Part Three

Dangerous Game

The hunter Dyral was not happy. He had told his men to leave their dogs tied at the wood edge. All their damned noise would frighten every deer away for miles. Something must have spooked them. Spitting a curse under his breath, he left his boot laces loose and heaved himself painfully to his feet, hindered by the unevenness of his right leg. He rubbed the limb absently as he scanned the trees.

The old wound ached worse when it got cold like this and a night spent crouching in the frosting brush had not done it any favors either. Silently, he cursed the white arrow that had crippled him. But he coaxed his impatience down to a low smolder. To rush would be dangerous. He had learned the lessons of caution and concealment well and taken only his stoutest and stealthiest to lay the snares. The elves had already found and destroyed two of his best traps but the greatest they had yet to discover. And he was determined that they would not discover it until it was already too late.

A clever contraption consisting of several crossing tripwires cunningly hidden in the yet-leafy and plentiful bracken. The first triggered the holding snare, catching the quarry round the heels and rendering it immobile, the second – a hair trigger device which the slightest touch would set off – flung long darts he had crafted and tainted himself straight into the hindquarters or shoulder of the deer.

A swift rustle caused him to turn as one of his scouts reached his side, gasping for breath. “Trap went off, just like you said, Chief.”

“And our catch?” his leader prompted impatiently, gripping his leg tighter. “Come on, speak up, boy!”

The sallow-faced scout ran a bewildered hand through his hair. “Well… it’s not a deer but… well, you got to see this, Chief.”

A growing smile sharpened DyralÂ’s thin features. Sounded liked his luck was starting to turn.

As fast as his leg could carry him, he limped back towards the river, slinging his crossbow over one shoulder as he went. Sometimes, the game broke a leg in the trap and would need to be put out of its misery before the elves heard it.

“Come on, you lot! Up! We got a catch!”

The others in his group who were impatient enough and partially frozen after waiting for so long leapt stiffly to their feet, gathering their weapons as they went.

———-

“Well, well, look what we got here,” Dyral shook his head but did not lower his crossbow as one of his men briskly held a lantern up to dispel some of the shadows. “Looks like we caught a brace of birds instead.”

A ripple of laughter ran around the circle of men.

Aragorn tried a rueful smile though his veins boiled with anger. He had met men like this around his home in Rivendell. The snares they used were designed to cause pain – proof of that ran up and down his leg every time he so much as twitched. Still, reason might prevail. “Clearly,” he offered with far more calm than he felt. “We are not deer. You can let us go.”

Beckoning the man bearing the lantern with him, Dyral limped forward a step or two, his crossbow still carefully pointed at the ranger’s chest. Aragorn blinked rapidly and pulled back slightly as the lantern nearly scorched his face. “Hmmm… no, I guess you’re not. Still you got some good meat on you,” laughingly he pinched the ranger’s forearm as Aragorn jerked away.

“Leave him alone.”

Dyral looked over Aragorn’s shoulder towards the low, dangerous voice. “So it’s you.”

Aragorn didnÂ’t dare move with the crossbow so close but he could hear HaldirÂ’s ragged breathing behind him. Being unable to turn his head transformed any thought of fear into anger.

“Let us loose!” he demanded, tugging ineffectually at the snare.

“Stand still, damn you,” one of the others, a burly man with a pock-marked face, snarled, jabbing Aragorn’s ribs.

“I told you to leave him alone!”

The lead huntsman ignored the order, his narrowed eyes fixed in the shadows behind the ranger. He was not above a little payback especially when his leg cramped even more fiercely. To put paid to at least one of those arrogant elven prigs would make his day complete even without a decent catch. He grinned under his unshaven lip.

The second pointed jab made Aragorn wince visibly. He still hadnÂ’t completely mended from the fall that had landed him in HaldirÂ’s care in the first place. His shoulder shuddered with renewed pain.

Haldir’s voice, oddly strained but sternly angry, spoke up again behind him. “Touch him again and I’ll lame your other leg.”

Dyral chuckled though it lacked any trace of humor. “YouÂ’re in no position to be giving orders, elf. You canÂ’t fight all of us. And in case youÂ’re thinking you can just charge, IÂ’ve got more waiting, ready for my whistle – so you just try it I dare you.”

“Perhaps we cannot outfight you but I am certain we can outrun you.”

Aragorn closed his eyes. Taunting a man pointing a loaded crossbow at them was probably not the smartest move.

