, the rider was sure that the elf had not seen the object.

Smirking again, the man stood to his feet.

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The tree he was sitting on whispered silently to him. It warned him. It bade him to be careful, but because of what, Legolas did not know.

The human beneath him had refilled his water flask, and then he had turned to the water again to wash his hands of perhaps sand or sweat. That was nothing out of the ordinary. Just because this human seemed to be cleaner than his ranger friend did not mean that the man was behaving unusually.

Legolas shifted his position slightly and watched how the human at the river stood up and turned towards his horse and therewith towards the archer's hiding place. The man walked slowly to his horse.

Narrowing his eyes, the elf tried to identify what the man was carrying in his hand. It was black and had the size of one of Lord Elronds larger books, but what it was Legolas could not tell. Some clouds had flown before the moon that was still in the sky some moments ago, shutting out the light that it was casting upon Middle-Earth.

More cautious now, Legolas saw how the man approached his steed. Suddenly, the man whirled around, the object raised and in this very moment the clouds released the imprisoned moon. In the silver light that fell upon the ground and the trees, Legolas saw what the man held in his hand.

It was a crossbow and it was aimed directly at Legolas' heart.

With reflexes born out of thousands of years of training, Legolas let his own arrow fly at the exactly same moment he heard the crossbow sing. He released his hold onto the branch and let his body fly backwards, down from the branch and away from the tree trunk. Like a cat he turned in mid air and landed, unharmed, at the bottom of the tree, a new arrow already notched and ready to fly and save his life.

But it was not necessary anymore. When Legolas straightened his back and looked at his opponent, he found him lying on the ground near the river, his eyes open and unseeing, staring into the sky above him, an arrow protruding from his chest, near his heart.

His blood created forms of little red flowers on the riders tunic and mingled with the fabric. It was over. The human was dead.

Legolas slid the arrow back into his quiver and shouldered his bow. His wound was throbbing slightly, but the elf was pleased to feel that the intensity had lessened somewhat. Approaching the man that was already on his way to Mandos, Legolas wondered why the man had attacked him.

To get some answers, the elf kneeled down and searched the human's pockets. In one of them, an inner pocked which was sewed shut; Legolas' hand felt a message cylinder. The elf, curious about his find, took his small hunting knife and opened the pocket to reveal a brown leather tube, from the first view, a messenger tube.

Now even more curious than before, the elf opened the tube and saw that a piece of parchment was folded neatly into it. Taking it out and opening it, Legolas began to read in the silver moonlight. His eyes widened and a small gasp escaped his lips. It was not possible. Not believing his luck, Legolas read the letter a second and then a third time.

Then, with his eyes directed into nothingness, he let his arms sink to his knees, still holding the letter in his hands. His mind was racing, contemplating what he should do now.

Some moments later, the elf shook himself out of his musings, stood and folded the letter again to place it back into the cylinder. He knew what to do. It was clear to him, now, the only way that presented itself.

Letting his blue eyes wander over the trees and the grass, the elf sought for the man's horse. The animal stood at the edge of the river, eyes wide and scared, nostrils flared. The ears of the beast were pressed tightly at the head, indicating that the horse was ready to flee.

With soft steps and an even softer voice, Legolas neared the animal. "It's alright. I won't harm you, mellon. It's all right, sh, sh." The prince soothed the horse while approaching, and some moments later the horse lost its scared look and even took a tentative step forwards.

Smiling now, the blond archer reached out and patted the horse's head. To Legolas' delight, the horse sniffed at his tunic and then nuzzled his shoulder gently. Legolas knew that he was not as good with horses as Elrohir was, and this was not even an elvish horse, but he had to try.

The elf bent down and whispered into the animal's ear, soft and gentle, until the horse nuzzled his shoulder again and shook its head, neighing approvingly. After securing the message tube to the saddle, Legolas ripped a small part of his tunic and placed it beside the tube, securing it tightly.

Another encouraging word, another neigh and the horse sped away, northwards, into the direction of Imladris. When the horse had disappeared from Legolas' sight, he took another look around.

He could do nothing for the human at his feet. There was no time to bury him and the elf had no means to do so. All he could do was leave him where he was. Taking a deep breath, the elf turned around and headed in the other direction, in the direction the rider had come from.

