__________

Rising Storm

Part 5

__________

As the morning broke, it proved to be a cold, gusty autumn day and by the looks of the heavy, bruised clouds rain seemed to be on the weather agenda.

Inside the protected interior of the cavern, tendrils of cold wind penetrated the thick shield of brush at the entrance. The candles flickered as the morning drew on. It was minutes just before dawn when Legolas awoke from a restful dreaming. Rising from his bed roll on the dirt floor he saw that that Aragorn still was soundly asleep while Fasse snored contentedly in a rocking chair - another odd object on hand in the cave.

Falmarin greeted him as usual with a quiet deep-throated nicker. Legolas laid a bandaged hand on the horse’s nose, quieting him, not wishing to awaken the room’s occupants. Their iron grey horse bobbed his head against the hand on his nose, rubbing his forehead against it. Legolas itched Falmarin as best as he could behind the ear. The horse tilted his head, happily grunting and rubbing harder against the hand.

Legolas’s thoughts drifted back to the events of last night. They all seemed muddled and confused. He was positive that this was linked in someway directly to the reason they were here. The Dunlendings actions had proven that this was also an inside scheme. How else could they have known that they would be coming if somehow they had been told. The only place that he could trace the word of their coming back to, was Gandalf. There were only two persons that came to mind, whom Gandalf might have told of their coming, Elrond, and perhaps Saruman the White. The very thought that the honored Istar would be behind something like this seemed highly unlikely, but what was more improbable was the idea that Lord Elrond would be involved in this treachery. Legolas frowned, the other alternative - which he would much rather like to believe - was that someone had overheard Gandalf and Elrond’s conversation, or for that matter, the assumed dialogue between Gandalf and Saruman. Whoever that person might have been could have had a loose jaw.

Legolas shook his head; this was all too twisted. Too much confusion and possibilities made rational thought almost impossible. Maybe fresh air would help. "Tol," He spoke to the two horses. Then coaxing them once again through the brush barrier, he led them to an open meadow he had seen not far from the cave mouth. Ralamir and Falmarin had at the grasses heartily. The cold air nipped at his face, it felt good, refreshing him. Enclosed spaces of hard, dead stone were no place for an elf.

He looked to the overcast sky, the scent of rain heavy in the air. His thoughts were still troubled and would not be deterred. No matter how hard he tried he could not shake the feeling of - he hated to use such a strong word – doom. It was a different feeling than that of the foreboding when they arrived here. No, this spoke of a future discommode. His thoughts drifted back to the brief conversation he had had with Mithrandir before they had left Rivendell. He had slipped away to clear his mind then also.

~~~(Flashback)

Autumn leaves drifted lazily down from golden boughs, rustling around him like a spring rain.

Legolas leaned against the railing of the veranda overlooking the beauty of the river. They would be leaving shortly on this errand of Mithrandir’s. He had stolen away from the bustle of the hurried preparations in order to calm his thoughts. Things involving Gandalf had a way of happening quickly.

"Aragorn will not be easy to control," Gandalf said abruptly as he appeared at the elf’s side.

The prince looked over to the wizard beside him, "What you mean by Mithrandir?"

Gandalf favored him with a coy smile, "I think you know, son of Thranduil."

"Aragorn does not need to be controlled, only guided at times."

The grey Istar grunted noncommittally, "Either way, be cautious, and do not let your guard down. The Dunlendings are not to be trusted in any circumstance."

Legolas nodded, then peered closer at Mithrandir. "You worry," he stated as he saw the troubled look in the wizened wizard’s eyes.

Gandalf remained silent for a time. He was troubled, for Fasse. Though the young elf knew naught of this, he did not fail to sense it.

Taking Gandalf’s silence as an unspoken wish not to speak of whatever troubled him, Legolas left the subject alone.

~~~(End Flashback)

Now Gandalf’s worry made sense as the threat to his friend, Fasse, was revealed. Legolas knew he would feel the same if Estel had been accused of being a traitor.

He also understood Mithrandir’s mandate to keep Aragorn ‘under control’. His friend did have a tendency to become so caught up in the defense of the innocent that it usually resulted in his near death or at least injury. But not only for his own selfish means of friendship did he protect Aragorn. The man was hope, as his name Estel spoke. Hope for the future, whether he ever did take his rightful reign or not. Legolas did not know how Aragorn’s future would play out, but he was sure that he would be needed. For this, if not for their friendship, Legolas would bring him home…alive.