Stung by the jibe, Dyral flourished his weapon. But instead of directing it at the elf’s heart, he aimed it lower. His voice grated like a blade over stone. “My leg aches every day because of you. It’s only fair that I return the favor. But first, I owe you a little something.”

Aragorn heard the muted crack of a closed hand striking flesh and despite the danger, spun around, ignoring the spike of pain up his calf as the snare jerked even tighter.

The hunterÂ’s fist had knocked the elf captain sideways. Blood trickled down HaldirÂ’s chin from a split lip but his eyes burned as he raised his head. His silver eyes briefly lifted to AragornÂ’s, warning the human to do nothing. He swiped his arm across his chin, leaving a smear of blood on the sleeve.

Cold plunged into AragornÂ’s stomach as his gaze traveled downward to where the elf cradled his left arm against his side. A long dart as thick as his little finger but pointed as a needle had pierced the elfÂ’s wrist right through, the bloody point protruding a good three inches.

Dyral was breathing hard as though he had been the one struck, his fingers twitching on the trigger. “It was a bad day for you when you shot that arrow.” He extended his arm until the loaded crossbow brushed Haldir’s leg.

Aragorn exploded into action.

One arm swung wildly and slapped away the crossbow while the other pulled his sword from its sheath and with one hard blow severed the snareÂ’s hold on his leg. The bolt, knocked off target, hit one of the others in the chest, throwing him lifeless to the ground. Haldir rushed the leader with drawn saber, splintering the crossbow with one strike. Dyral stumbled back with broken wood in his fingers.

The other three swarmed in to protect their leader. The pock-marked man swung a massive falchion at AragornÂ’s head. The younger man ducked the blow so that the sword chopped into the trunk of a mallorn. As the man tugged fruitlessly at his deeply buried blade, Aragorn came up on his other side. At the last possible second, he turned his sword so he broke the manÂ’s jaw with the flat instead of splitting his skull in half. He didnÂ’t want to kill if he could help it.

Something black and wiry dropped over the rangerÂ’s head, half-obscuring his vision and snagging his blade up hopelessly. He tripped on the dragging ends and fell, his sword pinned under his body. Another of DyralÂ’s group had the ends of the net gathered in one fist and his blade stabbed down, seeking the young manÂ’s soft flesh through the mesh. Aragorn tried to twist away but the tip glanced off his side, gouging a thin red line through his tunic. But no farther. His assailant choked and stared in amazement at the saber tip growing out of his chest before he collapsed, his fist still tightly clenching his nets.

Aragorn disentangled himself from the body and the clinging black tendrils, his sword reducing them to strands as he cut himself free.

Haldir was already dispatching the last fighters. His weapon sank deep into a broadsword wielding hunterÂ’s stomach and deep into the earth below. He didnÂ’t even look down as he pulled his blade free with a wet wrench.

Confronted by the swords and grim faces of the elf soldier and human ranger, Dyral and his remaining huntsman backed off. The leader’s face was livid as his leg threatened to give under him. “We’ll get you, elf. You only have a reprieve.” With an inexplicable grin, he added. “Or maybe not so much.”

Haldir made to go after him but Aragorn grabbed his uninjured arm. “Let him go. He can’t do anything.”

The elf pulled out of his grasp and leaned instead against the mallorn trunk. Without looking at the ranger he wiped his blade clean on his cloak, leaving it red-streaked. The grey bark was splattered with crimson drops and the bodies of men littered the brittle grass. Aragorn noticed one with a broken jaw lying in the bracken; a saber slash had opened his throat wide.

“You killed them.”

Haldir swiped more than the sweat of exertion off his face as he looked up. “What?”

“I tried not to kill them,” Aragorn said, quietly as though he wasnÂ’t quite sure what he wanted to ask – or accuse – his companion of.

The Galadhrim captain stared at him. With a shake of his head at the other’s naivety, he sheathed his weapon and stepped over the body of the man he had just slain. “Come on.”

Aragorn suppressed an inward shudder. Would he ever achieve that kind of casualness around death? He wasnÂ’t used to such ruthlessness. Where possible his father had always told him that to spare a life was the mark of a good and generous man even if the life he saved had wronged him. His own inexperience weighed against him but he still believed that and didnÂ’t like to see lives wasted – even lives of those who might not deserve it. He edged around the bodies and fell into step at the elfÂ’s side, his eyes finding the blood-soaked sleeve all too easily. “YouÂ’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. They’re going to… be looking for us as soon as… as they have reinforcements.” The elf’s breath came shallow and fast, his sentences breaking up strangely. Catching Aragorn’s concerned frown, he cleared his throat briskly and firmed his words. “The ones you let get away will put the rest of them on our trail.”

