A/N: A VERY special thanks to my dear Cami, who added in many villainous thoughts to this chapter at the last minute ;-) huggles editor And, as always, thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Enjoy!

See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses will be sent via e-mail in the near future. (AH! –gasps- Now, look at me, I'm a fortune-teller! I think I must be a long-lost descendant of Elrond—I'm seeing visions of the future! What can I say? Hope springs eternal...)

Chapter 10: Dangerous Help

Elladan led his brother down the street, carefully directing his horse through the busy streams of people. Both of them were so anxious to see the faces of their friend and Estel, they narrowly missed collisions a number of times as they hurried towards the inn.

Even despite the fact that the residents of Laketown were more familiar with elves than most men, and consequentially more used to their presence, it had not been difficult to find out where the one elven prince and his companions were staying, in a town full of men.

They slid off their horses as they reached the door of the inn, hardly remembering to urge their horses in the direction of the stables. Elladan opened the door, immediately spotting and addressing the innkeeper.

"In what room are the Prince of Mirkwood and his friends staying?" His voice was blunt, and heavy with worry, but fortunately for them, the man saw the urgency on their faces and, perhaps more importantly, their determination. A quick scan of their pointed ears and obviously elven features appeared to confirm his decision.

He pointed across the busy common room. "Up those stairs and three doors to your right."

Elrohir followed his brother, casting apologetic glances at the other patrons as they practically tore through the room and up the stairs. With admirable self-control, Elladan paused at the third door long enough to knock.

"Who is it?" came a distrusting voice from inside.

"It's Elladan and Elrohir―let us in!"

Elrohir winced at the way his brother's voice filled the empty hallway. Thankfully, the door was opened quickly.

"Lord Elladan, Elrohir?" Dolenil took a step back as the two young elf lords burst in.

After scanning the room anxiously, and realizing Dolenil and Dinerion to be the rooms' only occupants, Elladan demanded anxiously, "Estel, Legolas…where are they?"

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

Acharndil paced along the wooden walk, following the side of the warehouse, shivering slightly in the cool air. Wrapped in many layers of clothing, he seemed nothing more than another businessman, hurrying to get home and out of the cold. Certainly, this was a rather unusually deserted part of town to be hurrying through… But the very fact that it was deserted meant fewer people to observe him in the first place.

Outwardly, his appearance might be nothing to arouse question. Inwardly, he seemed to have nothing but questions at the moment. His mind was in a complete turmoil and, if he were honest, his emotions weren't helping at all. Despite all his attempts at rationalization, he was forced to admit it—he had been avoiding coming into any contact with the prisoners. Indeed, he had been avoiding even coming near them, sleeping in an inn some small distance away, and spending the better part of his days inventing reasons not to be near them.

Oh, he might tell himself that he was simply avoiding suspicions by spending his time in less disreputable parts of town, or that he was building up a reputation so that if anyone asked questions, he would have witnesses that he was simply here on business, or he might attempt to convince himself that he was watching for the arrival of the Peredhils, or any number of other weak excuses. He knew the truth. He knew that he was afraid that if he spent any more time around that young ranger, his nagging uncertainties might well grow, and cause him to truly question everything he had spent his life to accomplish.

He was furious with himself, seeing all the years he had spent hardening himself with anger, hatred, and thoughts of revenge, might be so easily undone by sentiment, and a boy's slight resemblance to his long-dead brother. Dead because of those elves! And yet… Yet he had seen those very elves he had considered heartless and cruel, the ones he was even now seeking revenge on. He had seen them willing to risk anything, give everything, for this young mortal, who was not even their true brother.

And the other elf he now held captive? He was not even related to them, much less deserving of his revenge! But he must use him, hurt him, perhaps even kill him, and why? Because of his soft, weak, inability to harden himself toward the ranger! No… not just "a ranger". Estel. Strider. He had a name, a future, hopes, just as his brother had once had. Was it right to take all that away from him, for something that happened before he was even born? And yet… the elves this very ranger called brother had taken all that from his brother, from his parents. He couldn't simply let it go! His whole life had been built around this need, how could he let it go now? He didn't even know what he would do with himself now, if he… No. No. He wouldn't even consider giving this up now, not when he was finally close to achieving it. He couldn't.

Turning the last corner, he nodded to the man guarding the entrance, then entered the building he was holding his hostages in. He would not be weak. He would go through with this.

