A/N: Anyone who hasn't seen the new "Chronicles of Narnia" movie HAS to see it. NOW. –g- I just saw it and…wow…it's incredible. –clears throat- Anyways, now that I've got that out of my system… Hope you enjoy the chapter. Some angst and owies ahead, and some action too.

See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses are sent - please let me know if you didn't get yours!

Thank you muinthel-nin, for all the hard work you put into this chapter! –huggles Imbecamiel-

Chapter 13: Unpleasantly Surprised

"Well, elf."

Legolas involuntarily shuddered at the sound of the familiar, coarse voice.

"It's been a long time," Dagron sneered. "I've been looking forward to this moment."

"Really? We've met before?" Legolas tilted his head, examining Dagron as if for the first time. After letting his eyes linger on the stump where Dagron's hand had once been, he grimaced in condescending distaste. "Oh yes, you." He smiled in the most irritating manner he could manage. "Talk a bit more slowly for me, I always did have a hard time understanding yrch."

Dagron's sneer froze one his face. He was growing increasingly tired of being compared to things he'd never heard of. But he was sure any comparisons coming from this elf were the worst kind of insults. "You think you're so clever elf."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "Well yes, I do look brilliant on occasion…especially in comparison to some people." Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas could see Aragorn struggling between laughter and fear.

"Mellon-nín, you really shouldn't encourage him…" Aragorn muttered quickly in elvish. He hadn't been able to hear what Acharndil said to Dagron when he called him over, but he more than suspected it wasn't something that was likely to contribute to their general health.

Legolas was just opening his mouth in reassurance, when a sharp blow to the side of his face stopped him.

"Shut up!" Dagron bellowed. "I think it's time I brought you down of your lofty perch, elf." His speech grew even coarser along with his anger. "Yes… I think it's time you learn a li'll manners." A glint entered his eyes, and he slowly drew a dagger from his belt.

Legolas' eyes followed Dagron's movements. So that was all he could come up with? He'd undergone numerous knife-wounds, at the hands of many various orcs and men, many times… His blue eyes hardened confidently. He could handle this. It would be painful―that never changed―but he could bear it. No, he wasn't worried yet, except perhaps for Aragorn.

Dagron had turned away from them for a moment; he was stooping over the small fire. Legolas winced inwardly. So it was to be a heated dagger… The man may not have had much of a brain, but he certainly had a certain amount of intelligence when it came to cruelty.

At his side, he could sense Aragorn already shifting nervously. He shot him a warning glance. "Don't encourage him, Estel…" Legolas quoted back at him with a grim smile.

Aragorn glared and whispered back fiercely, "You can't seriously expect me just sit here and watch that monster do whatever he wants to you!"

"Calm down, Estel, you'll only make things worse," Legolas ground out harshly, falling silent for a few minutes, before he needed to harden his mask of composure as Dagron's returning figure made his heart begin to pump frantically.

Eru, he wished Estel wasn't here… He was bound to say, or do, something stupid in an attempt to divert attention to himself. Then Dagron would be sure to give them equal treatment. He exchanged a stubborn look with an equally stubborn Aragorn. They went through this every time, but neither of them was about to back down.

He nearly rolled his eyes at the obstinate expression on his friend's face. "Strider, don't."

As Dagron came to stand in front of him, he lifted up a silent prayer. Eru, help me be strong…And please, please don't let him do anything stupid… However, on the outside, he was managing to smile with exasperating calm at his captor. He knew it was the only way he could do harm to Dagron at the moment—and it seemed to be working fairly well.

The nearly perpetual snarl that Dagron wore seemed to deepen. Slowly, tauntingly, he held the glowing blade closer, tracing the very tip along the bloody line that circled Legolas' neck. Legolas clenched his teeth a little more firmly against the pain, but remained resolutely quiet. "Oh, come now your highness, you're not still mad at me?" Dagron whispered, leaning closer. "After all, I'm only helping you." The blade hissed slightly as he turned it sideways, laying flat against the side of the elf's neck. "Infection's a very dangerous thing…" Abruptly, he removed it.

Legolas tensed slightly, but continued to look straight ahead, trying to think of anything but the foul-breathed man in front of him, and his movements. This time the blade was laid on his shoulder. It burned effortlessly through his tunic and, with a hiss, he felt it sear into the skin. Grinning, Dagron shifted it to the right, placing it over more skin. More and more pain blossomed across his arm as the knife moved down his arm, and finally Legolas gave a small gasp of pain.

