Chapter 3: Beyond your reach

Lindomiel walked from the foot of her empty bed to her dresser and spun around to face the bed again. She made two long strides towards it, and came to a sudden stop, frowning. She had been reduced to pacing! That was a ridiculous habit she had picked up from Thranduil. Well, she was not having it. It was nothing more than a waste of energy. Worrying about Legolas and Thranduil served no one. There had to be some way that she could help them.

Her eyes wandered over the furniture in the room as she tried to determine what she could do, but her imagination kept flooding her mind with all the horrible things men would do...

She walked to the door of her chambers and pulled it open. She would go to her workshop. Maybe the repetitive action of the loom would calm her restless mind so she could think of something useful to do.

The guard outside the door pushed himself away from the wall and hurried to straighten up. "My lady?" he said as she swept by him without speaking.

Lindomiel nodded to him and he fell in place following her. She made it to the outer door of the family chambers, pulled it open and stepped through it before stumbling to a stop. All three of her looms had cloth on them that she was weaving for the children's winter cloaks. She might not need all three weaves if...

She squeezed her eyes shut as tears pricked at them and gave herself a little shake. Morbid thoughts also served no one. She continued to the end of the corridor and turned right instead instead of left towards her workshop, trying to think of something useful she could do.

"My lady, may I ask where you are going?" the guard asked after she had walked a good distance. Lindomiel stopped and faced him. It was Lanthir, one of the newest guards--one of several that Conuion had brought on to replace the guards killed along with.... Lindomiel closed her eyes again. The ones killed the last time Manadhien, or Marti, or whatever her name was, attacked her family. When Lindomiel opened her eyes again and looked at Lanthir, he was staring at her with open concern.

She frowned slightly, composed herself and drew a breath to answer his question. 'I have no idea where I am going,' she almost replied before managing to stop herself. Indeed, she had to glance around herself in an effort to determine where in the stronghold she was. The corridor that housed the offices of the king's advisors, on the back side of the Great Hall, she quickly realized. Now where was she going? The kitchen or laundry? At least in one of those places she could be useful. She could contribute to something, even if it was only relieving the servants of some of their work.

Of course, both the kitchen and the laundry were in the completely opposite direction.

Perhaps she should go speak to Dannenion. Thranduil had not bothered to question him, and maybe he had information that might be useful. It was well after midnight, but Lindomiel doubted his family was sleeping any better than she was. There was no harm in walking down the path to his cottage, to see if there were any lights on in it.

As she was contemplating that idea, she heard the door that led into the public parts of the stronghold open.

"Even in the king's absence, running through the family quarter's, especially at this hour, is prohibited," the guard at that door declared.

Running steps whispered in the corridor none-the-less. Lindomiel strode quickly back in the direction whence she had come, to intersect whoever might be making them, Lanthir on her heals.

Maidhien nearly collided with her at the inter-section of the two corridors.

"I beg your..." Maidhien began, breathlessly, but when she realized who she had run into, she grasped Lindomiel's hands. "I was coming to find you... or Galithil... or Dolgailon, I do not know who would be best..." she panted.

Lindomiel squeezed her hands and bent down slightly to hold her gaze. "You have found me, my dear, now tell me what is wrong? What are you doing wondering alone at this hour, especially given all that has happened..."

"Adar left," Maidhien interrupted. "He stole a horse and he left. To look for Anastor himself. Nana would not let me come to tell you, but she finally fell asleep.... Adar said if the king did not want help finding Legolas, he was at least going to find Anastor. Nana seemed to think Adar knew where to look, or at least that is the impression I had from the way she was talking.... If he knows where to look..." Maidhien left that statement unfinished, looking at Lindomiel with wide eyes.

Lindomiel nodded and still holding Maidhien's hand, turned to Lanthir. "We will wait for you by the Gates. Go get Tureden."

The guard hesitated for a moment. "You promise you will wait, my lady?" he asked softly.

Lindomiel scowled, but nodded, so Lanthir hurried down the corridor.
 
*~*~*

"There is a horse missing from the stable," Ferinil reported, striding through the open door of Dannenion's cottage without knocking. "I cannot follow it. Too many horses left the stable tonight to distinguish individual tracks."