All he had to do now was follow the horse's tracks. The moon slowly disappeared behind the trees and a grey light appeared in the east. The sun was rising and with it, hopefully, help from Imladris.

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The sun was shining weakly from the sky, not really warming the cold earth but lighting the mood in all depressed souls. Every being cherished the sunlight, because it meant that the harsh winter was finally over and therewith the long dark nights and the cold that crept into the bones.

But as much as the birds twittered and the sunny rays sparkled on the fountain in the courtyard of the Last Homely House, the Lord of Imladris felt trapped and alone.

Estel was gone, his twin sons were gone, and his charge, the prince of Mirkwood, was gone too. And all the mighty elven Lord was able to do was sit around in his protected house and wait. It was a task that was easily done but it cost the elf enormous strength and will power to not mount his own horse and ride after his sons and Legolas.

He had been busy during the morning, signing papers and finishing important letters, but now, in the early afternoon, no duties awaited him, no messages to complete, no papers to sign.

To find peace for his aching heart and worried soul, the Lord of Imladris had come to his favorite spot; the balcony that lead to the front of the house, overlooking the stone bridge and the courtyard.

How many times he had already stood there, Elrond did not know. From this place, he had seen many things. Hundreds of times he had seen his twin sons arrive in Imladris, coming over the bridge and then into the courtyard, being safe and at home again.

From this place he had seen the twins bring Estel to the Last Homely House, a small child, cuddled in Elladan's arms, sleeping. The Last Homely House had soon become Estel's home.

Elrond had seen his sons leave for missions, for hunting trips, for adventures and he had seen them come back battered, hurt and more often than he liked to admit, near death. Many memories flooded to his mind, some nice and beautiful, others dark and painful.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that he nearly missed the clatter of hooves on the bridge. Startled, and with a painful jolt of hope in his chest, he looked up and to the stone bridge, hoping against hope that it was one of his sons, or all of his sons and Legolas, returning.

His eyes met no elf, but only a dark horse, alone and rider less, walking exhaustedly over the bridge leading to Imladris and then entering the cobbled courtyard before the house. Elrond turned and hastened to the yard, his robes flying behind him and his brown hair whooshing over his shoulders.

When the lord arrived before the house, a stable hand had already taken the horse's reigns, calming the animal and looking it over. The horse was not injured, only tired and exhausted.

One closer look told Elrond that this was no elvish horse and no horse that he had seen before. According to the sweat and the heaving sides, the animal had run through the morning and perhaps even throughout the night. Wondering why a rider less horse would stumble into his courtyard, the elven lord examined the horse carefully.

Finally, his eyes found what he had been looking for. A leather cylinder was fastened to the saddle, a messenger tube. When Elrond untied the tube, a green piece of clothing fell into his hands. Elrond needed no second look at it to know that it was part of Legolas' tunic. No one in the whole of Imladris wore that color of green. It was the green of the Wood Elves and the color of the prince of Mirkwood. Legolas must have sent the horse.

Opening the tube with slightly trembling hands, Elrond took out the parchment and read it. His eyes widened and he could not believe his eyes. This was the explanation. This parchment told him why his son had been kidnapped. It was the key to getting Estel back.

Elrond sprinted back to the house, bewildered eyes following his passing. No one had seen the elven lord sprinting along the corridors before. It was most unusual behavior. But Elrond did not mind, neither did he care. He had found the answers he had been waiting for since that fateful morning they had found Legolas and discovered that Estel was missing.

Bursting through the doors of his advisors study, the Lord of Imladris came to a halt before Glorfindel's desk and held out the piece of paper to his friend to read. Stunned, the other elf took the parchment, and read:

Torian, My old friend,

Long has it been since we last met. I am sure you remember our last encounter. I remember that day as if it had been yesterday; you, me, a sword, your betrayal. You were a coward. And cowardly were your actions. You told our captain about what I had done. It was you who told him that I had taken the money and killed the guard, you who told him where to find me. It was you who was sent to kill me and you, my so called friend, who tried to murder me. But, as you know now, you did not succeed. And, cowardly as you are, you fled.

