Chapter 10      Traps!

“How long do you intend for us to sit here idle?”  Kiesco’s voice rang out in the small room, filled with frustration and anger. “The search for us draws ever nearer, and yet we do nothing!”

Tervanis glanced up from cleaning the blade of his knife and casually arched an eyebrow at his enraged captain.  “Are you questioning my actions, dear Kiesco?” he asked calmly.  “You know that we shall act when I deem the correct time has come.”  

Kiesco scowled deeply at this answer and began to pace back and forth across the room, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.  “Four days,” he spat angrily.  “Four days we have sat and done nothing while our foes draw ever nearer to finding us!  You claim to have a plan, yet little good it will do us if we act too late!  They will find us!  Find me!  We must act now, before it is too late!”

“I do not like repeating myself,” Tervanis replied coldly.  “We will act when I say to act, and not a moment before.”

“But we must do something!  Perhaps we can…”  Kiesco cut short as Tervanis slammed his blade into its sheath and rose menacingly from his seat by the window.

“I grow tired of your arguing,” Tervanis hissed, his eyes blazing with anger.  “I suggest that you curb your tongue, or I shall have it removed.”  The glare that he sent Kiesco, and the tight grip on his danger made it very clear that this was not an idle threat.

Kiesco realized that he had gone too far with the assassin, and immediately dropped his head in submission.  “I do not mean to question your actions, sir,” he mumbled quietly, his voice submissive, but still carrying a slight edge of frustration.  “I have seen the great Oliphaunts of Tarad Don, and have watched them follow their master’s every command with meekness and gentleness.  Yet I have also seen one of these creatures tear a man in two when angered.  This situation reminds me much of that time, for I fear that we have provoked a great power.  With each passing day, our danger grows greater.  If we are discovered, I do not believe there will be mercy.”

Tervanis snorted, his lips twitching up into a scornful smile.  “Are you afraid then,” he asked mockingly.

Kiesco’s eyes briefly flashed with anger, but his face remained emotionless.  “Worried,” he corrected shortly. 

“Then perhaps I can ease some of your worry,” Tervanis replied dryly.  “They will continue to search, yet they shall never find us.  I require only a little more patience, Kiesco, for the time to act draws near.”

“Then perhaps we can speak of this plan of yours,” Kiesco suggested.  “You have told me that only one more task awaits us before we may return to Norvil.  You have yet to tell me what this task is, though you promised I would be a part of it.”

Tervanis’ grin was purely evil.  “Indeed, I did,” he replied, “And I believe you shall enjoy the part I have planned for you.”

Kiesco leaned forward, his frustration forgotten in his eagerness.  “And what part is that,” he asked?

“I am sure that you remember the young soldier who defeated you?” Tervanis asked maliciously.

Kiesco’s scowl returned.  “He did not defeat me,” he protested.  “If we had not been interrupted…”

Tervanis cut him off with a wave of his hand.  “Do you wish to know the plan or not?” he asked curtly.

Kiesco continued to scowl, but he quickly nodded.

“Then listen carefully.”

*******

“Easy, Gimli.  Do not overtax yourself.  I have no wish to carry you back to bed.”

Gimli glanced over his shoulder to where Legolas sat perched on the edge of the bed.  The elf was watching him like a hawk, his posture making it obvious that he was prepared to leap forward and catch Gimli if he showed even the slightest hint of faltering.  Gimli scowled at him, then turned his attention back to the task of forcing one foot in front of the other. 

After over a week of lying confined to bed, Gimli found that he had to work to get his legs to obey his commands.  It took a concerted effort to keep them from quivering and buckling beneath him, and the burning pain in his back did not help matters at all.  However, he refused to give up.  It had taken him too long to convince Legolas to allow him this opportunity to test his strength, and the simple joy of being able to move around under his own power was great enough for him to grit his teeth and bear with the pain.

Gimli focused his eyes on the far wall, and continued forward resolutely, his jaw clenched in determination.  He reached the end of the room, then slowly turned and headed back toward the bed, his breath coming out in a determined rasp.  He was beginning to feel lightheaded, and his legs were starting to shake, causing him to wobble slightly, but with his eyes firmly fixed on Legolas, he moved steadily forward.