"Elves must be unsusceptible to cold if you choose to sit out in the mist without so much as a coat." Strider rubbed his arms as he came to stand beside the elf.

"Men must be easily tired if you sleep so deeply."

Aragorn swatted Legolas’s shoulder, "Come, Fasse has prepared a meal. We should also decide on our course of action."

Calling to the horses, Legolas followed Aragorn back to the cave mouth. Ralamir and Falmarin reluctantly followed, loathed to leave the grass behind to return to the cave.

Fasse was back to his bustling nature. He looked up at their arrival a splitting grin cracking his shaggy features. "Up early, where you? No matter, no matter." The odd Istar thrust a plate at the elf, "Eat! You must have strength if you are to save me."

Legolas wondered at how enthusiastic and joyful the wizard could be, even with an impending disaster and dismissal looming over him. It was a testimony to Fasse’s character.

As they ate, Legolas and Aragorn discussed what their course of action would be. Fasse had informed them that the Lord of Dunland, often referred to as the ‘Chief’, went simply by the name of Borlanon.

"I know very little of the goings on of the main city. I ventured there only a handful of times in my long years here." Fasse had added that those occasions were for the times when the wild Dunlendings vandalized his belongings, such as his windows.

"Well then, we have to names to go by," Legolas sighed, trying to sound cheery for Fasse’s sake. "Vanen Horengof and this Chief Borlanon character. Obviously, we can assume that Vanen was hired by Borlanon who was given the order by…blank." He held out his hands signifying the unknown factor who was really at the head of this.

"I suppose we could go by process of elimination," Aragorn suggested. "There are only so many Istar. We know it cannot be Gandalf, Fasse is out," He counted on his fingers, "How many more Istar are there that we know of?"

"Six, including Gandalf and myself," Fasse said automatically. "Saruman, Radagast, Alatar and Pallando are the others." Fasse thought for a moment, "Alatar and Pallando are too far east to have a hand in this. How would the messages be brought so swiftly by horse back?"

"Are you sure they are brought by horseback?" asked Aragorn.

"Aye," Fasse nodded, "I have seen them race to the house of Borlanon when I visited the city when all this began to brew. By the fashion which they were treated they were indeed from someone of great importance."

"What of Radagast?"

Legolas shook his head, "That would almost seem as impossible as Gandalf. The house of Thranduil knows him well, for he has long dwelt at our borders."

Aragorn frowned, "But then that would only leave Saruman the White. Isn’t that nearly impossible?"

Legolas had thought hard on that very idea this morning, "Is it really? He is neither to far, nor to well known."

"But he is the head of the order of the Istari, how can he be so corrupted?"

"Power," Fasse leaned back in his chair with a sigh, "Power corrupts even the strongest."

"He cannot be disregarded I am afraid. The thought that one so influential in the decisions of the Council could be so evil strikes fear in my heart," Legolas said.

"But we can neither say for certain that he is the one, would we not be committing the same injustice against him as he is against Fasse?" Aragorn asked pointedly.

Legolas blew out a breath, "It matters not who we think is guilty at this point, they are but guesses which could be swayed like a wisp of smoke. What we need, if we are to defend Fasse, is hard evidence supporting him. Perhaps that is what we will find first before we know the real traitor."

---

Before they left, Legolas managed to convince Aragorn that re-bandaging his hands was unnecessary. Aragorn had eyed him doubtfully, but the wounds were healing quickly, due to the blessed ability of the elves strong bodies.

They started out almost immediately after their brief meal. Assuring Fasse that they would figure something out, they took the directions he gave them and started out at a brisk trot into the gloom.

"So what is your plan exactly?" Legolas asked after about ten minutes.

Aragorn looked over to him, relaxing the reins in his hands, "Plan?"

Legolas halted Falmarin, "Aragorn…" he cautioned.

A grin broke out on the ranger’s face, "You mean we aren’t just winging it?"

Legolas didn’t appear amused, "Estel, someone’s life is in our hands. We will not ‘wing it’."

"Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Legolas," Aragorn bumped Ralamir to a walk. "I have a vague idea."

"And what might that be?" prodded Legolas.

"Well, I think we should pay this Chief Borlanon a visit."

"I do not think he will be willing to hand out to the simple traveler who his secret alliance lies with. What makes you so sure we will be even admitted to his court?" Legolas pointed out just a few of the gaps in Aragorn’s ‘vague’ idea.

"It’s worth a try," the man justified.

