Chapter 2

A New Threat

Legolas Greenleaf, the prince of Mirkwood, was working silently on his bow up in a tree far outside the palace walls. He had only just returned from the forests, ridding the inner edges close to the palace of its growing number of orcs. The foul beasts had become increasingly aggressive in the past few months. Once the job was complete and the problem under control, Legolas had returned home with his group only that morning. Safe again, the elf prince had quickly realized that one end of his bowstring had become frayed, so at the first available moment he set out by himself to care for the weakened string.

As he worked the new string into its notch to be sure it held tightly, his sharp ears suddenly caught the sound of hoof beats off in the distance, headed his way. He jumped lightly down from his branch and swung the fresh bow on to his back, settling it into place. He wound up the old bowstring and stowed it away in a small bag tied to his waist, and then patiently waited for whoever was coming, the sound of hoof beats growing louder.

Moments later two horses ran into view, baring two riders between them. Both the cloaked riders took notice of the prince, and one of them called out urgently to him.

"Prince Legolas! Legolas!" They spurred their horses forward, eating away the distance between the two groups. "Legolas!" the voice was suddenly familiar.

"Elrohir? Is that you?" Legolas smiled as the twin threw back his hood, his features clear now. The other rider did the same, an exact image of his companion. "Elladan? What are you both doing here?"

It wasn't that Legolas didn't want the twins there for they were very good friends, but visits were becoming few and far between as Elladan and Elrohir began to spend more time riding with the Rangers, and Legolas because of his duties at home and the friendship with Aragorn that enjoyed claiming much of his time.

Elrohir shook his head, extending a hand out to the prince, not even stopping his mount. "We'll have to explain on the way. Quickly my friend," Legolas took the offering hand and vaulted into place on the horse's back behind Elrohir, wrapping his arms around his friend's waist as Elrohir kicked his horse into a gallop.

"What's going on? Did something happen?" Worry put a slight edge in the prince's voice.

"Estel disappeared a week ago in the dead of night." Elrohir shook his head in despair as he explained to Legolas what they knew. "He had just come home that very evening, weary and ready to stay home with us for a while. That night a well trained intruder managed to break into the estate and take Aragorn with him." Elrohir steeled his jaw. It was his home, a place where no such thing should have happened. "It had also begun to rain hard, washing away any clue we might have gotten as to where he was taken. We left to find you as soon as we could, knowing that you track that ranger a lot better than we can.

"Something else a bit interesting that we found was that when we were getting our horses ready we discovered Aragorn's stallion missing. His stall door had been torn off its hinges and there were hoof marks all around the latch. I guess it's pretty safe to say he didn't disappear to serve Estel as a mount, but that he's trying to follow him. But for the life of me, I can't imagine how that horse could find him. All we have as any clue to why he was taken is a very brief letter left on his pillow addressed to us, and no idea where he is." Elrohir reached into one pocket and pulled out the weathered piece of paper for Legolas to read.

All was silent save the pounding of hooves on the ground as two horses were raced to the palace of Mirkwood. Legolas read the letter silently, his worry turning to fear as he took in the hate-filled words.

Handing the letter back, he looked at Elrohir carefully. "Who is this?"

Elrohir shut his eyes for a moment, searching for an answer to the simple question. Or at least, what should have been a simple question. Tightening his grip on the mane in his hands, he clucked softly to his horse and said simply, "One who hates us." He kept his eyes trained forward, not responding to the confused look Legolas was giving him in return. "'Tis a long story my friend, one I do not wish to tell just now."

Breaking his gaze away from the growing view of Mirkwood's palace walls, he looked at the prince pleadingly. "Will you help us look for Estel?"

"Of course I will. Just let me clear it with a few people. My father will not be pleased, for I just returned home this morning." Elrohir and Elladan dropped the prince off at the palace's great front doors with the urge to hurry.

Several minutes later, three riders and three horses left, disappearing into the dark forests.

§§§

It was getting cold.

There was something soft below him, if not entirely comfortable. He shifted irritably as consciousness drew him back to the lands of the living.

He quickly discovered that he had been bound upright against a wooden pole, sitting in fresh mud. Aragorn shook his head, expelling the last of the drug-induced fog from his mind. Where was he?

