Dwimmerlaik

A/N: Thank you to all those who reviewed / read!

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Part Three

Smoke Rings in the Dark

Just visible beyond the columned pillars, the pinewoods on the south side were trimmed with opalescent blue. The faintest crimson streaks glittered on the smooth walls, disrupted only by a smoky shadow. Aragorn savored the peace as he crossed the polished floor, his light and for once unimpeded footsteps echoing slightly in the stillness. As the sun tilted higher into the valley, copper shafts streamed through the open, airy rooms. One of these glanced off the wall and illuminated the vast black figure painted there.

For a fleeting instant, the chieftain of the Dúnedain let his eyes be drawn to the towering figure of Sauron and in his great shadow, the tiny, brilliant form of Isildur, the sword, Narsil, raised desperately high to lope off the fingers of the Black Hand. That very sword lay in pieces just across the room on a marble pedestal held. The weight of it hung in the back of his mind and stayed there. Disregarding the reminder of his prestigious and dark heritage, the ranger checked the small sack on his hip while he passed the staircase leading up to the guest rooms and made his way towards the front porch.

Halbarad was already waiting for him, unbuttoning his collar in the humid, steamy morning. “Ready to go?”

A small group of horses and riders were already saddled and shifting impatiently under the arch that would take them up the gorge. All the rangers were going (excepting Angrad who was still recovering) and even a few of the Imladris guard had volunteered their services. One of these, a tall fellow with a thin, green baldric stretching across his chest, dismounted lightly and hailed Aragorn.

“A fine day for orc-hunting, is it not, Estel?”

“Good morning, Galen,” Aragorn greeted him, accepting the reins the elf scout handed him. Galen had been a friend of Estel’s since he had come to Rivendell. Too often the curious human child had snuck out to the barracks to watch the guards ride out on patrols, dreaming of joining them. Galen, who was still rather young for an elf though older than many humans, had fielded the boy’s eager questions and taught him about tracking and reconnaissance alongside his brothers.

“We’re about ready.” Halbarad heaved himself into the saddle and pulled his horse towards the arch. “Everyone who’s coming is here?”

Aragorn hesitated, his gaze drawn back towards the second floor windows. Haldir had made himself scarce since the Dúnedain arrived, preferring to ignore and be ignored. He had taken to spending more time with Elladan and Elrohir which, while Aragorn didn’t mind, he wished the elf would set his suspicion aside for a little; he had invited the marchwarden to join them this morning but Haldir prided himself on being punctual…Aside from their party the courtyard was empty.

“Aragorn?”

The man jolted. He had been holding up the rest of the company while they waited for his affirmative. With a soft sigh, he nudged his horse, taking his place in the vanguard of the company though he let Halbarad go ahead of him. He didn’t feel quite comfortable leading yet. “Let’s go.”

The path out of the valley wound back and forth, the Last Homely House falling farther and farther below as they rode up towards the high moors. Gradually the little lane grew too steep and they had to dismount and lead their horses up a long cutting of steps. Once they reached the top and came out onto the heather, they followed the white stone markers down to the bridge which stretched across the Bruinen’s rushing waters.

The river sparkled blindingly bright in the now fully risen sun. Aragorn shaded his eyes with a hand, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the glare of sun off the water. They widened when he realized the Dúnedain were not the only ones present on the bridge. Three other horses stood to one side and on one of them was…

“All of you are late,” Haldir said, letting a teasing undercut of disapproval edge the words. “The trail is going cold.”

“Had I known you would be waiting I would have hurried,” Aragorn hastened forward. with a broad smile for his brothers who were on the other horses.

“Sadron made it very clear that he would rather me elsewhere while he replaces the cabinet in the infirmary,” the marchwarden cast a sidelong glance at Halbarad and the rangers who had reined in a respectful distance away. “And I wouldn’t miss what promises to be a good hunt.”

“Did you sleep in, Estel?” Elladan wondered aloud, stroking his steed’s glossy neck. “We’ve been waiting nearly an hour.”

“Halbarad’s the slowcoach. Took him nearly three-quarters of an hour to gather up his gear,” Aragorn said with a playful glance over his shoulder.

The older ranger cleared his throat pointedly to let the younger know in no uncertain terms that he had heard the comment and adequate vengeance would wreak itself on his unsuspecting head at a later date. But his eyes slid past and rested on the elf captain who met his stare evenly. They had not spoken to each other since the unfortunate misunderstanding in the infirmary and the tension level ratcheted up uncomfortably.