"Not if we get thrown into a prison. What good will we do from there?" Legolas said sharply.

Aragorn frowned at his normally patient friend, "What has gotten into you Legolas?"

The elf pressed his lips together tightly, avoiding Aragorn’s eyes. He didn’t like the way they were going into this.

"If you’re feeling guilty about our involvement, you shouldn’t. You heard Gandalf’s letter, I doubt they ever expected us to really just stand by." Aragorn tried to catch Legolas’s eyes.

"I’m not feeling guilty about anything. I just don’t like this. Something just doesn’t feel right," the prince admitted.

One thing Aragorn had learned in his years with the elves was not to ignore their feelings, especially if it was a bad feeling.

"This is much darker than anything we have dealt with in the past Estel. If the shadow of Mordor is truly rising, then the repercussions of this evil could be disastrous," Legolas continued, "I am sorry if I sound terse. This seems to be effecting me more than I’d like to admit."

As they rode on to mid-day, the sky above grew darker, soon the first sprinkling of rain wetted the horses’ coats. It wasn’t long before they were forced to draw their hoods up to protect themselves from the rain which began in earnest. As they neared the heart of Dunland, Aragorn began to think that the rain might be an ironic blessing. He had wondered how Legolas would keep his race unidentified while in the city and not draw attention to himself in the course of trying to hide his features, but with the rain, it would not be considered odd that he would keep his face shielded.

As evening drew on they found the road Fasse had spoken of. They stopped at a large outcropping of boulders. There they were about a mile, or so, out from the city and just out of sight of the road.

Dismounting, they led the horses behind the boulders, obscuring them from view. They had thought to ride the horses into the city, but the fine, elvish steeds would stand out and draw too much unwanted attention to them

Legolas remained silent throughout their preparations. Only did he speak when they departed from the horses. With a quiet word, he assured the two that they would return. The elf knew the horses would use their sense if there was any threat and first run for their defense. He had no doubt that they would be fine while they were away in the city. Now, he could not say as much for the safety of themselves.

"Are you ready, Legolas?" Aragorn asked as he secured his sword beneath his heavy cloak, just out of view.

Legolas nodded. Strapping his knives to his belt, he reluctantly left his bow tethered to the Falmarin’s pack. Again, so obvious a weapon would bring too much attention. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Aragorn slapped the elf on the back, "Come now, don’t be so gloomy. The weather may be, but that doesn’t mean your face must mirror it."

---

The city of Dunland, though it was more of a village, looked much like Bree in the dark, half-light of the grey sky. It also proved to be much filthier. Legolas felt his skin crawl with the evil essence emanating from the dark men trudging through the already muddied streets. Carts, drawn by old, sway back and bony horses churned the mud to sludge. Though there was much activity, it was a dead, joyless toil. There was not a smile to be found it seemed. Unadorned buildings crowded the street, with every step. They seemed to lean in, seeking to choke out any light which might dare to brighten the gloomy air.

As they melded with the ranks of the shadow-faced Dunlendings, Legolas immediately noticed the blank scowls and empty eyes of the people. If he was revealed, he would stand out like a beacon among these men. They seemed to hold no life, driven by lust for an unreachable power, which was made to seem near with the false words fed to them by an unnamed evil. It was like a boy dangling a bone in front of a dog to drive him faster.

Unlike Legolas, Aragorn seemed to fall in with these men with little effort. His features bore resemblance if prying eyes did not look too close. His skin was tan and his hair was dark, even his build would not stand out. But the differences were vast, he did not bare the same dead look, and his eyes held the luster of life. But under the heavy hood, these differences, and others, were not noticed.

Their steps led them down the main lane. Ahead of them, through the sheet of rain, a much larger building, set apart from the narrow length of badly constructed shops, stood like a monolith. This was obviously they chief of Dunland’s own estate, besides its size, it was no more adorned, or carefully constructed than the taverns and closely packed houses.

They climbed the steps, but no sooner had they set foot on the higher platform, did four guards bar their way.

"What is your business with the house of the Lord Borlanon?" A stern faced guard scowled from beneath his helm.

Aragorn gathered himself and was careful not to show his face beneath his hood. "We have need to speak with him."

"Everyone has need to speak with him. What makes you any more privileged?"

"Our business is our own and your Lord Borlanon would not be obliged to share it with common guards."

The guard gave no quarter, "And I would be more obliged if you spoke of your errand."

