A/N: Well, I guess I'd better post this quick, before I get whisked off to help with unpacking :-P Sorry about the cliffie last time…Not. –g-

See chapter one for disclaimers. I'll send reviewer responses ASAP.

Note to Deep Sorrow: I did try sending you your response last week…but unfortunately my e-mail decided that this week your address didn't exist :-P I will try and get it to work this week…

Chapter 9: Uncertainties

"No…" It came out as a horse whisper. A despairing calm settled over Dinerion, as he stared, disbelieving, at the still body of his brother.

He'd considered the possibility of a violent death for himself—he was a warrior after all—but Dinerion? His brother was a warrior too, but somehow his friendly, almost child-like personality had always made his position as a soldier of Mirkwood seem almost like pretend. He'd always been there to protect Dinerion when things got "serious". Never mind the fact that Dinerion was a competent warrior himself, he'd always seemed far too naive for the role despite his considerable battle-skills.

Dolenil took his brother's hand in his own. On impulse, his fingers searched once more for any sign of life. Remembering how panicked his attempts to find a pulse had been, he began to check again—slowly this time. A small exclamation of surprise escaped his lips, for there, below his persistent touch, he could feel a sluggish pulse. Now free of tears, his eyes could see the faint, but steady, rise and fall of his chest.

With infinite care, he removed the chain from around his brother's neck. He felt sudden anger well up in him at the sight of the line of blood around his throat, but quickly pushed it aside. Right now his brother needed his help, not his anger. He couldn't go chasing after the mysterious assailant—yet. There would be time enough for that later.

"Muindor, please, I need you to wake up," he urged softly, touching his brother's face lightly.

To his relief, Dinerion's eyes slowly opened. "Dolenil?" he croaked. His hand reached up for his throat, as if making sure he was still alive. A sheepish smile spread over his face. "I though I was dead."

Dolenil struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice. "So did I." Aware that if he stayed on the subject much longer, he'd break down, Dolenil changed the subject to more practical matters. "Here, come, we should get you inside." He helped Dinerion rise, forcing him to lean heavily on his shoulder.

"Dolenil, just because I was nearly strangled doesn't mean I can't walk on my own…" Dinerion complained as Dolenil half carried him towards the inn.

Reluctantly, Dolenil allowed him to carry a little more of his own weight. They limped through to doorway, and were half-way to the stairs, when a voice made them stop.

"Excuse me, sirs," the heavy-set innkeeper called to them. "A gentleman asked me to give this to you." He stepped forward holding out a letter. Eyeing the blood on Dinerion's neck and collar worriedly, the man asked, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Dinerion said somewhat weakly.

"Are you sure you don't what someone to have a look at 'im?" the innkeeper asked, addressing Dolenil.

Dolenil hesitated. As much as he hated the idea of a human healer looking over his brother, perhaps it was better then nothing...

Dinerion answered his question for him. "No. I'll be alright," he insisted.

"Very well…" The innkeeper glanced disapprovingly at Dinerion, but handed Dolenil the letter. "Here it is."

"Who was the gentleman that gave this to you?" Dolenil asked, turning the letter over suspiciously.

"Don't know what 'is name was. Medium height, blue eyes, blond 'air…"

"Thank you." Dolenil didn't waste anymore time, but quickly helped Dinerion up the stairs and into the room.

Lately, mysterious letters seemed to be popping up about as often as mysterious assailants and kidnappers. After helping Dinerion over to a chair, he opened the letter and scanned it quickly.

Dinerion's head jerked up when a few Sindarin curses left his brother's mouth. "What is it?"

"They have the ranger too."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Aragorn struggled to raise his head. Valar, he felt like he had the worst hangover…

Well, he was certainly alive. He'd awoken in this manner enough times to know that if you were in this much pain, you couldn't possibly be dead. Besides, no one bothered to tie up dead men, he thought ironically, twisting his hands in their bonds.

"Mellon-nin?" Legolas' voice at his side reminded him what being alive entailed.

Legolas. It took his clouded brain a minute to process the facts. When he did begin to remember things, he momentarily forgot about his physical state, jerking his head up to look at his friend—or at least he attempted to.

"Ouch."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. That was certainly the last thing he'd expected to hear. "From the look on your face, that would be a severe understatement?"

Aragorn grimaced, slowly opened one eye and nodded, then stopped when the movement sent his vision spinning out of control. "Well, I learned the art of understatement from an expert teacher," he said between clenched teeth.

Legolas chuckled lightly before turning more serious. "Is it really that bad, mellon-nin?"

"No. I feel as if my head's been used by a pack of trolls as a punching post, but other than that, I feel fine…" he said nonchalantly.

"I suppose you've learned the art of sarcasm from an expert teacher as well?" Legolas looked at his friend's pale face, and said more quietly, "You had me worried for a while, there, mellon-nín."

Aragorn nodded slowly, satisfied that his vision only wavered a little this time. "You had me worried for a very long while, there, mellon-nín." He examined his friend and asked almost accusingly, "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"If you mean 'am I hiding any fatal wounds', no," Legolas said wryly. "I imagine we're about equally matched as far as wounds go, for once." He looked at the long laceration around Aragorn's neck. "Identically, you might say."

This directed Aragorn's attention to Legolas' very sore-looking neck. He gave a small finch of sympathy. "It could be infected."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "And if it were, what would you do about it?"

"Point taken."

The "point" was rather depressing. They were bound and helpless, the captives of a psychopath who'd use them any way he could to kill Elladan and Elrohir. Aragorn sighed, remembering the reason they were here. "So, what's Acharndil's hair-brained scheme this time?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. All I know is that Acharndil hired some mercenary to capture us, and here we are. I only talked to Acharndil once, briefly, but he seemed to be under the impression that the twins are about to walk into his trap a second time."