He paused just inside the doorway, taking the opportunity to observe how things were being handled in his absence. Several of the men he had hired were near the entrance, and they looked up briefly, nodding to him, before returning to their various amusements. Others, he knew, were elsewhere in the building, quiet for the moment, but ready for action at the first sign of trouble.

He scowled, tensing as he heard noise from further inside. A smack of flesh meeting flesh, followed almost simultaneously by two voices, one letting out a soft moan of pain, the other a shout of fury. He stalked forward, fury darkening his features. If he was not very much mistaken…

Ah yes. There was Dagron, doing, as usual, exactly as he had told him not to. Strider was hunched over as far as his bonds permitted, his breathing labored as he struggled to regain his self-control as he recovered from what was clearly not the first blow Dagron had dealt him. Clearly he could not have been the source of the shout.

Acharndil turned his gaze toward the other prisoner, just as Dagron responded to said shout. Using the only language he seemed to have thoroughly mastered, he delivered a solid punch to Legolas' face, which slammed the elf's head backward into the post he was bound to. Judging from the dazed look in his eyes, before he allowed his head to sink forward, the blow must have stunned the elf for the moment.

Swiftly attempting to rein in the emotions which swirled up once again at witnessing the abuse, Acharndil refused to let his true feelings show, instead deciding anger was far less humiliating and weak.

"Dagron!" The word was no less forceful for the quiet, restrained anger Acharndil pronounced it with.

He to whom said proud appellation belonged responded with a guilty start before spinning around. Fixing an attempt at a smile on his face, and with an even less successful attempt at an innocently casual tone, Dagron replied, "Ah… cousin! I… hadn't expected you back yet!"

Acharndil snorted in disgust. "No? So you decided that now would be a good time to disobey my direct orders by harming the prisoners, is that it?" Wearily, he waved off Dagron's protestations. "Just get away from them. And don't go near them again unless it is truly necessary. Understood?"

Acharndil didn't bother to wait for Dagron's agreement, knowing that whatever he might say now, he was as likely as not to forget it within the next ten minutes. He walked over to the table and took a chair, only to rise to his feet again almost immediately as, face menacingly dark and clear blue eyes blazing, Kadrin descended on the quiet room like a storm cloud.

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

Aragorn, finally beginning to recover both his breath and his composure, looked up as a dark figure emerged out of the shadows. His first glimpse of the assassin was certainly an interesting one. Saturated with blood, the left side of his shirt clung to his skin where a dagger protruded from his shoulder. However, the man could have had three daggers sticking out of him and still, his face would have been the first thing to have caught his attention. He shuddered at the anger portrayed there, but couldn't bring himself to look away.

Acharndil, who had once again "graced" them with his presence, hurried forward to greet the assassin, grasping his arm.

Not one to be left out of any excitement, much less any trouble, Dagron moved forward and grabbed the assassin's other arm―right above the dagger. Aragorn, despite the fact that he suspected this man to be his kidnapper, couldn't help but flinch in sympathy at the yelp of pain that followed.

"Idiot!" Kadrin snarled, and quite literally slapped Dagron's hand away.

A smile crept across Aragorn's bruised face. Now that was something he could wholeheartedly agree with.

Beside him, a groggy voice caught his attention. "Estel?" Legolas, struggled to lift his stiff, sore neck and refocus his bleary vision. "You alright?"

"Of course, mellon-nin." He replied quietly. "You?" He didn't believe Legolas' answering careful nod any more than he suspected Legolas believed his own reassurances, but as there was little either of the could do about it at the moment, he was forced to let it pass.

Aragorn nodded towards Acharndil, who was forcing Kadrin to take a seat and let him see to his wound. "Is that Kadrin, the man who kidnapped us?"

Instantly more alert at the sight of Kadrin, Legolas' answered bitterly, "Yes, that would be the man responsible for our predicament."

"If he's a mercenary, mellon-nín, then technically, if not theoretically, that would not be true," Aragorn pointed out. "Acharndil's the one responsible for our 'predicament'; Kadrin's just doing his job."

"Killing and kidnapping is a fine profession," Legolas said sarcastically. "what I mind is the way he does it. Can't you see he enjoys it?"

Aragorn let a pointed moment of silence lapse as he pretended to think about his answer. Kadrin's muttered curses echoed around the room as Acharndil ripped his shirt open. "No, I can't see that I do." He offered Legolas a lopsided grin.

Legolas rolled his eyes, wincing slightly at the pain it caused his aching head, before turning to watch the drama in front of them.