It was quite dark still, but over the tips of the trees he could see the faint light of a coming sunrise appearing over the top of the mountains. He was cold, but not freezing, and surprisingly he found himself to be almost unharmed, except for a bruise across his temple. But not free.

What happened? What was he doing here? Aragorn strained to remember what had happened, what he had missed. It all came back in a slow, but unwelcome rush.

An open window...

Unable to sleep...

Growing feelings of fear...

An intruder! Yes, someone had sprung the latch to his large window and overpowered him. Someone had managed to break into Rivendell! He could not recall much of what happened after he was taken, only that it had begun to rain, and as soon as they could stop long enough the hunter had given him something... and his memory ended there. The next thing he could remember was waking up to several beings walking around him and someone again binding his hands before he blacked out again.

Irritation at his own weakness of being unable to protect himself made Aragorn frown and glare at an invisible being. How could he have let this happen? Being so tired was no excuse, for he knew that long before it happened he felt that he had to get out of his room. The urge had been desperate, but he had given it no heed. It was entirely his fault. Then his eyes widened as he looked around, the dawn's coming light giving him the detail he needed to understand where he was.

The camp he was in was quite small. Only about five small tents circled the clearing as protection from the rain that had fallen last night. Looking to his right, Aragorn could see several horses tied to stakes and sleeping on their feet. That explained the tents - they were more there to keep the horses in the clearing than anything else it seemed. Then looking to his left, he soon discovered he was not alone.

He was sitting side-by-side with a young boy, just outside a strangely made lean-to of hides. Aragorn could hear no one, and the boy next to him was apparently asleep. He was very young still, with hardening features that made Aragorn guess that he was about fifteen. He had long dark hair that was quite ruffled and fell in his eyes in an almost unnatural way, as if he never, ever pushed it out of his face. He was dressed in a simple-spun tunic and worn leggings that showed many signs of labor, with black boots that looked scruffy and old. Though young he had a sturdy strong build, and if he had been standing up Aragorn guessed he would come up to at least his shoulder, about five and a half feet tall to his own six feet.

Aragorn was suddenly torn out of his musings when a tall being exited one tent and walked soundlessly to the horses. Three others soon joined him. Their sudden presence gave Aragorn a start, for he had been expecting no such beings. He knew right away that they were elves, for their manner of dress and pointed ears was a dead giveaway for one who had grown up with those of their kind. But what struck Aragorn the most was how they moved. Completely silent! At home he had at least become familiar with picking up some soft noise, no matter how small, but now... why, he could have mistaken them for a gentle wind through the trees and given it no other thought. It was as if they weren't even walking on the ground, for they left behind hardly an impression on the wet forest floor at all, a mark that even a ranger would have serious trouble reading. Their movements were swift and relaxed as they worked, gathering up lean-to makings and binding them to their horses' backs, but never did they reveal a hint of harness for their beasts. The horses at least made noise and left marks of their hooves in the mud. In minutes the four elves had picked the camp clean and were joined by two others.

So intent was he in watching these wood-elves that he didn't even realize that the boy next to him had woken up. But as he turned his head to his left again he discovered the boy staring at him and jumped in surprise. The boy didn't move.

Aragorn stared back. The boy didn't flinch or look away. He just stared at Aragorn, but it didn't really look as though he were really seeing him.

Aragorn lifted one eyebrow in confusion. What was he doing? Long tangled hair fell into the boy's face, but it did not hide the boy's piercing gaze that seemed to be focused on nothing at all. And then instantly Aragorn knew why. Focusing on the boy's grey eyes, he could find no pupil. The boy was blind.

Relaxing somewhat under the boy's deadened gaze, Aragorn tried to talk to him. "Hello?" His attentive voice sought out an answer. "Excuse me?"

There was no response whatsoever from the boy.

"Don't talk to him!" A new voice cut into the conversational question, making Aragorn jump again. Having grown quickly accustomed to the ultimate silence of the wood-elves, he had never expected one of them to utter words so loud. He sprang to attention as one of the elves walked to him, the being's dark eyes angry.

"That boy hasn't spoken in years. And I'd suggest that if you want to keep your tongue, you keep your mouth shut as well!" The elf unsheathed a long knife from off his belt, pointing the glinting blade at the man. "Nothing would give me more pleasure than to remove it right now, so don't give me a reason to."