"Dolwon apparently did not go with Dannenion," Heledir declared from slightly behind Ferinil. He towed Dolwon, who was grousing loudly, along side him. Noruil and his mother, Lalfien, hurried after them.

"Not stupid enough to do that," Dolwon muttered. "I do not want my family to be next."

He shook off Heledir's grasp once he was thrust through the cottage door, scowled at Dannenion's wife, Eregeth, huddled at the dining table and turned to look for whoever it was that Thranduil's guards were reporting to. His brows rose dramatically.

"Where did Dannenion go, Dolwon?" Lindomiel asked softly. She sat on the hearth. Hallion and Dolgailon stood on either side of her. Galithil, his arm around Maidhien, stood next to his brother. Tureden flanked Hallion.

Dolwon made a face. "I have no idea," he replied quickly.

"Liar!" Maidhien said.

"Answer her," Dolgailon demanded at the same moment.

"Neither he nor you are in any trouble," Lindomiel intervened and ignored Hallion's quiet cough. "But if Dannenion or you have any idea where Marti took Legolas and Anastor, I simply want to know that myself. Eregeth mentioned that there was some where on the plain that Marti used to meet with enemies of this realm, but she does not know its location. Do you know where it is?"

Dolwon shot a glare at Eregeth and then raised his chin and pressed his lips together.

Dolgailon took a step forward, pointing between Dolwon, Eregeth and Lalfien. "If any of you have any idea where Legolas might be and you do not tell us...as you did not tell the king earlier...."

"The king was hardly listening to anything we might have had to say," Dolwon said, cutting off Dolgailon's threat. "He ordered Dannenion to abandon his son and left without another word."

"He left to retrieve Legolas and Anastor," Dolgailon shot back, and he intended to say more, but Lindomiel arose and took two steps to stand between Dolgailon and Dolwon.

"If you tell me where Dannenion went, I will send someone to help him, not to arrest him," Lindomiel said, looking at Dolwon evenly.

Dolwon scowled at her.

"At least three elves took Legolas and Anastor," Lindomiel continued. "If Dannenion finds them, he will need help to rescue them. He will need help if both he and they are to escape uninjured."

Dolwon looked down in response to that.

"And you refused to go with him," Eregeth interrupted. "You refused to help him. If you know how to get to that place where Manadhien used to meet men, please tell us where it is. I do not want to lose my husband and my son to her. Please Dolwon!" she pleaded tearfully.

"If you are worried about your own family's safety," Lindomiel added, "I will do anything within my authority to keep you safe, starting with not disclosing to anyone outside this room that you told us how to find this place."

Dolwon ground his teeth together and stared at the floor for several long moments, but finally faced Lindomiel. "You know, of course, where Maethorness's village lies? Just above the mountains on the eastern border?"

Lindomiel nodded.

"Follow the forest edge further south for an hour, riding fast, and you will see a trail that heads east.  Across the Celduin, on the far bank of the river, the trail continues east, straight to an old mannish settlement. That is where I have heard she met with men in the past."

Behind her, Tureden began to issue orders to the Guard, calling for horses, weapons and naming those he would send.

"Thank you, Dolwon," Lindomiel said. "You and your family may go home and try to rest, if you wish." She ignored Dolgailon's surprised exclamation and turned instead to Maidhien. "Maidhien, since Dannenion is not here and since Anastor has already been attacked, I would feel much more comfortable if you and your naneth would both stay in the stronghold, where no one can touch you." She glanced back at Dolwon. "You are welcome to stay also, since I gather you fear Marti will target you next. I confess that is a legitimate fear. Or I can ask Tureden or Dollion to assign guards or warriors to help protect your family. The decision is yours, of course."  

"I want to stay in the stronghold," Eregeth answered immediately. Maidhien nodded.

Lindomiel turned to Galithil. "Can you take them to Galion and ask him to accommodate them?"

Galithil nodded and began to lead Maidhien away, his arm still about her shoulders. Meanwhile, Lalfien had grasped her husband's sleeve and was looking at him with wide eyes. They exchanged several sharp, whispered words and then Dolwon turned tensely back to Lindomiel. "We would like to accept your offer as well," he said stiffly.

Lindomiel looked again at Galithil and he nodded, holding out his other arm to herd them all out of Dannenion's cottage.

