Disclaimer: All rights belong to Tolkien. I only own my OCs.
The misty rain blurred the forest background, but he easily zeroed in on his target. A robust figure in a hunter green cloak stood behind the oak. The firstborn's heart beat faster as he loosed his own warning shot at the figure. Legolas reloaded his bow in half the time it took for his arrow to whisk over the other's head.
Seeing that his hiding spot was compromised, the hooded figure stepped out from behind the tree with an arrow aimed at the elf's heart. Blue orbs narrowed calculatingly. The bow shifted so that the prince's arrow would intercept his foe's arrow or kill him. The slight release of his slim fingers would end the human's life before he knew what hit him.
The archers stared at each other, waiting. Finally, the man called out in a gravelly voice, "Are you friend or foe?"
"I could ask the same of you!" The elf retorted steely. "I shall harm you only if you try to harm me."
The human's thick brows knitted together. Suspicion lingered in his tone. "Who are you? What business do you have in this part of the forest?"
The prince's mind raced for an answer. Legolas was an elven name. He needed one that would not give away his human disguise. Quickly, he settled on a suitable name. "I am Leian, son of Thandal. I'm traveling to Bree to visit a friend."
The man studied him for several seconds before he released the tension on his bow. Legolas did the same, but he remained wary.
"I'm Oren, son of Orion," the figure responded as he lowered his bow. "Forgive me, I mistook you for a brigand."
"There is nothing to forgive," Legolas replied. He returned the arrow to his quiver and watched Oren do the same. Shrewdly, he noted the dagger and long hunting knife attached to the man's belt. "What are you doing out here, Oren?"
"I came out here to hunt," Oren pulled his cloak tighter around his broad shoulders, "but it seems this weather has scared all the game away."
The prince let his senses drift out to the woods around him. The man was right. Besides the wind, rain, and a few birds, the world around him was largely quiet. Most of the creatures were hidden away from the elements. It appeared Oren was telling the truth, so Legolas relaxed slightly.
A meaty hand waved the elf over. "Come, Master Leian. We can travel to Bree together. It's safer this way." He pointed to a clump of trees fifty yards away, "My horse is just beyond those trees over there."
Legolas shot a look at his mare; Mithelen shook her head with a snort. He felt inclined to agree with her. It could be a trap. He did not know Oren. For all he knew, this man could be an outlaw in conspiracy with other bandits, waiting to waylay him up ahead.
Unease swelled in his stomach. Reason and his training urged him to decline the offer and travel on alone. Yet, he couldn't ignore the possibility that Oren could provide him with valuable information. Oren's words about brigands and safety hinted at trouble in these parts. It could be the very trouble that Estel had set off to investigate.
The prince suppressed a sigh. He would take the risk for his friend's sake. Plastering a small smile on his face, Legolas grabbed Mithelen's reins and walked forward. "Thank you, Oren. I appreciate the offer."
Oren grinned and clapped a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "No need to thank me. These are troubling days; we must stick together." He then spun around and treaded to where his horse waited. Legolas followed behind him.
The elf raised a brow when the man began to whistle a light tune. Oren seemed unconcerned despite his talk of trouble. However, the human's tight grip on his bow and occasional glances around signaled that he still remained aware of his surroundings. Legolas' apprehension abated minutely and he figured Oren's whistling was a sign of confidence rather than ignorance.
The "crack" of a tree branch set the prince's senses on high alert. Blue eyes searched the area for any signs of attack. His right hand hovered near the knife strapped to his hip for the rest of the way.
To his surprise, they reached Oren's black horse without encountering any problems. Legolas breathed a visible sigh of relief. In spite of his initial reservations, the man was trustworthy after all.
"Are you all right, son?" asked the hunter, with concern etched on his face.
"Oh...yes," Legolas stammered. "I'm just tired, I guess," he hurriedly offered with a genuine smile.
Oren nodded in understanding. "Let's hurry to Bree then, before this dratted rain soaks us to the bones."
The two climbed into their horses' saddles and started the ride to Bree. Legolas studied the human as they rode. Strands of gray, shoulder-length hair escaped his hood. Yet, he was not very elderly by human standards, for only a few lines were carved on his weathered face. If he had to guess, the elf would say Oren was between fifty and sixty years old. A dim twinkle shone in his brown eyes.