Aragorn looked up fiercely at the elf with his silver eyes growing cold and hard, revealing his defiance. He may have been a prisoner, that much he knew about his situation if not more, but he had no reason to listen to or respect this elf. Why was the elf threatening him so quickly anyway? But knowing that lashing back would only get him in trouble, he stilled his quivering tongue, holding back the easy retort.

"You are now a prisoner under the leadership of Lord Ralorn," the elf shot at the disbelieving look Aragorn was giving him. "You were taken specifically to serve the purpose of the Master. You do as is desired of you and you may survive. Any disobedience will be taken care of by me. Understand, human?"

The word 'human' was spit out with distain. Aragorn knew he was in deep trouble by the tone alone. What would this elf, Ralorn, want with him? Confusion bit his insides, but firm stubbornness clenched his fighting spirit. He was a prisoner, but he was not one to back down and be forced to kiss the dirt nearly so easily. He was no whimpering coward. These elves would know it before the end; that he promised himself.

"Mayroniel!" A deeper voice called to the elf that held the knife from one of the horses. "Cut the prisoners loose and give the man some boots. I'm not going to waste good horses with double riders, but he's got to be able to walk when we get to town. Let him run behind. We need to get to Ilmgalad before the sun gets too high, and I don't want to be followed too quickly!"

"Yes, my Lord Ralorn." Shooting a glare at the man as he walked toward the boy, Mayroniel cut the boy loose and pulled him roughly to his feet. Aragorn watched the boy bit his lip in frustration at being hauled like a cow, but Aragorn couldn't help but shake the feeling that the boy was watching... or at least listening for him, even glancing his way before following Mayroniel.

Human... the word was like a curse. It was something he had learned to deal with when working against high-minded elves, but now it was spoken with deeply rooted contempt. Aragorn twisted his hands around in his bonds, trying to ease the cutting bite of the twine. Then suddenly, the fingers of his right hand touched a feel of hard metal on his left first finger.

The Ring of Barahir!

If he really was in a situation he believed he was in, what would they do to him if they found such a treasure in his possession? Surely they would take it, knowing of its value if not its story, and one of the few remaining heirlooms of his family would be forever lost. He had to hide it. Swiftly he slipped the silver ring off his left forefinger and held it fast in his grip. It wasn't a moment too soon.

Mayroniel returned moments later for him, treating him no better than the boy. Aragorn was yanked to his feet and an old pair of boots was thrown into his hands. "Put them on," Mayroniel hissed. "You're going to be expected to keep up. You fall, you get dragged. Understand?"

"How far are we going?" Aragorn pulled the rough leather boots onto his feet, glad that he was being graced with the small comfort. He was careful while tying the boots, trying not to reveal the ring in his hands as Mayroniel stood over him. When he was done, he stood and gripped both hands tightly, so as to not let on that one of his hands held something of value. He shuddered slightly, but was able to move freely.

Mayroniel snorted. The ranger would not remember the distance they had already come, since the drug he had been put out with had left him unconscious for a few days. "Two hundred miles through the Misty Mountains. Our first stop along the way is Ilmgalad, a small trading town northeast of here. I hope you like to run," Mayroniel sneered at the man as he tied a length of rope between Aragorn's hands and his own horse's neck, ignoring the stunned look on the ranger's face. "You'll know how before this trip is over."

When Mayroniel turned his back to the ranger, Aragorn quickly popped the ring into his mouth.

000000000000000000

It took Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir almost three days to get through the High Pass and make it back to the wilds around Rivendell, most of the journey through heavy rain. They didn't stop at Imladris, rather immediately began to search and track for any trace of the missing ranger. It was annoyingly slow and unbearably miserable to search through the lands that gave no clue to what they sought. For two days they worked their way away from Rivendell, taking the direction that was most likely for a quick escape and prayed to the Valar that they were correct. But now several miles from Rivendell, they were all beginning to doubt.

Finally, just when Legolas was about to throw up his hands in utter frustration at finding absolutely nothing, a peculiar mark on the ground made him stop and stare. Reaching forward and brushing away the few leaves that had fluttered over it, he identified it to be a hoof mark. Pressing his hand gently against the side of the indent in the drying mud, he discovered the mark to be little more than a week old, but immediately he knew where it was from and where it could lead.

"Elladan! Elrohir! Over here!" the prince called over to the twins who were on either side of him and working much the same way, but dropped whatever each was doing and ran to where he stood.

