A/N: -moans- I just had gum surgery today. -tries to look pitiful- Aren't I a good author to post anyways? -g- Heh, I'll be quiet now… (obviously pain-killers do nothing to enhance my mental powers :-P)

At any rate, hope you enjoy the chapter ;-)

See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses will be sent out later tonight...I think :-)

Chapter 5: In a Tight Spot

"Elladan, Elrohir—this an unexpected pleasure." Thranduil rose from his desk as the two dark-haired elves hurried into the room, a flustered servant rushing in after them.

"Your majesty, I'm sorry about this intrusion," the servant apologized profusely. "I tried to stop them but they insisted and—"

Thranduil held up a hand, stopping the overwrought elf mid-sentence. "It's all right. You may leave us." The servant nodded, shooting a dark glare at Elladan and Elrohir as he exited. "Now, what brings you two all the way to Mirkwood? I never received a message…"

"That's because none was sent." Elladan said, his face set and worried. "My Lord," He paused as if dreading the answer to his next question. "did Aragorn and Legolas arrive safely?"

"Yes, they were here." Thranduil answered.

"Were?" Elladan pressed anxiously. "They aren't here now?"

"No, they left over three days ago."

"Where did they go?" Elrohir asked tensely.

"They went to Laketown to renew the trade-agreement." Thranduil sighed. It was time to end this cross-examination and get a few questions of his own answered. "What has happened?"

Elladan stepped forward, holding a letter. "We received this."

Thranduil scanned the letter, his face turning gradually whiter. "We must send a party of elves out immediately."

"No." Elladan said firmly. "We can't! Don't you understand? Acharndil will hurt them or worse if we bring anyone else with us."

The elven King closed his eyes, dropping wearily into a chair. Here he'd thought Legolas "safe" at last, only to find that he'd sent him right back into harm's way. His paternal instincts were yelling at him not to waste any more time. His son needed help, in the form of an army, now.

"Estel is out there too," Elrohir said gently. "We must go alone. It's the only possible way we can help them. I swear, your majesty, if there is any way, we will get Legolas back to you safely."

Thranduil nodded wearily. "I know you will. Go, and may the Valar protect you."

-o0o-

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Aragorn dropped his pack onto the bed.

"I'm going to be meeting with a room full of men, you can hardly call that 'alone'." Legolas chuckled and set his own pack down on a chair.

So far everything had gone smoothly. The inn had been crowded, but thankfully there had been a few rooms left. Legolas had sent word that he would be coming, and everything was set for the signing of the trade-agreement. But, to Legolas' annoyance – and amusement - all three of his friends seemed to feel obliged to offer him their company at least three times each.

Dinerion looked from one face to the next as the conversation revolved around the room.

Dolenil added his voice to the conversation. "Prince Legolas, you know I would be more than glad to accompany you."

"Sweet Eru! You three are going to drive me crazy!" He put his hands on Dolenil's shoulders and looked into his eyes, startling the elf. "Look, this a simple renewal of treaties. I sign a few papers, shake a few hands, give a nice speech—the same speech I give every time… And that's all. There's not even the danger of me forgetting my lines, I've said them enough times to do this in my sleep, so you don't have to worry. I appreciate your concern, but it really is nothing." He shot a sideways glance at Aragorn. "Besides, I think it's about time you showed these two sheltered Woodland elves what a real tavern is like."

Turning to the two brothers, Aragorn feigned astonishment. "What! You mean neither of you has ever been inside a real tavern?"

Dolenil cringed. "Well, not exactly..."

The ranger smiled slyly. "Then perhaps I'll have to treat you two, and take you for a visit."

Legolas shook his head in amusement and reached for the door. "You do that, Strider."

"Hir-nín, wait, I…" Dolenil made one last attempt to sway Legolas, but the Prince was already gone.

Aragorn grinned. Dolenil shuddered.

-o0o-

Kadrin reached up and pulled his hair back, securing it at the nape of his neck with a small piece of cloth. He studied his dark clothing in the mirror and reached for his cape. Scowling slightly, he picked up the mask. It would be an irritation—masks always were—but he was convinced that, at least for this job, it would be a necessary evil.

For one thing, he was targeting more than one person. For another, he was required to capture, instead of kill, thus greatly increasing the chance of a possible escape—and his exposure. He'd never attempted anything quite like this, and although he always enjoyed the thrill of danger, in the end, if he wished to live to face new challenges, he knew he'd have to endure a few precautions.