In an effort to diffuse it, Elladan and Elrohir began discussing routes with Galen and the other elves and rangers. They had picked up the orcs’ prints on the other side of the Bruinen near the bridge but hadn’t followed it further.

“So close?” Galen hissed in both anger and shock. It had been many years since the enemy had dared venture so close to the hidden valley. “Did you see how many?”

“They must have camped not far away in hopes of catching you all out when you left,” Elrohir suggested.

“They number at least two score,” Elladan answered, his eyes dark and gleaming with challenge. “It seems they really didn’t want you to reach here.”

“Looks like runners,” Eldacar said, shaking his silver hair out of his face so he could inspect the tracks. “Swifter and lighter than usual warriors. They were hoping to take us by surprise.”

“What do you think, Haldir? We can take those numbers with our company,” Aragorn was watching his friend who had not dropped his eyes from Halbarad’s unflinching gaze. “Haldir.”

The elf blinked, caught Aragorn’s eye and realized he had been locked in a staring contest with the dúnadan for over a minute. “We could take those numbers with half this company. It would be faster going if there were not so many of us,” he said, directing his words at his friend though his eyes had returned to the man opposite him.

Halbarad’s jaw tightened slightly at the implication that his group was unwelcome. “Still, there is safety in numbers.”

“To a point. Then they become a needless hindrance.”

“ ‘Needless’—?”

“Greater numbers mean greater chance of discovery not to mention the noise—”

“Look,” Elladan interrupted before the two came to more blows. “if we dally here any longer there won’t be a trail to follow,” His eyes rested on Haldir briefly. “The more eyes we have the better.”

Overruled, Haldir shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance and twitched the reins of his mount towards the bridge.

Aragorn sighed and cast Halbarad an apologetic look. He understood why Haldir reacted the way he did around unfamiliar humans. However, it wasn’t just what men might do to him that made the elf standoffish to the point of rudeness—but what he would do to them as the night in the infirmary proved. Aragorn knew what his friend feared and it wasn’t necessarily the rangers.

Halbarad, however, didn’t know that and scowled at the elf’s rigid back. “What is it with you? Can you just not stand to be around humans or are you ashamed to be indebted to one?”

Haldir checked his horse so sharply Aragorn’s nearly ran into him. He swerved hard left and just barely managed to avoid a collision. The elf didn’t turn around. “Meaning what?” he requested acidly.

“Meaning, I know you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Aragorn. I heard about what you put him through before you got here. He could have been killed saving your sorry skin; he could have died and it would have been your fault. Now you won’t even talk to him or those he considers friends. You have a funny way of showing gratitude.”

“Halbarad,” Aragorn shut his eyes in a mute plea for salvation. This was not how he had imagined his two dearest friends would get along. “Please.”

Unfortunately, Halbarad was neither precisely informed nor did he know the full story. All he knew was what he had experienced: being attacked (albeit accidentally), watching the elf cold-shouldering Aragorn, listening to the whispered stories.

Aragorn, keeping Haldir’s confidence, had not explained in detail how he had acquired the injury to his leg but the older ranger had gleaned enough scraps from Elladan and Elrohir to draw his own conclusions. The wrong ones.

The dúnadan held up his hands in surrender. “Perhaps it is not my place to speak.”

“Perhaps,” Aragorn agreed with a razor-sharp glance at the man. He knew Haldir still struggled with guilt over what had happened in Dunland and he didn’t need Halbarad rubbing his friend’s face in it. Though it was hard to catch unless you were looking for it, he saw the lurking doubt in the elf’s eyes and the questions flooding through him: Was it his fault? Should he have known it had been a trap? Should he have been more prepared?

“No, Strider. He has something on his mind, let him speak it,” Haldir said, endeavoring to keep his tone level yet it vibrated with thinly restrained anger.

But Halbarad took his chief at his word and would say no more.

Haldir suddenly realized the whole company was staring at him with rapt attention, looks varying from confused to eager. Very conscious of the fact that he was an officer and this unseemly behavior would be more embarrassing if he struck the man over it, he cleared his throat and leaned back in his saddle, willing his shoulders to relax with what seemed an almost physical effort.

