A/N: Merry (early) Christamas everyone! I'm am happy to be able to say that, no, Bad Thing #5 did NOT happen this week -g- So, here I am, traumatized, but alive, and ready to post the next chapter. Unfortunately, despite not having encountered BT #5, I still didn't find the time to respond to you, my wonderful reviewers. I'm so sorry about that! Thank you all VERY, VERY much for the reviews!

See chapter one for disclaimer.

Chapter 15: Trial by Fire

Elrohir's back hit the railing with bruising force. He groped forward desperately for something to hold onto as the rotten wood splintered against his weight.

Muindor, he though ironically. must we do everything the same?

Just as his mind was dazedly preparing itself for the approaching impact with the ground, his outstretched fingers snared an unexpected life-line. His fingers automatically closed around the rope. He smiled as it went taught, eliciting a gasp of pain from the human anchor on the other end. Apparently, the rope was still tied to Kadrin's wrist. But his amusement was fleeting, as his fingers began to slide, rather than grip the rope, and he ended up slipping towards the ground a lot faster than he'd intended.

Hands burning from friction, he landed nearly on top of the men fighting beneath. Hastily he loosened the noose from around his throat, pulling it over his head as he began to look around for his brother.

The light was dim, but even in the confusion of rushing men and darkness, it wasn't hard to find Elladan, fighting furiously in the middle of it all. Elrohir decided to take advantage of his presence being unknown, rushing at the exposed backs of two of the men attacking his brother. Putting a hand on either side of their heads, he cracked them together. They fell limp, and he retrieved his sword from where it had fallen off the catwalk above, just in time to face a third opponent.

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

Kadrin gasped, biting down a yelp, as the elf's weight loaded down the rope. Blood trickled down his much-abused wrist. But he didn't have time for oaths, in a minute the elf would be pulling him over the edge after him.

Thinking fast, he looped his good arm around the pillar and held on tight, leaning backwards against the rope. The line slackened, and the sudden loss in tension nearly sent him flying backwards. He flexed his fingers and gingerly untied rope from his wrist, then retied it to the supporting beam he'd been holding onto. After giving his arm a moment to recover, he gripped the top of the rope, wrapped his legs around it, and eased his way downwards.

At some point along the way, his fight with the Peredhils had changed from purely necessary to personal. No one eluded him once he set his mind to a capture—or kill.

It was time to join the fight.

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

Legolas clenched his teeth together hard against the pain, desperate not to give Dagron any more enjoyment from the situation than he was already getting. His breath was coming in short gasps, as he struggled to breathe even with the pillar pinning him to the ground. If he could judge by the pain, he had at least a couple of broken ribs.

Dagron stooped over Legolas, their faces inches apart. His eyes traveled over the elf's pale, pain-filled face and he smiled. Heaving a mock sigh of disappointment, he said regretfully, "Oh, and it was just getting interesting." He looked casually to his right, where the end of the pillar was propped up on a crate. It was the only thing that kept Legolas from being instantly crushed. However, fire was lazily edging up the sides of that crate, and in minutes it would be consumed. Even Dagron could see what would happen then. The mere thought brought another sneering smile to his face. "I'm afraid I can't say it's been a pleasure knowing you, elf. But I can say it's a pleasure seeing you get what you deserve."

Legolas closed his eyes, too tired to retort, or even to feel anger at this human who had caused him pain in so many ways. He hardly registered the heavy footfalls of his tormentor, as he lumbered off towards the fight.

Pulling a limited amount of air into his lungs, he contemplated calling Aragorn. Even through the crackle of the increasing flames, the sound of burning wood, and the noise of battle, he might hear… A wan smile crossed his face. Estel had driven it into him, this spirit of perpetual optimism despite the circumstances. He could just picture Aragorn in his position, saying cheerfully, "Things could always be worse." For many years that elusive "worse" had never quite happened to them. Perhaps, even now, there was a way out…

His limbs felt weak and unstable, but he had to try something—and pushing seemed to be the only option left him. And so, bracing his arms between the beam and the ground, he did just that. Sweat was running down the sides of his temples, his arms were shaking, and the effort made his battered chest heave frantically for air, but it began to budge. Then, as the crate it leaned on began to break, the beam slipped further down, inhibiting his breathing even more, and killing his meager hope.

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

Aragorn smiled as he saw Elrohir join the fight. He'd been too preoccupied with dispatching his opponent to see how he'd joined them, or from where, but it was reassuring to know that there where three of them now.

Subtly, the odds were changing in their favor. Three against Acharndil and all his men wasn't the best of chances, but, together, they'd faced much worse and managed to survive somehow. Besides, if the men they were fighting weren't exactly klutzes when it came to wielding a sword, they certainly weren't the most daunting of adversaries they'd ever faced. However, just like the last time he'd faced down Acharndil, their greatest limitation was the fact that they were aiming to incapacitate, not kill. Most of these men were only doing what they were paid to do, not truly evil, and when they could, they all preferred to avoid bloodshed.

Aragorn's senses were so focused on the task before him, that he didn't notice the smell of smoke at first. The flickering orange light coming from the ever-growing flames finally began to show above the crates, and realization spread through the group of men and elves. Bit by bit, the fight gradually shifted, as each combatant edged toward the nearest door.

