Author’s Notes: I was in something of a “fugue” state when I wrote the first half of this chapter, cramped in a dark corner of the university library, feverishly typing. Still, I hope you are engaged. Thank you again to all my reviewers: Miruial, meckinock, Silly Saturday, walkure13Brynhild, Snow Bunny, Calenlass Greenleaf, Ellfine, Steel Giant and viggomaniac! Your encouragement and comments keep me smiling! Though perhaps not our heroes…

Part Three

Predatory Instinct

Minutes bled into hours of eternal silence in the empty lightlessness of the cellar. When she realized the elf no longer listened to her nor would react to threats or blows, Carlóme stopped talking. For a long time they stayed like that, in silence. As easy and carefree as though in her own bedroom, Carlóme lay down on a flour sack, turned the lantern down to a smolder and slept as though to enforce a sense of privation on her prisoner.

Haldir could not sleep. His hands were numb and he was pretty sure his wrists were bleeding from the constant struggle to free himself. Zaren had been unfortunately extremely thorough and the knots drew so impossibly tight from all the pulling he didnÂ’t think they would ever loosen save with the aid of a knife.

Listening to the womanÂ’s steady breathing, Haldir rested his head against the barrelÂ’s wooden surface and stared up at the invisible ceiling as though hoping to catch a glimpse of the room above. Images of Aragorn, slashed and brutalized like the man in the stables made HaldirÂ’s blood run cold. Despite their differences and despite the fact that he hadnÂ’t known the man long, he felt oddly attached and worried if something should happen to him. No, he told himself firmly whenever these visions arose – and they did all too frequently with nothing else to occupy him – nothing was going to happen. Aragorn could take care of himself. HeÂ’ll be fine. HeÂ’ll be fine. Even if he is dead, heÂ’s in better shape than you.

Even though the basement was windowless to protect the wines from souring, Haldir knew dawn was yet a long way off. By that time, he might have joined Aragorn if the ranger had fallen victim to the invisible killer.

Unable to stand guard outside any longer, Zaren came down the steps in the cold hours and watched the elf from the bottommost one, his eye occasionally straying to the sleeping woman. Haldir did not make eye contact with him though he did notice the man had slapped a rude bandage on his slashed cheek. The thought made him smile a little.

After an hour or so, Carlóme woke up and looked at him, ignoring Zaren’s presence. “Ready to talk yet?” She folded up her sack and tossed it over a firkin as she stretched. “I imagine that has to be pretty uncomfortable.”

It was but Haldir would be damned before he spoke one word of complaint to this vile harpy.

“I told you it’s easier for you just to talk. Now that you’re caught there’s nothing you can do or say that’s going to change the fact that I will kill you. We know what you did. But I want a confession from your own lips. Then I know our men are revenged and maybe you can go to the Void with a clear conscience. All I want to know is the facts: where you hunted? Are there other elves in this or are you the only one? Where did you hide the bodies?”

Haldir licked dried blood from his lip. His voice was steady but rough and dry from not using it in hours and the lack of drink offered him. “And I have already told you that I cannot answer your questions because I have no idea what you are talking about.” He raised piercing eyes to her face. “I did not kill that man.”

“And Zaren saw you,” she pressed her fingers to her lips in a gesture of mock-consideration. “I think I trust his word more than yours, elf. However.” Reaching down into a little satchel at her feet, she extracted a little, green glass bottle. “Your word would be worth its weight in gold with a little of this.” She shook the bottle causing the indigo liquid within to swirl like sea-tossed waves. “This is called harsari: I didn’t really want to have to use it but you’re leaving me with no choice since you don’t feel like volunteering what I want from you.”

Haldir pressed his lips together as tightly as he could but she didnÂ’t yet move towards him. Rummaging still in her sack, she pulled out a thin stick about the size of her middle finger but the tip glittered with steel.

Kneeling beside him, she pushed his sleeve up past the elbow and drew a small, thin-bladed knife from her side. Haldir tried to crane his neck over his shoulder to see what she was doing but it was impossible.

