Author's Note: These next few chapters are fairly action-packed. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Do not own (applies to all chapters).

To Rekindle Hearts

Chapter Four: Catch and Release

Mithrandir, Ithildim, and Legolas arrived in the settlement that day at dusk. Mithrandir sought a man and a dwarf for "urgent business," and he bid the wood-elves find something to do besides follow him about. He showed them to the village tavern, and sat with them crossly for a time, sharing in a pint of ale with Ithildim while Legolas nursed a winter cider, before slapping a coin on the table and heading out the door.

"Now what?" asked Ithildim, grinning as he finished his own ale, and leaned back in his chair.

Legolas watched the door swing shut behind the wizard, and sorely wished he had not put away his cloak in Ithildim's pack before they entered the tavern. The eyes of the men around him flickered occasionally to his tawny, thickly-braided hair and elven ears, and the attention agitated Legolas. Ithildim's dark hair was down and fell about his shoulders, but he carried himself more roughly that Legolas did, with a broader back and heavier stance for bladework. Though they stood almost the same height, Ithildim did not seem to draw as much attention to himself as did Legolas' honey head and lithe form. That Legolas could not understand much of what the men around them said—speaking a dialect similar to but quite distinct from Westron—did not help to subdue his ill-ease.

"Let us get out of here," said Legolas softly. "Seek somewhere outside to rest, or else find a room upstairs. These men make me nervous."

The man at the table beside them stirred, and looked at the two elves clad in browns and greens that sat across from each other there; the slighter of the two leaned in closely and spoke low in his woodland tongue to his companion. The man put down his tankard and lowered his brows and frowned as he spoke.

"We make you nervous?" the man boomed in Westron. "You are strange folk in our lands, and whispering in a stranger language."

The man had gained the attention of those farther down his table, and they now all watched the elves, eyes flitting between the elf leaned back in his chair and the other who leaned on his elbows on the table, finger tracing the edge of his pint absently; the elves' faces were blank and did not belay their emotions.

"Two wood-elves so far from the forest?" the man continued, catching the eyes now of those around him, pulling them one by one with his gaze into the provocation. "We are used to your kind in neighboring lands, but here it is seldom heard of. Here, wood-elves only exist in the stories we tell our children at night, to make them behave," the man finished, eyes narrowed.

Legolas and Ithildim had turned their faces toward the man when he first began to address them, and as he finished, they caught each other's eyes, silently trying to decide what to do—how had this man understood a Silvan dialect?

Managing volatile people was more Legolas' realm of command than Ithildim's, and Legolas knew Westron better, so Ithildim nodded at Legolas and narrowed cautious eyes, and Legolas turned around fully in his chair to face the man.

"You know our language," Legolas stated in Westron, his tongue catching on the 'r' and making the sound harsher than it should have been. Legolas tilted his head as he considered the man. The whole room had fallen quiet to watch this exchange.

"We know some of it, though your words are more bastard than I am used to," the man said, and then crossed his arms.

"I have heard that said before," Legolas replied.

Legolas straightened his head and back and pushed his braid off his shoulder. Ithildim rose from his chair and moved to stand beside Legolas, who was still seated, for he did not want to alarm the man.

"You should not be here," the man said, roughly, and there was a murmur from the men around them. They had noticed the short sword on Ithildim's belt and it made them anxious to see his hand rest on its handle.

"Maybe we should not be here," said Legolas, nodding slightly to the man. "But why not? We are not so different, elves and men."

The man laughed. "Many people here do not like your King. Your elves did not answer the Elder's letter begging aide this winter; we lost many children."

"You did not uphold your trade agreement," Legolas said evenly. "We had nothing to provide."

A man at the far end of the tavern slammed his pint onto the table and those around Ithildim and Legolas became angry at Legolas' words; he heard a few call the names of deceased children into the ruckus, further incensing the crowd. Ithildim placed the hand not gripping his blade on Legolas' shoulder and pulled at it gently. This was not a good place for them to be.

"And how do you know that?" the man asked, standing now, too.

Ithildim's grip on Legolas' shoulder increased, and then he hauled his friend to his feet by the elbow, willing him not to speak—to not reveal his familial connection to Mirkwood's trade network—but guessing Legolas' heart would bid him do so, regardless.