"My lady, I am not certain that the king will agree that they should be free after Dannenion disobeyed his order to stay here. Much less should they be free to wander the stronghold," Dolgailon whispered in her ear as they left.

"Dannenion disobeyed the king, not the others in his family. Maidhien reported her father's disobedience. She is your brother's betrothed wife and she helps me manage the stronghold," Lindomiel replied. "She has long been free to go where ever she likes in it. Since her brother is already a victim, I think we should insist she remain with us until we are certain that this threat is contained. And if she stays, how can we deny her mother equal treatment? Or her uncle, aunt and cousin?" She shook her head. "Thranduil is very single minded when his family is endangered, but that is not always wise," she concluded.

Dolgailon raised his eyebrows. "Given that you and Maidhien managed to find out where Legolas might have been taken, I cannot disagree with that assessment, my lady, but as the king observed, we do not know to what extent Dannenion or Dolwon might be involved in this."

"All the more reason to keep a close eye on them then. Tureden will manage them," she said, turning to face the lieutenant of the Guard. He was dismissing Ferinil and Heledir. They jogged off in the direction of the barn. Lindomiel frowned. "You are sending them to look for this meeting place?" she asked him, gesturing after the two guards.

"Yes, my lady," he said, and he stepped aside so that she could pass through the cottage door.

She did not move. She only looked after the two guards. "Who else are you sending with them?" she asked.

Tureden raised an eyebrow slightly and looked over her shoulder at Dolgailon and Hallion before answering. "Lanthir, my lady, once he delivers you back to the stronghold." Lanthir was indeed waiting for her outside the cottage door.

"Ferinil, Heledir and Lanthir will not recognize Manadhien or Fuilin and his brothers," she observed. "They only joined the Guard recently."

Tureden nodded. "But, they will recognize Legolas and Anastor well enough if they see them," he responded, now gesturing for her to exit the cottage.

She still did not move. "Do you not think it is important to send someone who might recognize Manadhien and her servants. If we could find one of them in the area near this path, we might find where Legolas and Anastor were taken faster."

"Unfortunately, my lady, Colloth and I are the only guards left in the stronghold that would recognize Manadhien or anyone associated with her. Belloth and Pendurion went with Conuion and the king. Tulus is, apparently, already searching for Legolas. None of the rest of our numbers have served in the Guard long enough to have met her. And I am very hesitant to send Colloth and separate Galithil from his regular guard, given that the children are being targeted."

Lindomiel frowned. She understood why Tureden could not go. Conuion would have his neck for leaving the security of the stronghold managed by guards with less experience in that duty than Legolas had as a warrior. And she agreed Colloth should stay with Galithil, if for no other reason than to keep him from following after Thranduil. Still, it seemed absolutely basic common sense that someone go with them that could recognize the people they were hunting. She turned to Dolgailon. "Who could you send with them that would recognize Manadhien?"

Dolgailon was obviously already considering that question. She could see him running through people in his mind as his eyes gazed into the distance. After a moment, he shook his head. "The only warrior in the capital that I am certain would recognize her is Dollion, but Conuion sent him to meet with Morillion to escort Glilavan home. He has already left. Langon and Tirithion would recognize her, but they went to the border to supervise the training exercise with Glilavan, so they are too far away to wait for." He glanced at Hallion. "Members of the King's council. I can think of no one else, other than Dolwon, of course, and we are not sending him."

"I could possibly spare Celonhael or Golwon, my lady," Hallion said, "but the king did specifically ask them to stay here."

"That was before he knew the location of this meeting place," Lindomiel replied. "Send Celonhael. He will handle it best if he recognizes one of them. He has the coolest head."

Hallion bowed. "As you wish, my lady."

*~*~*

Before Legolas could fully take in the sight of the man before him, Balchthor forced his face from side to side with a hand still wrapped around his jaw and throat. Then the man's grip slid down to the front of Legolas's tunic while his other hand ran over Legolas's arms and chest and back, as if inspecting the conformation of a horse. Revulsion washed over Legolas at the contact and he involuntarily pulled away. The man twisted Legolas's tunic, tightening his grip and pulling Legolas to stand nose to nose with him.

"Disobedience will be swiftly and definitively curbed. You have received your only warning. Do you understand me?"

