A/N: Okay, time to wrap up loose ends (sort of –eg-), and do a little mush! Enjoy the loooong chapter (hey 4,000+ words is a lot for ME…).

See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses have been sent (and, hopefully, received)!

Chapter 18: Almost Victory

Legolas closed his eyes, as Elrohir smoothed a herbal paste across the laceration that wound around his neck. He was tired, achy, and unusually compliant as he lay in the soft of comfort of his bed back at the inn.

He'd considered giving the twins a difficult time, but a quick glance at the faces gathered around his bed convinced him otherwise. He might have been able to take on Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel—he'd done that before—but the sons of Elrond and Dolenil were odds he'd rather not attempt right now. He did have a splitting headache, and if the all-too-familiar pain in his chest was any indication, he had at least a couple of broken ribs. And then there were the various assorted bruises, cuts, and burns scattered over what felt to be nearly every single inch of his body…

Besides, apart from the uneven odds discouraging him from resistance, the comfort of simply laying there gave plenty of attraction to the idea of non-resistance. His easy acquiescence was probably worrying them all terribly, but, well, he'd just let that be his little revenge for the potion the twins were doubtless going to make him drink… The same evil voice—coupled with his genuine exhaustion—soon had him closing his eyes, adding to his near-death act. If they thought he was dying and or sleeping, they probably wouldn't drug him, now would they?

"Legolas? Mellon-nin, are you alright?"

Aragorn's voice forced him to crack his eyes open. The concern in his silver eyes made Legolas instantly feel repentant. He knew how much his friend was already worried for him, and closing his eyes had really been rather cruel. He did feel in need of some deep sleep, but he could wait until Aragorn left the room to close his eyes again.

"Legolas?"

Legolas opened his eyes fully, realizing they'd begun to drift shut again. Eru, he was tired. More tired than he'd realized.

"I'm alright, Estel," he replied, smiling reassuringly. "Just very tired and sore. Having pillars land on your chest hurts. Who would have known?"

Estel cracked a small grin at that. Joking was always good sign, although not irrefutable proof that Legolas was doing better. "I'll take a mental note on that, and steer clear of any falling pillars henceforth."

Legolas chuckled quietly. "You do that, Estel."

"Hear, hear!" Elladan agreed. "And it would be nice if you steered clear of cliffs, collapsing caves, wargs, orcs, and any generally sinister-looking characters who might be out to get you. I can assure you, little brother, they can all be rather painful as well."

"Oh, I know all about those thingsmuindor," Aragorn said, beaming as if such first-hand knowledge was something to take particular pride in.

Elladan flinched at the proudly-spoken statement. He knew just how true it was.

Elrohir looked up from where he was finishing tying off one of Legolas' bandages. "Well then, at least try to stay away from those falling pillars, will you, tithen-muindor?"

"I can try…" Aragorn said, doubtfully. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "But how can I properly sympathize with Legolas unless—"

"Don't even think about it," Elladan cut him off. "There are a few things in life you can get along with without experiencing."

"How would you know, having tried out nearly everything yourself?" Aragorn asked, the twinkle in his eyes increasing.

"Enough of that, you two," Elrohir commanded. "Legolas needs his rest." He pointed to the door. "Since neither of you helping the situation, get out."

Elladan and Estel bowed, and said simultaneously, without the slightest repentance in their tone, "Yes, Ada."

Elrohir rolled his eyes, and shooed them out of the room. Elladan and Estel fled to the small sitting room that connected the two bedrooms. A small fire was crackling in the hearth, and several large chairs were positioned invitingly close to its warmth. They fell into two of them, and sat in comfortable silence while they waited for Elrohir.

Elladan rested his head against the plush back of the chair, but couldn't find sleep. Not yet. His mind was still in turmoil from the past twenty-four hours. So much had happened, and as of yet, he wasn't certain whether they'd been victorious or not. They had escaped. They had rescued Aragorn and Legolas, and gotten away relatively unhurt. But what about Acharndil, Dagron, and Kadrin? Just thinking about them made him seethe with anger. None of them had gotten what they deserved.

Elrohir exited the other room, healing supplies in hand, and closed the bedroom door before coming to sit next to his brothers. "Dolenil and Dinerion will keep watch over Legolas," he said quietly. "He's sleeping now."

Elladan smiled, as his eyes drifted over to Estel, sprawled in the chair across from them. "And so, it would seem, is our little brother."

Elrohir smiled too. Aragorn's eyes were closed, his face relaxed, so relaxed, that his mouth hung slightly open, and his soft snore filled the otherwise silent room. "Should we wake him?"