“You wanted me to kill them?” Aragorn snapped, distracted from anxiety by what he thought an unjust rebuke.

Haldir stopped, his words having achieved their objective of putting the ranger off his wounds. “I do what is necessary to protect my home and those I have sworn to guard with my life. If that means taking lives then so be it. I am willing to make that sacrifice. But unless I’m very much mistaken at least one of those bodies is yours.” Not waiting for the young man to absorb his words, he spun abruptly on his heel and kept on walking.

Aragorn stared at the elfÂ’s receding back, frozen and speechless. His boots seemed suddenly rooted to the grassy floor. A wave of sickness hit him and he swallowed it down hard, determinedly looking anywhere but around him, at the lifeless, supine forms almost under his boots. Only the renewed barking roused him to the urgent desperateness of their situation.

It was black now, the moon hiding her face in the clouds.

Haldir searched for the stars in vain and closed his eyes, squeezing his injured forearm above the wrist. The pain was getting worse, pulsing outward from wrist to arm and shoulder, across his back and down. As he tried to breathe in, a hard tightness clamped around his ribs like steel. Swallowing hard, he blew out a shallow breath. He had to control it, fight it down as he had so many times before. Long battles and unfortunate injuries in the course of his duties had taught him that much at least. Contain the pain or the pain will contain you. He jerked as a hand gently slid up his shoulder.

Aragorn’s dark eyes filled with worry as they flickered over the dart still embedded in the elf’s wrist. “They’re coming.”

“There is a little… cleft in the Celebrant not far from the path we just left. It will take us to-to a hidden place where we may shelter for awhile,” Haldir brushed a hand over his eyes, disengaging the man’s hand as he did so. “It’s cold but it will keep out the worst of the wind. With any luck my brothers will be searching for us before long, get word to my patrol that the hunters have returned.”

———-

“I am going to kill him.”

Orophin looked up briefly from the remnants of his meal and shrugged at his younger brother’s fervent and fairly ineffectual vow. “It shouldn’t surprise you anymore, Rúmil. You know Haldir is busy with-”

“Oh, you are as bad as he is with your excuses! You might even be worse because you still drop by and eat all my food,” the younger elf protested, too annoyed to pretend to be joking.

Orophin popped half a roll into his mouth and grinned wickedly around it. “You know I can’t suffer my wife’s cooking every day. It would kill me.”

“I’ll refrain from telling her that.”

“You know that man, Estel, is staying with him. Which – I mean he seems perfectly nice, a gentleman and scholar,” Rúmil added hastily. “But I do wonderÂ… I havenÂ’t had the chance to talk to Haldir about it.”

“I heard that,” Orophin said. “Rameil likes him. He told me this morning he thought Estel was good for Haldir. Apparently, he has a sense of humor our dear elder brother can so benefit from.”

Rúmil managed a laugh but it faltered swiftly. “Actually, it’s just as well Haldir isn’t here tonight. I wanted to talk to you about him. He’s starting to-”

“Look, Rúmil, I already know what you are going to say,” With the resignation of one who had had this conversation far too many times in the past, the older brother nimbly speared a neat slice of venison and slid it onto his plate.

Rúmil doggedly pursued the subject, ignoring his brother’s reticence as he always did. “He’s slipping away from us, Orophin, and I know you’ve seen it. How many times has he promised to join you on a hunt and not shown up?”

“Something’s always come up,” Orophin shrugged though his own eyes had darkened a shade. He had noticed the captain’s lapses. The emptiness around the family table on a more than weekly basis. But still he felt more inclined to defend his older brother than condemn him. “He has a duty, commissioned by the Lord and Lady themselves. It’s not something he can lightly cast aside. You know that.”

“But that’s no excuse for not spending at least a little time with your family,” Rúmil insisted, irritated that his other brother was so determined to defend something he would never have allowed himself to do to his own family. “He has to eat. We have to eat. Why not do it together? What’s an hour for dinner in a month’s worth of work?”

Orophin shook his head. He didn’t want to deal with his brothers’ problems. “You have to leave him be. Just let him do his duty when he has time he’ll-”

“We all have duties, I understand that,” But Rúmil wouldn’t accept it. “I train recruits and you work in the forge. What makes his duty so much more important than ours?”