Aragorn saw that this would not turn out successfully. If he pushed too hard, then he might get both he and Legolas thrown into a jail cell as the elf had warned. "We will not waste our time with you. It will be upon your head when Chief Borlanon does not receive this information."

"Then write a letter." The guard took a step toward Aragorn.

Silently, Aragorn and Legolas both turned without another word. Again they melded in with the traffic.

Legolas edged close to Aragorn, "I can say that that worked just beautifully."

Aragorn subtly elbowed Legolas in the side, "It doesn’t hurt to try."

"It almost did, and would have if you hadn’t backed off," Legolas chastised. His nerves were still on end.

Aragorn gave a sidelong glance at Legolas’s hidden face, he took no offence from Legolas’s somewhat short tempered words. He realized that the elf was troubled, being surrounded by men did not make it any better.

"What would you have our next order of action be?" Legolas asked quietly.

Aragorn thought for awhile, in the meantime idly sidestepping a careening drunk who stumbled for him. Then that reminded him of something. Taking the drunk by the shoulders he shook him to a loose point of lucidity, "Listen man, I want to know where the best tavern is."

The inhibited Dunlending, swayed like a listing ship, his cloudy eyes staring blankly at Aragorn. He let out a raucous cackle, Legolas could hardly stand the stench of alcohol on the man’s breath. He had no idea how Aragorn could stand having the man blasting the horrid smell directly in his face. "’Atta way," the drunk slurred, shoving a finger in the direction of a doorless wall. Obviously he had no idea what direction was up, down or sideways.

Aragorn rattled the man again. The drunk hung in Aragorn’s grip, grinning idiotically. This was the most emotion of any kind they had yet seen on any of the Dunlending’s faces. "Nah," the drunk grunted again, "I’sh atta way, down da shtreet. Called…" It seemed the inhibited man racked his memory for a name, "Fanderns Lodge."

Aragorn let the man go. He collapsed in a sodden heap on the muddy ground, wine bottle in hand. "We have our next destination." Aragorn turned from the drunk in the mud and trudged his way against the slowly diminishing traffic.

Legolas stared after the ranger. In his mind this was rapidly taking an even worse turn. Waltzing into a Dunlending tavern, full of drunk Dunlendings, who were also vicious Dunlendings, didn’t sound like the best plan. But, he reminded himself, he had not a better plan.

True to the drunk’s words, a few buildings down, a crudely chiseled sign hung over a rotted door with the words ‘Fanderns Lodge’. A dim light shone onto the muddy street through cracked windows and from underneath the badly constructed door. As they neared, wafts of the sent of sour wine filled their senses, evidently bothering the keen sense of the elf more than Aragorn.

The ranger pushed the door open, the rusted hinges creaked but was drowned out by the clamor of the occupants. Pints of beer clanked on tables and dim candlelight illuminated craggy faces.

Aragorn and Legolas stood for a moment off to the side, unnoticed. "We’ll split up. The swill of beer can loose many a man’s tongue."

Before Aragorn slipped off into the crowd, Legolas discreetly grasped his shoulder, "Try not to be recognized. I do not wish to pull you from the fray again."

Aragorn gave him a reassuring smile, then pulled his hood off and pushed his way to the bar. Legolas kept his hood in place, to be revealed as an elf in such a crowded place would mean certain mayhem. He spotted a vacant space in a shadowed corner. Keeping his cloak tight about him, he made his way to the seat to keep an eye on Aragorn’s back.

The ranger ordered a light drink for the sake of appearance. To his left was seated a man of grey hair and unkempt mustache and short beard. He looked as one who had seen many years and sorties from the scars which lined his tanned face. The bartender returned with Aragorn’s requested mug. "Bring another for this fine man here," he ordered, giving the man a sidelong glance with a faint nod. "You look like you need it."

The man dipped his head slightly in thanks to Aragorn. "You’re right on that young fellow. Too much dirt and sludge in this place to merit conscious thought." He accepted the tankard from the bartender. After giving Aragorn a long look he shrugged and thrust out a hand, "Ollen they call me."

Aragorn grasped the callused hand, "I’m Strider." This was definitely not the place to announce that he was the heir of Isuldir.

Ollen eyed him again, measuring him up, "Hm, not from these part are you?"

Strider weighed his word carefully, "Not quite, though I’ve been in and out these past months." He took a swill of his ale, "Say, I’ve been hearing odd rumors of some odd folk about, that they even beat out a whole passel of men last night. What say you about this?"