An eternity later, he reached the bed and let out a long sigh of relief.  Legolas was grinning broadly at him, his gray eyes shining with a pride that made all the pain and weariness seem well worth it.  Gimli returned the grin, feeling a flash of triumph.  It had been a small victory, yet to Gimli, the achievement was just enough to bolster his spirits. 

He allowed Legolas to help him back into bed, then sank back against the pillows with a grateful sigh.  His entire body ached, every breath sending a streak of pain up his back, and suddenly he found it difficult to keep his eyes open as a great weariness settled over him. 

Legolas finished arranging the blankets over him, then moved to sit on the chair next to the bed.  “You did well today, Gimli,” he commented softly, smiling at Gimli happily.

Gimli grunted and nodded slightly, accepting his friend’s praise with an outward detachment while inwardly his spirits were dancing in delight.  He had done well, and despite the pain and exhaustion he could hardly wait to try again.  Next time, he would go even farther!  His weariness pressed him toward sleep, but Gimli was not yet ready to give in.

Shifting around until he found a comfortable position that didn’t strain his back, Gimli glanced over at Legolas.  “How is Arwen?” he asked simply.

Legolas’ expression grew distant and sad, and his voice when he answered was so low the Gimli had to strain to hear him.  “She is recovering, though she still grieves terribly.  The pain is hard to see, yet it is for Aragorn that I fear the most.”

“Why?” Gimli asked, though he already suspected what the answer would be.

Legolas looked at him and shook his head.  “The last few days have been hard on all, but it is Aragorn who bears the most weight.  He needs time to grieve, to let the pain heal, yet instead he is constantly kept busy, with little time to eat, or even sleep.  He rarely leaves Arwen’s side, but when he does he is either seeing to his duties as King, or helping Faramir and I in our search for the ones responsible.  He is doing too much, all the while bearing the heavy burden of a guilt that does not belong to him, and worry over who will be the next target.”

Gimli nodded, understanding exactly how much pressure Aragorn was under, and feeling frustrated in the knowledge that his friend would attempt to carry his burdens alone.  “We must find the ones responsible,” he mumbled, “And soon.  That is the only way this will end.”

Legolas nodded, then let out a sigh filled with frustration.  “We are trying Gimli, but searching a city the size of Minas Tirith for one man is no easy task.  We will find him, but it will take time.”

Gimli gave Legolas a sympathetic look, understanding his friend’s frustration.  Four days had passed with no results, yet Faramir and Legolas continued to search with the same determination as when they had first begun.  It was a necessary task, yet it was also a wearying one.

 “Do you intend to aid in the search today?” he asked, already surprised that the morning had come and gone without Legolas’ departure.

“Faramir had a matter that needed his attention this morning,” Legolas explained.  “He is to meet me here as soon as he finishes and we will continue our search then.”

Gimli nodded, catching Legolas’ gaze and then whispering the same two words that he had repeated to his friend every morning for the last four days, his gruff voice covering the underlying worry, “Be careful.”

Legolas smiled slightly and merely nodded in response. 

Gimli clenched his jaw, then turned his gaze away, sinking back into the softness of the bed and closing his eyes.  The fear for both Faramir and Legolas was intense, and growing even more so as the days passed.  The sense that something was about to happen had been growing steadily within him, causing a near panic at times as he realized that he was powerless to do anything about it.  He desperately wanted to help his friends, and yet he couldn’t, and it was slowly driving him crazy.  Being able to get out of bed and walk around had helped immensely in dealing with the frustration, yet the fear still grew.

He opened his eyes as he heard Legolas rise from the chair and move across the room to the hearth.  His friend knelt and carefully added several large faggots of wood to the dwindling fire, and Gimli smiled in appreciation.  The air today was crisp and cold, heralding the approach of winter, and a brisk wind was presently prowling around the edges of the windowsill, howling mournfully when it was denied entrance. 

The sound of a slamming door drifted in from the hallway, and a few seconds later a soft but urgent knock sounded at the door.  Legolas glanced up from his work at the fire, then quickly rose, sending a slight frown toward Gimli.  Faramir would not have knocked.

“Enter,” Legolas called out, and the door opened to admit a tall, gruff looking man dressed in the uniform of a soldier.  The man was flushed and breathing hard, and his bow to Legolas was somewhat jerky. 

“My lords,” he gasped, his gaze flickering between Legolas and Gimli. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I was unable to find Lord Faramir, and I have urgent news.

Gimli felt his entire body stiffen in sudden alarm.  He could not explain the reaction, but a feeling of dread was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach. 