“ThisÂ’ll only hurt a bit – and thatÂ’s just the first step,” her voice said.

A sharp pain slid down his forearm just beneath the wrist and he gasped as a wet warm sensation glided down his skin. He tried to twist his wrists, jerking again at the hard knots but Zaren stood up and seized his shoulders, pinning him firmly against the barrel.

”Stop it. You’ll only make it worse,” the man hissed in his ear.

Trapped between the barrel and the muscled human, Haldir could barely move let alone defend himself. Carlóme dragged the lantern closer and opened the hinged door. After holding the metal-tipped device briefly in the flame, she stabbed it through the wax seal of the bottle and allowed a little of the liquid to taint the edge. “A little goes a long way,” she laughed.

Haldir shut his eyes as the heated needle stabbed deep into the cut on his arm, carrying its toxin with it. He barely noticed when Zaren released him and Carlóme stepped back, her face taut, watching him.

At first he didn’t feel anything expect an odd heat in his wrist. Then a pulse of fire radiated outward, sweeping up his arm to his shoulders to the other arm. He was burning alive. Flames licked at his skin and seared up his fingers, sending sheet after sheet of searing agony sweeping through his body. Had he breath enough to scream he would have. Carlóme watched him twitch, her tawny face smooth and expectant.

Eventually the painÂ’s claws retracted, easing out of his skin, leaving him soaked in perspiration which instantly iced in the temperature of the basement. Haldir kept his eyes closed, his head lolling back against the barrel. Despite the chill, the wood felt good and damp.

“The chieftains of my country find this a most desired technique for dealing with traitors and spies,” the woman said, the needle trembling in her hand. But he did not stir, didn’t buck or convulse as she had seen once. Frowning, she looked at the needle then abruptly fitted it through the tiny slit in the bottle again, washing it thickly with the indigo poison.

“Once isn’t enough for you, hmm?”

The pain maelstrom was less poignant this time but the fire swept in with as much fury as ever and this time a cry did escape his lips before it faded into coolness. But instead of comfort, the cool water drowned him, flooded his lungs, smothered him in cold. The stone floor lost its firmness and slid away from him as the drug left him reeling and disoriented, sagging in his bonds. A strange ringing filled his ears and he opened his eyes.

He felt surprisingly calm all of a sudden and the pain receded to a manageable throb in the back of his mind. Harder to ignore was the numbness radiating out of where sheÂ’d stabbed him. It spread until he couldnÂ’t feel anything when she slapped him, hard enough to re-split his lip. He could feel something trickling down his chin and a vague part of him acknowledged it was blood but he was remarkably unconcerned by it.

What did concern him was the walls seemed to be moving.

Carlóme growled low under her breath. “Why isn’t it working? He should be screaming his confession by now!” Frustrated, she ripped the needle out of his skin, accidentally snapping the point off as she did so. Cursing, she flung the useless haft away. “Make yourself useful, find me another one,” she snapped at Zaren who got smartly to his feet.

“Lady, those things are pretty potent. Be careful you don’t-”

“Who cares if I give him more than I’m supposed to? He’s not got long to live anyway. Besides, Zaren, Elves aren’t like you and me. The harsari won’t work on them in small dosages. Did you find it yet?”

Reluctantly, the man handed over another of the little sticks and watched as his leader stuck it in the fire. He glanced over at their prisoner. The elf wasnÂ’t looking too good and mingled guilt and satisfaction warred for mastery in the male hunter. He didnÂ’t approve of interrogation like this but after what this monster had doneÂ… He stamped down on his guilt and leaned back on the steps. But he kept his eyes averted.

Haldir didnÂ’t even feel the third insertion. The fire hazed his vision in vivid red flashes and orange spots of exploding lights that curled and swooped upon one another metamorphosing into green hawks swooping over a field of blue rabbits. Black rain washed all the rabbit fur and gore away, leaving him staring at the grey wall. The stone blocks trembled and began to melt, twisting and warping as though giant, invisible hands were shredding them as easily as dry leaves. It made his stomach heave so he closed his eyes.