“He loves it more,” Orophin said after a short pause. He twirled his fork absently between his fingers tapped it on his plate a few times while Rúmil leaned back and folded his arms, gazing fixedly at him until he reluctantly met his eyes. “All right, you’re right. Satisfied? We will talk to him.”

“No, I’m done talking and pleading.” The sergeant threw down his napkin and got to his feet. “Something has to be done about this. I will get him here if I have to tie him up and drag him myself.”

———-

“In there?” Aragorn voiced doubtfully, a prickle of apprehension racing like chilled fingers down his spine.

“Do you have a better idea?” Haldir challenged, standing before the mouth of the slender tunnel, the entrance of which was invisible to all eyes unless those eyes knew where to look. Aragorn glanced back through the slit in the stony outcrop they had squeezed through moments before. Just a sliver of moon-stained wood beyond could be glimpsed.

His gaze ventured once more to the gaping hole leading under the river by way of narrow, stone steps receding into darkness; he sighed. “No.”

“Be careful,” the elf cautioned. “It’s damp.”

Swallowing hard against the pressing fear in his chest, Aragorn followed his friend gamely, fingertips testing the earthen walls on either side as starlight vanished behind. All he could hear was the fading whisper of the trees and the esurient silence closing around them, their soft breathing echoing. His boots darkened as he began to count the steps, wondering how much further down they had to go. The walls had changed from dirt to damp bedrock.

Suddenly Haldir stumbled. He would have fallen and likely broken his neck had Aragorn not timely seized his arm, sensing more than seeing him start to tumble. The elfÂ’s face was oddly wan in the scarce moonlight as he rested his other hand against the wall to steady himself.

“And you warned me to be careful,” Aragorn chuckled as he picked his way gingerly down the last few steps. “You all right?” Something hot and sticky smeared his hand where he had grabbed the elf. Even in the blackness, he knew instantly what it was.

With careful slowness Haldir lowered himself onto the last stair and pointed with his eyes. “There should be a lantern down there somewhere.”

With a concerned frown at his companionÂ’s bowed head, Aragorn felt his way a little further down the black corridor, edging forward carefully lest his foot catch on some loose rock. His fingertips brushed something colder and harder than stone and he realized it was an iron hook beneath which he found a dust-crusted lantern. Heart thudding uncomfortably, he hurriedly backtracked towards the small glimmer of light near the bottom of the steps.

The elf was easier to find when he did not dim his natural glow and Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the stairs again. Haldir had leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes but he opened them when he heard the scrape of the lantern being set down.

Aragorn regarded the elf intensely for a moment then swung the lantern up triumphantly. “Do you have anything to light it with?”

Nauseated by the movement, Haldir hastily busied himself with fetching flint from the small pouch at his waist and handing it to the ranger. “You’ll have to do it.”

The wick flared blue before it settled to a steadier, gloomier glow, illuminating the rangerÂ’s dark eyes and the elfÂ’s drawn features.

“You don’t look well,” Aragorn observed with rising concern, balancing the light gingerly a few stairs up so the faint, unsteady light fell on both of them.

Haldir brushed a hand over the lower half of his face. He hadnÂ’t even heard the ranger. The dizziness that had troubled him only a little after their encounter with the hunters had turned to a full-blown attack of sick vertigo which had nearly resulted in disaster on the stairs. His natural strength bolstered by the adrenaline of their flight had suppressed the effects of the dart but as the adrenaline drained away so too did his strength.

“That needs to come out,” The ranger said, his eyes on the elf’s wrist. He gently touched his sleeve where the dart exited. Already crimson darkened the grey cloth and was still spreading staining the elf’s hand. Aragorn bit his lip. There was an awful lot of blood…

“Can you move your fingers?” He looked up when the captain didn’t answer. “Haldir?” He jostled him lightly, another stab of worry sinking deep in his chest. He had no idea if the dart had been poisoned or how much damage had already been done. He had seen something like this before.

A fox had fallen into a hunterÂ’s snare in the woods surrounding RivendellÂ’s hidden valley. It had tried to chew through its own leg trying to get out of a steel-hold trap. By sheer chance, Aragorn came across it while out with his brothers and tried to free it while its glazed amber eyes watched him. He couldnÂ’t undo the snare and, as he was very young at the time, didnÂ’t know how to explain what he had seen. But he went back. Once. The fox was dead.