“I have a rule. Three things are earned: respect, trust and apologies. They are not freely given. Not by me.”

“Strider happens to trust us,” Halbarad said, bristling as though the elf had challenged him with drawn sword.

Haldir jerked his head once to show he had acknowledged the man’s words but would disagree with him anyway. “I trust Strider, but do not make the mistake of thinking I will then trust you.”

“If his judgement isn’t good enough for you then whose is?”

“My own.”

Aragorn decided to intervene before his name was dragged through the rest of the confrontation. The use of the man’s ranger name was necessary outside the valley but he couldn’t pretend it didn’t sting just a little coming from the elf who almost always called him ‘Estel.’ “The trail breaks off here, heading away from the Bruinen. We’re not more than half a night behind them.”

The recollection of their purpose called the rangers and elves back to their task and even Halbarad and Haldir stopped glaring at each other long enough to turn their eyes back towards the soft bank of the river where hard-soled, ironshod feet had churned up the mud and disappeared under the trees, heading away from the valley.

The marchwarden squeezed his horse’s sides a little harder than necessary and she broke into a canter, hooves clattering over the narrow bridge.

“A granite wall has better manners,” Halbarad muttered, dropping back to talk to Aragorn.

“You just…have to give him time to adjust to you,” the younger ranger said, a tad stiffly.

“Or I could punch my teeth down my throat. You put up with that,” the man indicated the elf’s back, “—all the way from the Golden Wood?”

“Actually, he was a little politer to me. Maybe he just doesn’t like you.”

“Great.”

For hours the orcs led them steadily on deep under thick, leafy branches that wiped out the slanting afternoon sunlight. Where the grass bugs had once been loud and chattering, they fell silent and even the birds, usually raucous enough to stir a stone troll from eternal slumber, quieted in their nests. The voices of the company too grew hushed, some invisible weight pressing on their vocal chords and stifling any unnecessary speech.

“We’re close,” Galen whispered, his eyes wide as he scoured the larch trunks changing to woodland, his hand steady on the rapier strapped to his waist.

Haldir had already drawn his saber and laid it across his saddlehorn.

“Quiet down,” Ardamil the captain of the Rivendell guard, hissed unnecessarily down the line. “We’re not far now.”

Eldacar riding on Aragorn’s other side sniffed the air, “I smell smoke.”

“The hooves will give us away if they lingered,” Galen halted and swung down from the saddle.

Ardamil cast a slightly annoyed glance at the scout for not awaiting orders but he did not disagree. One by one, the company dismounted and tied their horses loosely to low-hanging branches.

Eldacar was right. Smoke was indeed drifting up above the treeline and the tangy, acrid stench only grew stronger as they skirted close-growing thickets of bracken and stole into a dark hollow. A fallen log lay up at one end, a sturdy oak toppled by an old storm. Except for the log, however, the hollow was empty. The smoke came from the remains of a fire pit near the root base that stuck up like solid spiderwebs. Gnawed bones and scraps of skin and feathers littered the ground, the pickings of a fierce and brutal meal. Something else lingered on the air aside from the smoke: a rotten, ugly stink that made the elves wince and the Dúnedain curl their lips as though they’d bitten into gristle.

“All right, Estel,” Galen prompted as though he were still giving lessons to his avid student. “Tell me what we’re looking for since we’ve missed the enemy.”

“We can’t have missed them by longer than a few minutes. The ashes are still warm. Obviously they ate recently so they’ll be slow. They’ll try to seek shelter from the sun, so somewhere dark and cool. Maybe one of the bramble thickets.” Aragorn reeled off. He breathed on the embers, watching them flare, and glanced once about the clearing, his face dark. He hated that such evil creatures had come so near his home. “They were here without a doubt.”

Haldir came up soundlessly beside him as he rose dusting off his knees. The elf’s adamantine eyes flecked with dark green from the glimmering foliage scanned the thickets one by one. “They are still here. And they are watching us.”

A frisson shot down the spines of everyone within earshot and those who had not already drawn their weapons did so nervously, twisting around and attempting to pierce the darkened spaces between tree trunks. To Aragorn’s astonishment, Haldir sheathed his sword.

When he saw the ranger’s puzzled stare, the elf shook his head without taking his eyes from the trees, “They won’t attack. We are too many.”

