A/N: -looks suspiciously at readers- It seems a number of people are actually hoping that Aragorn doesn't win this fight! -shakes head- Really, you can't expect a nice person like me to cater to desires like that!I mean, seriously,does anyone here think I'd actually do something like that to the poor ranger! -eyes sea of raised hands- Um, well... Apparently I have to work on my image as an author a bit...

Here's chapter eight—enjoy:-)

See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer resonses will be sent ASAP.

Chapter 8: Watch your Back

Kadrin held the rope taught, feeling the strength of the man below waver. Well, the elf had been wrong about this human. It didn't appear he was going to have any difficulty at all bringing this one in. A pity, it seemed there'd be no adrenaline rush to relieve the day of its tediousness.

Without warning, strength returned to the other end of the line, and the surprised assassin suddenly found himself jerked forward. A few colorful phrases escaped his mouth as the rope he'd wrapped around his arm for leverage bit painfully into his skin. He grabbed desperately at a passing chimney,to stop his forward progress.Bracing himself against a ledge, he returned the jerk with a powerful pull of his own.

Apparently he had been the one who had underestimated his opponent. He would have to remember to congratulate the elf once he once he was in less dire circumstances. Feeling his arm go numb as its circulation was cut off, he smiled. Well, he'd certainly asked for it.

The next moments were the most vital. He couldn't afford to keep the pressure on the line for too long, or he'd wind up with a dead body on his hands. He let a dangerous few extra seconds pass by. Then, finally feeling the dead-weight of the unconscious man add to the strain on the line, he lowered the rope.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dolenil scanned the streets guardedly. Where had that cursed human gone to? They'd been waiting nearly a half hour! He should have arrived here before them, instead of after. What was taking so long?

"Don't worry, Dolenil, he's probably just taking a long time because he's looking for signs of Legolas." Dinerion spoke up comfortingly at his side.

"I'm not worried about him," Dolenil said hastily. "It's for the Prince that I worry."

Dinerion looked at him doubtfully, and Dolenil looked away. He wasn't worried about the human… Perhaps a little concerned, but that was entirely different. His primary anxiety still rested with the Prince.

After waiting another hour, Dolenil fell to pacing. Eru, if only that human would return! Legolas was already missing—they needed all they help they could get. What was he doing that could possibly take this long?

Finally discarding the last threads of his patience, Dolenil stepped out into the street. "Come, muindor, we'll see what the Adan has gotten himself into this time."

He led Dolenil down long narrow alleyways at a rapid pace for some minutes, before stopping with an audible sigh. His slight concern for the human was turning into outright irritation. Doubtless, he'd found some clue, and was even now following the Prince's trail… In the hopes of single-handedly rescuing him? Admittedly, the idea sounded rash, even for the ranger, but that didn't mean it was beyond him. Dolenil had experienced first-hand what the two of them were willing to risk for the other. He'd seen his Prince come close to giving his life to help the human, and obviously that loyalty was reciprocated.

Keeping his harsh judgments to himself, all he said to his brother was, "He has probably found a clue, or had an idea and is checking it out. We should return and wait for him."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dinerion curiously watched the slow trickle of people walking past the their position in front of the inn. A few them, those less aware of the habits of elves, stared back at the lightly-clad foreigners, who apparently didn't feel the coolness of the winter morning air. Dinerion always smiled back, and they quickly moved on.

After ten more minutes of observing the street, waiting impatiently for the human to appear, Dinerion, conscious of his brother's mood, probed tentatively, "We could go in to the common room to wait…"

Dolenil had to deliberately remind himself that Dinerion was not responsible for the situation they were in, to keep from snapping back. "You may go in if you wish." Shuddering slightly at claustrophobic memories of the tavern, he added, "I prefer to stay out here and wait."

Dinerion nodded, letting the subject drop. Even for an elf, Dolenil had an acute phobia of tight, closed in spaces. He could tell his brother wasn't eager to return to the stuffy inn, and especially the common room.

In concern, he watched his brother run a hand wearily through his hair. To most people the gesture would have meant nothing, but Dinerion know his brother well enough to see the mannerism for the warning that it was. When his brother reached this level of stress it was usually best to ease off and give him a few minutes to re-gather his composure.

"Muindor, I think I'll go see if the horses are being looked after properly…"

Dolenil gave him a strange look. "The horses?"

