Misunderstandings
Misunderstandings
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, places, etc. belong to Tolkien Estate and New Line Cinema. I own only the cool superstitious villagers, but they are the most fun, aren't they? I am afraid that if I owned Aragorn, the poor ranger would have never survived long enough to become a king.
Summary: Gandalf and a wounded Strider seek help in a nearby village. But a decision the young ranger makes will lead to unforeseeable complications which will make him regret he had ever set foot there.
Note: This story is written for the Estel Angst Central "Misunderstandings" challenge.
Beta: The wonderful Calenlass (hugs and thanks)
Dedicated to Kalisona (you will see why after about the first one third of the story, mellon nîn :D You can start guessing though)
"Gandalf?" The Lord of Rivendell was growing worried. Never before had he seen his old friend in such a state. The grey wizard always seemed so calm, so untroubled, always knowing the answers to all questions although often unwilling to share his knowledge in a way that mere elves or mortals could understand. And now his face was marked by a look of incomprehension, panic even. "Gandalf, where is he?" Elrond repeated, unable to keep his voice steady. "Where is Estel?"
The ancient wizard sighed sadly and raised his face for the first time after he had said that he was bearing ill news. His sky-blue eyes locked with Elrond's stormy ones, and he placed a wrinkled hand on the Elf Lord's shoulder.
"I am sorry, my friend," he muttered softly. "I am so sorry." His other hand was raised forward, and the wizard unclenched his fist. On his palm lay a ring, decorated by two serpents, one devouring the other. Elrond gasped.
Gandalf bowed his head once again and brought forward a large, wooden box. The peredhel took it with trembling hands, and cautiously opened it. When he saw its contents, he closed his eyes and shook his head in denial.
"It cannot be true!" Elrond muttered in horror. "He was the Hope of Middle-earth… and my son."
oOo
(a week earlier)
"Ouch!"
"I told you to lean on me and not put pressure on that leg," Gandalf said patiently and shook his head in amusement. "And it would have never hurt you so much if it was treated properly. I thought that Elrond would have taught you to always carry enough healing supplies with you."
"I had a lot of healing supplies," Strider protested. "How was I to know that I would run out of them so soon?"
The wizard chuckled. "My dear boy, you should know by now that you usually sustain more injuries than an average ranger your age, and must be prepared accordingly."
The young man sighed tiredly. "I know, Gandalf, I should have known." He gazed forward at the path, meandering amidst the trees. He knew not how long they were going to walk, but felt that he could not endure much longer. "Cannot we take a break?" He suggested, trying not to sound pleading. "Do you still have some pipe-weed left?"
Gandalf laughed heartily. "No smoking for you until we have reached a village where your wound will be properly cared for."
Strider grumbled unhappily. "This might not happen for days." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to deal with the pain in his leg. When he had left Rivendell, he had taken a generous amount of pain killing herbs, but he had used them all long ago. Did he indeed get hurt that often?
Strider was thinking that he could not have felt any worse, when Gandalf decided to prove him wrong. The wizard took out his pipe and started stuffing it with pipe-weed. "Hey!" The ranger's eyes widened hungrily at the sight. "I thought you said…"
"No smoking for you is what I said," Gandalf replied cheerfully and lit his pipe. The young man was about to protest, when he suddenly stopped and tilted his head to the side, as if listening to something.
"Someone is coming," he said.
"A horse and a rider," Gandalf confirmed, "Let us wait here."
They did not have to wait long. Soon the sound of hoofs hitting ground grew louder, and before them stood a tall, dark-haired man, mounted on a white mare. He looked surprised to see them, but quickly recovered from his shock and bowed slightly in greeting.
"Well met, travelers," he said and quickly dismounted, eyeing the pair with curiosity. "It is a rare occurrence to meet strangers in these lands. What brings you here, and is there a way I could be of any help?"
"We were traveling south," Gandalf said after he greeted the man. "And we were attacked by a small band of bandits on our way. My grandson," he continued and nodded towards Aragorn, who was fighting hard not to laugh at the way the wizard presented him, "fought valiantly to protect me, but, alas! – He was badly hurt. Now we are looking for a town where his wound can be taken care of."