“What do you have to report, Lanithan?” Legolas asked, his voice calm, but his expression showing a sudden worry.

Gimli understood that worry as the name Legolas had used to address the soldier registered.  Lanithan was the name of the soldier that Aragorn had assigned to keep an eye out for Dar.

Gimli felt a sudden flash of fear.  Something had happened…

*******

Aragorn could not remember the words to the song.  He quietly hummed the melody, his eyes closed as he struggled to capture the memory that lurked just out of reach.  It was an elven song, that much he knew, yet the words and the origins evaded him, whispers of his distant past that kept slipping from his grasp.  All he knew was that the tune was familiar and oddly comforting, its soft notes calming and soothing.  He continued to hum it over and over again, clinging desperately to the sense of peace it offered.  Time seemed to stand still, and for the first time in what seemed like ages his body relaxed, his mind drifting along lazily in the avenues of another world.

The slight brush of fingers against his hand startled Aragorn, and he stopped humming, his eyes snapping open and flying to the face of his beloved.  Arwen’s eyes were open, her gaze fixed on him, silent tears glistening on her bruised face.  Aragorn immediately caught up her hand in his own, squeezing lightly as he leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead.

“Don’t stop,” Arwen pleaded softly, her voice a bare whisper. 

Aragorn sat back and looked at her, feeling the emotions boil up within him, causing an aching lump to form at the back of his throat.  He nodded slowly, then continued to hum the song, his hand gripping hers tightly.  He began to search his mind even harder for a memory of the words, hoping that perhaps they would hold some power to soothe her. 

An image suddenly flashed: the bright crackle of a large fire, the feel of soft cloth beneath his cheek, the soft sensation of rocking as he was held in arms that at once reflected strength and gentleness.  He could hear the words of the song now, sung clearly in a strong tenor, the words seeming to mesh with the warmth of the fire and the comfort of the arms that surrounded him. 

The force of the vision was enough to rob Aragorn of his breath.  So many years had passed since that time.  He had been a boy then, a baby really, lost within a place of grief and fear, and surrounded by a world that had seemed so foreign to him.  Elrond had made up the song for him, a sweet lullaby that had always reminded Aragorn of his mother, even before he had been able to understand the words.  

Tears stung Aragorn’s eyes as the long buried memory came alive once more.  The lullaby was a simple one, yet forged out of a compassion and love too complex to even begin to explain.  Many a night Elrond had lured him to sleep with its sweet melody, and perhaps, someday, Aragorn would sing it to his own children.

“Aragorn?” 

Arwen’s worried murmur drew Aragorn from his thoughts.  He looked down at her and squeezed her hand reassuringly.  “How do you feel, Mellonin?” he asked softly, smoothing the hair from her brow.

“My body is healing,” Arwen replied quietly, her voice breaking on a soft sob.  “Yet my soul aches with a pain and emptiness I fear shall never fade.”

Aragorn moved forward and gently wrapped Arwen in a hug, careful not to bump against any of her injuries.  “I know, my love,” he whispered brokenly, choking down his own grief so that he could comfort Arwen.  “Yet it will fade, and the palace of Minas Tirith will yet ring with the laughter and joy of many children.”

He felt Arwen relax within his arms, and he closed his eyes and rested his chin against the top of her head, whispering soft words of comfort as much for himself as for her.

A soft knock at the door intruded on their solitude, and Aragorn released Arwen and straightened as the door opened and Legolas slipped into the room.

“Aragorn,” Legolas called softly.  “You must come quickly!”

Aragorn frowned, straightening even further and taking a step toward the door.  “What has happened?” he demanded, a spike of fear flashing through him at Legolas’ urgent tone.

“Lanithan has just arrived and…”

“Dar!” Aragorn gasped, immediately assuming the worst upon mention of the soldier’s name.  On the bed, Arwen gasped and struggled to sit up.

Legolas quickly shook his head.  “Dar is fine,” he stated abruptly, “At least he was when Lanithan left him, but we must hurry.”

Aragorn shook his head, confused.  “I do not understand…” he began, but Legolas cut him off.

“He has found them,” the elf stated excitedly.  “He sent Lanithan to fetch us!”

Aragorn blinked, and then Legolas’ words settled in.  “He found them?” he repeated, stunned.  “He found Scar Face?”