"Yes, I just want to make sure they're being treated well…" He left quickly, not waiting to see the response his lame excuse would receive.

Dolenil shook his head as he watched his brother round the corner, in spite of his mood, he couldn't help a small chuckle.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Legolas peered into the shadows until he thought he'd go mad.

His eyes had long ago adjusted to the darkness, the only light-source being a small lantern, but there was hardly anything to see.

The only thing he'd figured out for certain was that he was in a warehouse. The dilapidated building was at least two stories high, and stacks of old crates were piled randomly here and there, making the large room into a labyrinth of empty boxes. Overhead, catwalks stretched from one end of the building to the other, running past thick, wooden support beams.

But the last piece of frustration was the windows. All he could make out was their faint outline; at least he thought they were windows. They were high-up on the wall, and so layered with grime, that no matter how long he stared, he couldn't see a thing past the dirt. It was maddening; he couldn't even tell whether it was day or night!

He would have found some satisfaction in glaring at his captors, but the few men left to guard him appeared completely indifferent, seemingly content to smoke all day long, ignoring his existence.

It was just as well; he had much more pressing problems at the moment. Like how he was going to strangle Kadrin with his arms tied behind his back around a very sturdy pole. If that animal captured his friend, he'd have to figure out a way to do just that. Strange how much satisfaction the thought gave him. Wiping that infuriating smile off his face was sounding more and more attractive.

"Ah, Legolas, what an honor," a deep, and familiar, voice spoke up at his side.

Legolas looked up at Acharndil, hiding a start at his sudden appearance. Apparently he had been deeper in thought than he had realized. The man had hardly changed since their last encounter. A few more grey hairs streaked his dark hair, and there were one or two more lines on his weather-beaten face.

Acharndil smiled. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Prince of Mirkwood."

"I wish I could say the same," Legolas spat out the mock formality.

Acharndil shook his head. "Prince Legolas, why all the animosity?"

Legolas stared at him disbelievingly. "Why? As if poisoning and hurting my friends isn't enough, you've captured and used me as a hostage against them twice!" If he weren't so angry, Legolas would have stopped to consider the irony of his repetitive situation.

Their conversation was, mercifully, cut short by a new presence.

"Ah, Kadrin, my friend, I was waiting for you!" Acharndil greeted the man.

As Kadrin stepped into the light, Legolas noticed he was caring a heavy form slung over his shoulder. The worn leather jacket should have been proof enough, but Legolas watched anxiously, wishing more than anything to be proven wrong. However, when Kadrin lowered the unconscious man to the ground, his face was finally revealed, removing his lingering doubts.

Strider...

Furiously, Legolas turned on the assassin.

Kadrin chuckled lightly, holding his forearm where the rope had cut him. "Well, elf, if would appear your faith in your friend was nearly justifiable. He almost ruined me tonight."

Somewhere beyond the rage he was feeling, Legolas faintly wondered what the man found so amusing about being "almost ruined".

He looked over at his friend, anxiously trying to see the rise and fall of his chest. Unconsciously, he strained at his bonds, longing to be free to check for a pulse.

Kadrin walked over to his friend's prone body, pulling his hands behind his back and tying them. He dragged Aragorn over next to Legolas, and propped him up against the next supporting beam, some two or three feet away.

Legolas felt a mixture of relief and renewed anger at the action. Now he knew Aragorn was alive, but why? What were they being held here for? Hostage purposes seemed the only logical reason, and Acharndil had done it before. But then why here in Laketown? Surely the only people Acharndil could—or would—use them against were the twins. They were too far away from Rivendell for that to be very practicable. Besides, surely he didn't think Elladan and Elrohir would be so foolish as to rush out to meet him like they had the first time. Elrond wouldn't let them. Would he?

Next to him, Aragorn's head lolled forward lifelessly. Legolas flinched at the sight of his neck. A line of blood marked where the chain had tightened around his neck, tearing the skin. From the soreness and stiffness in his own neck, he realized he probably didn't look much better.

Gazing at the limp form of his friend, suddenly he felt the overwhelming need for answers.

"What do you plan on doing with us?" A triumphant thought struck him. "Surely you don't plan on using us against the sons of Elrond a second time." He smiled, sure of himself in this, at least. "If so, you're doomed to disappointment; Elladan and Elrohir are nowhere near enough to fall into one of your traps."

