A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! You've all been so encouraging, and consistent ;-) And now, I must run outside to rake leaves... Enjoy!

See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responsesfor chapter fivewill be sent later today.

Chapter 6: Renewing Animosities

Legolas felt one final blare of warning from his senses before he felt cool metal encircle his neck. The noose tightened, pulling him upward until his feet barely touched the ground. He managed to grab one of his daggers. Stretching as far as he could, he optimistically reached upward. The strain around his neck tightened, and he gasped for breath, nearly dropping his dagger. His fingers ran deftly up the chain, not knowing exactly what he was hoping for—other than survival.

Just when his arms had at last reached their limit, his fingers touched rope. He positioned his dagger to cut, but a sudden vicious tug from above made his already wavering vision darken. As his mind began to shut down from lack of oxygen, his shaking hands automatically unclenched from the hilt of his dagger. Through his hazy consciousness, he heard the clatter as metal hit the walkway.

-o0o-

Legolas shifted and groaned as consciousness returned to him with a painful jolt.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here?"

The gruff voice booming at him from above truly made the nightmare complete. His eyes flew open, and he forced his blurry vision to focus on the leering face. He felt his anger flair into hatred as his suspicions were confirmed. But the fog was only beginning to clear from his mind, and all he could get out was a muttered:

"You!"

Dagron grinned. "Yes, me, elf. Were you expectin' somebody else?"

Legolas' automatic reaction was to throw himself at the man and throttle him. It was then that he realized his hands were bound. After jerking at the ropes with no success, he settled for glaring at Dagron in his best imitation of Elrond.

To his credit, Dagron's smile only faltered a little. "Aw, come now, you're not still sore at me from last time, elf? If one of us is angry it should be me." He rubbed the stub where his hand used to be. "You gave me every reason. All I did was 'ave a lil' fun with the ranger." Drawing his leg back, he abruptly slammed his foot into Legolas' stomach. Observing with satisfaction the way the elf doubled over slightly and gasped as he struggled to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him, Dagron said smugly, "You can count that partial payment for all I owe you."

Legolas' glare became frigid as he regained control over his breathing. "Nostad lín sui orch," he said, scowling disdainfully. Even though Dagron stood a few feet away, he could still smell him. And his scent was strongly reminiscent of orc.

"Now, elf, don't you start spoutin' insults in that filthy tongue of yours." Dagron cocked his head, leaning closer until he was nearly face-to-face with his captive.

Legolas grimaced in disgust as spittle hit him in the face. A waft of the man's breath was enough to make him nauseous. Despite his now-churning stomach, he continued to defiantly stare back, and said with deadly calm, "Thúlonaugol." He smiled at the look of rage on Dagron's face, knowing the effect his next words would have. "Would you like me to translate that for you?"

Dagron's short-temper flared, and he grabbed Legolas the by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the wall. "You're just as bad as that ranger!"

"I certainly hope so," Legolas answered with a cynical laugh, simultaneously clenching his teeth in expectation of more violence. This is suicide... A more intelligent side of him groaned.

"Your cousin would not be happy if he could see you now." A new voice spoke up from behind Dagron. For the first time, Legolas realized there were others in the room. "I suggest you put the prisoner down." When Dagron hesitated, the man said firmly, "Now."

Snarling, Dagron shoved Legolas into the wall and whirled on the newcomer. "I don't need your advice!"

Ignoring him, the man walked over to Legolas and calmly checked the ropes that bound Legolas' hands behind his back.

"What, you think I'm stupid enough to leave him untied?" Dagron sneered.

"Yes, I do." The man took a canteen out and offered Legolas a drink, all the while retaining an attitude that was unsympathetic but practical.

Dagron glared at the man, as if trying to burn a hole in his back. "You may be Kadrin Númair, and you man be legendary, but you'll still not be ordering me around!"

Kadrin grimaced slightly at the way Dagron mutilated the pronunciation of his name, but otherwise remained unaffected by his tirade, never so much as looking back from his crouched position. At last, Dagron slunk off to the other end of the room.