The man's eyes shifted towards the ranger, and he seemed to notice for the first time the bandaged leg wound. His brow wrinkled in worry. "My village is not far away," he said. "It is called Zemen and is about five leagues down the river. I could take your grandson on my horse and bring him there."
"That would be most kind of you!" Gandalf said. "But where you headed? I hope your help will not hinder any task you were planning to compete."
"I was going hunting, but it can wait," the man replied. "We have enough supplies. This seems more urgent. Your grandson looks as if he needs immediate care."
The wizard sighed. "Unfortunately his wound is infected, and we do not have the herbs to heal it. If it is not treated soon, he will run a fever."
The stranger nodded. "Then we must take him to Zemen as soon as possible."
Gandalf took out a pouch, filled with coins. "Here," he said, "This is to pay the healer."
The man shook his head. "You will pay the healer when you grandson is well again."
"Thank you. Your kindness will not be forgotten," Aragorn spoke for the first time since the unexpected meeting. "And what about you… grandfather?" The ranger was fighting hard to keep the mirth from his voice.
Gandalf ignored the merry twinkle in the silver eyes. "I will follow you on foot. The village is down the river you say?" He turned towards the man, who confirmed. "Then I will arrive later. Take him there as soon as possible, and take care of his wound. I will perhaps meet you tomorrow."
The stranger hesitated. "There is something I need to tell you first." For a moment, his face seemed touched by a shadow of pain. "About a month ago a terrible disease came to our land, and it took many lives. It spared none – old and young alike. We could find no cure, but we worked hard to isolate the illness, burning the dead and all their clothes. Finally we succeeded, and for the last three days we had not had a single occurrence. But I cannot say for sure that there is no danger of infection. I thought you should know this before you decide if you want to come to Zemen."
Gandalf and Aragorn exchanged a worried glance. "We have no choice," the young ranger said. "We do not know where the next village is, and I can walk no further."
The wizard nodded. "And still, this worries me. But if none had fallen ill the past three days, then perhaps the illness is gone."
"This is good enough for me," Strider replied tiredly. "I am willing to take the risk."
"Good," Gandalf said, and together with the stranger they helped the young ranger mount the horse. The wizard grasped his friend's arm and his eyes sought the silver ones. "Be well, my boy. Take care of yourself. I shall meet you tomorrow or the day after."
Aragorn smiled. "I will, do not worry. And you need to be careful too, alone in the wild as you are."
Gandalf laughed. "Indeed I will miss your mighty protection, but I have wandered through the wilderness far longer than you can ever imagine, my friend, and somehow I have survived without your help."
The ranger grinned in response and waved his hand in goodbye. The wizard gazed fondly at the retreating horse, bearing the two riders, and smiled to himself. Last year he had decided to take Isildur's heir with him on his travels, mainly because he hoped that the young man would learn a lot that he could use in his challenging future. However, all too soon he had developed a liking to the lad and hoped that he would enjoy his company many years to come.
His musings were interrupted when his heart suddenly clenched in fear. Gandalf looked around. He could not see what had caused this dark foreboding, but he felt suddenly afraid. But afraid of what… or for whom… he could only guess.
The wizard quickened his step after the horse. The sooner he was reunited with the young ranger, the more at ease he would feel.
oOo
"Hand me a piece of cloth," the healer said and wiped the sweat off her brow. The old woman was stitching the wound on a young man's chest, and her long, white hair was tied behind her back, so that it would not interfere with her work. Her wrinkled fingers deftly worked on the injury, but she feared that her skill was far from enough.
A blond-haired boy gave her the cloth she had asked for and followed her movements with curiosity. He was learning to become a healer, and she had taken him as her assistant, so that he could gain some experience. "Why are we helping him at all?" he asked, puzzled. "Even if he survives, he will probably be hanged."
The old woman sighed sadly and gazed at the dark-haired youth on the bed. The young man was a member of a bandit gang that had attacked them last night, trying to steal their cattle. But the villagers had defended themselves well, and some bandits had fallen dead, while the rest had fled. Indeed, if he survived, he would have to face trial. What had made such a handsome youth choose this path she knew not, but it filled her heart with grief.
"It is a healer's duty to help anyone in need, no matter friend or foe," she said and looked at the boy to make sure he had heard her words. "But it matters not now. He is beyond any help." She closed her eyes in grief. "The lad is dead."