Legolas stared at the man, unable to conceal his contempt. His immediate reaction, his gut response, was to spit in the man's face.

Of course, Legolas knew perfectly well that if he did that, the man would likely beat him within a hair's breadth of death and, with his hands bound securely behind his back, there was not a thing Legolas could do to defend himself. More importantly, afterwards, he would be in even less of a position to escape, and, given the man's presence, it was even more necessary for him to do so. He looked down and took a deep breath, struggling, much more than usual, to control his expression.

The man shook him hard enough to make his head snap back. "Do you understand me?" he repeated, now yelling. "Do you speak the Common Tongue boy? Answer me!"

"Yes," Legolas replied, managing to keep his tone passably respectful. "I speak it and I understand."

Demil, Fuilin and the two elves with them laughed. "Not as stupid as his father, then," Fuilin said under his breath in Sindarin. "Pity."

Legolas kept his gaze fixed straight forward, refusing to rise to that bait.

Balchthor pushed Legolas back towards Demil and Fuilin and reached for Anastor. Legolas tensed as Demil and Fuilin took firm hold of his arms and passed Anastor to the man. There was no possibility Anastor would remain silent. In fact, it was very likely Anastor would make his attitude unmistakably clear.

As Balchthor pulled Anastor forward, Anastor only grunted quietly, stumbling somewhat after spending the day slung over a horse. He made an unintelligible noise in protest when the man turned his head side to side.

Legolas looked at Fuilin and Demil and considered whispering to them to tell Anastor to be quiet, but he knew that would be a waste of effort. His concern would probably only amuse them further.

When the man's hands began to run over him, Anastor, predictably, did not hold his tongue. "What is this!" he exclaimed, twisting away from the hand touching him. "Take your hands off me!" he demanded.

Legolas drew a breath to tell him to be still.

The man yanked off Anastor's blindfold to force him to look at him and the sight of the strange face had the desired effect. Anastor's eyes flew open wide and he gasped out loud before falling completely silent to stare at the man with open shock and fear.

"Did you not listen to what I told your friend?" Balchthor asked softly, while drawing back his hand.

"He does not speak the Common Tongue," Legolas intervened, trying to step forward.

The man stopped and glared at Anastor a moment. Then he pushed him hard, sending him staggering to the ground at Demil's feet. He faced Legolas, hand still raised, and walked over until he was standing directly in front of him. In a swift motion, he reached with his raised hand, grabbed Legolas by the back of the neck and turned him to stand over Anastor. "You explain it to him then, and mind what you say. They," he jerked his chin at the elves, "will tell me if you say something I would not like."

Legolas locked eyes with Anastor, who was staring up at him in disbelief. "Simply do not resist, Anastor. It will do neither of us any good. Remember what I said about being obedient and respectful."

Anastor looked up at him as if he had lost his mind.

"Does he understand?" Balchthor asked, his grip tightening on Legolas's neck.

"He understands," Legolas replied, in Sindarin, willing Anastor to wipe any defiance from his face.

The man jerked Legolas back, flush against his body, shifted his hand to grip his throat and asked, "What did you say?"

"He understands," Legolas repeated, this time in Westron. He stifled a gasp when the man pushed him down next to Anastor.

"I never want to hear that Elvish gibberish again," Balchthor said, towering over them. Then he turned and walked back to Fuilin. "The fair one," he said. "He is the Elvenking's son, you said?"

Legolas froze at that question.

"His firstborn and currently only son," Fuilin confirmed, sounding like a merchant hawking his wares. "And the other is the firstborn of one of Thranduil's nobles. A member of his council."

"Do not resist, Legolas?" Anastor whispered incredulously, interrupting Legolas's focus on the man's conversation.

"How do you plan on escaping if that man breaks your skull while beating obedience out of you?" Legolas whispered back. "Be quiet. He said he does not want us speaking. Even men could hear us from this distance." And Legolas wanted to hear them--to hear what they might say about his father.

"They are talking to each other, not listening to us," Anastor retorted. He looked over Legolas's shoulder. "What are they talking about? The man has a sack." His eyebrows went up. "Of coins, it looks like. Gold ones. Lots of them."

Legolas did not turn to look. "They are negotiating the price the man is going to pay for us," he replied and watched as Anastor's jaw dropped. "It will be a fairly high price, given that the man knows who I am. And you, my lord," Legolas looked at him derisively, "are apparently the son of one of my adar's advisors."