What little Carlóme could see of his eyes before he shut them was black, the pupils largely dilated and unfocused. She crouched beside him and said in a low, steady voice. “Can you hear me? Elf?”

Her voice stirred something in Haldir and his eyelids flickered. There was something he had to tell herÂ… or keep from herÂ… something shamefulÂ… something dangerousÂ… But he didnÂ’t know which was which: whether he should tell or not. He frowned, trying to remember. What had she wanted from him?

“Can you hear me?” she repeated, growing frustrated when he continued to stare at her blankly. In disgust, she threw down the needle and stalked towards the back wall, raking a hand agitatedly through her hair.

“Lady,” Zaren suddenly whispered, nodding with his eyes.

The elf’s eyes were closed but his lips moved. In two strides, Carlóme crossed the room and bent down close to him, listening.

“It’s a war… you have to fight to survive, there’s no other way. Kill… or be killed…”

A fierce, leonine smile twitched Carlóme’s lips as she turned to her companion. “It’s working.”

HaldirÂ’s head shifted towards the sound of her voice. He opened his eyes.

And saw the plains. Black and barren, Dagorlad was choked with endless dust and rock. He could almost feel the harsh grit of the battle-swept region stinging his eyes, digging under his armor and coating his sword in a fine paste of dirt and blood. The bodies were everywhere, right where theyÂ’d piled them. All orcs, all dead. The ambush had nearly cost them their lives.

With a fluid move, he shoved his sword through an orcÂ’s back, slashing downward through crude knitted plates seeking the flesh beneath. The creature screamed and it echoed in HaldirÂ’s head. Thick, black blood ran down his sword hilt and onto his wrist.

“It’s a war! You have to fight to survive, there’s no other way. Kill or be killed.” He could almost hear his old sergeant’s familiar roar at the troops.

A hard, female voice oddly disembodied from where he was asked him. “What did you do with the bodies?”

“There wasn’t… time to bury them…” He thought he spoke the words aloud but his throat was choked with dust and he coughed.

“He can’t see us can he?” Zaren asked over the elf’s harsh coughing. Leaning forward, he passed his hand in front of the elf’s face but Haldir didn’t so much as twitch, his eyes focused on that far wall, his jaw rigid with concentration.

“What did they do to you to earn your hatred?” that female voice asked him, the question worming into his consciousness as sudden hatred reared up like a venomous snake ready to strike. He didn’t know where it came from, hadn’t felt something like it in thousands of years but though the feeling was old, it was no less powerful as he stared into the face of a remembered foe.

Ramir slashed at his prisoner’s back with a rosebush switch, his white face taut with rage and exhilaration. “Come on, demon eyes. I’ll make you bleed for my brother! For my friends! You don’t deserve to live.”

Nudging aside the Gondorian captain who had once attempted war on the Galadhrim of Lothlórien, Haldir stared at the bloody crosses marking his victim’s back. The white shoulders trembled.

Again the woman’s voice spoke, louder this time as though fighting through a fog. “Did you kill that man?”

“He nearly killed me,” Haldir heard himself say though he felt very detached as though this were happening to someone else. He stared at Ramir curiously. He could have sworn that man was dead. Long ago…

He glanced down at his own bleeding, trembling form at his feet. So long agoÂ…

He stared into his own face like a mirror. But this was not the reflection he wanted to remember: this was waxy, full of hatred and fueled by grief. The red and deeply hollowed eyes. He saw it so clearly, so closelyÂ… and he couldnÂ’t stand it. Once before, he had been driven there, to the very brink of his sanity and he couldnÂ’t go backÂ… back to that precipice because then he would fall. He would lose himself utterly. But stepping back proved even more dangerous, for there was no ground beneath his feet. Blank air opened up and he fell into blackness.

His muscles jerked involuntarily. But there was no crushing impact, no splintered bones or broken body. He blinked and found himself, still bound, still seated where Zaren had dropped him. From a few feet away, Carlóme watched him, an unfathomable expression in her slanted eyes.