Legolas swallowed his pride and accepted the water. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but he was terribly thirsty and he had no idea when he might have another opportunity to drink.

He took a quick glance about the room and spotted several more men sitting close by talking in lowered voices. At last he risked a glance at the man in front of him. His defiant blue eyes, met a pair of amused blue ones. Instantly, both pairs of eyes intensified with curiosity. Kadrin, for one of the few times in his life, felt he'd found a near-worthy rival when it came to the stare-down. Legolas held his own, returning his opponent's incisive look with an equally unmoved, but searching, glance of his own.

After many seconds had ticked by, and their glances still had not altered, Kadrin's mouth finally curved into a smile. He nodded slowly, "I have watched and followed you for many days. It was an unprecedented pleasure to be hunting down an elf. I had expected more complications—more of a challenge from you. Now seeing you, I wonder at your carelessness."

"Then it was you who captured me." It was statement, not a question. Legolas' eyes blazed, but he kept his voice purposeful and even. His eye darted to the rope and chain on Kadrin's belt. "Why? What do you want with me?"

The chain noose rattled as Kadrin stood. "What do I want with you? Nothing."

"Then why did you capture me?" His voice rose a notch as he watched the infuriatingly calm figure in front of him.

"Because, that is what I am paid to do." The smile on Kadrin's face became even more irritating.

Legolas eyed him suspiciously. So the man was a mercenary of some kind. He was obviously a professional. Dagron had called him Kadrin Númair… The name did have a familiar ring to it, but at the moment he couldn't remember where he could have heard it before.

Deep in thought, his gaze unconsciously looked past the man in front of him and fell on Dagron. Suddenly it all fell into place. What an idiot he'd been being. With Dagron here, Acharndil couldn't be far behind—or rather ahead. Dagron wasn't exactly the brains of the outfit. That was the question that had confused him: who was behind this?

Now, at last, things were coming together. He only hoped that his friends would figure it out more quickly then he had.

-o0o-

Kadrin gripped the rope hard. Lowering himself slowly from the roof of the inn, he intertwined his legs with the rope and adjusted the speed of his descent with his hands. Finding the ranger's room had been easy—too easy. Listening in on conversations and following people through crowds was the drudgery of an assassin's job. Learning what room the human was in had been simple. For those less attuned to the chase perhaps it would present more of a challenge, or perhaps the easy part would be what they looked forward to. But not for Kadrin Númair, he lived for moments like this.

Under the various layers of dark clothing he could feel his heart beating. Blood pounded in his ears. He felt the grace of his movements improve as adrenaline took over. It was only his extreme self-discipline that kept his hands from shaking with anticipation. For him, it was the terror of the moment that always made it worthwhile.

By the dim light coming from the sliver of moon overhead, he could only faintly make out the outline of the windowsill below him. He slid down the remaining distance, unwrapping his legs from the rope, and landing softly on the sill. Now for opening the window. This would be a challenge in his awkward position, and without waking anyone, but he'd done it before. Still holding on the rope, he carefully reached for the glass…. He almost pitched forward into the room when his hands met with nothing more substantial than air.

He appeared to be in luck: the window was open. His initial reaction was to welcome the solved obstacle, but in an instant his experienced mind reminded him of the possibility of a trap. It was cold outside, why leave a window open? Despite his better judgment, he let go of the rope and pushed his legs in, noiselessly gliding into the room. He didn't have time to wonder, Acharndil expected the job to be done tonight. He moved forward, all senses heightened.

The next moment would replay in his mind a thousand times, to his eternal embarrassment. Starting, he just about cried out when he nearly came face-to-face with the open-eyed, staring face of an elf. He stood stock-still, staring back into the blue eyes, automatically reaching for his knife. But the elf never moved. With a sudden rush of acute humiliation, his mind recalled the elven sleeping habits he'd had the chance to witness on their journey here. There would be enough time later to feel embarrassed, now he had to move.

Using all his stealth so as not to wake the elf, he moved into the ranger's room, gently pushing the door open. His light leather boots made no sound as he neared the bed. With a smile he produced a dagger from his belt and leaned forward.