Ollen swigged his ale, "Bah!" he scoffed, "Odd folk indeed." He slammed his mug down on the bar. "Beat out not only men but some high muck assassin hired by our lordy Borlanon." His dislike for the chief of Dunland was palatable. "Those two, not to mention that devilish old man, caused more than a few men grief." Ollen’s lips pealed back in a wry grin, he shook his head, "Vanen’s gonna have that so called elf’s pretty head on a platter for that disgrace."

Aragorn did not like the sound of this, "Vanen? Is that the assassin?"

"Aye," Ollen nodded his head, and took another gulp of ale. "Aye, he’s really got no part in the dealings of our chiefly Borlanon and that wizard man. Just hired to kill that man and elf. Pray tell, he’s gonna surely have their blood now that he’s been foiled once."

Strider didn’t know whether to take this as good news or bad. Ollen’s words confirmed Gandalf’s fear that this treachery was from within the order of wizards. "Might you know who this wizard is?"

Ollen pulled back and eyed him again with his dark shifty eyes, "How’s I supposed to know? I was just sent with that Horengof to kill them two."

This was not a welcome development. He had had no clue that this man had actually been there last night. He had heard enough for now, it was time to get out with his head. Unfortunately, he was too late.

Ollen squinted at him, "Say, have I seen you somewhere before?" Before Aragorn could deter him, Ollen remembered. "Yrch spit! You’re that man!" He cried, rallying the bar occupants to him. He unsheathed a long knife from his belt and stabbed downward at Aragorn.

Aragorn grabbed his mug, bringing it up to bare as the knife flashed downward. The blade crashed into the clay mug, shattering it and spilling its contents. Aragorn took this distraction and fell back out of the chair he was seated in.

With the crowd and all the yelling, no one quite knew who was the enemy. But drunk and intoxicated as the men were, it didn’t matter. Fists and boots warred against each other. The bartender dove under the bar while tables crashed and chair bashed heads.

Aragorn, at the bottom of this suddenly felt his shoulders grabbed by two hands, dragging him out of the tangle of men and flailing arms. Thinking it to be a man, he twisted in the strong grip and rammed an elbow into the man’s chest. Then he realized it wasn’t a man.

"Please be so kind as to not kill your rescuer," hissed Legolas.

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but Legolas pulled him out of the bar and down the street and back a dim side lane. There did Legolas release him. The elf rubbed his rib cage where the ranger had struck him. "Sorry," Aragorn said lamely.

"Elladen is right, you are far too defensive," Legolas chided.

"If I wasn’t, I’d be dead by now." The ranger leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

"Right," Legolas said doubtfully. The elf did not mince words. He turned back towards the road and worked his way down the street back towards the outskirts of the city.

Another frown pursed Aragorn’s brow. He wished to speak, and warn, Legolas of what he had learned from the man Ollen, but it seemed that the elf was not in the mindset to listen. Today had proved not to be his day for strategy, perhaps it would be best to follow Legolas this once.

---

It seemed that Legolas had had his fill of covert operations for the day. Without speaking a word, he made his way out of the dismal city and into the rainy, but spacious, air of the road. It was up to Aragorn if he wanted to follow or stay in the city.

Aragorn allowed the elf to have his space on their arrival at the mound of boulders they had left the horses at. In the meantime, he busied himself with preparing a small fire in an unseen shelter of the rocks. Time passed slowly, night had peaked at its darkest point, there was no moon to light the forest floor. She had hid herself behind a thick bank of clouds which panted the sky black. "Legolas, will you not come down for a bite to eat?" Aragorn spoke at last when he could not bare the silence between them any longer. The only response he received was the same view of the elf’s back from his perch on a high boulder.

It pained the ranger to be on such terse relations with the elf. His comfort was in the closeness he had come to know Legolas. If pattern held true, then Legolas would soon shake of this menace hovering over his mind, or at least not allow it to come between them.

He ate a small meal of rations alone, besides the company of Ralamir and Falmarin who stood with heads bowed in peaceful relaxation. He could not help the frequent glances directed at the silent elf.

"Take your rest, Strider. I will take the watch tonight. Sleep will not visit me this night." Legolas’s voice startled Aragorn from his light dose. He was greatly relieved that Legolas’s words did not hold the vexation they had earlier.

Aragorn wondered if this would be the time to bring up his findings. The thought that Legolas could be harmed because of his tardiness to warn him of the animosity the assassin felt towards him weighed on his mind. But he also did not wish to push the elf’s mood. But, he assured himself, Legolas would not be prone to carelessness.