"Ah, but they may be nearer than you think, your majesty." Acharndil seemed just as confident. "Sadly, I have pressing duties, so our conversation, pleasant as it is, shall just have to wait until later." He inclined his head to Legolas, before turning to Kadrin. "Can you do one more job for me? I know you've had a…busy day, but I do not think it is in out best interest to leave this until later."

Kadrin tied off the strip of cloth he was winding around his arm. "Of course. Only name what you would like me to do."

"I do believe assassination, rather then kidnapping, is more your line of work?" Acharndil paused long enough for Kadrin to nod. "Well, then, perhaps you would enjoy…eliminating one of our threats?"

Kadrin's face remained impassive, but his cold eyes seemed to glow at the proposition. "I'm listening."

"Well, then I shall put it quite bluntly: get rid of one of the elves. Either one, it hardly matters. Just so long as the remaining one doesn't have anyone to send back to Mirkwood for reinforcements."

This time a small smile appeared on Kadrin's face. "I see." He pulled an dark leather armguard from his belt and strapped it over the bandage on his arm. "Then consider it done."

Legolas wanted to tear them to pieces right then and there. Acharndil had addressed this subject in front of him on purpose, and Kadrin had played along skillfully. He even flashed him a smile as bowed to Acharndil and left. They'd both guessed how hearing those plans would affect him.

The hardest thing was, they'd guessed right.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dinerion started.

He could have sworn he'd heard creaking. Shrugging, he continued to run his hand over his horse's velvety muzzle. The barn was decrepit, and the old, wooden supports were bound to make noises occasionally. Another faint creaking noise met his keen hearing. The mare's ears twitched nervously, and she began to shy away from his touch.

"Sedho, mellon-nín, calm down my friend," he whispered soothingly in elvish, running his fingers down the side of her neck. The horse responded instantly to the reassuring influence of his voice and touch, visibly calming. Still, the animal was alert, snorting softly at the smallest noise, and nuzzling his hand anxiously.

Dinerion frowned. "What is it? What do you hear?" He continued to run his hand over the mare's forehead, whispering comforting phrases in Sindarin, even while he began to glance around the dimly-lit space.

A sudden noise from above jerked his attention towards the loft. Now he knew it wasn't just his imagination. He was sure he'd heard a floorboard creak. Floorboards didn't move on their own.

Quit stating the obvious and do something! His senses screamed.

Above him, a face appeared over the edge of the loft. He caught a brief glimpse of a hooded figure, and then a chain noose was around his neck.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dolenil sighed and glanced up at the sky. It was already afternoon. Still no sign of the ranger. The clue he found must have been extremely good to have kept him this long, he though sourly.

Then he noticed, with a slight pang of anxiety, that his brother hadn't returned yet either. Surely twenty minutes was a long time to check on horses, even for Dinerion.

A picture of his brother, tripping and impaling himself on a pitchfork sprang to mind. As ludicrous as the idea might seem, especially for an elf, it wasn't so very implausible in Dinerion's case. A tremor of dread swept over him. If something were ever to happen to his brother, he'd never forgive himself.

He headed for the barn. It was far better to be paranoid now, than to regret carelessness later.

No fanciful images of his brother impaled on a pitchfork could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him. Dinerion swung limply from a chain noose, eyes closed, face pale. In the loft above, he could just make out the crouched silhouette of a man—holding the other end of the rope.

With a furious cry, he ran forward, simultaneously pulling out a dagger and throwing it at the assailant. There was a small grunt of surprised pain from the loft, and the rope went lax, allowing Dinerion to fall to the ground. Dolenil looked up just in time to see a cloaked figure disappear through the loft window. His first instinct was to chase the man. He took half a step in the direction of the ladder before reality brought him to a stand-still.

Dinerion.

He rushed over to his brother's side. Kneeling, he gently lifted his brother's head into his lap. "Dinerion, muindor…Answer me." There was no response. "Dinerion!"

The pale face in his lap remained expressionless. No rhythmic pulse met his frantically searching fingers. No steady rise and fall of his brother's chest met his swimming vision.

TBC…

Ahhh…there's one less OC -sighs contentedly- Those guys are so uncooperative sometimes... This doesn't count as a cliffy, does it?

Next chapter up next Saturday (boring, I know…). Please drop a review if you have the time!