After pointing out the hoof mark and explaining what he had discovered and guessed, Legolas suddenly noticed another mark several feet away and in plain view. Rushing forward with the twins at his heels the three of them found another hoof mark, and close by it, an imprint of a boot.

The sight of it made them all freeze for a moment. No doubt about it now, this must be the right way, and Aragorn had been forced to run rather than ride.

"I think we've discovered the trail," Legolas said, once more looking forward for more tracks. "But where could it lead?"

"There are several small villages and towns that cover pieces of the Wilds and the sides of the Misty Mountains," Elrohir informed the prince, pausing only a moment to whistle for his horse. "Most likely a trading town close by would be the first stop, since we can readily guess that Ralorn is some kind of a slave trader."

"There are more tracks..." Elladan was looking ahead with the prince, taking several steps until he stopped by a rather large rotting log and inspected the side of it. After a careful examination, he called over to the others. "Come here and tell me what this looks like to you."

Elrohir and Legolas both bent down next to the log and like Elladan let their eyes rove over the chipping, insect-eaten surface. Off the left side there was a sharp indent about the length and width of a man's fingers, and the cracks around it suggested that the mark was not a spot worn with age, but placed there fast and hard.

Legolas jumped over the log and hunted the ground quickly and lightly. The twins watched him stop a few feet away, his hands on the ground.

Skid marks marred the drying surface of the dirt ground, and not from any animal, but from a man most obviously. A dark stain covered the edge of it farthest from the log, and when Legolas pressed his fingertips against the ground and brought the moisture to his nose, he stiffened.

"Blood." He turned around and looked at the twins. "It's blood."

Elladan pressed his lips into a tight line before quickly turning around to walk back to the horses, the obedient animals coming to them when Elrohir had whistled. Elrohir gave the prince a firm, but undeniably closed look before following his brother. Legolas understood the silence and did not take it to heart. The twins were as worried as he.

The trail was becoming clearer now as they entered the newer section of the journey of what they sought had taken, and before long the three of them were following the marks on the ground for another good mile through the forests that grew steadily wilder. Much to their dismay, they never found another boot mark, nor given any sign that Aragorn was with this group. What did became clear was that the horses were moving faster now, the marks on the ground more spread apart.

Elrohir was riding in front, and when he let his eyes look up he called back to the others. "We approach a town! It is quite small, but I can see many beings wandering through it. I do not recall seeing such a place before. Elladan, do you know what this town is?"

"Nay, I don't, but here's one thing I do know. Something reeks of death around here! We must be near an old carcass."

Surprised at the response, Elrohir turned around to look at his twin but could not help but agree with him. Something close by did indeed smell horrible, and it was making them all slightly sick as they drew nearer. The scent of raw flesh that had been in the sun far too long was taking away from the normally fresh mountain air.

Legolas saw it first. "Over there!" he pointed over to their left. "It's a horse! Taken down with a bow from the looks of it." Trying to ignore the smell the dead carcass gave off; Legolas nudged his horse closer, calling back to the twins as he did so. "Shot in the rump, probably to bring the poor beast down. Her throat's been slit too." Legolas shuddered slightly at the sight and wheeled his mount around back to the twins.

"She has two broken legs, most likely broken in the fall, and someone quickly ended her life because of it. But I'm surprised that no one has removed it, it's not safe to leave her there."

"Do you think he had anything to do with Aragorn?"

"I don't know. It is possible I suppose, but I have not the gift of the rangers to read signs so well and the marks on the ground are confusing to me." Legolas shook his head. If he ever got the chance he mentally swore he would watch Aragorn more carefully when the man was tracking. The young ranger had quite the talent for it, more so than even those that taught him the skill. "It looks like there was some kind of a struggle between several people, but more than that I cannot say. Other tracks mix everything up." Shaking his head, he gestured to the others toward the little town. "Let's get away to a place that does not stink and see what we can find in this town."

Elladan and Elrohir were still angry and oddly stern, but they nodded their consent to the prince and followed him to the small trading town.

Keep running...

Don't stop... look out for that log!