Anastor frowned. "Well, I am the son of a member of your adar's court. And my adar was a lord of the Silvan before your adar even knew of the forest's existence."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Well, do you want me to go emphasize that to the man? We want to make sure Fuilin gets the best price for us as possible, after all." He glared at Anastor.

Anastor shook his head. "Price?" obviously finally catching on to the important facts. "Legolas, they...those elves...they are...they cannot...you do not truly believe that they will allow the man to take us with him." His voice was undeniably tinged with fear.

"Yes, Anastor. That is precisely what is going to happen."

"Because the man thinks your adar will pay even more to get us back?"

Legolas looked at the green grass. "If we are very lucky, that is the man's expectation," he replied.

Anastor shook his head. "What else could he hope to do with us?"

Legolas looked back at him. "Men keep slaves, Anastor," he said softly.

Abject fear flashed in Anastor's eyes. Then his brow knit and drew himself up as much as his bound hands and sore ribs permitted. "I am no one's slave!" he declared in a normal tone of voice. "Much less a man's!"

Legolas frowned and looked back at the elves and man. "We have a much better chance of escaping one man than we do four elves," he whispered. "Especially if that man is not inspired to beat the life out of us. Try to be compliant, Anastor. At least try not to intentionally provoke him."

Anastor looked over Legolas's shoulder and eyed the man, but he remained silent. Legolas could still see fear in the recesses of his eyes.

"These are not ordinary slaves, Balchthor," Fuilin raised his voice to argue.

Legolas closed his eyes. He had not really held out any hope that Anastor's suggestion that the man intended to ransom them back to his father might be correct, but that did not make hearing the truth any easier.

"They are elves," Fuilin continued. "They are young. Strong. Able to work harder than a dozen men. They will never sicken. Or age. Or even die. Your grandson's grandsons will take pride to be the master of the Elvenking's son. I will take no less than a hundred coins each for them," Fuilin argued.

"Grandson's grandsons. Not likely," Legolas whispered through a clenched jaw. Ignoring Anastor's confused look, he glanced behind him. Fuilin and the other elves were focused on the man's sack of coins. Legolas lifted his gaze and looked around himself. They were in the ruins of a Mannish settlement, it appeared. Stumps that must have once formed a solid stockade surrounded him, standing at various heights or missing altogether. A few buildings, or at least a wall or two of them, still teetered along the stockade. The embers of a fire smoldered outside the most solid looking building. That must be where Fuilin had waited to meet them. Legolas looked beyond the stumps, turning to look in all directions. His heart skipped several beats when he found not even a glimpse of trees on the horizon. They were very far away from the forest indeed. The sun was just beginning to glow to his left. Legolas turned to his right. Somewhere in that direction lay the forest. Legolas could make out where the horses they rode to the settlement had scarred the earth with their hooves. Their trail led northwest. He frowned. There was another, more worn path as well, going directly westward. Where did it intersect the forest?

The man hurled the entire sack of coins at Fuilin, striking him in the chest. Fuilin handed the sack to Demil, who quickly carried it over near the fire and opened it, counting coins. Legolas's fists clenched. Then Balchthor strode over to a horse--a tall black stallion. Its tack jingled as it danced away from the man's approach. He grabbed its reins and reached for something hanging from its saddle. Rope.

Legolas's pulse quickened.

Next to him, Anastor sucked in a ragged breath. "I do not think I can ride slung over a horse again," he whispered.

Legolas agreed with that.

Fuilin and the two other elves walked to them. Fuilin pulled Legolas up and one of the other elves did the same with Anastor.

"You fetched a fine price. I will make certain your adar learns your worth, Legolas," Fuilin said, smiling at his little joke. "Eventually. In a few years, when he has convinced himself that you are dead, I may even send Thranduil one of these coins, to let him know your true fate." Fuilin tossed a gold coin in the air. It was marked with a closed fist. Legolas had never seen such a coin. "But I will give you something to look forward to in the meantime: once your adar has recovered from your loss, to the extent that he can, look for Galithil. He will be joining you soon enough."

Legolas glared at him a drew a breath.