Every inch of him shook. Haldir let out a trembling exhale and allowed his head to drop exhaustedly onto his chest. He didn’t know when or where he was, time blurred together, the years rolling around inside his head so fast he couldn’t keep track. His heart raced away in his ears as though he had run a hundred miles and for a moment he feared it would break his chest. Carlóme’s assumption was wrong. Three doses of harsari was too much for anyone’s body to take.

As the darkness of either death or unconsciousness rimmed his rapidly narrowing vision, Haldir leaned his head back against the wood again.

———-

Aragorn shivered but forced himself up the second dawn light paled the window ledge and the wide open window. The early morning chill seeping through made the hairs on his arms and neck stand up straight as he shut and locked it swiftly.

Rubbing his arms and pulling out a thick, woolen tunic from his pack, Aragorn glanced at the empty bed beside his as he threaded his arms through the sleeves. The sheets were still rumpled but cold. Worried, Aragorn retrieved his sword from under the bed and buckled it on as he rushed down the stairs.

The common room was empty, naturally, for so early in the morning and the fire had died. Thinking that perhaps his friend had gone to visit Lintedal, he swept in the direction of the stables.

But a woman blocked his way with a long bow held careless and unstrung in one hand.

“Excuse me,” he tried.

“No one gets in, no one gets out,” she said in a bored sort of voice as though she’d repeated herself all night.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “My horse-”

“All the horses were moved to the outside paddock. Go check there,” she said in the same monotone, staring at her nails. One of them was cracked and caked with something. She dug busily under it, taking no more notice of the ranger.

Aragorn sighed, fighting to keep his frustration from boiling over. “Have you seen anyone else about lately? I came in with a friend, tall, probably hooded-”

He trailed off as the woman’s eyes snapped to his face. She examined him for a full minute before saying, slowly, fingernails forgotten, “Nope. Haven’t seen anybody hooded. Not anymore,” she laughed as though she’d made a joke.

“Kari, stop chattin’ it up with the gentleman!” A red-headed woman poked her head out of a door, her voice thundering in the sleepy quiet. “You’re supposed to be watching that door for Brenn and Saeryn when they get back!”

“Oh, go stick your nose back in a bottle, Miren!” Kari yelled back. “HeÂ’s asking about a hooded man – someone he came in with.” Her eyes widened pointedly at the other as though trying to tell her something.

Aragorn was no fool. An expert on women he might not be but he knew enough to guess something was definitely wrong. They knew something about Haldir and they werenÂ’t telling him. He saw the red-headÂ’s eyes stray towards the door under the stairs that he remembered led down into the cellars.

He ignored the red-head’s feeble “haven’t seen him” and walked towards the cellar door.

“Hey, hey! You can’t go down there!” Kari panicked, snatching at his sleeve. He shrugged her away and rattled the door handle.

Locked.

“Where’s the key?” he asked, turning towards the blonde woman who smirked at him and hid her hands behind her back.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t have it.”

A tug on his sleeve directed his aggravated gaze downward. A slip of a girl with huge eyes gazed up at him. One pale finger against her lips, she beckoned him closer. As he leaned down, she grabbed his hand and whispered in his ear. “He’s not the ghost.” Without another word, she took off.

Aragorn stared bewilderingly after her for a second then down at the key sheÂ’d pressed into his palm.

Kari’s face reddened with outrage as she thrust a hand in her tunic pocket. “That little sneak!”

But Aragorn was already through the door.

———-

The swarthy woman kicked the limp boot again. When the object of her rough treatment didnÂ’t stir, she cocked her head thoughtfully as she toyed with the ornately bloodstained knife between her fingers.

Zaren looked critically up from his place by the stairs but didn’t dare lower his gaze to the figure tied to the barrel. “I told you, that stuff is way too potent for what you wanted.”

The woman remained unmoved. “You know he’s pretty fair for a gore-chewer. Almost wish I-” She knelt beside the unconscious elf, ignoring Zaren’s sour expression.