Still, a mask… With a resigned sigh he placed it on his face, chafing at the way it dug into his skin and limited his side-vision. Really, masks were the most uncomfortable, inhibiting things. They were, in his opinion, mainly a melodramatic frivolity used by amateurs.

Scowling once more at his masked reflection in the mirror, Kadrin expertly flung the cape over his shoulders and drew the hood up over his sun-streaked hair. Capes could be another inhibiting factor, but in his case always crucial. Curse blond hair! Why couldn't he have been born with the more practical color, like black, or even brown? Once again he contemplated dying it, but then there was the trouble of re-coloring it every few weeks… But that was an old complaint of his, and he didn't have the time to obsess over trivialities tonight. Besides, even coloring his hair wouldn't really do away with the need for a cape this night. It was winter, after all, and shaking from cold would do nothing to aid his aim and agility. Given his prey, he was likely to need all he possessed of both.

Now, at last, came the final part of his attire. The most enjoyable part. He picked up his unusual weapon, a glint of pleasure sharpening his steely eyes. His fingers played deftly with the length of coiled rope, a smile flickering across his face as his hand met with the chain noose at the end. Attaching it to his belt, he checked his boot-knife—an extra precaution he always brought for back-up—and turned from the mirror.

He strode out into the approaching gloom of night: a shadowy figure no sane being would wish to meet up with in a dark alley.

-o0o-

Reaching the main room, Aragorn didn't hesitate to lead his two elven companions boldly through the maze of people, tables, and chairs. Conscious of Dolenil's discomfort, he had the mercy to direct them to a table in the corner.

Dolenil grimaced as he looked at the chair being offered to him. It looked as if… He sat down hurriedly, refusing to consider the possibilities. The smell of alcohol and smoke had overwhelmed his senses the moment he'd stepped in, and now he had to fight down a wave of nausea. He'd seen places like this before, he'd just never been forced to stay. Resisting the urge to glare at Aragorn, he settled into his chair, doing his best to forget about his surroundings.

Dinerion sat down next to him, too interested in the kaleidoscope of people around them to notice much else. He turned around to find a young man looking curiously at him. When he caught his eyes, the boy quickly looked away, obviously embarrassed to be caught staring. Dinerion smiled, and the he glanced back up, returning the smile with a nod.

Aragorn ordered the drinks, and then settled back to watch the amusing scene—for the sake of his dignified companion, refraining from putting his feet on the table. In no time Dinerion was engaged in a lively conversation with a man sitting at the table beside them. More men were drawn into the discussion, and soon the elf had a small circle of people surrounding him.

As familiar tavern sounds and smells washed over him, Aragorn relaxed into his seat. Leaning back, with his eyes half-closed, he could almost believe he was in the familiar common room of the "Prancing Pony." This tavern might be slightly less well-kept, the patrons slightly rowdier, the smells sometimes less pleasing, but even so, it felt like… Home, he realized. Rivendell may be Estel's home, but for Strider, Ranger of the North, the tavern in Bree was as close to a home as he would normally have for months at a time.

A particularly jarring note in a drunken song startled him back to the present, and he realized, to his slight embarrassment, that he must have dozed off for a short while. Tough, seasoned Ranger he might be, but traveling with elves could be tiring. Though I'll never let them know if I've got any say in the matter, he thought with an inward smirk.

He glanced around at his companions, glad that they didn't appear to have noticed his lapse. Dinerion was still happily talking, but Dolenil… Sitting silently on the sidelines, Dolenil looked as if he wished he could melt into the shadows that lined the wall—and he was nearly succeeding. Despite himself, Aragorn felt a sudden sympathy for the tight-looking, and obviously miserable, elf. They'd already been in the room for over an hour, and Dolenil's face was starting to look a little green. He had to wonder whether it was the smell or the people. Probably both. Whatever the case, he decided it was time to pull Dinerion away from his entertainment, and save Dolenil from his torment.

But a particularly cruel side of him wouldn't let Dolenil get away quite so easily. He smiled pleasantly at his elven companion across the table. "So, Dolenil, what do you think of a tavern?"