His heart eased. He relaxed back against the smooth curve of the rock, letting his awareness fade, his confidence placed in his elven friend.

---

An hour passed in the silence of the forest, the only sound was the patter of rain against stone and woodland floor. Occasionally, Legolas heard the slight shift in Ralamir or Falmarin’s stance. Except for those subtle stirrings, all was still. Yet, he did not allow his mind to wander or let himself slide into ease. There was danger on the wind. He could sense it keenly as the scent of rain on the air.

Perhaps the silence helped him in his vigil. The quiet was far from comforting and the shadow in his thoughts did nothing to sooth him. He regretted snapping at his human friend with all his heart, but these times had troubled him greatly. He had also hoped the crisp air and rain would wash away the doubt.

But the night proved not to be silent for long.

Legolas had suddenly felt a surge of forewarning. He had hardly recognized this feeling before there was a sharp twang, then followed immediately by a growing hiss of air being sliced. The arrow sped directly for him. Instinctively he threw himself from his perch on the low rock where he had moved. Twisting to land lightly on his feet he drew his bow, taking shelter behind the natural wall of stone. He dimly was aware of Aragorn leaping to his side, having been awakened by the sudden movement. The elf’s keen eyes scanned the trees, his ears sharply attuned to any rustle. His findings disturbed him.

Nothing. There was no sound, no smell, no site of anyone. He had sensed nothing but the almost too late warning of his instincts. Never had he been taken so unawares by anyone!

Minutes ticked by until surely no one would still be present. Slowly, Legolas crept from the rocks. Low to the ground he flitted from shadow to shadow in the direction of where the arrow had sped.

Aragorn could hardly see Legolas in the darkness of the moonless night. All he had witnessed was the elf’s landing. Besides that, he was painfully ignorant, but he knew the archer well enough to tell when he was threatened.

As the elf stole into the night, Aragorn let his eyes wander to the surrounding forest, watching his friends back for any foes that might appear from the trees behind him. Then his eyes caught the site of an odd straight stick protruding from the trunk of an oak. He then realized that it was no branch, but an arrow.

Cautiously, he picked his way to the tree. Indeed, it was a brown fletched arrow lodged firmly into the thick bark of the oak. With a hard tug, it fell free. Upon closer inspection, Aragorn noticed a small scroll of thin parchment wrapped securely to the arrow’s shaft in order to not hinder its path. He was almost reluctant to look at what it said. He looked over his shoulder to see if Legolas was anywhere nearby, but the elf had disappeared.

With slight trepidation, he untied the leather thong wrapped around the parchment. It was but a simple square of paper, on it was scrawled six simple words, which he could hardly make out in the dim light:

There was a light step behind him, "What is it?"

Aragorn turned sharply at Legolas’s sudden appearance, he scowled at the elf, "I hate it when you do that."

The elf did not show any amusement. His dark eyes glittered, "I found no sign of anyone. It seems whoever shot that," he pointed to the arrow in Aragorn’s hands, "Vanished without a trace."

Aragorn passed the parchment to Legolas, "This was tied to it."

Legolas stared at it for a moment, then handed it back to the ranger. "He almost didn’t this time. You realize what this means?"

"I believe so," Aragorn said slowly. He had already pondered this.

"If I hadn’t been an elf, then that arrow would not have missed. Even I don’t know how I sensed it. The air was still, there was not smell or sound." He fixed Aragorn with a grave stare, "Whoever shot that, knew he would miss. That means…"

"He knows what he is up against." Aragorn finished. It was common knowledge to those involved now that they were man and elf, but few really knew in these lands the tenacity and ability of the elven race. This was no mere man sent out to kill. This assassin, perhaps this Vanen Horengof character, was not foolish or ignorant of his quarry’s abilities.

"I should have told you earlier," Aragorn admitted. "But the man in the bar spoke of the assassin, Horengof’s, hatred for you. It makes you a bigger target for him."

Legolas snorted, "Men’s pride is so easily wounded." Then, seeing the distress on Aragorn’s face, Legolas smiled slightly, clapping him on the shoulder, "Worry not my friend. I will not be foolish enough to let my guard down in these lands."

---

A cloaked figure stole from tree to tree without a sound. His venture had been as simple as planned. He liked it when things went as planned. The bait had been set. He preferred an enemy who knew his skill. He knew that that could be one day his downfall, but when had he ever failed?