“Yes,” Legolas replied urgently.  “Now we must go, Aragorn.”

Aragorn nodded, then quickly turned and knelt by the bed.  Leaning forward he kissed Arwen gently, squeezing her hand tightly. 

“Go,” Arwen urged softly.  “It is time that this ended.”

Aragorn nodded, then rose to his feet and quickly followed Legolas out the door.  They met Faramir hurrying down the hall toward them, Lanithan following close behind the Steward.  It was obvious from the expression on Faramir’s face that the soldier had already told him what was going on.  He quickly handed Legolas and Aragorn their cloaks, and without a word passing between them, the three men followed the soldier from the House of Healing down the street, their cloaks pulled tight with the hoods drawn up to shield them from curious eyes.

It took them a quarter of an hour to reach the spot where Lanithan had left Dar.  It took Aragorn a few minutes to spot the young soldier amidst the press of people filling the street.  Dar was leaning against the stone wall of a shop, his eyes locked across the street to the entrance of what appeared to be a weapons shop.  He looked up when Aragorn and the others approached, his relief evident.

“What happened?” Aragorn demanded immediately, reaching out to grasp Dar’s shoulder.

“He is in there,” Dar answered immediately, pointing across the street.  “I was sent by my captain to pick up some supplies when I spotted him going into the weapons shop.”

“The scar faced man?” Aragorn clarified, receiving a simple nod in answer.

“He had three other men with him, and they were all wearing cloaks with the hoods pulled up.”

“Are you sure it was him?” Faramir asked from behind Aragorn.

Dar nodded emphatically.  “I will not soon forget that face, my lord.  He looked directly up the street in my direction and I felt my insides go cold.  I also recognized at least one of the other men with him, but could not get a good look at the other two.  They kept their heads down, and their cloaks hid them from me.”

Aragorn nodded.  “You have done well,” he assured Dar, then turned to Legolas who had been silently studying the front of the shop ever since Dar had pointed it out to them.

“Do you think they are still in there?” he asked quietly, squinting across the street and trying to see through the glare the sun cast on the shop’s front window.  “If they suspected that they had been found out, they may have slipped out a back entrance.”  Aragorn hoped with every fiber of his being that this was not the case.

Legolas shook his head.  “I see four figures cast in cloaks,” he answered quietly, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration.  “They have not yet left.”

“Do we go in and take them now?” Faramir asked, his hand already closed tightly around the hilt of his sword.

“If we wait and follow them, mayhap they will lead us to the others in their party,” Legolas pointed out softly, turning his gaze from the shop to study Aragorn.  “Perhaps even to their leader.”

Aragorn clenched his jaw, faced with a difficult choice.  He wanted to go in, wanted to face the ones responsible for hurting Arwen and killing his child.  The desire was so strong within him that he could feel his muscles quivering in anticipation, even as his hand clenched the hilt of his sword in a white knuckled grip.  Yet even as his heart screamed for action, his head weighed the consequences of that choice.  He knew that Legolas’ words held wisdom.  If they did move in now, they would face a battle where innocent people could possibly be injured.  He seriously doubted that any of the men would surrender willingly.  And the battle would not end here.  There were still more of them out there that would need to be found and brought to justice.  Aragorn wanted this ended, and he was willing to hold his anger in check for a while longer if that was what was needed.

He turned to face Faramir and Legolas, still wrestling with his choice.  “We wait,” he said at last, slowly.  “If we can follow them back to wherever it is that they have been holed up, mayhap we can end this all once and for all.” 

Faramir and Legolas nodded, the elf reaching out and gripping Aragorn’s shoulder tightly, his face sympathetic, but his gray eyes shining with an excitement that was all too familiar to Aragorn.  The same excitement coursed through his own veins, tempered by his rage, yet still there. 

“They are coming out,” Dar hissed, and Aragorn turned slightly, watching from the corner of his eye as the four men excited from the shop and began making their way down the street in the opposite direction from them.

Aragorn quickly turned to Lanithan.  “Go back to the palace,” he ordered hurriedly.  “Find your captain and have him prepare a force of soldiers to march out at my summons.”

Lanithan nodded, then turned and sprinted up the street.  Aragorn turned to Dar, but before he could say anything, the young man spoke.

“Please let me come with you?  I will not get in the way, and perhaps I can be of aid if something happens.”