A moment later, the odds changed completely in favor of the Peredhils. In all the confusion of growing heat and smoke, Aragorn didn't see them right away, but quite suddenly Dolenil and Dinerion were fighting alongside them. Behind the two blond elves, a surge of men followed, and before he even had time to engage another opponent, most of Acharndil's men lay unconscious or groaning on the floor.

Panting, and slightly dazed, Aragorn scanned his surroundings in the dim glow of the encroaching fire. He met eyes with Elladan, who was standing just a little way off, looking equally dazed. He nodded to his brother, before shouting to their newly-acquired allies, "Pick them up! We must get out of here before the fire spreads any further!" Aragorn watched for a moment as everyone hurried to obey, moving towards the door, lugging their former enemies to safety, or in some cases prodding them toward the door at sword-point. He was just turning stiffly to attempt to lift one of his own opponents over his shoulder, when a horrible realization struck him: Legolas was nowhere to be seen.

Easing his burden to the ground, he looked at the few still standing, studying every face, only to be met with the same conclusion: Legolas wasn't with him.

"Estel?" Elladan took a limping step towards him, concern etched into his face as he noticed the frown on his brother's face. "Muindor, what's the matter, are you hurt?"

Aragorn swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. What could have possibly gone wrong to detain Legolas so long? Glancing at Elladan, he said hoarsely, "No, I'm not hurt, it's Legolas. He was right behind me, but he's not here now. I've got to go back and find him." He swallowed again, forcing his voice to work. "Quick, you and Elrohir must get everyone out of here before the building collapses on all of us."

Elladan hesitated, but finally nodded, bending over to lift one of the men sprawled on the ground and loop his arm around his neck. "Hurry, Estel."

Aragorn did hurry, threading his way through the maze of men and boxes. "Legolas!" he called repeatedly, peering through the smoke for a sight of his friend. Finally, he heard a returning call. It was Legolas' voice, but so weak and muffled he could hardly place where it was coming from. He kept calling, guiding his steps as best he could by Legolas' voice.

"Estel, I'm trapped…over here."

At last he found him. "Legolas…" The sight of his friend's face―which had become pale, even by elven standards―he felt his heart plummet.

Legolas coughed on the smoke, and then winced as it aggravated the pain in his chest. "Dagron wasn't quite as unconscious as we thought," he managed to wheeze out in a faint voice. "I've…tried to push it, but it's too heavy…"

Closing his eyes only briefly, Aragorn forced himself to gain control of his rampant emotions. Neither guilt at not having noticed the absence of his friend sooner, or anger at Dagron for having left him, was going to do Legolas any good.

Placing his hands under the beam, he tested its weight.

Legolas groaned as the crate continued to disintegrate, and the beam shifted again. "Estel…get out of here." He knew it would do no good, insisting that he leave, but for Aragorn's sake he desperately wished that the would listen to him for once. Looking pleadingly at his friend, he continued before Aragorn could say no, "Please, Aragorn, you weren't meant to die here, like this. Go."

Aragorn shook his head in denial, Legolas' words only causing him to strain more desperately against the beam's weight. "Neither were you, mellon-nín."

Unable to give up when his friend's life depended on it, Legolas tried again. "Estel, please go! Mellon-nín, please…" he shamelessly begged, his voice now tense with pain, both emotional and physical.

"I won't leave you," Aragorn replied, his voice just as tense. He was now kneeling next to Legolas, trying to gain better leverage on the unwieldy piece of wood that trapped the elf. He gave a sharp cry of pain, as a piece of burning wood fell on him, striking his shoulder. But he would not be deterred, only pausing for an instant to shake it off, before continuing to strain at the beam trapping his friend. The heat from the fire was growing unbearably hot, and between shaking sweat from his eyes, coughing on smoke, and arguing with Legolas, it was difficult to remain focused. But he had to: Legolas' life―and now his own―depended on it.

Suddenly, a deep voice spoke to them from behind.

"Stop."

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

Elrohir paused, panting, to survey their work. "El, are they all here?"

Elladan nodded. "Yes, Dolenil's just bring out the last man."

After a few anxious minutes, all the men were finally out, their hands tied firmly behind their backs. Whatever Eathol had told his men, it had certainly worked. They had been eager to give them help unquestioningly.

Dinerion came to stand next to them. "It looks like we made it!" he said, smiling wearily at them. He wiped back a strand of hair, smearing soot across his forehead.

Elladan nodded. "Yes, but now I think we should talk to Acharndil. He wasn't knocked out during the fight, was he?"

"Acharndil?" Elrohir said apprehensively. "You didn't fight him?"

Elladan shook his head. "I thought you got him."

"El, I haven't seen him since the fight began―I thought you knew where he was."

They both rounded on Dinerion, who could only shake his head helplessly. "I don't even know who Acharndil is!"

"Estel might know where he is," Elrohir said, hopefully.

Glancing around the small gathering of men, Elladan groaned. "Oh Eru, Estel's not back yet… He went to search for Legolas."

Elrohir sighed wearily. "Will this nightmare never end?"

TBC…

Again, I'm sorry I've been so lacking in regards to responding to you all. I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas!

Next chapter should be up Friday, if all goes as planned.