“Oh, so our numbers do come in handy now don’t they?” Halbarad, who was still feeling rather cross, couldn’t resist adding. “How are you so certain they won’t attack? Are you so deep in their counsels you can relate their movements?”

“That was unworthy of you, Halbarad,” his chieftain said. The chastisement pricked like a needle though Aragorn hadn’t raised his voice. The ranger shut his mouth.

“You don’t have to be an orc to know their hearts are craven,” Elladan, always a little prickly when it came to the subject, supported Haldir. Elrohir laid a calming hand on his arm.

“It is my duty to think as orcs do, Master Halbarad,” Haldir replied, unfazed. “After all I do more than hide in cozy taverns and elven refuges.”

“That’s enough,” Aragorn snapped. The grass bugs were still silent which meant the orcs could probably hear them arguing. Nevertheless, he was inclined to trust the elves’ judgment and sheathed his blade much to Halbarad’s disquiet.

Haldir prodded the firepit’s ashes with a long stick, unearthing bones and little chunks of unburned wood. He circled the fallen log. “They won’t attack. Are there any signs of horses, Estel?” His voice sounded too loud outside a whisper and a few of the elves and rangers hissed at him.

“Be quiet.”

“The fool. What does he think he’s doing?”

Haldir disregarded them and looked up at the ranger who was now scouring the perimeter with Halbarad and Eldacar. “Estel?”

“None that I see. Why?”

“And you,” Haldir switched his gaze to Halbarad who looked surprised that the elf was even deigning to speak to him. “The wild horse you brought with you, it had no gear, no bag of any kind?”

Halbarad rallied hastily, “Uh, no. Not that we found. Why?”

The marchwarden sank almost onto his stomach and stretched under the fallen oak. A niche formed by the buckled trunk and uneven ground made for a small space inside. His head and shoulders disappeared as he reached back into the nook until his fingertips connected with coarse fabric. He tightened his grip on it and with a few careful tugs, pulled it free.

Aragorn, curious, crouched beside him as he shook it out.

It was a satchel such as long-distance message carriers bore. It was covered with grime, leafy debris and darker spots of crimson that Haldir stared at for a long time. The seam on one side had begun to come undone and the shoulder strap was charred as though it had been dropped in a fire. But the most disquieting wound was a gaping slash all along the bottom as though some wild thing had gripped it in its teeth and ripped.

“Whatever it once carried is gone.” Mild disappointment filled the human. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until Haldir looked at him. An odd closed expression suffused the elf’s face and Aragorn grew immediately wary. He knew something.

“What is it?”

“This is not orc gear.”

Despite being extraordinarily filthy and torn, the satchel was not orc-made from the skins of animals but crafted from a light, homespun cloth, strong and silver in color. Aragorn tilted his head. It looked strangely familiar.

Haldir’s fingers ghosted over the corners, caressing the raised embroidery underneath the crimson splotches. “And this blood belongs to no orc,” the elf got to his feet and dangled the satchel from his fingertips.

“You left this behind!” he shouted at the still thicket.

The others tensed but nothing challenged him, nothing stirred and the silence seemed to aggravate the elf captain even more. Aragorn could have sworn a look passed between him, Elladan and Elrohir but he blinked and couldn’t be sure.

Haldir ran a hand through his hair, the fingers of his left hand clenching. The elf made a low noise in his throat like the discontented rumble of a tom-cat as he turned his back on the thickets, slinging the satchel’s strap through one arm. Aragorn was bursting to ask him what he knew but Halbarad touched his shoulder.

“Where did Elladan and Elrohir go?” he hissed out of the side of his mouth.

Aragorn frowned and searched the rest of the company who were looking unnerved and quite ready to leave. “I know they were here. I just saw—”

A sharp squeal rent the air and a black shape ripped through the brush, flattening bramble bushes. It collapsed next to the log cringing as Elladan and Elrohir stalked out after it, their blades unsheathed.

“You were right,” Elrohir said, his gaze flicking to Haldir. “It was lurking off to the left.”

“The way the wind was blowing, it could smell us,” Haldir said, unsheathing his saber too. He looked to Elladan. “This was the only one?”

Elrond’s son nodded curtly.

Everyone looked stunned at what had just happened.

“A spy sent to report on any pursuit I imagine,” Elrohir explained, looking down at the orc with distinct distaste. “There’s always one who gets the runt job. What are we going to do with it?”