“We have not the time for this,” Faramir pointed out hurriedly.  Legolas had already begun to move down the street after the four men.

Aragorn grimaced, then made a split second decision.  He nodded, clapping Dar on the shoulder then turned and followed Legolas and Faramir.  “Stay close,” he ordered simply, smiling slightly at the grateful expression on Dar’s face.

They moved quickly through the streets, staying far enough behind the four men so as to not attract notice, but remaining close enough that they where within view at all times.  Their course remained straight, the men before them never veering from the main thoroughfare as they headed down through the city toward the outer walls. 

Aragorn felt the tension within him growing with every passing moment, and it took a great effort of will to force his hands to remain at his sides instead of gripping the hilt of his sword.  He noticed the look of determination on his companions’ faces, and though no words passed between them, Aragorn felt tremendous relief at their presence.

“They are splitting!”  The whispered observation came from Legolas, and Aragorn swore lightly as he realized that the elf was right.  Before them, one of the men had split from the group and was heading toward a side street.  The other three continued on down the main road.

“What do we do?” Faramir asked quietly, his voice filled with frustration.

“Is the one who split from the group Scar Face?” Aragorn asked Dar shortly, his mind thinking quickly through all their options.

Dar shook his head.  “No, he is not tall enough.” 

Aragorn scowled in frustration, not willing to let anyone who had participated in the beating of Arwen escape.

Faramir grabbed his arm to get his attention.  “You three go on, and I will follow this one,” he suggested quickly, for they were nearing the street where the man had broken off from the others.

Aragorn did not like that idea, but he didn’t have time to think of any other option.  He nodded reluctantly.  “Follow him only,” he cautioned.  “Learn what you can, then meet us back at the palace in two hours.  Hopefully one of us will have learned something by then.”

Faramir nodded, then lifted one hand in farewell and quickly broke away from them.  Aragorn watched him worriedly, but soon had to turn his attention back to his own task of following the three remaining men.

“It looks as if they are heading toward the gate,” Legolas observed several minutes later.  They had reached the last level of the city, the walls drawing ever nearer, and still the men they followed had not turned from the main road.

Aragorn nodded, frowning slightly.  If the men left the city, it would be harder to track them without being noticed.  He glanced up at the late afternoon sun and swore softly.  They did not have much time.

The outer wall appeared before them, looming tall and casting a long shadow over the street.  This portion of the city was much less populated, and the number of people moving about on the street slowly began to dwindle.  Aragorn was fairly certain now that the men intended to leave the city, yet to his surprise and relief, they turned at the very last street before reaching the gate and disappeared from view.

Aragorn glanced over at Legolas and received only a slight shrug and a nod.  Aragorn reached down and gripped the hilt of his sword, his steps slowing slightly as his mind cautioned him against any hasty actions.

He turned the corner from the main road, then stopped, his eyes taking in the path before them.  This street was narrow and looked to be completely deserted, the high wall of the city casting it into deep shadows.  About fifty yard down, the street ended abruptly at a tall wooden gate surrounding a squat building nestled back against the main wall.  The building was surrounded by a smaller wall of its own, and Aragorn immediately recognized it as one of the many storage buildings located randomly along the main outer wall.  The building was never occupied, but used by soldiers to store gear and repair equipment. 

Aragorn watched as the gate swung open and the three men they had been following disappeared inside.

“I think we have just found where they are hiding,” Legolas stated, his voice filled with satisfaction.

“It would appear so,” Aragorn agreed quietly.

“Not a bad choice,” Legolas added.  “The wall offers them protection from unwanted eyes, and they are not likely to be disturbed here.”

Aragorn nodded.  “I want to get a closer look,” he stated slowly, “See if they have placed any guards, or whether they are trusting to secrecy.”

Legolas nodded, unsheathing one of his knives in a smooth motion.  “We can split and come at the wall from two separate sides,” he suggested lightly.  “We can mount the wall easy enough, and a quick look around should provide us with enough information to best lead the soldiers when we return.”

Aragorn nodded, bending over and drawing one of his own knives from his boot.  “Dar, you will remain here and keep a watch out.  If you see anyone coming from the gate, whistle.”

Dar opened his mouth to argue, but Aragorn fixed him with a stern look, and after a moment, Dar nodded in reluctant acquiescence.

