-Shadows on the Snow-

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters.

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Shadows on the Snow

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Legolas grasped his side tightly, trying to distill the distracting pain from his mind so he could focus on the task at hand, running. His other hand gripped his knife tightly, much to their relief, they had found their weapons leaning idle against the wall. It felt good to feel the cool handle against his skin. Along with their weapons, they had recovered their light satchels. It seemed that all Hollin had come out chasing them. Their trailing pack of aggressors kept growing.

Ahead, Aragorn prodded the uncertain wizard on. Clearly, Fasse hardly had a clue of how to get out. It was only by the blessing of Illuvitar that they had not run into any dead ends yet. He hated to be a skeptic, but it was only a matter of time.

Thankfully, Illuvitar was kind again, allowing their dead end to come at an opportune time when the shouts of the men had faded back as they lost their weaving trail. "We’re lost, aren’t we?" sighed Aragorn, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

Fasse sunk onto a crate, stamped ‘fragile’. Mournfully, he moaned in despair, "Deary, deary! ‘Tis not my fault that those blasted beasts chased us here! Oh woe and disappear! we will be forever stuck in here."

"No, they’re more likely to find us and kill us," Aragorn said. The wizard let out a howl of fright. Aragorn clamped a hand firmly over the shaggy mouth. "That will not help matters." Fasse whimpered, settling himself for moaning quietly and huddling disparagingly on his box. Aragorn’s eyes searched every corner for a way out, other than venturing out into the hall again. Unfortunately, these Hollin men were not the sort for secret entries. By the way things were going, it was looking more and more that they would have to leave the same way they came in, wherever that may be. "Legolas, what does your elf eyes see?" In the silence following, Aragorn thought that the elf was surveying the walls and ceiling, but the elf did not speak. Aragorn straightened from where he crouched, turning to where the elf sat. "Legolas?"

Legolas, in question, knelt hunched over his knees, trying to subdue the angry burning in his side before Aragorn noticed. His effort had been in vain. The ranger was at his side, clasping his shoulder worriedly. Leave it to the man to fret over a minor wound.

Aragorn hissed a curse. This was not what they needed, especially at a time like this! He kicked himself mentally. Blaming Legolas for being hurt was hardly right, or helpful. He severely doubted the elf would seek pain, but then again, elves were strange folk. "Must you always be so heroic, crazy elf?"

If Legolas heard him, the elf didn’t respond. He was finding it more profitable to remain hunched in a tight, motionless, ball. He would heal, the pain would pass, this was nothing, he reasoned. The elven prince would have said as much to the worried Dúnadan, if he could have found the breath. Half-heartedly, he tried swatting aside the hands seeking to dislodge his other hand from where it clutched the wound. His only result was causing himself more discomfort.

"You stupid, block-headed creature," Aragorn muttered angrily when he finally pulled Legolas’s hands away. "Fasse, watch the door, tell me if you hear anything." The elf took Strider’s momentary distraction as an opportunity to scoot away to safety. He didn’t get far before the ranger clasped him firmly by the shoulder, holding him at bay. "You stay there. I’m not finished with you."

"I am," Legolas forced out between gritted teeth. "I’m just fine," wince, muffled groan, "now leave me," not so muffled groan, "be."

For good measure, Aragorn poked the elf’s wounded side a little harder than need be with the cloth he was using to clean the wound. Legolas clinched his fists, looking very much like he was ready to pummel his former friend. "You’re lucky."

Legolas pressed his eyes shut, willing the discomfort to leave him. "And pray tell why that is?"

Aragorn ripped a long strip of cloth from the elf’s cloak, then proceeded to wrap the wound tightly. He took his time before answering. "The knife – and don’t you dare say you did this by tripping and gouging yourself on table – grazed over your ribs, hopefully missing any vital parts. Illuvitar knows, you wouldn’t be plotting vengeance on me if your ribs hadn’t been there." He tugged the last wrap tight, garnering an equally tight wince from the elf. "But don’t think that gives you any right to go and fall off any cliffs, save any rangers, or anything else that would get you hurt, or shall I say further hurt."

Legolas batted Aragorn’s fretting hands aside. "You sound just like your father."

"It runs in the family," Aragorn smiled ruefully. "Can you walk? Or shall I have to carry you?"

"I am just," Legolas struggled to gain his feet, it took longer, and was more painful that he would ever admit, "fine." The Dúnadan eyed the wavering elf cynically. He would just have to trust Legolas until the elf fell over.

Fasse squeaked behind them, his small eyes widened. Aragorn noticed that he no longer needed intelligible words from the wizard to get the gist of what the shaggy Istar was trying to convey. Whether that was a good thing, he was not entirely sure. "Quick now, we have to leave before they come back and figure out where we have holed up."

Ears attuned for footsteps, the three stole from the room. The corridor was empty, but the unnerving thing was there was no way of knowing where they were, where they were going, and whether the next door would lead to a room full of hostile Hollin men. It was a gamble, but all of them wanted to get out of this building and on with their job. So far, and for a good while longer, things went suspiciously well. Fasse had even said he recognized where they were. But that was part of the start of their troubles.