Acharndil finished ripping the shirt away from the wound. "Dagron, bring the lantern closer and go get some bandages," he commanded distractedly as he examined the wound. As Dagron got up to leave, he added, "And find him another shirt while you're at it." After Dagron had slunk off, he questioned Kadrin tentatively. "What happened?"

"I caught the brown-haired elf alone, and had him dangling in my noose, and then that other damned elf came along―" he paused to grit his teeth while Acharndil pulled the dagger out of his arm. "―and threw his dagger at me." He cursed again. "I can't be sure whether the first elf was dead or not."

Acharndil wisely said nothing. Apparently, he wasn't going to need to berate Kadrin for his failure. The assassin was doing a wonderful job of that himself.

"I can't believe I let that elf get the best of me…" Kadrin cursed himself unmercifully.

"Anyone could have made the same mistake. Elves are an incredible race, and full of surprises," Acharndil tried to soothe the man's pride. "and nothing can be done about it now, so we may as well move on."

Kadrin nodded, still raging inwardly―and by no means free of his foul mood―but instantly responding to the command and calmness in Acharndil's voice.

All might have been well, but Dagron had returned, bringing with him his charming aura of tranquility.

Acharndil, seeing the dark look on Kadrin's face the moment Dagron reentered, realized that the storm could break any moment. Giving his obtuse cousin a few hints, obvious enough to have been seen by an orc, Acharndil did everything but yell at him to leave as he took the shirt and bandages from him.

He grit his teeth. "Thank you, Dagron," he finally said to his still-oblivious cousin.

Acharndil proceeded to tend to Kadrin's wound, interspersing his work by glaring at Dagron. The man just stood there, either ignoring his cousin's warnings, or truly not noticing.

Looking ready to use his noose, regardless of who this man might be related to, Kadrin's eyes darted up threateningly at Dagron as he continued to stare brazenly.

This was getting too dangerous. "Dagron, don't you have anything better to do?" Acharndil asked harshly.

Dagron shrugged indifferently. "No."

Acharndil closed his eyes in frustration, but quickly finished tying of the bandage. The sooner Kadrin could leave, the greater chance they'd all have of living to see another day. He handed the shirt to Kadrin.

Kadrin looked at the shirt, and then growled at Dagron. "Idiot!" The epithet seemed to have become permanent. "How can one man be so incompetent!"

Dagron and Acharndil started at him in bewilderment, for once equally surprised, and caught off-guard. Across the room, Aragorn and Legolas also exchanged confused glances.

"Can't you even get the right color?" Kadrin examined the shirt with disgust. "Black. Do you honestly expect me to wear black and blue together?"

Acharndil wanted to scream. For a while it had seemed like his plans were going perfectly, now, everthing―from his final kidnapping plans, to the color of his assassin's shirt―was wrong. But diplomacy, or perhaps his self-preservation instincts, forced him to keep these thoughts to himself.

"Forgive my cousin, Kadrin, if you will only wear it for the present I will have him get you a different shirt later." To his credit, his voice only sounded a trifle forced.

Kadrin continued to scowl darkly at both the shirt and Dagron, but he grudgingly put it on. "For now." He retreated to a corner, effortlessly blending in with the shadows, doubtless bent on hiding his shameful lack of color-coordination.

Fast reflexes and a lot of effort were the only things that saved Aragorn and Legolas from bursting into laughter. The whole situation was ridiculous to say the least.

Aragorn smiled. He had to wonder if Kadrin was this fussy about all his clothes.

Legolas whispered quietly in Sindarin, "A murderer with a sense of fashion…Now I've seen it all."

TBC...

Alright, and now comes the part where I thank everyone for their reviews and assure you that the next part will be out on Saturday, as usual… Only I'm not going to do that this time!

No, I AM going to thank you all very much for the reviews – they mean so much to me! -huggles reviewers- However, I'm afraid I'm not going to be updating this Saturday. -looks mournful- I know it's really hard for you all, but I'm afraid that, in celebration of Thanksgiving, I'll be updating several days early—on Thursday, to be precise. -sighs sadly- I know, I know, I'm awful. –g-

So, as several people have been asking, you'll be getting an early update! Unfortunately, that means I'll probably not be able to get the reviewer responses done this week… but this week is so busy, I probably wouldn't have been able to do that anyways :-P

So, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, hope to see you all again next THURSDAY, and, as always, reviews are very much appreciated!