"Disgusting." Dolenil was in no mood for pleasantries or diplomatic answers. He really was beginning to feel more than a little queasy, and the last thing he wanted to do was disgrace himself by loosing control of his stomach in front of all these humans.

Aragorn laughed. "I had a feeling you'd say something like that." He lifted his mug and took a drink. "Still, you have to admit, the drink is excellent."

Dinerion closed his eyes and tried not to think about the repulsive liquor in front of him. One drink had been one too many. He couldn't imagine anything tasting as revolting, save perhaps with the exception of some orc-brew. How he longed for just one sip of strong elven wine, and a breath of fresh air. Inhaling another lung-full of the hazy pipe-smoke, he tried not to cough.

"Your brother appears to be enjoying himself," Aragorn was just saying, casually nodding towards Dinerion. "We could stay for dinner…"

With effort, Dolenil managed to keep his panic from showing. He would not let this human get the best of him. "Dinner?" He managed to choke out. The very mention of food was noxious at the moment.

Finally Aragorn chose to have pity on him. "No, I don't think so. We really should be getting back to our rooms. Legolas should be returning soon."

Forcing himself not to look too eager, Dolenil rose with his usual dignity. Drawing on his considerably drained reserves, he managed to retain that dignity as Aragorn pulled Dinerion away from his conversation, and led them back through the maze of tables. They climbed the narrow stairway and entered their rooms.

It had been hours since Legolas had left, and the worry Aragorn had felt earlier in the day was beginning to bother him again. He brushed it aside. Perhaps Legolas had slipped in while they were downstairs?

As he entered, he scanned the room eagerly for Legolas. Finding no sign of his friend, he decided to check the small parlor that connected with Dolenil and Dinerion's room. He didn't find Legolas, but he did find his other elven companions.

Dinerion was just saying to Dolenil, "Are you sure you're alright? Your face really looks…awful."

Neither of them had noticed him standing quietly in the doorway, Aragorn realized. He took full advantage of that fact to do a little eaves-dropping. Actually, he couldn't help himself. In his "weakened" state, Dolenil seemed to be showing a different side of himself.

"Muindor," Dolenil said in voice far gentler than Aragorn had ever heard him use. "I am fine."

Dinerion look at his brother suspiciously. "You don't look 'fine'."

"Well, believe it or not, tithen-muindor, I am." Dolenil said, turning away from the window. His face seemed to have lost its greenish hue at last, and some of the firmness was returning to his voice, although he still remained warm toward Dinerion. Aragorn had to resist the urge to laugh. This sounded all too much like conversations he'd had with his own brothers…

Aragorn shivered as a cool draft blew across the room. He noticed with amusement that the window next to where Dolenil stood was half open. The elf was facing the window taking deep breaths. Clearing his throat, Aragorn walked forward out of the doorway.

Dinerion looked up with a welcoming smile, as if he hadn't seen him all day. Dolenil looked as if he'd sooner decapitate the ranger than look at him. Apparently the afternoon in the tavern hadn't done anything towards consolidating their "friendship". Aragorn felt like groaning. He was getting very tired of Dolenil's cold treatment, but nothing he did or didn't do seemed to make much of difference. Instead of groaning, he settled for sinking wearily into a chair.

"How long do these treaty affirmations usually take?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"They can take quite a long time…" Dinerion answered helpfully, since Dolenil was obviously not about to offer any information.

"How long, exactly?"

"Usually not this long." Dinerion answered, a hint of worry evident in his voice. "Legolas really should be back by now..." Suddenly he sat up straighter in his chair. "Oh, but we forgot, Dolenil!"

"Forgot what?" Dolenil asked, for the first time paying attention to the conversation.

"Tenth year—this is the tenth year!"

Dolenil nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, that explains it then." The way the tightness in his shoulders subsided at the realization testified to his own worry.

"Tenth year?" Aragorn looked blankly at Dinerion.

Dinerion explained patiently, "Every ten years, at the signing, they celebrate another decade of peace between Mirkwood and Laketown. The celebrations sometimes last for hours. Many times they last long into the night, or even all night. At the least, Legolas probably won't be back for a couple of hours. He'll certainly be duty-bound to stay and appreciate the different wines for at least another hour. He might even decide it's too late and stay over-night—assuming we'd be smart enough to remember it was tenth year."