The rapid thunder of footsteps cut her off abruptly and her head snapped up towards the door which had opened wide, streaming brilliant white light into the room.

Half-blinded and blinking, Zaren turned only to get knocked unceremoniously aside as something barreled hard into him.

Aragorn stumbled over the man and half-tripped down the remainder of the stairs. As his eyes gradually adjusted to the dimness, his keen gaze flicked from the scarred man picking himself up off the floor with a curse to the dark-haired woman who looked startled and gripped the hilt of a knife.

Then his eyes landed on his friend.

Dried blood crusted one side of the elfÂ’s face and his grey eyes were bloodshot, and disturbingly vacant. He didnÂ’t seem to see the ranger, or the room at all. Ropes around his chest and looped through his arms bound him securely to the heavy body of a barrel.

“Haldir? What did you do to him?” Carlóme merely stared, making no move to stop him as he rushed past her. He snatched up a green glass vial lying on the floor near a firkin and turned it over in his fingers. His brow furrowed. “What is this? What did you do?”

Fire blazed in Carlóme’s eyes as Aragorn unsheathed his boot knife and instantly began to saw through the ropes. “What are you cutting him free for, idiot? Don’t you know he’s a killer!’

The question so threw the ranger that he twisted his head over one shoulder to stare incredulously at her. “What do you mean?”

“He murdered a man in the stables last night. Butchered him. Right in front of Zaren.” She jerked her head at the scarred man who nodded confirmation.

“This elf is my friend.”

“Your… friend?” Carlóme repeated. She drew the knife.

Aragorn started but didnÂ’t go for his own weapon.

“Are you saying you’ve allied yourself with this creature?” she snarled, striding up to him.

Zaren grabbed her arm, staring down at the ranger’s shocked face. “Car, he doesn’t know. You heard us talking about the ghost last night, didn’t you, boy?”

Aragorn nodded, still confused. He cast a concerned glance at his friend but Haldir still wasnÂ’t looking at him.

“Dark Car says it’s an elf that’s been hunting us. And tonight, I saw this one,” his face twisted slightly as he indicated Haldir, “In our stables. He’d killed one of ours. Caleb. Tore him to pieces.” The man’s eyes clouded and he shook his head hard. “After… after Caleb was dead, he cleaned up and walked right off to the inn, calm as you please. Not a minute later he comes back. I thought he was coming back to-to- I couldn’t let him do anything more to my friend. So I grabbed him. That’s when I saw his face.”

And half beat him to death too, Aragorn thought with a surge of disgust at the purple bruises marring the elven skin. The rangerÂ’s breath hissed between his teeth as the manÂ’s words registered. If Zaren had his times right, then Haldir must have missed the murderer by seconds only. Instead of leaving out the main door, the killer went right where no one would expect him to go, dodged up the stairsÂ… And right into my room. Aragorn suppressed a shudder.

“You have the wrong elf,” he decided, taking up his knife again. “You don’t realize what you’ve done. He is a captain of the Galadhrim, a soldier of Lothlórien.”

“The Sorceress’s Wood?” Zaren frowned. “I didn’t know they left their land.”

“Unless they’re disgraced or turned exiles,” Carlóme interjected snidely.

Aragorn gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. Even in the dim light, he could see Haldir wasnÂ’t doing well. Whatever these two had dosed him with had played havoc with his system. Lifting one of his eyelids, he noted the widely dilated pupils and with a touch found the rapid pulse and shallow, ragged breathing. But at least he was breathing. A long, ugly-looking slash oozed blood down one arm. With more fervor then ever the young man attacked the ropes and thrust them away from his friend, maneuvering the elfÂ’s body so he lay flat with his head cradled more comfortably against AragornÂ’s shoulder.

He still hadnÂ’t said a word though he was conscious, in a fashion.

Brushing a few limp, golden strands aside, Aragorn explained. “Your killer was in my room last night. An hour before dawn. I heard him slip out my window – he left bloodstains on the sill if you want to take a look. How could Haldir have done that if he was trapped down here?”