Elladan’s eyes brightened and he pushed his sword a little forward until it dug into the soft skin under the cowering orc’s neck. “I know what we should do with it.”

Haldir’s saber scraped across the younger elf’s and pushed it back slightly. The marchwarden cast him a look. When Elladan dropped his eyes, the Lórien captain’s roved to encompass the other elves as well as the Dúnedain. “Lord Elrond will wish to be informed that orcs are so close but for now they are not a threat.”

Aragorn glanced between his brothers and his friend, aware that he had missed something. But the look in Haldir’s eyes told him now was not the time for argument.

“You’ll tell me what’s going on, won’t you?” he whispered as Halbarad rolled his eyes and turned towards his other companions.

Haldir’s eyes flickered over his young friend’s shoulder. “Of course. But later.”

“What are you going to do with—?” The ranger reluctantly glanced at the orc who snarled until Elladan prodded him warningly into silence.

“Leave it to me. Go.”

Reluctantly the others left the hollow and retrieved their horses. Aragorn’s mind was swarmed with confusion and questions. What had brought orcs so close to Rivendell? Threat of numbers had never stopped them before whatever Haldir said and there was clearly more to this than the marchwarden was willing to say. To whom did the satchel belong? Some unfortunate victim of the orcs? Halbarad hadn’t mentioned casualties.

It was only upon heading back, watching Halbarad’s pack jostle and bump with his horse’s stride that realization hit him of where he’d seen a satchel like that before.

Its mirror image hung on a hook in Haldir’s room.

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Rivendell’s smokehouse, a small, squat building at least a mile from the main house, was little used in summer and much overgrown since the heavy rains in April. Ivy curled into the pale, grey-yellow stone. A hazy twilight blunted most of its features and dappled the walls with branch shadows and the two, long ones of the figures standing in front of it.

“At this rate it’s going to be dawn before we get anything confirmed,” Haldir grumbled. “I thought you said he was quick on the run.”

“He had to go find Father who was probably already at dinner with everyone else,” Elladan muttered back mutinously. “Unless you wanted to keep this from him, you’ll just have to wait until Elrohir returns.”

Haldir glanced at Elladan, a little piqued that he was being lectured on patience by an elf who had done so much pacing in the last half hour the weeds choking the doorway were flattened into pulp. Instead he sighed and leaned his shoulders against the door, humidity seeping through his tunic. “No. Your father has the right to know.”

At that moment, a rustle announced Elrohir’s return. Elladan’s mirror image was breathing lightly as though he’d done no more than stroll the length of the path from the homely house to here. To Haldir, it felt like it and it didn’t improve his impatience.

“Well?”

Elrohir straightened as though giving a report to a senior officer though he himself held a place in rank close to Glorfindel’s. “He gives his permission but he would rather word not be spread about—he thinks it would cause undue panic. And he’s told Glorfindel as well just in case.”

“That’s all?”

Elrohir nodded. Despite his easy breathing, his temples were streaked with sweat and his tunic clung to him in the moisture-laden air.

“What else did he say to you?” Haldir prompted, his eyes narrowing. Elrohir couldn’t lie nearly as well as Elladan and he knew Lord Elrond would have had something to say to his sons about this little jaunt specifically.

“He said…” Elrohir glanced apologetically at his brother then said in a rush. “He said we were not to have anything to do with this under any circumstances.”

“Why does he still not understand we are not children and haven’t been for a long time? We are capable of making our own decisions!” Elladan predictably railed against this parental restraint.

But Haldir respected the master of the house too much not to grant his request. “It’s just as well. You two have done enough of this sort of work to last you several lifetimes.”

Elrohir bowed his head but Elladan faced him, his visage dark with outrage and contempt. “How can you say that to us? You don’t think you’re mired just as deep in orc-blood as we are? How can you dare lecture us on restraint after what those creatures did to your—!”

“That’s enough,” Haldir’s eyes glinted and Elrohir gripped his brother’s shoulder tightly in warning. “I won’t brook any more argument from you, Elladan.”

“You do not command us.” Elladan thrust away his brother’s hand.

“But your father does,” the older elf’s voice snapped back like a whip crack but hard as steel. He snatched the key from Elrohir’s hand and jammed it into the door’s stiff lock. “Do you want Glorfindel out here looking for you when you don’t show up? You who were so anxious to be off, wish to stay now?”