Oren shuddered and pulled his cloak tighter against the chill. Legolas did the same to protect himself from the rain. The scratchy material of Aragorn's wet clothing stuck to his skin. It took considerable restraint to resist the urge to scratch and tug at the infernal human clothing.
A gravelly voice cut through the silence. "So, Leian, where are you from?" the man questioned good-naturedly.
"I live near the Misty Mountains."
Oren whistled through his teeth. "You've traveled a long way."
"Indeed." Legolas rubbed his neck and chuckled, "I'm beginning to feel every league of it too."
"I can imagine," the hunter grimaced sympathetically. He looked the elf up and down. "I'm surprised your father would let you travel so far alone. You look too young to make such a journey by yourself."
It was all he could do to contain his laughter. The man could not be more wrong about his age. Legolas just shrugged nonchalantly, "My father trusts me. He knows I can handle myself."
Oren declared, "Well you certainly know how to handle a bow."
"I learned how to use one as soon as I was big enough," the prince stated soberly.
"That seems mighty young to give a child such responsibility."
"Mmm," he murmured. Legolas swiftly quashed the sadness and the what-ifs that threatened to well up inside him. He was a warrior, a prince, and Mirkwood needed him. How could a simple hunter truly understand that? The elf decided to change the conversation's course.
Pretending to glance around with apprehension, Legolas questioned, "Earlier you mentioned these were troubling days. What did you mean? Should I be concerned?"
The man rubbed his whiskers, and sighed heavily, "Well, you see, Leian, some people in these parts have fallen on hard times. Winter came early this year and was harsher than normal."
"That's unfortunate."
"Aye, it was. That wasn't the worst of it though. Last fall a wildfire destroyed a nearby town and the woods surrounding it."
The prince's heart clinched for the people's loss and the woods. He shook his head somberly. "I'm sorry."
Oren got a far off look on his face as he continued, "The people who survived were left with nothing to help them survive the winter. Those who did…well…they turned to what some would consider more vile means in order to provide for themselves."
Legolas' ears perked up at these words. "What type of means, Oren?"
"They steal from farmers' barns, rob people on the road. Sometimes they even kidnap people and hold them for ransom."
The elf's stomach soured. These outlaws could have had something to do with his friend's disappearance. If they did, it did not bode well for Estel. "Do you know who these men are? Does anyone do anything to try and stop them?"
"No, I don't," Oren shook his head, "A few tried, but they either disappeared or were killed."
"What about the rangers?"
"You mean those dark, mysterious men from the North who call themselves rangers?" Oren scowled. "We rarely see them around. Even if they were, I wouldn't trust them to help us. If you ask me, those rangers are a greater threat to us than the outlaws are."
The man's view of the Rangers of the North heated the blood in Legolas' veins. How could the human be so ignorant and ungrateful of all the unseen sacrifices Aragorn and his rangers made to protect the Breelanders? The elf reluctantly bit back a stream of words in his friend's defense. It wouldn't do to blow his cover now.
"You look upset. Did I say something wrong, Leian?"
Legolas inwardly chided himself for revealing his true emotions. He shouldn't have let his façade of indifferent curiosity slip so easily. "It troubles me no one is helping these people. Someone should do something," he explained in hopes of covering his real feelings.
Oren gave him a hard look and then pulled his horse to a stop. "I see the glint in your eyes, Leian. Promise me, you won't do anything foolish. Leave the outlaws alone. Stay away from them, and the rangers too."
"Oren..."
The hunter quickly held up a hand and interrupted, "I apologize, I was out of line. I have no right to tell you what to do. I just don't want you to get hurt, is all."
Legolas' irritation dissipated. "I understand. Don't worry, Oren, I won't," he reassured the man.
He wagged his head approvingly. "Good. I'd hate to see anything happen to you."
"So would I."
The rain had finally stopped, and the sun's rays slowly dipped below the horizon by the time the pair reached Bree. Their horses wearily slogged through the sticky mud to the center of town. Blue eyes soon spotted a distinct horse sign in the mix of buildings.
Legolas turned to Oren, "Thank you for the company, Oren. I'm afraid I must leave, and find my friend."
"I see." The man's face dampened, but then brightened, "But before you go, please, join me for supper."
The elf hesitated. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."
"Nonsense! It's the least I can do for almost putting an arrow through you earlier."
"And your wife wouldn't mind?" asked Legolas, "Surely she isn't expecting me."
Oren's countenance fell once more, and his mouth contorted as he searched for words. Finally, they came out in a jumbled mess, "Um...no she wouldn't...she's um...well she, and my daughter died several months ago."