Everything was too bright, too hot, too close, too real. Haldir turned his head, trying to find that cool darkness again; thereÂ’d been no pain there. No visions. He wanted toÂ… Light smacked his face and he flinched. Everything felt so fuzzy, memory so distant. Why was the ground so hard? Was he back on the battle plains after all? Or on the bank of the Nimrodel? Slowly the world stopped swaying and when he opened his eyes again, everything blurred. A young face leaned over him concernedly, asking something he didnÂ’t quite hear.

Confused, he murmured. “Tergon…?”

Cold seized the ranger. “No, mellon nin. It’s Strider. Do you remember where you are?”

“How do you know elfspeak, Strider?” Zaren asked.

Aragorn ignored him.

At some point Haldir couldnÂ’t remember his bonds had been cut and he lay horizontal, no longer propped up by the barrel. He was shivering. Though Aragorn knew it was due more to the overdose of the drug in his system than cold, he shrugged out of his overcoat and wrapped him in it just in case.

“I… already answered… all of your questions,” the elf muttered, still rather incoherent. He was having trouble just separating his labored breathing from other sounds much less understand the question or recognize the person who asked it. He closed his eyes again.

Aragorn tightened his grip slightly to anchor his drifting friend. “No, no more questions, my friend. It’s Estel, Haldir. I’m here.”

The elf’s hazy eyes opened again but it seemed to drain a lot of effort out of him to keep them that way. “Strider… Estel…”

“Yes.” Relief pulsed through the young man and he smiled reassuringly. “Are you all right?” he asked automatically in elvish.

It was a stupid question and the look in those cloudy silver eyes made it clear Haldir thought so too.

The elfÂ’s white lips twitched but he did not smile. His face contorted slightly as he tried to lever himself into a sitting position. And the visions, like the lingering flashes of a dream, sifted through his mind uneasily: the beatings, the battle, the blood-soaked precipiceÂ… AragornÂ’s hand on his back startled him badly. Like a cornered animal, he arched his back against the wall, eyes narrow.

“Shh, it’s all right.” Aragorn didn’t dare touch him again, afraid of setting off something too severe. He looked pointedly at Carlóme and Zaren. “I think you two should leave.”

Carlóme’s face tensed with outrage that this boy should order her so but Zaren put a hand on her arm. With one last, murderous glare in the elf’s direction she leapt up the stairs. Zaren shook his head after her and glanced hesitantly first at Aragorn then at the elf. “I know what I saw.”

“You were mistaken,” Aragorn said without unlocking his eyes from those of his friend. “Haldir had plenty of time to kill me and he didn’t. Go look in my room. You’ll see.”

“I think I’ll do that.”

When he had gone, Aragorn returned his full attention to his friend. The lingering vacancy in the elfÂ’s eyes disturbed him.

“How bad is it?” he asked in a voice no louder than a whisper, afraid he might startle him again. When Haldir did not answer him, he gently reached forward.

The iron grip that fastened around his fingers surprised him and he raised his eyes. Haldir was not looking directly at him but his grasp did not relent. “I am bruised. That’s all. There’s nothing you can do for them.”

From the shallow rasp of his breathing Aragorn was sure that wasnÂ’t all that was wrong with his friend. But there was something else in HaldirÂ’s eyes that gave him pause and he bit his lower lip. By the shadowed look on his face, he imagined Haldir didnÂ’t want to be touched right now especially not with associated and painful memories floating so obviously close to the surface. He nodded.

“All right.” His gaze flickered downward and he softened the concern on his face with a half-smile. “My fingers are going numb.”

The elf let him go.

“I’ll see that they stay away from you. Or believe me, there will be more than one murder in this inn,” the ranger promised grimly.

Haldir simply stared at the far wall, oblivious.

———-

Aragorn was as good as his word. Zaren must have seen the bloodstains on the sill because for the rest of the week, neither hide nor hair of Carlóme and her band showed though the rumor of a man found murdered in the stables sped like wildfire through the small town.