It is time for us to end our little game of hide and seek. For months I have tracked you and now, finally, I have found you. You cannot hide any longer, you cannot escape me. I have your son. If you want him back, alive, that is, bring as much gold as you can. Go south until you reach the end of the forest of Rivendell, then east towards the Misty Mountains. You will not find me, but I will find you.

There, we will end this, once and for all. If you do not come, your son will pay in your stead for your failure and your betrayal.

Dagnir

Glorfindel read the letter a second time, and then his eyes sought out those of his friend. Before he could question how Elrond had come to have the letter, the elven Lord told him of the horse and the piece of green tunic he had found. Elrond told him of his suspicions that Legolas had sent the horse and that the letter came from the ones that had kidnapped his son.

It all made sense now. The family that Legolas had met on his way to Imladris, the parents of the child, must have been in fear that something like this would happen. Therefore they had entrusted Legolas with their son, to keep him safe and from harm.

The two nightly visitors had kidnapped the child to get a ransom and revenge. That was why they had been in Imladris and that was why they had taken the child. Elrond's eyes were gleaming as he and his advisor sat down and began to discuss their course of action. Because now, they knew where to find the men that had taken Estel.

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As the sun neared its midday position, one of the hunters entered Estel's tent, and to his great delight, he was untied and let out into the game of shadow and light that the sun created between the high trees. Although the sun shone, the air and the forest floor were still cold, therefore, the ranger was glad that the man led him to one of the fires and pushed him down onto a large log.

Most of the men in the camp were sitting around the fires, talking quietly, but some others were positioned at strategic points to guard the camp. All the guards had long swords and bows and every single one of them looked as if he knew how to use his weapons.

Neither Dagnir nor Bauglir were in sight, but Estel suspected that they were near, probably in one of the tents, discussing some matter of importance.

The short walk from his tent to the fire had shown Estel that his legs were stiff and his muscles ached from lack of use. His shoulders and arms were nearly numb and ever time he moved them; thousands of little needles pricked his skin and made it feel as if it was on fire. His headache that had worsened over the time that he was in the tent, seemed to ease as soon as he was in the fresh air, but his throat did not like the coolness of the air and every breath the ranger took brought the chilly air deep into his lungs.

Taran, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the little trip outside and his blue eyes followed every movement they could detect. The boy watched the men walk around, the trees swinging in the wind, the dancing of the leaves and the flames of the bright fire before him. In the ranger's arms he felt secure and he used his freedom to explore the little world that lay before him.

To Estel's relief, they had not bound his hands again, neither had they bound his feet, but in a camp as small as this one, with guards at the edge of the forest, it was highly unlikely that he would escape. But, to the rangers mind, this was probably the best opportunity he would get. And he would use it.

He leaned back, slightly massaging his sore arms, waiting for his chance of escape. The only problem was that he could not take the child with him. It broke his heart to leave the child behind, but alone his chances were simply better.

The boy would slow him down and if he had learned anything during his short stay, then it was that the hunters, and especially Dagnir, needed the child alive. So, if he fled, they would hunt him down and try by all means to stop him. That included the use of weapons and Estel did not want to bring Taran any danger.

A flight was never a safe thing and if the men shot at him, then there always was the possibility that they would hit the boy instead of him. Estel would not risk that. If he escaped, and made it back to Imladris, his brothers and a party of elves would track the men and free the boy. That was better that risking the boy's life unnecessarily.

So, the ranger let his gaze travel over the camp, searching and waiting for his chance.

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The trees surrounding them were not standing as close as before and the dense green foliage was slightly decreasing. Birds were singing overhead and the little wind that rushed through the forest played with the dry leaves on the ground.

Elladan and Elrohir were nearing the edge of the forest. The sun had accompanied them for the whole of the day and the golden rays had warmed their cold bodies. During the night the twins had made sure that they were still heading in the right direction. They had followed the tiny river that they had crossed earlier and both felt that the hunter's camp must be near.

Estel and the two other men had one and half days head start, but the elves were surely traveling faster than the humans had done, due to their elven strength and endurance. Of course, their little meeting with the hungry wolves had cost them time, but the edge of the forest was near.

More cautiously, Elladan and Elrohir moved on, their eyes searching for guards or other signs that they were not longer alone.

Who knew, perhaps they would even meet their little brother soon.

End of chapter 9

Tbc asap…