-o0o-

Aragorn woke slowly.

Remembering Legolas, he opened his bleary eyes a crack. Surely his friend would be back by now? Although anxious to see his friend, he was still groggy, and reluctant to get out of bed.

Vowing to make a move towards getting out of bed soon, he opened his eyes further, studying the ceiling. It took his foggy brain a few seconds to realize that there was something intruding on his gaze. Transferring his eyes to the long object, it took his still-sleepy mind yet another moment to realize he was staring at the hilt of a dagger.

He jerked up in bed, suddenly wide awake, and whirled around to have better look at the dagger protruding from the head-board of his bed. It was embedded deeply in the wood, pinning up a small piece of paper. He grasped the familiar hilt and pulled the dagger out to stare at it in puzzled apprehension. The beautifully etched leaf-work on the blade removed any doubt in his mind as to its being Legolas'. Dread gnawed at him. Legolas would never leave his weapons…unless…

He scanned the note briefly, and was already out of bed and half-way to the door before he'd finished reading it. Without ceremony, he burst into the next room. Dolenil was standing in front of the window, as if he hadn't moved from the spot all night, only the window was now closed.

Not waiting for an invitation to speak, Aragorn nearly yelled, "He has Legolas!"

Dolenil spun around. "What are you talking about?"

Before Dolenil had the chance to inquire further, or Aragorn to answer, there was a loud crash in the other bedroom. In a few moments, Dinerion burst from the room, much in the manner of Aragorn, asking breathlessly, "What's happened?" Clothes and hair askew, the young elf clutched a dagger in one hand.

"This is what's happened," Aragorn said, holding out the letter.

The two brothers read it, suddenly, with horrible clarity, understanding Aragorn's alarm.

"Who is Acharndil?" Dinerion asked, looking from the anxious face of Dolenil, to that of Aragorn. He understood that Legolas was in trouble, but as for why he was in trouble, he were still very much in the dark.

But Aragorn was already reaching for the door that led out into the hall. "I'll explain to you later. We must search for Legolas. Quickly."

Dolenil cleared his throat. "Excuse me, my Lord, but your apparel does not seem to be appropriate for an exploration of Laketown." He continued diplomatically, "And you may wish to take additional arms with you?"

Aragorn stopped, realizing that he'd almost made the embarrassing mistake of running off to search for his friend in nothing but his night-shirt and leggings. Lowering Legolas' dagger, which he still held clenched in his fist, he quickly turned back to his own room.

Dolenil leaned on the windowsill, bringing his fist down with a small sound of disgust. Honed in on his brother's feelings as always—not that it took much to discern them at the moment—Dinerion took a step forward. "Muindor," he started quietly. "it's not your fault, you know."

Dolenil's head shot up. "Not my fault? Don't you understand?"

"I don't see what there is to understand."

"I could have prevented this," Dolenil said with fierce self-accusation. "I shouldhave gone with him!"

"Dolenil, it's not your fault," Dinerion repeated, taking another step nearer his brother. "Legolas never would have let any of us go with him, and there was no reason for us to think he was in any danger, anyways." His luck for the moment apparently giving out, Dinerion tripped on the rug and plummeted towards his brother, dagger still held dangerously in one hand.

Dolenil, swiftly recovering from his morose attitude, moved forward to catch him. "Muindor, be careful. You're going to hurt yourself one of these days." He steadied his brother, adding more gently, "And then where would I be?"

Dinerion responded to his gentle teasing with a sheepish grin. "Safe?"

Giving one of his rare genuine smiles, Dolenil straightened his brother's haphazard tunic, unbuttoning and redoing the crooked buttons on the front. "No, not safe, tithen-muindor, lonely. Very lonely."

Aragorn reentered the room loudly, still buckling his sword-belt around his waist. Dinerion sheathed his dagger, and said quietly as they turned to follow the ranger, "We will find him, Dolenil."

TBC...

Ok, there you have chapter six! Chapter seven, should still go up next sat, or late Fri, if I have the energy and time :-)