Dagron laughed. "Now that's what I like to hear, elf..." He straightened up and began to pace in front of the captives, frowning as if deep in thought. He stopped, eyeing Legolas' other shoulder gleefully, as he started back toward the elf. However, before he could reach him, he found himself suddenly sprawled on the ground. He looked up into the icy gaze of the ranger. "I was wondering why you was bein' so quiet, ranger. So you want to join the fun?" he growled, slowly picking himself up from his humiliating position on the floor, and struggling to maintain his attitude of controlled superiority. Not an easy thing to do, for a man like him, faced with an elf and a ranger, however incapacitated they might be at the moment. "Well trippin' me's a pretty good start."

Aragorn glared back at him coolly, anger at what Dagron had done to Legolas far outweighing any fear he might have felt for himself. "Oh, believe me, I would love to do far more than 'start.' If I didn't know you were far too much of a coward, I'd suggest that you untie me. As it is, I suppose I'll just have to be satisfied with tripping you whenever you're stupid enough to forget about me."

That did it. Dagron may have maintained a veneer of calm up till now, but this was just too much. Like a schoolboy faced with a childish insult he couldn't think of a suitable response to, he reacted in the way he was by far the most comfortable with—using his fists. Sputtering furious, unintelligible curses, Dagron flew at the ranger.

Aragorn sucked in a breath, fighting not to react as Dagron pummeled him in blind fury. A soft groan escaped him, and he doubled over slightly, as a particularly solid blow landed on one of his already bruised ribs. Dagron didn't even let up for a second, and Aragorn found himself shutting his eyes tightly, as he tried to pull together his composure again. It was doubtful Dagron would have noticed anything at the moment, no matter how much he reacted, but that definitely didn't mean he was willing to show how much it hurt…

Abruptly, the darkness seemed to close in on him, dragging him back to the last time he had been in a situation like this, the last time he had heard this man's voice as he had been tormented. For a moment, he felt trapped, helpless with the terrible, illogical thought that everything that had happened between now and then had merely been a dream, that he was still back in that cave, still blind, still held captive by an insane man, bent on avenging himself on his elven brothers…

And then he caught hold of himself. Forcing the irrational panic down, he opened his eyes, feeling more than a little foolish. Well, the part about being held by a madman bent on getting revenge on my brothers is still true enough… He thought with weak humor.

As he focused back on Dagron, Aragorn saw that the man was now standing still, panting hard, and evidently attempting to get control of his temper. Aragorn was incredibly relieved that he had pushed back his fear so quickly. Even aside from how much he would have hated himself for revealing those kinds of feelings in front of the man, Aragorn refused to even consider what Dagron might have done about them.

Beginning to breathe more normally, Dagron stepped back slightly. Picking up the dagger, which had slipped out of his fingers when Aragorn tripped him, he turned around and placed it back in the hot embers, watching as it reheated. Soon it was glowing red-hot, and he withdrew it. Attempting to return to his former demeanor of confident arrogance, Dagron spoke in a low voice. "It was a mistake, Ranger, insultin' me. But don't worry. I'll be glad t' make sure you never make that mistake again."

Far from being intimidated by the glowing dagger being waved in his face, Aragorn used the same tactics as Legolas, grinning back insolently; however, his smile flashed dangerously, as if he'd sooner bite Dagron than look at him. "And your first mistake, fuigwar, was touching my friend." He looked, almost amusedly, at his missing hand. "One of these days I'll have to finish what he started."Despite himself, Dagron didn't lean as close as he might have.

This would count as something stupid, mellon-nín…Extremely stupid. Legolas groaned internally. Why did Estel always have to open his big mouth? He'd been doing just fine… Well, good enough, circumstances considered. "Leave him alone, Dagron…" he said as menacingly as he could.

Recovering from his small bout of sanity, and returning to his normal state of abnormal stupidity, Dagron moved the knife closer to Aragorn's face. "Don't worry, elf, I haven't forgotten you." He smiled at Aragorn, ignoring Legolas again. "Ranger, you're no more in a position to threaten me than you were last time we met. Seems to me you still haven't learned your lesson, though."

Aragorn said nothing. It was too late to back down now, even if he wanted to.

"Why so quiet all of the sudden, elf-lover? I was looking forward to hearing some more of your smart remarks." Dagron sighed, and said with mock nostalgia, "This is almost like old times."

"Yes…except for, this time, I have to look at your ugly face while you talk," Aragorn retorted.

"Well," Dagron's sneer came terrifyingly near to being a smile. "Then perhaps it's time I fixed that." He held the knife so close Aragorn could fee the heat against his cheek, and then added sinisterly, "Permanently."

Aragorn flinched and watched the knife come closer. It would seem that was the wrong thing to say…

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

Elladan was seething.

He clenched the railing so hard, Elrohir thought for sure he'd break it in half. Watching the scene below, Elrohir too could feel the anger building up inside him to bursting point. The sight of Dagron alone awoke passions in both of them that would have been best left alone; however, his treatment of their friend—seeing what he was putting Legolas through—was simply torture to bear in silence.