Elladan hesitated. "I hate to do it, but I think we'd better get him to his own bed, and save him a bad crick in the neck. But first, we should take a look at his wounds." His eyes traveled to the dried blood the marked the young human's neck.

Elrohir nodded, rising. He placed the various healing supplies he still held on the floor, and kneeled next the ranger's chair, reaching out to touch him gently.

Aragorn started, tensing and gripping the arms of his chair tightly for a moment, before realizing that it was only Elrohir. "Is it morning already?" he inquired groggily.

The twins chuckled.

"No brother, but it is time to see to all of the numerous scratches and bruises you've collected over the past couple of days," Elladan answered him, leaning over to unbutton Aragorn's shirt, while Elrohir began unwinding a bandage, and mixing some more herbs together.

Aragorn was still half asleep, and it was a moment before he comprehended the words and actions of his brothers. It was another moment before he realized, with a start, that tradition demanded that he should be protesting. He swatted half-heartedly at Elrohir's hand, as he began wiping the blood away from his neck. "It's not that bad…and you know it…" he complained, his voice slurring slightly as sleep threatened to steal consciousness from him again. "You said yourself, it's only a scratch…"

The twins both ignored his feeble attempts to thwart them.

"They may be mere scratches, brother, but there are too many of them, and they could become infected," Elrohir recited the familiar words without pausing in his ministrations.

Aragorn rolled his eyes, but felt too weary to do much more than that. Argument was always futile at this point. Still, he did feel like he had just enough energy to complain a bit. "Paranoid elves and their obsessions… You two never fail to amuse me."

Elladan glowered at him, and swatted him lightly upside the head. "I don't know why we keep patching you back up, little brother, when this is the kind of gratitude we get."

Aragorn just grinned.

Elladan's teasing expression hardened into anger as he finished unbuttoning Aragorn's shirt, and caught a glimpse of his chest. Even in the growing darkness, the dim firelight revealed the dark bruises that covered his skin. He clenched his jaw, easily guessing who'd done this to his brother. "If that fiend did not die from the falls, drowning, or hypothermia, then it will be my great pleasure to personally kill him."

"—slowly," Elrohir added.

Elladan nodded his grim agreement. "Yes, and painfully."

Aragorn couldn't help a small chuckle. "I'm beginning to see where so many men get their ideas about elves being 'barbarians'. Hearing you two talk, I'm beginning to wonder all over again about those superstitions…"

Elrohir finished working on Aragorn's neck. "Oh, is that so? Well, dear brother, if you don't allow us to finish working on you, and then immediately go to bed, we may have to give you a personal demonstration of just how 'barbaric' us elves can be when angered."

"Hmm…" Aragorn settled back in his chair, pretending to ponder the decision. "I think that's an experience I could do without."

"Wise choice, young one." Elrohir moved to work on his chest, rubbing ointment over the large bruises.

Silence fell over the room and, although it was comfortable, Aragorn could tell that both his brothers were still far from happy. Elladan was watching Elrohir's gentle treatment, a slight frown on his face. Aragorn could still feel the anger of both his elven brothers, just barely hidden under the surface. If given a chance, Elladan would have jumped at the opportunity to get his hands on Dagron.

Sudden inspiration hit him, and he began to speak softly, uncertain of the effect his words might have, especially on Elladan, with his eruption-prone responses at times like this.

"In all the commotion I didn't get a chance to tell you..." he spoke haltingly, as both his brothers stopped to look at him. "I didn't get a chance to tell you about what Acharndil did."

Elladan tensed, his eyes flaring with anger. "Did? I already know what that monster did!" His mind reeled with fear at the possibly that Acharndil might have done something else to his brother, something that the human was hiding… "Don't I? Estel, he didn't-"

Aragorn flinched, realizing too late his poor choice of words. "No, you don't understand. He…saved Legolas' life."

Elladan and Elrohir both stared, dumfounded at the sudden revelation. They looked at Aragorn, as if he'd just declared he intended to take plundering lessons from the Corsairs.

Elrohir looked searchingly at him. "What do you mean? Acharndil was using you—and Legolas—as bait to kill us. Why would he do something like that, when he was the one who put you both in danger in the first place?"

Aragorn studied the floor. "I…don't know. I've been trying to come up with an answer to that question ever since he did it. I don't know why, I just know he did save Legolas' life, and mine as well. There's no way I could have left him, not like that…"

"What are you talking about?" Elladan asked, regaining some of his calm.