"I listen to talk in our Halls," said Legolas simply, slipping Ithildim's pack over his shoulders and dropping two coins onto the table as they moved toward the door. "It was a terrible winter for all, and we had nothing to spare, for we too had to care for our youth. I am sorry for your losses."

The man did not like this answer, and he lunged at Ithildim and Legolas, who took off toward the door, pulling their knives from their belts as they ran from the tavern. They heard the sound of heavy boots and the swish of air and cloaks behind them.

The voice of a serving maid found them in the night, leaning as she was out the tavern door. "We are not all so base! Take care; I will tell your companion what has transpired!"

Legolas and Ithildim did not even spare breaths for a 'thank you,' but continued to dart and weave toward the closest copse of trees they could see, noting one past the farthest houses on the edge of the village. As they passed the clump of small houses, however, several men emerged from them, and received shouted instructions from the original instigator in the tavern.

The new men cut into the elves' path from the sides instead of behind, and after one skillful evasion, Legolas' next bound sent him straight into a newly-joined man—he knocked Legolas to the ground and onto his stomach, and then flipped him over so he faced the sky. The man was larger and broader than Legolas and sat on him firmly across the hips, and one hand held Legolas' forearms together above his head, so he could not strike out with his knife.

Ithildim could hear Legolas struggling and kicking at the air, but he did not stop running. If he were caught, he would be of no use to his friend, but that thought did not stop him from pausing when he heard a crack and a soft gasp from behind, followed by jeers from the crowd.

Ithildim slipped into the darkness and ran behind the houses from which the men had charged, coming now behind the group so he could see Legolas restrained, his white knife abandoned on the ground beside his caught but unclenched hand, his face barely betraying a grimace. The man from the tavern stood at Legolas' head near his trapped arms, and Ithildim knew from his position and the sound he had heard previously that the man had stomped on Legolas' forearm—aiming for his tendons—to force him to release the weapon from his fingers; the crack Ithildim had heard would have come from an added twist of the boot, as the two bones of the arm worked against each other until one of them gave. But otherwise his friend seemed fine, for now.

In that moment, Ithildim realized he did not know what to do.

He and Legolas were both fast and immensely strong, but they were lean and less muscular than some of the men gathered here, and with less weight to throw around than the others of the men had. If this were just a game of evasion, or they had a full company of elves or the cover of trees, they would undoubtedly succeed. But they were at a disadvantage here, and Ithildim would not be able to break through the barrier of bodies by force alone to haul Legolas away.

"Your kind has a thousand years to live!" shouted the man from the tavern, leaning over Legolas' prone form to hover over his impassive face. "Our lives are but a blink of an eye, a handful of sawdust thrown into open flame—we burn fast and we are gone. But our children did not even have that chance to go out nobly, for they were extinguished too soon. And that fault we place on your kind."

"What is his name!" a co-conspirator yelled.

"Yes," said the man softly. "Your name, elf."

Ithildim leapt into action. Legolas had an alternate identity and history picked and well-rehearsed, but, while he had used it before, Legolas did not lie particularly well, and the men might figure out Legolas' relationship to Thranduil—or some semblance of it—soon enough. But as Ithildim leapt out from behind the house with his long knife extended in front of him, an old man walked angrily toward the crowd, and all but the man restraining Legolas backed away from the instigator and the elf.

"The meaning of this?" the old man asked calmly, gesturing sharply at the scene in front of him.

The man from the tavern bowed his head to the old man. "Elder Bregon, this elf is one of King Thranduil's, whose people denied us the need we required this winter, to sustain our children."

"Yes," said the Elder.

There was silence; the man on Legolas did not move, and Legolas made no sound, though Ithildim could vaguely hear his tunic scrape the ground as Legolas tried to pull in a deeper breath; the man on his hips was constricting his diaphragm.

"He and his friend should pay for the crimes committed against our young," said the man.

"Aelfric, son of Alewife," said the Elder, dropping to a knee and holding his hand out to Legolas, who could not respond to his invitation due to his restraints. "That is not how we punish people in our land. This elf is someone's child or husband, someone's comrade or friend—we cannot take that away from them, without explanation. That misplaced vengeance would be worse than the pain we felt in the winter, when our kin starved before our eyes."