The boy gulped nervously. He had never seen death before, and although the man before them was a bandit, he could do nothing to prevent the shiver that ran down his back. But if he wanted to become a healer, he had to get used to this.
"We can leave him here for now, the men will take care of the body tomorrow morning," she said with a yawn and rubbed her tired eyes. "I do not think anyone else will need our services this night. We can go home."
She had barely spoken the words, when the wooden door burst open. "Bollen!" She cried as she recognized the man. "What are you doing here, at this late hour?" It was then when she noticed that Bollen was supporting another man she did not know. The youth was pale and seemed unable to stand on his own feet, but in spite of that he managed to raise his face to meet hers and nod in greeting.
"Guliel, we need your help," the man hastily replied. "This is Strider, I met him in the forest and he has an infected leg wound."
The woman nodded curtly and quickly got to work. The ranger was placed on a bed next to the dead bandit, and the healer quickly started undoing the bandage. She hissed as she saw the painfully looking cut and brought her hand to the young man's brow. It was too hot for her liking.
Swiftly, she ordered her assistant to prepare some herbal tea, and started cleaning the wound once again. The ranger gasped in pain as she applied some salve to the cut, and she stopped momentarily to give him a short break.
"You are lucky, lad," she said. "It is not too late and the wound should heal nicely in no time. What were you doing in the forest? Are you traveling all by yourself?"
"No, my Lady. I was traveling with my… my grandfather," he whispered weakly. "Bollen was kind enough to take me on his horse, but my grandfather has to walk, and he will probably arrive tomorrow night."
The healer could not suppress her chuckle at the way the man addressed her. My Lady? This youth was most strange indeed! But his polite behavior appealed to her and she smiled warmly. "Rest now, son," she said after she re-bandaged his wound. "There is nothing to fear, you will be well. I will probably sleep through tomorrow as I have worked all night, but I will send the other healer to check how you fare. I will tell him of you."
"Thank you," the ranger said and squeezed her hand. "I am in your debt."
She smiled. "If you want to pay you debt, get some sleep," the healer said and exited the room with Bollen and her assistant, leaving Aragorn alone.
Such a peculiar lad, she thought in wonder. And he has a most pretty ring. I have never seen the likes of it before.
Aragorn sighed tiredly as the trio exited the room and relaxed on his bed. He was ready to go to sleep immediately, when his eyes suddenly opened at a horrible thought.
He sat up in his bed and his eyes darted towards the Ring of Barahir. Surely, while the healer had taken care of his wound, she would have had plenty of opportunities to see it. How could he have been so careless and forgotten to hide it? And yet, she had said nothing, and this calmed him somehow. But a new healer was coming tomorrow and he could not afford being so careless again.
Aragorn looked around the room, looking for a place to temporarily hide his ring in case someone came to check his injuries while he slept. He could not it put in a pocket in his clothes since as the healer examined him, it could be easily discovered. But where could he put it then?
He placed it on the floor under his bed, but quickly took it back up. What if someone came to clean the floor? It could be discovered, or worse, lost.
He did not know what had caused his sudden panic. It was highly doubtful that any of the villagers knew the ring, but still he feared that it would appear suspicious. He was a complete stranger to this land after all, and such an intricate jewel could cause suspicions that it has been stolen.
Aragorn wondered for a moment what to do, when words Elladan had spoken long ago came back to his mind. 'If you ever want to hide something well, little brother, put it in plain sight.'
But where was plain sight?
He then seemed to notice the pale, dark-haired youth, lying on the bed next to him. Struck by a sudden idea, he rose from his bed and slowly and painfully made his way to the lifeless body and placed the ring on one of the slender, white fingers. Surely, the ill man belonged to the village and everyone knew him, so no one would question him. Once Gandalf had arrived, he would take his ring back and leave. But what if the youth awoke before that? Aragorn looked at the body in sorrow. The man seemed to be in a very bad shape. He doubted that he would awake any time soon.
Thinking that the ring was safe for now, Strider limped back to his bed, collapsed exhausted on top of it, and immediately succumbed to sleep.
oOo
The healer made his way towards the room. Guliel had left him a note, asking him to take care of a young ranger, Strider, and later hand him to his grandfather when the old man arrived. The lad would be probably asleep in the morning, Guliel had said, for he had arrived late at night. But he would recognize him easily. Strider was the handsome, dark-haired youth, wearing a beautiful ring with two snakes.