"The reason I was delayed in the warehouse was because Legolas was trapped under a beam, as we told you." Aragorn closed his eyes at the painful memories of being so helpless. "I-I wasn't strong enough to lift if by myself, and Legolas would have been crushed. But then suddenly Acharndil was there and…he helped us." He shook his head, as utterly bewildered as the twins. "I don't know why, but he helped us. And now…he is dead."

Silence fell again, but Aragorn was gratified to notice he could no longer feel anger radiating from Elladan. His contentment was short lived, however, when one of Elrohir's gently probing hands placed too much pressure on one of his broken ribs. He stiffened in his chair, muffling a cry, but not able to keep from moaning.

Elrohir flinched in sympathy. "Ah, I should have known you'd picked up a broken rib."

Aragorn bit his lip hard, as the elf gently felt his ribs for any more breaks or cracks. Through gritted teeth he retorted, "I didn't 'pick up' a broken rib. It's not like I enjoy being in pain…"

Elladan snickered. "You could have fooled me."

"If you don't enjoy it, then why in Eru's name do you go seeking it out?" Elrohir asked.

Neither of the twins were in a particularly light-hearted mood at the moment, but teasing banter had become as essential a part of the Peredhil sick-room as bandages or herbs.

Aragorn only muttered darkly, refusing to retort.

"Just admit it, little brother, you're addicted to pain." Elrohir quipped, although any effect the barb might have had was mostly lost, as his fingers discovered a cracked rib, and he winced along with his brother.

Skillfully, Elrohir began to wrap a bandage firmly around Aragorn's torso.

Aragorn sighed, and settled back further into his chair. The pain—and his brothers—now dealt, with he felt too weary to keep his eyes open another minute. "Happy now?" he muttered.

Elladan cleared his throat loudly. "Now wait a moment, I believe the agreement was, you were to allow us to tend to your wounds, and then go to bed. Now, I may just be particularly ignorant, but that," He indicated the seat Aragorn was slumped in. "does not look like a bed."

Aragorn didn't open his eyes. "Really? You two are always sleeping in these things, and I'd just assumed…"

After a quick glance, the twins stepped forward in mutual consent, and each grabbed one of his arms. Carefully, so as not to jar his ribs, but firmly, they hauled him to his feet.

Aragorn didn't resist, allowing himself to be maneuvered towards the second of the adjoining bedrooms. "Alright, alright, I'll go to sleep in an actual bed, if that will make you happy," he complained sleepily, as he was literally dragged off to bed. "Now can you leave a poor injured human to his misery?" he asked, as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"What, you don't expect us to let you go to bed with those on?" Elrohir asked, looking at the human's still-booted feet.

Aragorn also looked down at his boots as if noticing his feet for the first time. Elrohir shook his head in fond exasperation, and began tugging off the first boot. Aragorn protested weakly, attempting to reach down and do it himself, but stopped as his aching ribs gave their own protest with a sudden sharp stab of pain. Removing the second boot, Elrohir swung the human's feet up onto the bed, all the while ignoring his remonstrances about being "too old for this".

With inordinate tenderness, Elladan pulled the covers up over his youngest brother, smiling down at him. "Stay warm, tithen-muindor."

"I'm really too old for this." Aragorn murmured, as his brothers finished tucking him in. Nonetheless, he allowed his head to sink down into the soft feather pillow, as Elladan smoothed a lock of hair away from his forehead. He inhaled deeply, but before he could let the breath back out, consciousness drifted away in the face of his exhaustion.

Exiting the room with silence that only elves possess, the twins closed the door softly behind them.

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

"Do they always get into this much trouble?"

Dolenil shook himself, and turned to look at his brother as he voiced the sudden question. He'd been lost in thought, watching the Prince sleep. He was still somewhat in shock over the fact that they'd all actually survived the day, so much so that he'd almost forgotten about Dinerion's presence altogether. "What was that?" he asked, realizing he hadn't really heard the question.

"I said, do they always get in this much trouble? I mean, I know from rumors and all that the sons of Lord Elrond are always getting Legolas in trouble, but I'd never actually witnessed it myself. Do they really get him in this much trouble…repeatedly?"

"Oh no, of course not!" Dolenil replied, eyes twinkling. In face of so much sudden relief, the need for humor felt unusually strong.

Dinerion looked slightly sheepish at the revelation. "Then those guards at the palace were just pulling my leg. Again…"

Dolenil shook his head, seeming to ignore his brother's last statement. "No, the Peredhils hardly ever get Prince Legolas into this much trouble—most of the time it's much worse."