Haldir sighed and stroked LintedalÂ’s silky neck. The repetitive motion helped orient him and helped him think. After several bad nights of chills and nightmares, the poison seemed to lose its potency and gradually faded. After four days, he felt mostly to all the way recovered. Physically at least. Avoiding certain memories, he sifted through earlier ones. The hunters had removed CalebÂ’s body and cleaned up the visible mess. But his killer was still out thereÂ…

Who was preying on young men? And, more importantly, who would be next?

Questions he couldnÂ’t answer kept him occupied. And though some part of him felt it was his duty to find out, a stronger part of him just wanted to forget and go on to Rivendell.

“Haldir?”

The quiet voice didn’t startle him as it would have two or three days ago but he didn’t turn around either. “I’m not hungry, Estel. Thank you.”

Predictably, the ranger had brought lunch – as he always did when the elf chose to remain with Lintedal instead of crossing to the common room. Even at this time of day it would be packed full of whispers. People came from all over the town to hear FaborÂ’s glossy account of the grisly murder in the GoatÂ’s own stables, and maybe catch a glimpse of the famous killer.

“How do you feel?” Aragorn asked, setting a bowl down carefully and cradling the other on his thigh.

“I think my hands have finally stopped shaking.” He had long ago resigned himself to Aragorn’s gentle prodding and gave up responding “I’m fine” when the ranger merely leveled him with a raised eyebrow and a you-don’t-seriously-think-I’m-going-to-believe-that kind of look. The shaking had been the worst.

They had already exchanged stories and pieced together a little of what they knew. Haldir didnÂ’t say much of that night in the cellar, little of which he remembered, and Aragorn didnÂ’t ask.

“You do realize that’s the second time you’ve swooned in my arms,” Aragorn remarked once the danger passed and it was safe enough to joke about it.

“I did not swoon,” said the elf indignantly.

“Fine.” Aragorn feigned a careless shrug as he spooned up the day’s broth. “Almost swooned.”

Like lightning, the elfÂ’s hand shot out and buffeted him playfully making him almost drop his bowl.

“You know, Elladan and Elrohir will be very cross when their baby brother returns with less than his normal acuity because some bear-pawed ogre of an elf continually cuffed his skull in,” Aragorn muttered, wiping his fingers where soup had sloshed over the rim.

Haldir chuckled but a dangerous undercurrent edged it. “I was cuffing your brothers’ skulls in too when they were your age.”

“Really?” Aragorn widened his eyes curiously. “How’d you manage that?”

“They were a lot smaller then.”

The ranger feigned thoughtfulness, rubbing his chin. “I wondered where that dent in Elladan’s head came from.”

Haldir laughed but a sharp pain in his side silenced him swiftly.

“What’s wrong?” Instantly alert, Aragorn stopped playing, frowning when his friend winced and curled a hand around his side. “I thought the bruises were nearly gone.”

“They are. It’s the cracked rib I’m having trouble with,” Haldir said, concentrating more on regulating his breathing than the fact that he’d conveniently forgotten to tell Aragorn that little tidbit yet.

“You cracked a rib?” the man questioned blankly. “And you were going to tell me this when exactly?”

“Never, if I could get away with it.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“I realize that now.”

“Stop evading!” Annoyance replaced Aragorn’s previous good humor. He really wished Haldir wasn’t quite so proud when it cost him his health like this. “How bad is it? Did you even bother to wrap it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not. It’s not. Yes, I did. And the dead man in the stables was way more interesting,” the elf parried, his eyes challenging as he straightened.

“You’re as bad as Legolas you know that,” the man finally murmured as he reseated himself on a hay bale. “Elves!”

“Humans!” Haldir retorted. He lightly kicked the human’s boot to make him scoot over.

“Why would an elf want to kill men?” Aragorn frowned as he shifted. “Any ideas?”

“Several. None of them good.” Aragorn’s thoughts echoed his own and, with little else to occupy his thoughts while recovering, he had wracked his brains for a suitable answer, finding nothing.

“I just wish I knew,” the man said, resting his elbows on his thighs, his meal forgotten.