"But they're in Rivendell…" Aragorn said, his voice wavering with uncertainly. "Surely even they wouldn't be stupid enough run headlong into a trap a second time."

They exchanged doubtful glances, neither one very confident in Elladan and Elrohir's self-control in such matters—or lack thereof.

"Besides," Legolas said. "when I mentioned the fact that they were too far away to possibly get caught, he said 'they may not be as far away as you think'." He shook his head. "I don't think he was making an idle boast."

"Oh Eru, if Acharndil's managed to contact them…" Aragorn looked around the room as if he expected his brothers to come charging out of the shadows any minute. "Those two will be the death of all of us!"

"Maybe Lord Elrond will force them to stay," Legolas said with forced optimism.

"Yes, and maybe your father will decide to invite the Dwarves to stay at the Palace."

Legolas glared at Aragorn. "I could do without that sarcasm right now, mellon-nín, we have something even more urgent to discuss; although I'm afraid there's just as little we can do about this as anything else."

Noticing the sudden change in his friend, Aragorn did drop the sarcasm. "What is it?"

"Right after they brought you here, unconscious, Acharndil and Kadrin—"

"Kadrin?"

"The man who captured us," Legolas clarified and quickly continued. "They discussed, purposefully in front of me, their next plans to…" He lowered his head and finished wearily, "To kill either Dolenil or Dinerion."

"But why?"

"Acharndil probably figures that they're not the type who'd run off leaving their friends in trouble. Of course, that wouldn't keep them from sending one of them back to Mirkwood, and one of them staying here. I imagine they want to 'eliminate' all possible threats to the plan."

Aragorn rested his head against the wall and slowly let out his breath. "I'm sorry, Legolas…"

"It's not your fault, Estel." A wan smile lit up Legolas' tired face. "At least you gave Kadrin something to remember you by. He was thrilled at the struggled you put up."

"Well perhaps next time he comes in, we can ask him to release me. I'll guarantee him a struggle he'll remember for the rest of his considerably shortened life."

"And give him a cut on his neck to match the one on his arm?"

Aragorn grinned. "Of course."

After the brief burst of lightheartedness, a heavy silence fell. What was there to say when your two of your friends', and likely your brothers', lives were in danger?

"Mellon-nin, Dolenil and Dinerion—and Elladan and Elrohir—are all smart enough to outwit Acharndil and whatever he chooses to throw at them. They're experienced warriors…" There, Aragorn realized, his attempts to comfort Legolas fell flat.

"Experienced warriors?" Legolas interrupted. "Shouldn't you and I qualify as that? Shouldn't we have been able to outwit Acharndil, if being 'experienced' was what mattered?"

Aragorn wished he could have put a hand on his friend's shoulder, but he had to be content with meeting his eyes with a steady look. "They'll all have advantages we didn't have. Dolenil knows who Acharndil is, and he and Dinerion will watch their backs. Hopefully, one of them is already on his way to Mirkwood. Kadrin won't have the element of surprise anymore," He smiled. "and doubtless they'll stay out of dark alleys from now on."

"You may be right." Legolas sighed. "It just, seeing how much success he's had so far… Even if Dolenil and Dinerion do manage to escape, I'm afraid Elladan and Elrohir will come running in, leaving their brains at the door, and make a mess of the whole situation."

"Well, think about it: how much more of a 'mess' can this situation become?"

Legolas shook his head and said warningly, "Don't say that, Estel…"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Dinerion, lie down before you fall down." Dolenil looked sternly at his wavering brother.

Hesitantly, Dinerion nodded, stumbling towards the bedroom. "You promise you'll wake me if you find anything more out about Legolas or Strider?"

"I promise."

A few minutes later, Dolenil silently entered the bedroom. Dinerion was fast asleep on top of the covers, fully clothed. He grabbed a blanket from off a chair and draped it over him. Pulling the chair closer the bed, he sat down.

Now that he had time to think things through, the burden of responsibility grew even heavier. His prince was captured, the sons of Elrond were in trouble, and now even the ranger was gone.

With this stalker loose, there was no way he was either leaving Dinerion in Laketown alone, or sending him back to Mirkwood. But then the question was, what were they supposed to do? Should both of them leave? His instincts rebelled against the idea of leaving the prince in such trouble, but now he had to wonder if there was any other option. Thranduil had to know…Or did he? What could more warriors do in a hostage situation that they couldn't? What would he do if Acharndil demanded something impossible in exchange for the Prince's life?

He massaged his temples wearily. It was up to him, alone, to make all these decisions, and he would have to make them quickly.

Gingerly, he touched the bandage he'd tied just minutes ago around Dinerion's neck. If only the ranger were here, he'd have someone to help make these impossible decisions, and he'd make sure that Dinerion was alright… Dolenil stopped suddenly. He actually wanted the human's help? The revelation was startling, and not entirely agreeable.

Then he realized it was even deeper than that: he wanted the support and leadership that came with Strider's presence. He was surprised to find that he actually missed the human's reassuring presence. And what was more, he wanted a chance to apologize. The more he thought about it, the more guilty he felt about his initial reaction to finding that he was missing. He'd misjudged him—terribly misjudged him.

He looked out the window at the sky, darkening with possible storm clouds. There was no time for him to ponder sudden revelations or remorse. But telling himself that didn't make the decisions of the night, or the decisions he'd have to make in the morning, any easier.

TBC…

See! There they are—a little worse for wear, but all of them still breathing. -huggles Dinerion- I was encouraged to hear that so many people like him enough to mourn his supposed passing –g- I apologize for letting you all think he was dead… -attempts to look contrite…fails- Ok, or NOT. -eg-

See you all next Saturday!