The man, Aelfric, shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking somewhat unsure of himself, but mostly very angry.

"You will release him," said Elder Bregon, clasping his hand together, and rising from his knees.

The instigator did not move and the man on Legolas' abdomen shifted uneasily.

"You will release him," said the Elder again. "Now."

And so Aelfric, the man from the tavern, nodded to the man from the houses, who pushed himself off the ground and away from Legolas' body, stepping to the side. Legolas leapt from the ground in a heartbeat and stood straight, picking at dirt that had been ground into the buckle of his quiver harness as he feigned indifference. Ithildim quickly came round the back of the group and stood close behind Legolas' right shoulder.

"You will let them go in peace," said the Elder. "Go now to your families; tell your children goodnight; enjoy your time with your wives. Go before you disgrace us any further by doing harm to folk who have done no more to you than protect their own kin."

Legolas stood very stiff, and Ithildim watched the tavern-man's shoulders release but his fists clench at his leader's words.

"Aye, Elder Bregon," Aelfric said.

And the two elves watched the men go away, separating in clumps and pairs to their houses in the village, or back to the tavern, and the old Elder came to Legolas and Ithildim when his people had departed, took one of Legolas' hands in his own, and whispered, "Forgive us."

Legolas said, "Thank you for letting us go."

And then Ithildim picked up Legolas' long knife from the ground, took Legolas by the elbow, and steered him away, toward the sliver of trees they had sighted many minutes ago when they had first left the tavern. Legolas raised a hand over his shoulder in farewell, and let Ithildim hurry them away.

"Why did Mithrandir bring us here?" Ithildim asked Legolas.

Ithildim leaned against a tree on the edge of the grassland to surreptiously allow Legolas to catch his breath. He felt rather than saw Legolas veritably collapse into the tree beside him.

Legolas held his wrist tightly to his chest and closed his eyes. He could feel the pressure rising around the joints, and it felt as if his muscles grated against mismatched rock inside his forearm.

Ithildim slipped Legolas' lost knife back into the sheath on his belt.

"Mithrandir is wise, Ithildim," Legolas said shakily, opening his eyes again, "But he cannot see all."

"You are ever unpredictably philosophical," said Ithildim.

"Or gallingly candid," said Legolas, straightening himself from the tree and pulling a strand of sweat-soaked hair from his temple.

"Hm," said Ithildim. "Let me see your hand."

"Let us get out of this place first," said Legolas, turning and walking into the small copse of trees. "Surely Mithrandir will meet us before we depart."

"No rest?" asked Ithildim.

"We do not yet need it," said Legolas, frowning. "Let us go from here."

"All right, Legolas," said Ithildim. He pulled his own pack off of Legolas' back and slipped it over his shoulders—Legolas' quiver was full, but he had lost his bow in the confusion of the tavern.

Ithildim walked close to Legolas' shoulder as they traversed the sparse cover, and after a while—when it had become quite dark, though they had not travelled so far, more concerned with staying occupied than putting distance between themselves and the Istar—Ithildim took their waterskins to find fresh water. Legolas struggled to make a fire, finally lighting it with a curse and a sigh, and he argued with Ithildim about his arm for some time after he got back. Ithildim did not want to set it because he did not have healing supplies; Legolas did not understand why a few strips of cloth and a stick from the ground would not suffice as a brace—he thought Ithildim was being quite silly.

But Ithildim was more insistent, and Legolas' patience wore out. So they put out the fire and crawled both into the low branches of a young tree. Legolas sang to himself for some time, and after a while—feeling safe with their distance from the village—he fell lightly asleep.

Legolas did not know then, but Ithildim was overwhelmed with the responsibilities of protecting his command (even if, here, his command was only his second-in-command), so much so that Ithildim feared his routine intervention might make Legolas' injury worse. Far away from the watchful eyes of his commanders and soldiers, Ithildim found himself paralyzed by the cumulative stress of his duty, and he could not see the forest for the trees.

Ithildim spent a long while watching storm clouds build in the low light of the waning moon above him, before he finally, and reluctantly, fell into an uneasy sleep.