Heat flushed his fair face as the elf stammered, "Oh, forgive me. I didn't mean to…"
"It's okay, son," Oren smiled shakily, "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known."
The hunter then pointed to the Prancing Pony Inn, "I was thinking we could warm ourselves up with some drink and stew. What do you say? Food and drinks on me."
His blunder and the dull ache in his stomach caused Legolas to cave. He grinned, "Food and drink would be most welcomed. Thank you, Oren."
"Anything for you, my friend. Come, let's go enjoy Bree's finest brew!" the man boomed. Oren signaled to the stable boy across the street, and he gave him a couple of coins with the instructions to care for the two horses.
Within minutes they had dismounted and made their way over to the inn. Oren easily pushed the thick door open. Noises and smells immediately assaulted Legolas' senses as he entered. He resisted the urge to cover his ears at the loudness. People of all shapes and sizes crowded the main room. The pungent smell of sweat and body odor stung the elf's nose. Smoke from various pipes and the roaring fire in the hearth threatened to choke him.
It took every ounce of his resolve to stay in the room and let Oren steer him to an empty table in the far left corner. Elf and man sat on opposite wooden benches.
"Barliman! Bring us two bowls of stew and two pints of your best mead!" the hunter instructed an overweight, balding man.
Barliman brought the mugs of ale out first. Oren flashed a smile and raised his drink, "To your health, Leian."
"And to yours as well," declared Legolas as he returned the gesture. He lifted the drink to his lips. While his human companion drank deeply, the archer gulped his gingerly. His lips began to curl into frown from the brew's flavor, but he quickly suppressed it.
Luckily, Oren took no notice. A stream of ale meandered down his chin. He drinks like a dwarf! the elf mused.
"Ahh...that hits the spot!" Oren placed his empty cup on the smooth surface of the table. "Doesn't it?"
Legolas faked pleasure with a dip of his head and mumbled, "Aye."
The innkeeper plunked down two bowls before them as he passed. Wisps of steam danced above the stew and brown pieces of venison floated tantalizingly. The gamey smell made Legolas' stomach growl with hunger. He devoured the bowl's contents eagerly.
Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck prickled, and a chill ran down his spine. The elf recognized the reaction from centuries of fighting. It was the feeling he always got when he was being watched.
Inconspicuously, his gaze shifted around the room. He honed in on a figure who stared at them from the other side of the room. The man's garb didn't identify him as a ranger. His countenance was stormy, and his eyes were eerily piercing.
Legolas looked back at Oren. Between bites of stew, he whispered, "Oren, there is a man across the room who keeps staring at us. Do you recognize him?"
A couple of seconds passed before the hunter casually turned his head towards the other side of the room. Oren peered at the sour-faced man. After a moment, the prince detected what he thought was a growl leave the hunter's lips, "I know him. His name is Ahneus. I...owe him money."
"Is that why he won't stop looking at us?" Something flickered in Oren's eyes. Anger? Annoyance? Legolas wasn't sure.
"I'm afraid so." He sighed heavily, "It looks like he has chosen now to collect on my debt. Ahneus is not a patient man."
The elf glanced back at Ahneus again. "Do you want some assistance?" he offered.
"No, no. I don't want you wrapped up in this. Thank you though." The hunter reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a couple of coins. "I'm sorry, Leian. This is not how I wanted our meal to end. Here, this should cover the food and drink."
"There is no need to apologize." Legolas held out his hand, "I'm glad we met. I wish you luck."
The man clasped the hand and shook it heartily. "Thank you. I too am glad our paths crossed. I only wish they didn't end here. Take care of yourself, son."
"I will."
Oren lifted his mug, took a deep gulp, and then stood. His face hardened as he squared his shoulders. With a parting smile, he made his way over to where Ahneus sat.
Legolas watched the pair out of the corner of his eye as they began talking. He attempted to hear their conversation, but they were too far away to discern the conversation over the din.
The prince knew that he shouldn't be watching Oren like he was a helpless elfling. Still, something about Ahneus' surly manner bothered him. A sheathed dagger rested near his hand like the man expected trouble. Legolas could only trust that Oren knew how to handle himself if the conversation went south. The elf had more important things to focus on.
He turned his attention back on finding news about Estel. Shutting his eyes, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. Fingers lightly drummed the half-empty mug in his hand. His senses focused on every aspect of the stuffy environment in search of anything that would help him find the ranger.