"Hold them," the man ordered, before Legolas could speak. Fuilin's grasp on his arm tightened.

The man stepped behind him. Legolas heard a knife slide from its sheath and then his hands fell free. Immediately, they began to sting from returning blood flow. Legolas automatically went to shake them, but the man seized a wrist and tied the rope he had retrieved around it while pulling it forward. Then he grabbed the other wrist and wrapped rope around it as well, tying them together. Legolas frowned. The man had tied his hands in front of him. That appeared to be a remarkably fortunate advantage. One he did not understand. It set him immediately on edge.

The man tucked the remainder of that length of rope under his arm and used another length to tie Anastor's hands in the same way. Once that was done, he walked back towards his horse without a word, letting both lengths of rope run out as he did. When he reached the end of the rope, he did not stop. He simply pulled Legolas and Anastor along after him like he might pull his horse by its reins.

Fuilin and the other elves snorted as Legolas and Anastor stumbled after him.

Legolas figured out what was happening when the man tied the free ends of the rope to the horn of his saddle.

Anastor turned to face him. "He does not intend for us run after him on his horse?"

The man spurred his horse and it leapt forward.

Legolas drew a long, slow breath as the rope tugged him forward. Pain stabbed like a knife in his side as the very first stride jarred his injured ribs. He had two choices--run or be dragged.

*~*~*

Dannenion slowed his horse as the rotting posts of the old stockade came into view. The sun was setting behind him, but the ruined buildings inside the encampment were still well illuminated. And he saw horses. Someone was definitely there. He spotted movement in the shadows of the largest building.

"Fuilin, are you there?" he called in a clear voice.

He did not approach the camp any closer, nor did he come around to the side where the stockade walls were the most rotten. The elves that occasionally dwelt in this abandoned mannish settlement were jumpy, even when anticipating the arrival of friends. Given that Dannenion was here to retrieve his son, he harbored no doubts that he fell into the 'enemy' category at this point. His bow, and an arrow, were ready in his hand.

"I am," Fuilin called, not moving from the shadows and not saying anything more.

Dannenion's hand clenched around his bow. "Where is my son, Fuilin?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady. He saw no signs of any captives. He felt he might be sick at that realization. Fuilin had already given them to men. Or worst, had killed them. Dannenion immediately shut that thought out of his brain.

"Beyond your reach," Fuilin answered. "Which is nothing more than what you deserve for your betrayal."

Dannenion heard the creak of bending wood.

"But for the further betrayal of leading Thranduil here, you will pay a higher, more personal price."

Dannenion had already crouched lower on his horse and began to turn it away when three bows twanged. He kicked his horse hard, causing it to leap forward. Arrows whooshed past him, one slicing the back of his tunic like a knife. Bows bent again. Dannenion raised his and drew, loosing a wild shot into the shadows of the dwelling. Then he fired off two more--one severing the line that secured the now dancing horses outside the encampment, the other driving into the ground at their hooves. The horses reared up and fled, running full speed, westward, onto the plain. Dannenion heard shouts and then glimpsed the forms of two elves chasing after them, but he urged his horse in the opposite direction and did not look back.

He rode, pressed down against the horse's neck, until the poor animal, already exhausted from a full night and day's gallop through the forest and across the plain, began to stumble. Then he allowed it to slow to a walk and turned, bow drawn in case he was still pursued. He saw no one behind him.

"We will stop here," he whispered into the horse's ear. He shook his head and laughed bitterly as he jumped down from its back. If he saw no one, he did not need to whisper, he chided himself. Still, he left an arrow nocked against his bow string as he gazed, first westward and then eastward, trying to decide what to do. He could not believe that Fuilin and whoever was with him--his brothers, no doubt--had actually shot at him! They had tried to kill him! All because he had stopped sending Manadhien information after she had killed Amglaur and Limmiel. She killed them! How did she expect him to react! She and her servants were every bit as evil as men. As orcs! Then his blood ran cold. What had they done to Anastor? What did 'out of reach' mean? Dead? Given to Men?

Dannenion took a deep breath. If they meant to kill Anastor, his body would have been found where the training exercise had taken place. Since it was not, they sold him to Men. Anastor had been given to Men, he repeated to himself, trying to convince himself it was true. He only had to find him.