“We should not be long,” Aragorn assured him, then looked to Legolas.  “You take the south side, and I shall take the north.  Be careful,” he cautioned his friend softly.  “We do not want to tip them off that we are on to them.  Learn what you can without taking any risks, then we will return with the soldiers.”

Legolas nodded, then silently disappeared into the shadows on the far side of the street.

Aragorn gave Dar one final glance, then quickly followed after the elf, moving to the far left of the street and approaching the wall with all the stealth his many years in Rivendell had taught him.  He carefully scanned the top of the wall to make sure that no guards were posted, then moved forward cautiously. 

The wall was not high, only a few feet taller than he, and after re-sheathing his knife, Aragorn had no problem jumping up and catching the rim.  He carefully pulled himself up enough to peer over the top, his eyes scanning the courtyard within for any sign of movement.  After several minutes of silently watching, he felt certain that the courtyard was empty.  Pulling himself up the rest of the way, he noiselessly dropped down, landing with a soft thud on the dirt beneath the wall.

His senses immediately screamed out a warning, and Aragorn instinctively grabbed at the hilt of his sword even as he dived to the side.  A shadow flickered in his vision, following his dive with a quickness that surprised him.  He didn’t even have time to wonder where his assailant had appeared from before something slammed into the side of his head.  The world exploded in light, and then, just as quickly, faded into blackness.

******

Something was wrong.

Legolas knew it the minute he dropped down into the courtyard.  His knife was in his hand in the flash of an eye, and he remained in a crouch, his eyes scanning every shadow in the courtyard before him.  His senses were screaming out warnings, and a strong feeling of impending danger settled upon his shoulders like a heavy weight.  He was extremely frustrated that the squat form of the storage building blocked his view of the far side of the courtyard.  He knew he would feel better if only he could see Aragorn and keep the King within his sights.

The soft sound of stone scraping against stone caused Legolas to whirl, his knife coming up before him.  His eyes widened as he watched sections of the wall slide away, shifting to the side to reveal small storage cubbies that blended in completely with the wall.  The storage cubbies were not empty, however, and Legolas took a small step back as at least a dozen men stepped from the small compartments, their weapons drawn and their eyes fixed on him.

“Aragorn, it is a trap!”  Legolas shouted, hoping to warn his friend.  Perhaps Aragorn had not yet entered the courtyard.

One of the men leaped at him, but Legolas easily sidestepped the charge, his leg sweeping out to send the man flying past to land heavily in the dirt.  Another man charged forward, his sword sweeping in toward Legolas’ legs.  Legolas twisted away, his movements a mere blur as he brought his foot up and kicked the man roughly in the face, sending him flying back.  He danced back lightly, his knife coming up before him as he watched for the next attack. 

“Easy lads, this one is a fighter.”

Legolas’ gaze snapped to the owner of the voice, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the large, heavily scarred man.

“Surround him and take him down,” the man ordered his men, all the while leering at Legolas evilly.

Legolas stared back coldly, a deep rage building in him.  He was staring at the man who had taken part in beating Arwen, who had been present the day Gimli had been shot!  All caution forgotten, Legolas sprang forward directly toward the scarred man, his knife sweeping out before him.

The man stumbled back, obviously surprised at the bold move, his sword coming up quickly to block Legolas’ thrust.  Legolas sprang back, then leapt forward again, his knife sweeping around in an arc even as he lifted his foot and slammed it into the man’s midriff, sending him careening backward, his sword flying from his hand.

Legolas leapt forward, intending to finish the fight, but suddenly he found himself  being attacked from all sides.  His knife was a mere blur as he struggled to fend of his attackers, but they pressed in with an intensity that could not be denied.  They had circled him in, and were now pressing on him, using the sheer force of their numbers to overwhelm him.  Legolas did his best to keep them back, using both his weapon and his body to discourage them from coming too close, but there were simply too many of them.

A sharp blow to his back caused Legolas to stumble, and immediately they were upon him, blows raining down on him from every side.  Legolas tensed, expecting at any second to feel the sharp sting of a blade sliding home.  Yet despite the many openings, his attackers seemed more intent upon bringing him down and disarming him than killing him.  His defense was crashing down around him, and though he continued to fight fiercely, he knew there was no way to win this fight on his own.

The weight of his attackers at last brought him down, but Legolas continued to struggle and kick, the sheer force of his determination keeping his enemies from getting a good hold on him.  A heavy boot slammed down on his wrist, causing him to loose hold of his knife, and the harsh rain of blows to his head and chest were beginning to cause his vision to blur.