“You didn’t tell me you were going in there alone,” Elladan scowled right back, unintimidated. “I thought you would wait at least until morning. Take someone like Ardamil or us with you.”

“This cannot wait until morning,” the marchwarden said, picking up the satchel he’d set down near the wall corner. “Go to dinner. I’ll meet you later.”

Elladan gripped his upper arm forcibly to stop him from going inside. “You are not going in there alone.”

“Yes, I am. I have interrogated a prisoner before, Elladan. I am also aware of the danger and have taken the proper precautions when securing him.” His saber was strapped to his hip as always. He glanced once at the younger elf’s hand. “Let go of my arm.”

Haldir looked over Elladan’s shoulder. He knew Elrohir was not a coward and he, unlike his brother, saw the wisdom in their father’s and friend’s counsels. He knew Elrohir never wanted to tread again the dark path he had when their mother was taken. It was still hard to see the creatures who hurt her and not want to hurt them in return. This was a job for one who could keep in control those emotions and dark thoughts. For the most part.

“I don’t have the strength for this, Elladan,” Elrohir said softly to his twin. “And neither do you no matter how you like to protest.”

Elladan opened his mouth to utter a blistering retort then saw the look in Elrohir’s eyes. He snorted and only reluctantly stepped back from the smokehouse door. His eyes glittered on catching Haldir’s.

“I’m going to send Galen out here for you.”

“Fine. Tell him to change out of his dinner clothes.” The door scraped open. Haldir didn’t waste any more words but crossed the threshold and shut it firmly behind him.

The smokehouse consisted of a single room with blackened, shiny walls from centuries of curing and salting. The only light came from the glowing firebox in the center. Haldir’s keen eyes needed nothing else to pick up the form hanging a few inches to the left of it. Some applewood he had found in a corner burned nicely and gave off a sweet scent that helped keep away the spiders that had spun their webs in the crevices and covered the stench of an impromptu visitor.

The orc began to growl and thrash against the chains hooking him to a ceiling beam as the elf paced closer. In a corner, wooden tubs holed in the bottom for tightly packed meat to drain had leaked a salty crust over the loam and sand floor which whispered under his boots.

Haldir stopped just within reach of the creature which infuriated his captive all the more because the orc was close enough to claw him save for his bound hands. A beat of silence passed as the two measured one another, as different and unlike as possible: the tall, straight elf and the squat, black creature like a stiletto balanced upright beside a boulder.

The elf lowered himself into a crouch until he was on an eye-level with the orc. There was a bloody knot just above the left ear where Elladan had enthusiastically subdued the orc so they could bring him back with them. The marchwarden of Lothlórien did not feel pity because he knew how much suffering the orc had probably visited on innocents in his long life; but the captain also had suffered bonds before and in mercy had left the chains long enough that his prisoner could sit on the ground without having to lean all his weight on his wrists—at least for the time being.

The orc watched him with wide, yellow eyes, his nostrils dilating. He didn’t speak to his captor but waited and shied away from the sound of the elf’s voice.

“I know you are not afraid of pain,” Haldir said rising slowly off his haunches and walking behind the orc who tried to twist over his shoulder to see what the elf was doing.

Haldir took the length of chain running over the beam and hauled on it, jerking the orc up a few feet until his wrists nearly touched the low ceiling. The wooden beam was lined with empty hooks. Looping the loose chain over the beam and fastening it securely, Haldir circled back around the orc and picked up the satchel from a curing table.

“This was in your camp. It belongs to a Galadhrim rider named Caladir. I want to know what happened to him.”

The orc’s eyes narrowed in a wicked smile and he smacked his lips pointedly.

With great self-restraint, Haldir did not react and tried hard not to show how very much he’d like to smash the creature’s skull into the stone behind him. “Where was he?”

The orc continued to smile at him.

Walking away, Haldir stirred the embers in the firebox and checked a roll of tools on the table that had lain hidden under the satchel. “There was no sign of remains at your camp. The messenger horse that he rode escaped to Rivendell. Yet you were pursuing humans. Why?”

The orc spoke, its voice grating and harsh. “He didn’t deliver his last message. What a pity.”

Haldir realized this would probably go on for awhile and was glad he had dismissed Elladan and Elrohir. Tugging the table across the floor until it stood in clear view of the prisoner; he selected one of the tools lying on it: a long, carving knife with a blade almost as wide as his forearm. The orc’s eyes fixated on it. Haldir tilted it ever so slightly so the embers caught the sheen of the blade and it flashed scarlet.