Haldir opened his eyes, dark with restrained agony just like the fox’s. His face was white and lines that had nothing to do with age strained his brow. Every muscle in his jaw and neck had tightened visibly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“Can you move your fingers for me?” Aragorn repeated shakily, cradling the warrior’s forearm in his lap. The elf’s fingers twitched a little and the healer half of Aragorn breathed a shaky sigh of relief. By sheer luck the tendons connecting his brain to the movements of his fingers hadn’t been severed. Still, the dart needed to be removed.

“It will be easier if you lie down.”

Haldir hesitated a moment, whether from sheer exhaustion or unwillingness to put himself in so vulnerable a position before the man Aragorn didnÂ’t know. He waited him out patiently, letting him take his time until the elf slowly slid off the last stair and settled himself on the floor. Aragorn bundled up his cloak and slipped it beneath the marchwardenÂ’s head to pillow the back of his neck before examining the wound.

A wicked hook tipped the end of the dart. Pulling it out that way would only rip a wider hole in already damaged flesh. Drawing a small versatile dagger from his boot, Aragorn peeled back the elfÂ’s blood-soaked sleeve trying not to jostle the arm too much. HaldirÂ’s unblinking eyes watched every move he made. Frowning with concentration, Aragorn swiped away the sweat dripping down his temples despite the cold air of the tunnel. Blood and sweat made the knife in his hands slick as he trimmed the hook off. Haldir glanced at the flapping lantern as the ranger set aside his knife and pushed his sleeves back.

Groping for the clasp at his neck, the young man began to tear strips out of his cloak hem to sponge away the worst of the blood. He wished he had not left his pack in the elf’s talan. His father’s purposefully packed supplies would have been useful. Heart thrumming uncomfortably in his throat, Aragorn fought to keep his face a little more cheerful than the gloomy walls as nervousness squeezed his chest. He hadn’t yet had a whole lot of experience with tending such wounds. Battles around Rivendell were thankfully few and far between and his rides with the Dúnedain infrequent.

Haldir must have sensed his nervousness for the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “It will certainly not be the first time I’ve had something painful and pointed pulled from me.”

Somewhat reassured, Aragorn returned the wry smile. “You’ll be fine. Do you feel anything else? Other than…” he gestured rather uselessly at his arm.

But Haldir had closed his eyes again and didnÂ’t answer. His mind had begun to drift. unsettling images crowded to the forefront. Already unusually wearied by the toxin in his system, he could no longer push them away. Memories of pain like thisÂ… of blood and chainsÂ… of proud, fierce faces outlined in harsh torchlightÂ… They jostled for place among the more peaceful reminders he tried to pull up: his brothers laughing in the sunlight, Rameil fletching arrows at the dining table, his troops, windswept and triumphant after a fierce skirmishÂ… They evaporated in an instant as Aragorn wrapped a large hand around his forearm.

“Just hold still.”

“Mmm. Easier said than done.” Haldir sucked in a deep breath and let it out fast, feeling as though his heart was trying to bang its way out from between his ribs. “Do it.”

“Just don’t forget to breathe. I’ll count to three… One… two…”

Hot agony seared across Haldir consciousness like a hot poker as Aragorn tugged the shaft free. Despite his best effort, he could not control his bodyÂ’s reaction to it. His startling movement ripped the rest of the wooden shaft out and the wound wide. He collapsed against the stone wall, the river damp soaking into his back as much warmer and more disturbing wetness began to soak his chest as he pressed his arm to it.

Instantly AragornÂ’s hands closed on his shoulders and coaxed him back into a recumbent position. The elf flinched away from his touch but there was nowhere he could go, pinned against the wall as he was. Forcing his eyes open, Haldir stared at the lantern light, needing to focus on anything but the pain.

The flame flapped, danced and divided. Two flames. Then three. Twisting and twining, morphing into fiery faces. Little flames with demon faces in them. Haldir squeezed his eyes shut, safe in the darkness with only the pounding of his own heart for company. But the beat was too loud, too loud. Throbbing, echoing, roaring until his ears pounded with blood. He couldnÂ’t thinkÂ… he couldnÂ’t even see the candle anymore. Cold sweat soaked his brow but he burned alive inside. Consciousness was dropping away fast and AragornÂ’s voice seemed to come from down a very long tunnel.

“Haldir, you’ve got to hold on. I’ve got you. You’re going to be…”

Like water over a fall, the shadows of the tunnel swamped the lantern light and drowned him in black.