“Enough of this!”

The command echoed around the courtyard, and suddenly Legolas felt his attackers moving away.  He gasped for breath, and rolled to his knees, attempting to shake away the haze that had settled upon him while desperately glancing around for his knife.

“Give up the fight, elf, or we shall kill the boy.”

The words caused Legolas to freeze, and he looked up slowly, his eyes meeting the enraged gaze of the scar-faced man.  Directly behind him, being held tightly between two men, was Dar.  The left side of the lad’s face shone brightly with blood, but what caught Legolas’ immediate attention was the knife pressed harshly against the boy’s throat.

Legolas felt his shoulder slump at the sight, all the energy draining from him.  He glanced around the courtyard, his gaze sweeping past the tight circle of men that surrounded him, his eyes searching desperately for any sign of Aragorn.

“Get up,” Scar Face ordered harshly.

When Legolas did not immediately respond, the man holding Dar pressed the knife even tighter against the young soldiers throat, causing Dar to gasp in pain.

With a defeated sigh, Legolas rose to his feet.  He was immediately grabbed from behind, his hands forced cruelly behind his back and bound tightly by a rough rope.  One of the men binding him cursed and struck out, landing a harsh blow to Legolas’ stomach.  Legolas gasped and attempted to double over as the blow was repeated, but the men holding him held him upright.

“Bring them,” Scar Face commanded, and the men holding Legolas and Dar pushed them forward across the courtyard.

They circled around the storage building, moving to the far side of the courtyard, and Legolas could not hold back a cry of alarm at the sight before him.

Aragorn lay face down on the ground, unmoving, a man with a dagger kneeling casually over him.

******

“Well done, Kiesco,” Tervanis commented lightly, rising from his position over the unconscious King and running a cool eye over his prisoners.  “Very well, done.”

“It was your plan,” Kiesco replied coolly, though he could not completely hide his pleasure over the assassin’s compliment.

Tervanis nodded.  It had been his plan, and in truth, he had not known whether or not it would work.  He had taken an extreme gamble, first by sending Kiesco as bait, for they could have merely arrested him without bothering to follow him, and second by using this storage building to lay his trap. Yet despite the risks, everything had turned out exactly as planned.

“What have you done to Aragorn,” Legolas demanded angrily, struggling slightly between the two men that held him.

Tervanis turned his full attention on the elf, scanning him up and down before grinning mockingly.  “I was hoping that it would be you that fell into my little trap,” he murmured softly, his smile growing at Legolas’ glare, “though I admit I was more expecting the man.”

“What about the boy, sir,” Kiesco broke in, motioning toward the young soldier.  “We have no use for him.  I would find great pleasure in slitting his throat.”

“I am sure you would,” Tervanis commented dryly.  “Truly he is an added bonus to my plan.  It would be no great loss if you did slit his throat…”  Tervanis trailed off tantalizingly, and Kiesco grinned widely, pulling his blade free from his belt and taking an eager step toward Dar.

“On second thought,” Tervanis said slowly, causing Kiesco to stop in his tracks and frown, “we may yet find a use for him.”  Tervanis flickered his gaze to Legolas, smiling slightly at the tenseness he sensed in the elf.

“But…” Kiesco began, but Tervanis cut him off.

“We will bring the boy along,” he stated, his tone discouraging any argument from his captain.  “However, if the elf decides to give us any trouble, you have my permission to kill him.” 

Kiesco continued to scowl, but he obediently took a step back from Dar and re-sheathed his knife.

On the ground, Aragorn stirred and let out a low moan.  Tervanis glanced down at him, cocking his head to one side as he regarded the rousing man.  It filled him with a sense of power, having a King as great as the ruler of Gondor lying helplessly at his feet.  He knew it would be so easy to take the King, and yet that was not his task.  He was playing this game by Servius’ rules, and his commands concerning Aragorn had been made clear.

Shrugging away his disappointment, Tervanis cruelly drew back his boot and kicked the downed man heavily in the side of the head, sending him back into the unconscious world with one vicious strike.

Legolas cried out in anger, attempting to push free from his captors, but Kiesco, still angry over not being able to kill the boy, was quick to still his struggles with a single fierce punch to the side of the head.

Tervanis smiled at his captain and shook his head. 

“Time to go home, my friend.”

TBC