How would he do that? He looked about himself, uncomfortably exposed in the tall grass. He had fled the settlement almost directly eastward. Surely eastward was where the men would take their prisoners. Men lived in the east. And south. He grasped the horse's headstall and began walking, southeast, searching the ground for any signs of a trail as he did.

Stars were beginning to sparkle above him when he finally spotted a hoof print in the soft earth just ahead of him. He ran to it and knelt on the ground. It was fresh--the disturbed earth around it only beginning to settle. Someone had been this way recently. From the spacing of the prints, it had been only one horse, cantering. He bent over another print. From its depth, the horse only carried one rider. What did that mean? Was this the wrong trail? Did the man decide not to buy the elves? Did Fuilin kill them since he was unable to sell them? Then Dannenion saw a large patch of crushed grass a few paces head of him. He jogged over to it. Something had been dragged here. He followed the drag marks to their end. There he saw what might have been a hand print, several scrabbling impressions in the earth and--if he bent carefully over the ground--two sets of light footprints. Elves' footprints! Anastor! And Legolas. Dannenion's hands clenched into fists. He understood what this meant. What his child was being made to do. He hefted his bow and followed the tracks, now striding swiftly.

*~*~*

Dannenion drew a long breath and jogged quickly past another strip of flattened grass. This one was longer than any other he had seen thus far. And closer to the last one. The moon had completed half its path in the sky since he had started tracking his son and this man on horseback. He had been moving as quickly as he could without missing anything important and he was growing tired. Almost out of breath. His pace was much slower than the one Anastor had been forced to match. He wasn't following a cantering horse.

Dannenion stopped. Something brownish stained the dust. He stuck his finger into it and confirmed what he feared. Blood. His hand clenched into a fist. This man would pay for whatever injury had been done to his son. He would pay dearly. Then he would die. Dannenion ran on, trying to increase his pace.

Focused forward on the tracks he was following and the distance they stretched in front of him, Dannenion was completely unprepared when an arrow buried itself into the ground no more than five strides in front of him. He loosed his hold on his horse's reins and fell flat on the ground as it danced away. He faced the direction the arrow came from, drew his bow and searched for a target to return the attack. He froze when he saw Tulus, bow drawn again and aimed directly at him. Dannenion did not relax his draw.

"What is your purpose here, Dannenion?" Tulus demanded.

Dannenion involuntarily made a face. He hated it when Tulus tried to sound commanding. "What do you think? I am here to retrieve my son from whomever Fuilin has sold him to." He frowned at Tulus. He arm was shaking. "Lower your bow, you fool. Before you kill me."

Tulus did not lower his bow. Instead he studied Dannenion for a long moment and then looked past him, westward. "Where is the king? Or his guards?" he asked as he turned his grip on the bow slightly in an effort to ease the strain on his bow arm.

Dannenion lowered his own bow to try to convince Tulus to lower his. "A day behind me, I imagine. They would have had to go to the border and then follow the tracks to the settlement. I simply went straight to the settlement. Fuilin shot at me there. Are you going to finish the job for him?"

Tulus glared at him a moment longer and relaxed his draw, grimacing openly as he did. But he did not lower his bow or unnock his arrow. "Why is the king a day behind you? Why did you not lead him to the settlement if you knew they were there?"

Dannenion loosed an annoyed laugh. "Thranduil suspects me. He would not hear of me coming with him. But if he thought I was going to leave him to go after Anastor alone, he is more mad than I ever thought. And as for finding them in the settlement, I did not know they were there. I assumed they were there. The messenger said you followed the children's tracks onto the plain. What better place would Fuilin take them? I took the chance that that was his intent and it seems I was right," he concluded, pointing to the tracks and then to Tulus. "We are both pursuing the same goal here, Tulus. Let us not waste time. They are injured, it appears. Else they would not find it so difficult to follow a cantering horse."

Tulus hesitated.

"Together we have a much better chance of retrieving them than we would alone," Dannenion pleaded.

Tulus let his bow fall to his side and replaced his arrow into his quiver as he walked towards Dannenion. "I welcome any help I can get," he said quietly.

Dannenion snapped his fingers softly, signaling for his horse to return to him. It did so, warily, nostrils flared. Dannenion's eyes widened when he finally saw what the horse might have been reacting to. "You are injured!" he exclaimed. A bloody strip of cloth was tied around Tulus's upper right arm. Worse, the right shoulder of his tunic was soaked in blood.