The man walked into the chamber and saw the two young men, lying on two beds next to each other. His eyes immediately darted towards their hands, and he smiled as he recognized the ring. He walked forward and knelt beside the bed to have a better look. It was a pretty jewel indeed.
He smiled and pressed his palm against the young ranger's forehead to check for any signs of fever.
There was certainly no fever.
The man was deadly cold.
The healer's heart froze in his chest, and his shaky hand moved towards his patient's neck. There was no pulse.
The ranger was dead.
The man frowned in fear. Guliel had told him that Strider's injury was healing nicely and he was on the mend. What could have caused his sudden death then? His eyes widened in horror. He knew the answer painfully well.
The disease had returned.
The healer forced himself to think clearly. The dead body had to be burned immediately, and all blankets, pillows, and sheets on that bed had to be burned as well. He quickly removed the beautiful ring and dropped it into a disinfecting salt solution and swiftly proceeded washing his own hands with it. Guliel, the boy helping her, and Bollen, who had all been in contact with the ranger, had to be examined for any symptoms.
He sighed. The ranger's grandfather would arrive some time later today. How was he going to tell him?
Deep in sleep, Aragorn never heard the men that rushed into his room, wrapped the dead bandit's body in a cloth, and carried him out, together with everything that had been on the bed. And the ranger was blissfully unaware how this was going to affect his own fate.
oOo
(present time)
Elrond was sitting in his study, his head buried in his hands. He did not look up when he heard the soft knock on the door, and his eyes remained fixed on the ring Gandalf had brought him. The wizard had seemed so unlike himself. He, who always knew what to do, who always seemed so capable of choosing the right course of action, now looked so lost.
Gandalf had blamed himself, regretting his choice to let Estel go to a village plagued by a deadly disease. His Estel. Elrond pressed his eyes shut. The peredhel had no strength left to place the blame on anyone. All he could feel now was grief.
Elrond did not seem to be aware of the other elf's presence. And yet, he was not startled when a strong hand grasped his shoulder. At last the Elf Lord looked up to meet the noble, handsome face, framed by long, golden tresses.
"I need to be alone," he said sharply. "Leave me!"
"No, I will not," Glorfindel replied softly but firmly. "You only hurt yourself this way, Elrond. It is too early to grieve. We do not know for sure that Estel is dead."
The peredhel stood up and gazed at his old friend with a mixture of sorrow and anger. "What are you telling me?" He hissed. "He is dead!" Elrond all but shouted and waved the ring of Barahir in front of the other elf's eyes. "What more proof do you want?" This outburst exhausted him and he collapsed in his chair, his head bowed. "Oh, Estel…" he whispered softly and shook his head in grief.
His friend knelt before him and placed his hand over Elrond's. "Listen to me, mellon nîn! This is no proof. Have you seen his body? Has Gandalf seen his body?"
"His body!" Elrond stood up and his grey eyes were shining with emotions. "How could I see his body? He was burned! Burned! Gandalf brought me his ashes!" He gestured desperately towards the wooden box. "His ashes, Glorfindel!"
The elf sighed sadly and cupped Elrond's face in his hands, forcing their eyes to meet. "Now you listen to me, my friend. I do not know what fate befell Estel. But do you want to hear what I know for sure?" Elrond hesitated briefly and nodded. Glorfindel smiled slightly. "I know that if Estel was dead, you would have felt it."
Elrond considered this for a moment. "Perhaps I have felt it and never realized," he said weakly.
"No." Glorfindel shook his head. "If you had indeed felt it, you would have known."
"Then how do you explain this?" The peredhel gestured towards the ring and the box.
"I do not know. Perhaps it is nothing more than some misunderstandings."
"Misunderstandings?" Elrond asked in disbelief.
Glorfindel locked his eyes with his friend's and nodded in conviction. "I am sure of it. You know how much I love Estel, and yet, as you can see, I do not grieve. I worry, yes, but I do not grieve. I do not believe this stubborn child could die so easily."