Haldir leaned against the stall door to take a little strain off his aching side. “Your father will be furious if we delay any longer. He was expecting you by midwinter not midsummer.”

“He’s used to it.”

“Mmm.”

They said nothing for a short while after that, content with one anotherÂ’s company and a lazy day stretching ahead.

“So…” Aragorn paused deliberately, mischief dancing in his eyes as he twirled a stray bit of hay between his fingers. “We’re in agreement you swooned then?”

“Estel!”

Laughing, the young man jumped up and made a break for the main door.

But it swung open before he could reach it.

Aragorn skidded to a halt, the merriment draining from his face as Zaren peered through the partition. “What do you want here?” the ranger asked in a low voice, stepping back warily and folding his arms.

Haldir appeared at his shoulder.

Zaren licked his lips nervously, shamefaced and awkward. Clearing his throat, he dropped his eyes away from the elf’s, staring steadily at the ground beneath his boots. “Look… uh, I-I know I’m probably not welcome here.”

“At least in that you’re right,” Aragorn said. He was not ready to forgive this man for his part in all this. Haldir’s hand on his shoulder calmed him only a little. “Say what you must and go.”

The man dithered a moment longer, caught holding the door open but not daring to step inside. He ventured to raise his eyes, addressing Haldir. “Look, ’m sorry… about what happened…to you. Really, I am. I thought long about it and I figured even a crazy murderer wouldn’t be caught over the body of his… well, if he doesn’t want to be found he won’t be that easily. Strider here told us you were one of those folk from upstream, the Golden Forest or some such elvish place.”

Haldir shot a sideways glance at his companion. “Lothlórien.”

“Lothlórien,” the man repeated, nodding dutifully. “I’ll remember it. Anyway, he told us you were one of those folk who could be trusted- a great hunter and fighter…”

All of a sudden, Haldir realized where this was going. “You want me to help you.”

The man bit the inside of his cheek, a hand wandering up to scratch his scar as he always did when anxious or uncomfortable. “I know quite a few of us are sick of beating our heels up against the walls, finding nothing year after year. Stories say all kinds of things about elves being renowned huntsmen and warriors. Most of us would take you on if you were willing – though maybe some of them would just as soon disagree,” he glanced over his shoulder and though Aragorn couldnÂ’t see her, he knew Carlóme must be close at hand.

“It’s your choice, of course. Strider’s welcome as well. You can go or stay, we won’t stop you. But think on this, lots of young lads and good men have already been killed by this thing. If we don’t stop it here, where’s it going next? It might spread north. The bodies just keep piling up. He almost killed your friend. What happens if one dark night he manages to do just that? We have a chance to stop him… it… the elf… ghost… whatever it is. We can end it now rather than waste more lives in the future. I don’t want those boys on my conscience ‘cause we couldn’t bring them justice. Do you?”

Haldir listened in silence, torn between instant refusal on principle and his sense of priority. Aragorn and he had planned on reaching Rivendell before the heavy snows swept in. If they lingered even a week or two, there was no telling what kind of condition the roads would be in. He also knew that not all of Carlóme’s group favored his joining up with them- the female leader being foremost among them. She had made her opinion of him quite clear despite the fact that he was not the one they sought.

On the other hand, Zaren was giving him a chance to redress the mistakes of the past. And wasnÂ’t it his duty? HadnÂ’t he sworn to give aid to those in need? To fight to rid Middle Earth of pestilence and evil? WouldnÂ’t the Lady Galadriel have his head if he didnÂ’t do all he could to bring a murderer to justice for his crimes? He raised his eyes to ZarenÂ’s face. He couldnÂ’t trust these men to trust him but if any peace could be given to those dead boys then he would see it done.

With a long sigh, he faced Aragorn, silently asking him what he wanted to do. But the ranger seemed to have come to the same conclusion as he had and slowly nodded.

“All right. We will come.”

AuthorÂ’s Notes: This chapter gave me billy-ho. I cut huge chunks out of it and it still ended up fifteen pages.