He nodded. "Demil," he said, as if that was the only explanation necessary. "It was he and not Fuilin that took them. Though I did see Fuilin at the settlement. Legolas and Anastor were already gone by the time I reached it and Fuilin was counting his gold." Tulus all but snarled the last bit.

"Were they hurt when they were captured?" Dannenion asked, falling into step with Tulus as he resumed his march along the man's trail.

Tulus shook his head. "Demil had two elves I did not recognize with him. One of them held a knife to Anastor's throat, Demil shot me when I moved to defend him. Legolas surrendered, so he was not injured."

"Hmph," Dannenion snorted in disgust.

Tulus glared at him, sidelong. "Legolas had a clear shot at Demil. Had an arrow on him. If we have a chance to question him, I imagine we are going to find that he surrendered because he figured he could save himself, but not necessarily me and certainly not Anastor. So you may want to be grateful rather than scornful, you fool. He could have saved himself a good deal of pain if he had been willing to sacrifice Anastor."

"Pain," Dannenion repeated, fear seizing him again. "So they were injured?"

Tulus gestured to another drag mark. "It certainly seems they are by now," he answered grimly.

They walked a few dozen more paces before Tulus put out his hand and crouched down into the grass, gesturing ahead of them with his chin.

Dannenion fell to his knees as well and held the horse back with a hand on its shoulder. Just on the horizon he could see something white. A tent. Outside the tent, on its far side, there was a fire. He could see faint wisps of smoke. And to one side of the tent, he saw two forms.

Tulus pointed south and started crawling in that direction, never taking his eyes off the men.

Dannenion twisted his horse's reins in some tall grass, patted its foreleg and followed him. Tulus skirted quickly around the camp in a wide berth until he came around to a point where he could just see the front flaps of the tent. They were securely closed--tied shut at the base of the flap. No light shone from under the tent or glowed through its canvas. No shadows could be seen inside. Only the men outside the tent were visible. One was apparently asleep, stretched out near the embers of a fire, leaning on a pack. The other sat near him, bow in his hand. He was obviously the watch.

"These have to be the men that have them," Dannenion whispered.

Tulus nodded. "Two men. Three horses. One tent. Most likely, there is another man--the important one--in that tent. With Legolas and Anastor. We wait until all three are visible. My shoulder is too badly injured. I do not trust my aim. Can you hit them from this distance fast enough to kill them all before one of them can kill Legolas and Anastor?"

Dannenion silently slid and arrow from his quiver and nocked it against his bow, nodding.

"Wait until we see all three men," Tulus said.  "Be fast. Shoot to kill, not to injure. If the man emerges from the tent with Legolas and Anastor, shoot him first. If he comes out of the tent without them, but moves towards the tent when you start shooting, target him immediately."

Dannenion turned his head and glared at Tulus. "Obviously," he mouthed. The only reason that he did not roll his eyes when Tulus still fidgeted with his own bow was because he did not want to take his eyes off that tent.

By the time the sun began to glow on the horizon, Dannenion was getting stiff, crouched on the ground. His discomfort increased when the man that had been sleeping pushed himself up, walked a ways outside their camp to relieve himself and then began to pull links of sausage and bread from his pack. Dannenion could smell the sausage even from this distance and it made his stomach growl.

A lantern sparked to life inside the tent.

Dannenion shifted to loosen his muscles, raised his bow slightly and pulled his arm back as if drawing it, to stretch his arm.

Next to him, Tulus tensed, resisting the urge to remind him again to wait.

The shadow of a large shape moved from one side of the tent to the other, pausing for a long moment near its middle before continuing towards the flap.

Dannenion raised his bow and drew it.

Tulus nodded. "Yes, take him first, as he is exiting the tent," he whispered.

The ties at the bottom of the tent jerked; then the flap flew open.

The guard and cook turned swiftly to face the tent. A finger waved in its doorway, pointing at the fire. The guard nodded and tossed the spit, suspended over the fire, into the flames. The flap of the tent closed again.

Dannenion released his draw and stared at the camp. "What in all of Arda is the meaning of that?" he whispered.

Frowning, Tulus shook his head.