"I’m positive, I am! There’s a monster in that room, he’s as skinny as a twig, but don’t let that fool you," Fasse rasped. "He’ll for sure know that we’ve escaped and he’ll have my beard shorn off and my head…"

"Fasse!" Legolas hissed. "Calm yourself. Worrying will get us nowhere. It will only make things worse." He gripped the panicking wizard’s shoulders. "Listen to me, do you have any idea where to go after that room?" Fasse shook his head miserably. The elf gritted his teeth, keeping his temper at bay. "Aragorn, wandering aimlessly isn’t doing us any good."

"Then what would you suggest, Legolas?" Aragorn said, his tone clipped.

"Let me go ahead and find a way out, there will be less chance of me being seen." Legolas reasoned urgently.

The ranger shook his head adamantly. "No, I’m not letting you do that again. Last time you suggested that I had to save you from a Dunland prison."

"Aragorn, what else would you have us do, wander blindly back into captivity? I’ll be fine."

"I’ve heard that far too much this day." Frustration boiled in the ranger, frustration because he knew that the elf was right.

"I have to do this. It’s the only reasonable way."

Aragorn’s temper flared. "And if I don’t let you, will you knock me out again and send me back to Rivendell?"

"Why won’t you let that go?" Legolas clinched his fists. "I had to do that as well. Admit it." His tone softened, "Strider, don’t worry, I will be careful."

Aragorn’s brow furrowed, he clasped the elf’s shoulders tightly, shaking him gently. "Promise me you won’t do anything heroic? Promise?"

Legolas smiled softly, "You worry too much, Strider. I said I’d be careful."

"You said, that doesn’t always mean you are," he groused. Aragorn heaved a breath, "Please don’t do anything stupid."

Legolas grinned cheekily, "Me? Do anything stupid? Gah, never!" He reluctantly unfastened the quiver and bow from his back, handing them to the man. "Somehow I think I would be to easily seen if I hauled these around." Taking his long knife, he tucked it into the folds of his cloak, carefully out of sight. "Now stay here, and keep out of trouble."

Aragorn watched the elf slip down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows. Pulling Fasse into an empty room, he wondered what devilry had convinced him to let Legolas do this thing.

---

Fasse’s monster had proven to be not quite as fearsome as he had described. The lanky clerk sat stiffly behind his desk, though Legolas could not see the clerk’s face, he could imagine a flattened nose from the grating breathing. Unfortunately the clerk also sat facing the most plausible door in the room. But many things were possible with the silent steps of elven feet. It took only a small distraction to provide a way for Legolas to slip through the door without the clerk noticing. Getting back in would be harder.

Once through the doorway, Legolas ducked close to the wall. As it was night in Hollin, it was mostly empty except for the few late workers. But apparently the guardsmen had yet to give up their search for the demon elf, the old man and the strange human. Below, prowling from door to door, sought the men. They had barred all entrances from the large hall, making any escape without confrontation impossible. That is nearly impossible. There was still at least one exit unguarded. It was high and made of glass. The trick would be getting up there. With furtive movements, Legolas crept to the end of the balcony, keeping low.

Crouching next to the railing, he watched carefully the activity below. The window was high set in the stone wall, square and relatively large with a ledge wide enough for one to sit almost comfortably.

His lips twitched in a shadow of a smile of satisfaction. At least he knew the way out, and even how to escape from this wretched labyrinth. Now all he needed was the materials. He retraced his steps by way of the shadows, back to the door. Only here did he rise to his full height. Banishing all trepidation, he wrapped firmly on the door. What better guise than to walk in without fear or slinking, under the pretension that he was no more than a visitor?

There was a scuffle of papers, and the creak of a chair before a disgustingly nasal voice called him in, sounding quite put off at the disturbance. Shoulders back, a pleasant smile wreathing his face, he entered. The clerk blinked in confusion, his mouth gapping like a fish out of water. "You’re a…you’re that…"

"Elf? Yes, you would be quite correct in that assumption, a tribute to your common sense. You needn’t fear me at all, I’m just here to tie a few things up."

The bony clerk hadn’t but blinked, than when he opened his eyes, his hands were tied securely behind his back with his own shirt tail, his feet secured to the chair legs, and his mouth gagged with the long kerchief that had formerly been draped about his neck.

The elf was gone. And so was his letter opener.

---

Aragorn paced the room that they had holed up in. This reminded him far too much of Dunland. Again he was bound to waiting with no other choice. It was no less than infuriating.

Fasse huddled in a corner, chewing on a scraggly strand of his beard. He muttered strange words to himself, words that Aragorn had never heard before, but sounded as if they were said in another tongue. Perhaps he was trying to work up some food spell.

The Dúnadan resisted the urge to slam his fist through a wall, lest he reveal their hiding place. "Curse it all, where is that elf?"

"He’s only been gone but a few minutes, Strider."

Aragorn turned angrily on the small Istar. "And how would you know?"