Dinerion's eyes went wide. "Worse than this? How much worse can it get?"

"Trust me, the Peredhils have explored that very question many times. And found the answer."

Dinerion's wonder turned to suspicion. Dolenil rarely joked around with him, but when he did, it was usually to tease him. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"Oh, it's no joke. Just ask the Prince, he'll tell you the same."

"What about Legolas? Why couldn't he be the one getting the Peredhils into trouble? At least some of the time…"

Dolenil smiled. "Well, if you want to find the answer to that question, you should probably ask one of the sons of Elrond. Undoubtedly, they will tell you that it is, in fact, Prince Legolas who gets them into trouble most of the time."

By now, Dinerion was beginning to look not a little confused. When he asked his next question, Dinerion could hardly keep from laughing outright.

"And…who's right?"

"That, brother, would be the mystery of the age."

After that, Dinerion fell silent for several minutes, freeing Dolenil to think some more about the near-catastrophe of the day, and smaller near-catastrophes of the past several days. No matter how he tried, his mind kept drifting back to the men who'd done this to his Prince and, in particular, to the assassin named Kadrin. Not only had he kidnapped his Prince, but he had also attempted to kill his brother.

Dolenil's eyes fell on the table beside Legolas' bed, where he'd set the odd lasso he'd taken from his brother's neck, after Kadrin had been forced to abandon it in the stable. He'd been in so much turmoil that day, between worrying over Dinerion and the Prince, that he hadn't taken the time to look at it properly. His eyes stared unblinkingly at the table for a moment before his brain comprehended a new, and rather terrifying revelation.

The lasso wasn't there.

His eyes searched the table and the floor. He stood, pacing over to the table, and looking behind and around it, but the strange contraption was nowhere to be seen. His gaze turned to the rest of the room. By now, of course, he'd caught Dinerion's attention.

"What is it?"

"The lasso…"

Dolenil didn't need to say anything more, for Dinerion knew from first-hand experience what he meant. He finished his search of the small room. "I set it down on that table… But it's gone now. Come, we must talk to the Peredhils."

Dinerion followed his brother out of the room, where they found Elladan and Elrohir, apparently dozing lightly in two chairs. They blinked, and looked up when the two Silvan elves entered the room.

Seeing the deep frown on Dolenil's face, Elrohir asked cautiously, "Is something wrong?"

"You could say that." Dolenil quickly explained to them about Dinerion's close call, and Kadrin having been forced to leave behind his strange weapon. "But now," he said in conclusion, "it seems to have disappeared."

Elladan and Elrohir listened grimly. With anyone else, the most natural question to ask next would have been whether or not he might have misplaced the lasso. They didn't know Dolenil very well, but they did know he wasn't the kind to misplace things in the first place and, if he did, he would have already been thorough in his search before coming to them.

"Who would've taken it?" Elladan questioned, his frown matching Dolenil's.

Their wonderings were interrupted, as a timid knock sounded on the door. Elrohir opened the door to reveal a wary-looking merchant. As a matter of fact, Eathol looked very much as if he wished the door hadn't been opened at all. He gulped, bowing his head respectfully in the general direction of the elves gathered in the small room.

"Good evening, my Lords."

They bowed respectfully in return. Elladan spoke for them.

"Good evening, Lord Eathol. I hope it is not ill news that brings you here?"

Eathol grimaced visibly. "Well, It's not exactly what you'd call good news, but I wouldn't call it bad news…necessarily. Or at least, not entirely."

Elladan tried not to sound too eager for news, or frustrated with the man's hedging. He'd been working hard on his unwarranted feelings of anger towards the man. After all, if some of Eathol's men had let Dagron escape, they had also voluntarily helped them to rescue his brother and friend. Without Eathol's help, they might not have gotten Estel or Legolas away from Acharndil in the first place. "Is it about the escaped prisoner?" he queried, mastering his emotions.

He greatly hoped they'd at least found some clue to Dagron's fate, whether he was dead—or still in need of someone to aid him in achieving that goal. From the way Eathol was acting, it was obvious that they hadn't caught him, but perhaps he had died going over the falls. He might be able to live with the fact that he might not be able to personally see Dagron die a painful death, if only they knew… But it was not to be.

"Yes, my Lord," Eothald said, his voice penitent. "I'm afraid it does. We haven't caught him yet, or seen any signs of him. He seem to have disappeared." He hastened to add. "We will, of course, keep searching. But I really think it's most likely that he's at the bottom of Long Lake by now. If that's the case, we may never recover the body."