Aragorn kicked out his leg to trip Dagron so suddenly, they barely had time to realize what had happened before Dagron was turning on their brother.

"No…" Elladan's voice was barely audible and hoarse with restrained emotion.

Elrohir quickly put a hand on his brother's shoulder—as much to remind himself of the necessity to remain calm as to restrain his brother. In the dim light he could see the panicked fear on his twin's face, all too accurately reflecting his own feelings.

They both tensed as Dagron held the red-hot dagger close to Aragorn's face. They couldn't make out what was being said, but they didn't need to in order to guess what Dagron intended.

Elladan released the railing. He took a step back, and began to whisper fiercely, "This is too much; he goes too far! I will not stand by a second time and watch—" when, abruptly, his foot fell through one of holes in the catwalk. He flung his hands up and tried to grab the edge, but the rotten boards broke off in his hand and he lost his hold.

All stealth was now at an end, and Elrohir lunged for his twin. "Elladan!" He landed on hard on his chest beside the hole, his hand just missing Elladan's. Elladan fell, hitting the ground hard. As he stared down his brother's unmoving body, Elrohir caught his breath, too frightened for a moment even to call out to him again.

After an eternity of several seconds, Elladan groaned, opened his eyes, and began to rise. His right leg had twisted under him when he fell and, judging from the throbbing, it was at least badly sprained. Still, he reached for his sword and did his best to remain on his feet. Empty crates blocked his view, but he had no doubt the noise he'd created had drawn the attention of Acharndil and his men.

He looked up at Elrohir's worried face, barely discernable through the hazy light. "I'm alright. But you had better get down here…" He managed a wry smile. "I think my distraction has been most effective, don't you?"

Relief flooded Elrohir as he saw Elladan standing on his own, and at least well enough to joke. He stood and began scanning the catwalk for a quick way down. "Perhaps just a little too effective, muindor. Valar! How do you expect me to get down there in time to rescue you?"

Elladan drew his sword. "Well, that hole seems the most direct way down," he answered sarcastically. "but personally I wouldn't recommend it. It's a rather undignified route for an elven lord." Then the first of Acharndil's men rounded the crates, and charged toward the elf.

Swearing—and wishing for a bow—Elrohir searched for a more realistic way down.

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

Upon reaching the roof of the building, it was quickly obvious to Kadrin that Acharndil was right in at least one thing—there most certainly had been someone up here. At first, the snow had appeared not to even be disturbed, and he had suspected that his employer was simply being paranoid. He was quite disappointed. He'd been excited at the thought of facing an elf again—and at the opportunity, in doing so, to redeem his earlier failure.

However, as he moved farther onto the roof, he saw that there were indeed some tracks in the snow, though they were so faint as to be nearly imperceptible to anyone not looking for them. In addition, although the roof entrance was now closed, the lock and chain that had secured it were now laying in the snow beside it. He felt a brief flicker of distain, at the unprofessional way Acharndil was handling this affair. There wasn't even a guard at this entrance! Had he even known before now that it existed? Then again… Perhaps he had known, and had intentionally left it vulnerable, hoping to lure in the elves he was really after. But then, it was also quite possible that his employer had not expected them to arrive yet, and had been careless as a result…

Shaking his head, Kadrin shrugged slightly. There was really no telling with Acharndil. The man's actions were rather unpredictable, and made even more so by the fact that communicating his thoughts and intentions to others did not seem to be his strong point. It hardly mattered anyways. The important thing now was that there apparently really was someone here, and possibly even the elves he had so looked forward to… "meeting."

Careful not to make a noise, Kadrin pulled open the entrance on the warehouse roof and slid inside.

He paused just inside, patiently taking the time to ensure his eyes were as adjusted to the darkness as they were going to get, and to carefully survey the lay out of the upper part of the building, before making any moves. He briefly considered the most obvious—and easiest—option of simply using the catwalk, as whoever else was up here had almost certainly done. He quickly discarded that idea, though. Though he might be able to disable his prey in a face-to-face fight, he was honest enough to admit that the possibility was rather unlikely. Besides, he so preferred to be above the ones he was hunting, particularly when they were as unpredictable as elves had proven to be.

He looked upwards, and immediately a slow smile began spreading across his face. Perfect. Just perfect. The beams of the ceiling were, unfortunately, rather few and far between to be of very much use to him. The pipes, on the other hand… Those were a gift straight from the Valar. If he believed in that Valar, that was, which he didn't. But that was beside the point. The metal tubes—of diameters varying from little larger than a finger's width, to large enough that he doubted he'd be able to fit both hands around them—ran in all directions across the ceiling of the building, and they were exactly what he needed.