“You don’t fear pain. You are more like an elf in that way.”

The orc spat at the comparison.

“It is indignity you fear. Cannibalism is not an uncommon practice amongst the orc tribes, I believe,” Dark certainty undercut his voice and made it even deeper than usual. Thank goodness none of the winter meats remained on their hooks or the irony would have been unbearable. The knife hissed slowly up the leathery skin of the orc’s calf, tracing an imaginary line through the muscle.

“Maybe I’ll start with a leg and work my way up. First the calf, then thigh. Stringy bit by stringy bit ‘til I reach those succulent eyes,” the knife hovered there, a scarce fraction away and the orc closed its yellow orbs. “I’ll probably have to salt you before then but this hook will keep you fresh in the meanwhile…”

Haldir’s eyes glinted in the red light. “Unless you tell me what I want to know.”

At last he detected a flicker of fear in the orc’s face and the elf privately applauded himself. Finally they were getting somewhere. He would not lift a finger to carry out his threat of course, orcs being far beyond his normal appetite, but his prisoner fortunately did not know that. The Dark Lord had long ago burned into his servants’ minds the idea that Elves were crueler than the orcs themselves. It was the only threat the prisoner would understand for it was exactly what he would have done had their places been reversed.

The orc muttered something in its foul tongue Haldir was sure was far less than complimentary

His blood scorched his veins at the sound of that hideous language and his hand snapped out of its own accord, catching the orc across the ear and jaw. “Politely. Why were you pursuing the humans?”

The yellow eyes shone at him as it licked blood obscenely from its lips. Something like intelligence glittered in those huge orbs. Haldir wondered briefly if the orc feared what would happen to him after all usefulness had been wrung out of him.

“Not chasing men. Chasing horse,” the orc snarled at last. “Men took the horse with them.”

“Why did you want the horse if the message had already been lost?”

“Orders. Nothing could reach elf-place. Not the message. Not the horse. Not the rider.”

“Who gave these orders? From where?”

But a greater fear than that of Haldir overcame the orc and he shut his mouth with a snap. The elf captain nearly swore with frustration. Clearly Caladir had discovered something big, something dark that had gotten him into deep trouble. He was close to finding out what that was but his prisoner had clammed up. Something frightened him worse than the elf’s threats.

Strictly speaking he was not allowed to torture an orcish prisoner even if the information he carried could end the world. By the teachings of the Wise, orcs were to be dealt with through the sword if necessary but not cruelly at their own level of depravity. If the orc asked for mercy, he would have to grant it but judging by the way his captive was glaring at him, he wouldn’t have to go that far. Besides, the law wasn’t always heeded anyway in these war-torn times.

Haldir’s muscular shoulders bunched like a wolf’s hackles rising but relaxed almost immediately. He would get nothing more from the captive. Though it went against every orc-hating fiber of his being, he crossed to the door and flung it wide, revealing a cloudy night and the thick beginnings of the forest beyond it. The orc twitched as the elf’s hands reached up and unfastened the manacles from his wrists. Haldir, drawing his saber smoothly, stepped back and jerked his head towards the open door.

“Go.”

Rubbing his wrists where the fetters had cut them, the orc stared from his freedom to the elf’s face, clearly expecting some kind of trick. Keeping eyes on his former captor, the orc slunk towards the door. He was almost there when he lunged for the table and snatched up the carving knife the marchwarden had let drop.

Haldir sidestepped a gutting sweep and ran the orc through in the same movement. Black blood spattered the floor as the body collapsed, the dark light fleeing the orc’s eyes. Hurriedly, the elf captain hooked the orc by the belt and dragged him outside so blood wouldn’t soak into the ground.

Galen, coming up the overgrown path, had on a pair of stained trousers and a coarse linen shirt. His eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of the warrior standing over the slain orc. Haldir glanced at him as he took a handkerchief from his tunic and wiped his steel clean. They would get rid of the body before morning and be gone by daylight.

“It would have done better to run,” he murmured, stepping over the corpse.

Snatching up a bucket of rainwater that stood under one of the vents in the walls, he tossed its contents over the firebox. The embers extinguished with a hiss and a rush of smoke spiraled up towards the small hole in the roof.