"I’ve been counting."

The ranger grunted in barely restrained frustration. He couldn’t stand this anymore, he had to go out there. His hand gripped the door handle, tugging it open. Or would have tugged it open if it hadn’t flown open on its own accord, sending Aragorn stumbling back.

"Mae govannen, Aragorn Arathornion!" laughed Legolas, after closing the door softly. "Going somewhere?"

"By Elbereth, I’m sure you will be the death of me one of these days."

The elf laughed again, "Surely, I thought it would be the other way around?"

Aragorn shook his head reprovingly, "By the smug look on your face, I guess your mission was successful?"

Legolas blinked at the man, as if the very idea of him failing was preposterous. "Completely. I just need a few things." With no other words, the elf set to bending what looked to be a letter opener in the crack of the door, leaning his weight against the hilt.

"As if with your weight you could bend a stick. Legolas, you’re going to hurt yourself doing that. Let me do it, whatever you’re doing." He held up a finger when the elf opened his mouth, ready to form his well-known words. "And don’t even think about saying that you’re fine."

The elven prince pursed his lips, piercing Aragorn with an uncomfortable stare – on Aragorn’s part – that would have sent most men, and elves into fits of quakes. Aragorn while in the company of elves, had since become immune to elven stares. Never-the-less, Legolas stepped back, allowing Aragorn to take his place. "Just do what you must, I wish to be free of these dark walls and to be on with our task."

He chose to ignore Fasse’s grumble of, "You make your ‘task’ sound like a bad thing."

"Falmarin will never forgive me for leaving him alone like this for so long," Legolas spoke aloud, more to himself than anyone else. Unintentionally, his words had prodded a yet aching wound on Aragorn’s heart he had only just started to heal from. Aragorn’s hands clinched tighter around the elegantly twisted handle of the letter opener, the lines of his faces tightening. The elf noticed this change, realizing what he had said. "Aragorn, I’m sorry, I…" he fumbled for the words to say.

Aragorn shook his head. "It is no fault of yours, friend." He pushed the hilt fiercely after a brief pause. "It takes so little to, to make me remember. It was only an innocent remark." He tugged the blade from the crack, handing it to Legolas, the blade now bent in the shape of a sharp hook. By the slight smile on Legolas’s face, he guessed he had bent it correctly. Aragorn sat silently beside Fasse, watching Legolas weave a strand of strong elvish rope he had salvaged from his satchel around and through the twisted handle. Twisted, just how he had failed to save Ralamir. Aye, it was a twisted fate.

He was roused from his thoughts, to Legolas shaking his shoulder urgently. The elf’s voice sounded tense. "Aragorn, we must leave. Someone is approaching." Legolas helped Fasse to his feet, shouldering on his quiver. "Once through that clerks station, there’s a balcony overlooking a large chamber. Unfortunately, all doors are guarded down below. Fortunately, there’s a window. Unfortunately, it’s high. Fortunately, this," he dangled the fashioned grappling hook, "will get us up." The elf whirled suddenly, his body tense. "Quick! We must go before they find us."

But it was too late. Just as they blew out the door, the shouts of a company of men rang from close behind. The clerk moaned into his gag, his puffy eyes wide at the sight of the three fugitives fleeing past. Aragorn would have laughed at Legolas’s work if situations had not been so dire. If Illuvitar granted, there would be time to laugh afterwards. Not bothering to use the door handle, he bowled it over with his shoulder, the hinges popping off like frogs on a lily pad.

Legolas took the lead, forcing himself yet again to push aside the pain throbbing in his side. The window was just ahead. He started to swing the hook, the rest of the rope coiled in his left hand. He let the rope fly, praying that his aim with a hook was as true as his arrows. He only had time for one try. The hook crashed into the windowpane, shattering the glass and soaring downward. Internal instinct waited until he felt it bounce against the outside wall, then he pulled. The hook caught.

He leapt. His feet hit the wall climbing. With elven agility that would sicken every mortal, he made it up the wall in record time, pulling himself up onto the ledge. Aragorn had already pushed Fasse as high as he could on the rope. Legolas heaved the wizard up by the rope, his lightly shod feet finding invisible grips and foot holds on the far from roomy ledge.

The men were closing in on Aragorn down below, from the chamber on ground level, guardsmen were already joining together and clambering up the stairs. Legolas had never been more grateful that they did not sport bows. If Aragorn could but get above the swords, and none of the men had skill enough to throw a knife – accurately at least – then maybe, just maybe they would get out.

With one last heave, he pulled Fasse up onto the ledge. Looking down again he saw that Aragorn was cornered below, the men gave no quarter. There was only one thing to do. Two arrows thudded into the wood floor but a few inches from the closest man’s toes. The ranks drew back, surprised and afraid. "Now, Aragorn!"

He had no need to speak, the ranger was already on the rope, Legolas helping him from above, while keeping a careful eye on the men. Already they were shouting and for backup to catch them outside. They were too late. Without a backward glance, Legolas, loosed the hook, and both man and elf launched themselves from the window.

TBC…