Grabbing the nearest and most secure-looking pipe, he swung himself up lightly into the network of crisscrossing metal. Deftly moving along the pipes, he was careful to stay above the catwalk so that, in the unlikely event that he should slip, he would have something to break his fall closer than the ground, many feet below. Suddenly, a movement below caught his eye. He froze, instantly, sucking in a slow breath. Well, Acharndil was correct on all counts then. It was the Peredhil twins.

The two dark-haired elves were a little way ahead, hidden behind one of the large support beams. He'd expected some kind of rash rescue attempt, but so soon? He looked curiously from the two tense figures hidden in the shadows to the drama going on below them, and couldn't help feeling a spark of admiration at their control. Perhaps they were more of a force to be reckoned with than he'd thought.

Then, as if to prove him wrong, one of the elves took a frantic step backwards, whispering furiously—and fell through one of the holes. Kadrin flinched slightly. If he judged the distance right, the fall wouldn't kill him, unless he fell on his neck, but it would certainly be fatal to the elves' plans. He looked to the circle of light where Acharndil and his men where jumping to their feet, and then back to the remaining elf on the catwalk.

Instinctively, like a cat preparing to spring on its prey, Kadrin reached for his lasso. The other elf was coming toward him now, oblivious to the danger above him as he frantically searched for a way down to the fight. Kadrin scowled for a moment as his he fingered the simple rope noose in his hands, yet again cursing the elf who had injured him. In his haste, he had been forced to leave his rope-and-chain behind, still wrapped around the neck of the elf he had been attempting to kill. He had not yet had time to make a replacement, and now, at the time it mattered most, he was forced to use a plain rope, instead of his familiar, favored weapon. Still, it would have to do. He held himself ready, carefully bracing himself for the fight ahead.

Finally, the elf came close enough. With an expert hand, he tossed the rope and, smiling in satisfaction, pulled.

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

Elrohir ran for the nearest ladder.

Why—why!—must he always do this to me?

As the clash of swords below grew more intense, he felt panic overwhelm his anger. However well he may have tried to hide it, Elrohir had seen the way Elladan had favored his right leg, and was certain his twin was in no condition to fight off all of Acharndil's men. At least the sounds below reassured him that the fight still continued. However unequally, Elladan was holding his own for the time being.

Absorbed in his one goal of reaching his brother as soon as possible, Elrohir didn't feel the noose around his neck until it had tightened, nearly jerking him off his feet. Struggling for breath, he grabbed the rope. Just like Aragorn, his first response was to pull. He did so, hard, and with the lightening-quick reflexes of his race. The rope relented enough for him to gather a ragged breath, but did not give way entirely. After a moment of pulling downward at the awkward angle, his arms ached fiercely.

Distantly, he could sense the fight raging beneath him. Elladan needed him. Now.

Letting go of the rope with one hand, he groped blindly for his sword. Whoever, or whatever, was at the other end, pulled again and his airway was cut off once more. Finally, he managed to grab the hilt of his sword and pull it out of it's sheath. Upwards, and harder, the rope was pulled, and before he could use his blade, his vision blacked out. Struggling to pull himself upward with one hand, he regained momentary use of his senses, only to realize he'd dropped his sword. If he'd had any breath left he would have groaned. With his very last ounce of strength, as his head began to swim dangerously, he gripped the rope and pulled again.

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

The moment his noose slipped around the elf's neck, Kadrin had the sinking feeling that he'd just taken on more than he could handle. Of course, he brushed the thought away as soon as it occurred. If he'd lassoed a wild stallion, then he'd just have to ride it out.

The first jerk on the rope made him curse in pain as the rope dug into his already swollen wrist, drawing fresh blood. He wrapped his legs around the pipe and held on. When the elf let go to reach for his sword, he tightened his hold and pulled harder. With a satisfying clang, the sword dropped to the catwalk. Even so, Kadrin was careful to keep the rope tight. Acharndil had given him some leeway in his instructions: if there was even the remotest possibility, he was to take the elves alive. Even if that was impossible, he must still see to it that neither of them escaped. Even so, he was very aware that Acharndil would much prefer them alive. And if he handled this carefully, it appeared that would definitely be a possibility. He felt the elf on the other end of his line going limp.

Then, for one fatal second, he let his guard down.

Cursed elves.

TBC…

Hmm, interesting... I just noticed that this is chapter 13. LOL, I believe certain characters might find that a rather interesting coincidence ;-)

The "review response" feature seems to be working nicely, so I'll continue using it. If you'd like a response to your review, please remember to either log in, or leave your e-mail address.Next chapter will be out either Friday or Saturday (I still haven't decided for certain which will be my posting day).

As always, a huge THANK YOU, to all those who took the time to review - I really appreciate it!