A myriad of sounds swept through his eardrums. The floor creaked as people danced and sauntered across it. Tankards clanked against each other. Fists and hands pounded the table in response to jokes or arguments. Garbled song lyrics hung in the air, along with the chorus of laughs, burps, and gossip the humans and hobbits emitted.
Legolas strained to discern words. Some farmers discussed the rainfall, while a large group of several men and a middle-aged woman traded drunken, exaggerated stories. The hobbits, between puffs of Longbottom weed, chatted about the jovial things they did during springtime. Several of the inn's occupants only muttered and stuttered incoherently as they gulped down mug after mug.
The prince massaged his temples. All the conversations he eavesdropped on consisted of meaningless chatter and brought him no closer to finding his friend. Oh, Estel. With a huff, he sucked down a gulp of ale. His face contorted slightly at the sour flavor.
Abruptly, he caught the utterance of a name. "Ahneus is…" In the span of seconds, Legolas centered his attention to four rugged men lounging at a benched table in the center of the room. Their voices were lowered, but the elf could still make out some of their words out. A male with rust-colored hair and a scraggly beard continued to speak, "the leader. Stop worrying. Our plan will soon be ready to carry out."
The presence of a slow, jolly voice interrupted Legolas' concentration. "Can I get you more ale, Master...uh...what is your name.?"
Looking up at the rosy-cheeked innkeeper, the prince replied, "Leian." His hand shot out faster than lightning to cover his tankard as Barliman went to refill it. "No, thank you. I've had enough."
"Oh...very well, Master Leian, I get it. When you've had enough, you've had enough. Let me know if you need anything."
"Wait!" Legolas grabbed Butterbur's pudgy arm when as he turned to leave, "Master Barliman, I'm looking for a ranger named Strider. Has he been here in the last month?"
"Hmmm...Strider...Strider…" Butterbur mumbled as he stroked his whiskers. "Oh yes! He's that ranger who stops by and keeps to himself. It's true what they say, you know, you never can tell what them rangers are up to."
Biting back his impatience, the elf prompted, "Have you seen him recently?"
"Aye, I have. He came in here...a little over...two weeks ago," the innkeeper replied. A rowdy group of customers shouted for more drink. "Excuse me, I should go see to that. Do you need anything else?"
"I'm fine. Thank you. You have been most helpful." He handed the coins to the man. "This is for mine and my friend's meal."
With a word of thanks, Butterbur ambled off to go refill orders. Noticing that the suspicious men were still talking, Legolas concentrated on their words once again. One of the four asked the others, "How long do you think he'll last?"
A wiry man with a pocked face cackled, "It's only a matter of time before Gresit breaks him."
The human with rust-colored hair grumbled. "If Gresit doesn't kill him first. The ranger would be better off just giving Gresit what he wants. He's a fool to resist."
Legolas' heart froze. They mentioned a ranger! It had to be Aragorn, he was the only ranger missing. His hand moved to the knives secured at his side. An icy fury settled on him like a shroud. The elf ached to leap up, attack the men, and force them to tell him where his friend was being held prisoner.
But wisdom stayed his hand. He didn't know if the men had allies in the inn. Legolas weighed the potential numbers. He could take on the four, and possibly another if he caught them by surprise. Oren would probably help him if he saw Legolas in a bind. Still, that was only two against four, five, or maybe several more.
Legolas growled. If only he could be sure of the numbers, but he couldn't. In his mind, he knew it would be foolish to attack right now when the odds were likely against him. Hands flexed open and shut. Patience was the best strategy. The prince could follow the men and wait for a more opportune time to strike. If he was lucky enough, they might even lead him to where Estel was being held.
A torturous eternity passed as the elf waited for the four men to leave. Fifteen minutes later, the men stood and strolled out the door. Legolas rose from his chair and followed them.
Damp air greeted him when he exited the inn. A light fog coated the village. He glanced to his left but saw no sign of his targets. The sound of brisk footsteps on his right pointed him to two figures disappearing behind a corner of the building. There they are. The prince hastened after them.
In a matter of seconds, Legolas rounded the corner and entered a long dead-end alley. Only a bunch of busted crates inhabited the alley. Unease settled like a rock in the elf's gut. Wide eyes urgently sought out the men's hiding spots, but it was too late. Four pairs of hands shot out of the dark and grabbed him.
A/N: And the hunter becomes the hunted...
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