Aragorn nodded. It was a logical explanation… Then why couldn't he shake his feeling of unease? Despite his previous failures, he tried to rid himself of his worry once more. He shivered. Curse elves and their disregard for cold. "Well then, I don't see why we shouldn't retire." The frigid air blowing in from the window, and the frigid emotions rolling of Dolenil, only compounded his desire to escape from the room.

Dinerion stood with him and moved towards the door to their room. Without turning from the window, Dolenil said, "Maer morn, muindor, Lord Estel. I do not think I will retire yet…"

Aragorn returned to his room, shutting his door firmly against the cold flow of air coming from the open window.

-o0o-

Legolas rubbed his forehead, as if he could dispel the headache caused by two hours of sitting in the middle of a loud celebration. The chatter around him was beginning to fade into the distance as his eyelids began to droop, and then a voice next to him brought him back to full consciousness.

"Won't you have another drink?" His host smiled pleasantly. "Here, I'll have one of the servants…"

Legolas held up a hand. "No, thank you, that won't be necessary."

"I insist. You must try this vintage—it's really quite excellent."

"I'm afraid, I must insist this time." Legolas smiled, and said it as respectfully as his exhausted and slightly annoyed mood would allow. "It is late, and far past time for me to return to the inn."

"But, you must stay here! Please, the Prince of Mirkwood should not be staying in an inn! Allow me the honor of having you stay here, at my house. I will have a room prepared at once if you wish to retire…"

The man was gracious, but Legolas was finding it increasingly hard to keep his calm. Right now, he want nothing more than to give the man a firm "no" and storm out of the room. The strain of acting like a "Prince" for hours on end was making him more tense then he cared to admit.

Instead of behaving in a childish manner, which was highly appealing at the moment, he merely gave one more polite smile before rising from the table. "I really must go, my friends will be worrying about me by now."

At last the other man nodded. "If you must go, you must. You will give my greetings to your father?"

"I will." He bowed in farewell and strode slowly for the door. Needing to retain a sense of stateliness, he forced himself to maintain an unhurried-looking pace—even while his mind screamed for fresh night air and the quiet that waited beyond those confining doors. It seemed to take at least ten minutes longer than necessary, but he finally did reach the door and make good his escape.

He sighed deeply, reveling equally in the soothing night air around him, and the sense of release. The slight throbbing in his head was distracting though, and he knew Aragorn, Dolenil, and Dinerion would be wondering about him. True, by now Dolenil or Dinerion would probably have remembered that it was tenth year. But he had to assume the opposite in case they hadn't. A worried, irritable Aragorn could very well be awaiting his return.

He rubbed his eyes wearily and thought about the direction he should take. The route to the right would take longer, winding around closer to the edge of the lake before turning inland. But it would traverse more heavily-used roads. If he remembered correctly, the way ahead would be the more direct course to the inn. But the smaller road wove tightly between buildings, and he would have to rely strongly upon his memory to avoid getting lost in the numerous twists and turns.

Hesitating for only a moment, he stepped forward into the tight alleyway.

-o0o-

Kadrin watched the elf patiently from his high vantage point. Perfect. The elf was playing right into his hands. Even if he'd planned the ideal situation, he didn't think things could have turned out much better than this.

He reached for the rope at his hip, uncoiling it as he crept across the roof of the building with cat-like stealth. Situating himself a few yards ahead of the approaching elf, he crouched, positioning the metal noose in his hand with a slight rattle of metal.

-o0o-

Legolas stopped abruptly. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

His sense of unease grew with each step he took down the claustrophobically dark passage. Dark voids loomed at him from between the cramped buildings. Further back, the occasional lantern, hanging above a small shop, would pierce the darkness for moment; but now the ally took a turn for the narrower—a thing he hadn't thought possible—and all he had was the faint light coming from a quarter-moon.

He took a few more steps forward before pausing again. His senses screamed at him to turn and run back the way he'd come, but the more "sensible" part of him scoffed at the cowardly idea. Yet another part of him warned of his foolishness for ignoring the subconscious alarm he was feeling. He took a irresolute step back.

Above him, a chain rattled in the dark.

Look – my first real cliffie of the story! -sighs happily- Nothing like a good cliffie to give you the warm fuzzies, huh? -backs away from glaring readers- Hey, be nice. I'm in pain, alright? It makes me feel better to share the misery. -smiles innocently-