Elladan nodded stiffly. "That is a possibly, of course. I'd merely prefer to know for certain. He's already done his best to destroy our family twice. I don't want to see that happen again."

"Completely understandable, my Lord. We will work hard to find him. However, when the lake freezes over…"

"Yes. Well…If you're doing your best, I can't ask for more. Thank you for all you've done already."

Eathol smiled sadly. "You're welcome, my Lord. I just wish we hadn't let that rascal get away in the first place. I hope we can mend that mistake."

Elladan sighed. "I hope so as well. Please, let me know if you capture, or find anything evidence about the prisoner."

Eathol bowed deeply, but instead of leaving, he hesitated, his expression becoming even more distressed than it had been when he had first entered.

"Is there something else wrong?" Elrohir asked, displaying admirable patience, despite the fact that it was more than obvious that something was very wrong. Why hadn't the man said anything earlier?

"Ah, yes, my Lord, I'm afraid there is…" The merchant trailed off miserably.

"And…?" Elrohir encouraged him calmly.

"My men mentioned that when they were securing the prisoners, you pointed out one—an assassin, they said—who was a particular threat."

Elrohir nodded his agreement with the statement. "He hasn't been giving you any trouble, has he?"

At that, Elladan muttered darkly something about being more than willing to resolve any problems Kadrin might cause—permanently. However, the merchant didn't appear to hear him, too wrapped up in the unwelcome duty of delivering his information.

"Well, it's not that exactly. You see…" he swallowed hard before going on. "He seems to have disappeared as well."

"What!" To everyone's surprise, the explosion came from the hitherto-silent Dolenil. Upon receiving their startled looks, he subsided into somewhat embarrassed silence, but his stern gaze did not release Eathol from answering.

The wine merchant shifted slightly in nervousness. "As I said, my Lords, he appears to have simply… disappeared. No one seems to know exactly when or how. All I know is that when the prisoners arrived at the jailhouse, one of the men said they'd better take some extra means to secure the assassin. But when they went to find him, he was gone. We're doing everything we can to search for him," he hastened to assure them, "but I'm afraid that so far we've turned up nothing."

No one replied to his statements immediately, the four elves taking a moment to absorb the information. Eathol waited in tense silence. Then Elladan gave a tired sigh.

"Yes, I am sure you are doing your best. But we have seen firsthand how clever Kadrin is. I'm afraid there's very little likelihood of your finding him now."

Eathol hung his head, staring wretchedly down at his feet. "I am sorry, my Lords. Truly I am."

Elladan summoned up an attempt at a comforting smile. "I know you are, Eothald. And I'm sure this didn't result from any ill intentions on your part. Worry not, we do not blame you. I only hope the results do not prove to be too disastrous."

"As do I, my Lord." With that, Eathol bowed deeply and, seeing no one seemed prepared to ask anything further of him, gratefully departed as quietly as he could.

The four elves stood in silence after he'd left, hardly knowing what to say. A collective gloom settled over the group, as they each pondered the possible repercussions of Kadrin—and possibly Dagron as well—having escaped.

"What's that?"

They all looked up at the exclamation from Dinerion. The blond-haired elf was moving towards the window, and pulling out a small piece of paper that was on the windowsill, half caught underneath the closed window. The other elves crowded around him, as he unfolded the parchment.

My Lords,

Thank you ever so much for holding onto my weapon for me, while I was busy with the unpleasant and humiliating task of being captured. I don't believe your friends would have allowed me to keep my favorite little… tool. I am in your debt for having kept it safe for me all this time. However, now that I have escaped, I am in need of it once again. I don't believe you know how to use it anyways, so I do hope you don't miss it too much.

I hate to interrupt this letter of gratitude with anything that might be taken as malice, but I feel honor-bound to give you fair warning: I consider you my enemies. I have yet to consider my next move, but when I reached a decision, you will, in all likelihood, be among the first to know.

May no evil befall you—before I do,

Kadrin

TBC...

-wipes away tear- Aww…isn't Kadrin just the sweetest, must huggable of villains—he even sends THANK YOU cards! –hugs villain- He's always been so considerate…

Well, this is the last chapter. There's still a short epilogue left, which I plan on posting next week, on Sat. or Sun. or Mon.—at the very latest :-) Thank you all so much for the reviews last chap, and in advance for the reviews this chapter… -hint hint- Oh, I know, I pride myself on my subtlety. –g-