He couldn't lift his stiff legs that high! He was moving far too fast for that, and after running like the wind behind a horse for nearly two days had deadened his senses. Aragorn's foot caught the edge of the rotting wood, flew right over the log and slammed down to his knees. Unfortunately he did not stop so easy. The fall quickly resulted in his hands being yanked forward so fast he flew forward a few more feet because the horse he was tied to had not stopped. His momentum was far too great to pause long enough for him to regain his footing, and he again landed hard on the ground again, the forest floor ripping into his leggings.

"Get back up!" A very familiar voice barked out angrily as the horse Aragorn was bound to came to an abrupt stop. Mayroniel got his mount under control and turned around to yell at the man. Aragorn struggled to his knees, biting his lip as he straightened out his legs. With his head down still, he spit Barahir out of his mouth and again held the ring in his firm, if not shaking grasp. He had badly ripped the skin on his kneecaps, and they were both bleeding rather badly as he walked forward.

Mayroniel swore under his breath as he saw the rents in the ranger's leggings and the growing stain of blood. Had it been him in charge, he would have made the man continue the last mile and a half at a run, but Ralorn had told him that Aragorn needed to be able to stand and walk when they reached Ilmgalad. Muttering to himself coldly, he gestured Aragorn to come closer.

Aragorn shuddered in pain and annoyance as the elf motioned him forward, but did as he was told. Without warning Mayroniel lifted him up by the scruff of his tunic and threw him like a sack over the horse's shoulders. Holding him in place and giving no chance to shift position, Mayroniel kicked his stallion into a run, leaving Aragorn to struggle to stay put over the powerful churning legs below him.

The last mile was a nightmare. It was good that Aragorn had chosen to put his silver ring back into his hand, for whether it was the location or just Mayroniel's mood, they seemed to go over, pop through and dart around any possibly contrived obstacle the dense forest had to offer. Mayroniel hardly held onto the man, leaving Aragorn to fight for his life or tumble beneath the pounding hooves. There was no way he could have kept his mouth shut and the ring safe. The only mercy Aragorn received from Mayroniel was that the elf urged his stallion to go faster, making the ride much shorter than it would have been had Aragorn been running. Despite all this, it still remained known as one of the more horrifying rides the man had ever been forced to endure.

One the outskirts of the small town Mayroniel slowed his stallion to a walk, and as soon as possible his heavy gloved hand wrapped around Aragorn's shoulder and shoved him off the horse's shoulders, letting him fall unexpectedly to the hard packed earth.

Aragorn hit the ground harder than he would have liked, but managed not to fall completely by landing on his feet in a half kneel position, his knees ringing slightly. Mayroniel had already nudged his stallion ahead of the man and missed the glare Aragorn graced him with. The man was tired, a little injured, and still very confused about why he had been attacked in Rivendell of all places, his home being the last he would have suspected. What had he done to Mayroniel to earn his hate?

If his future was going to have Mayroniel in it for a time, their relationship would only grow darker with hatred, of that the young ranger was sure.

The rope that bound his hands jerked and Aragorn was forced to fall in step after Mayroniel and his stallion, but he felt like a goat, following aimlesslyas he was. His knees spoke out in warning, making Aragorn wince for a few steps until he could get the feeling under control. The other elves had caught up to him now, and he was quickly surrounded on all sides.

Had he looked behind him he would have seen another pair of eyes watching him. Or at least looked as though they were watching him.

Ralorn caught up with Mayroniel and slowed his own stallion to fall in step with his assistant's. "When we get inside, I want the man and the boy kept with the horses. Silore is supposed to meet us here by nightfall with the rest of the slaves. I don't want either of them sold, understand?"

"Yes, Lord Ralorn," one of the guards said submissively.

As they walked, Aragorn wondered about the two elves in front of him. Why did Mayroniel even listen to Ralorn? Mayroniel was certainly the more ruthless of the two, but as he walked and kept his eyes trained to Ralorn's back, he began to sense something different.

Dread.

Where Mayroniel was openly cruel Ralorn seemed to claim an intense, raw energy that spoke of much hidden anger. Mayroniel made it very clear that he hated the man, making it easy for Aragorn to expect what kind of treatment he would get from him, but Ralorn had not hinted yet as to what he wanted. The quiet of the one who had organized to take him away was making him worry about what he could do. What was he supposed to expect from Ralorn? It was just the feeling around the elf, it made Aragorn wince. It radiated power, authority, and control. The ranger began to fear the future with this being without really knowing why.