Elrond allowed himself a slight smile and he looked at his friend in gratitude. Then he just rested his face against Glorfindel's shoulder and let tears roll down his cheeks. But this time his tears were of worry and uncertainty, and not of despair. "And what if it is a false hope? What if he is dead? How am I going to tell them?"
Glorfindel did not need to ask whom Elrond was talking about. The twins had gone to Mirkwood to visit Legolas, and he did not wish to imagine what their reaction to this news would be.
"I sent a rider to bring them a letter," the peredhel continued, and the golden-haired elf's eyes widened in worry. "I am such a coward! For a moment I was tempted to write them everything, so I would not need to face them when I tell them of Estel's death, and would not need to watch their tears. But then I knew that I could not do that. My sons need me. They will need me to comfort them when they learn. So I just told them to come here as soon as they can." Elrond sighed. "And I still do not have the heart to send word to Gilraen," he added softly.
"Did you tell them that you had ill news?" Glorfindel asked and Elrond nodded. The golden-haired warrior sighed. "You should not have done that. The poor children will die of worry before they have reached Imladris!"
"And would they not be right to worry?" The half-elf asked.
"We do not know that yet," Glorfindel said. "But we shall learn soon. I will go to this village and investigate matters further."
Elrond rose to his feet. "I will come with you," he announced.
The Balrog-slayer shook his head. "This will not be wise. Imladris needs her Lord now. I will go with Gandalf, and if there is something to be found out about Estel, we will find it out."
The Elf Lord nodded. "Very well then. Go with my blessing, my friend, and may you bring my son back."
They clasped their forearms and Glorfindel left the room. Elrond collapsed in his chair. He was afraid to let hope in his heart because he knew that if his renewed hope died, it would break. And yet, something inside him had stirred with Glorfindel's words. No, he was not ready to give up his Estel yet.
oOo
(six days earlier)
The ranger was still sleeping deeply and did not hear the men who entered the room. Guliel had told them that here they would find the dead bandit's body, and they were coming to bury it. They placed a crude wooden coffin next to the bed and rolled the sleeping man in, quickly closing the lid.
"Stinky bandit!" One of them murmured in disgust. "I am glad he is dead!"
The two raised the coffin and carried it towards the grave they had dug early this morning.
oOo
(present time)
"You are right," Gandalf said thoughtfully. "If he was dead, Elrond would have felt it."
"Then let us hope for the best," Glorfindel replied and urged his steed forward. They had left early morning, taking the two fastest horses they could find in Imladris. The two rode relentlessly, barely stopping to rest. Although Gandalf seldom rode a horse as he preferred to travel with his cart or on foot, he was an exceptional rider, and the elf and the wizard quickly covered a long distance. As they went further away from the Elven Haven, Glorfindel tied his long hair with a thong and tied a piece of cloth around his head to hide his ears. He did not know how the humans they would meet in the village would react to seeing an elf, and if they wanted to get any information, they had to avoid causing any suspicion.
"I can find no logical explanation," the elf continued. "The healer has no reason to lie to you. If they wanted to rob Estel, they would have taken the ring and not returned it to you."
"What bothers me more," Gandalf replied, "is the ash. If he is alive, then whose ashes are in that box?"
"I suppose we need to wait to find out," Glorfindel said. "But I want to ask you something. If you are Estel's grandfather, then who am I?"
The wizard eyed him critically. "You could be his older brother."
The elf gave him a dubious look and fingered his long, golden mane. "I know, the resemblance is striking."
Gandalf stroked his beard in thought and suddenly his blue eyes twinkled merrily. "No blood relation then. Hmm, perhaps if you untie that splendid, golden hair of yours and let it flow freely, you could appear to be his wife."
The elf snorted. "I will pretend I never heard that." He suddenly sighed and bowed his head. He knew that his friend was trying to lighten the mood, but still neither of them could stop thinking about the young ranger's fate. What if they found nothing? How could he return to Elrond? Could he watch how the flame of hope he had worked so hard to rekindle is extinguished? The look on the peredhel's face still haunted him, and he swore to do everything possible, and impossible, to find the lost youth.
oOo
(six days earlier)
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was darkness. Complete, starless darkness. Had the morning not come yet? Had his sleep been so short? Or had he slept through the entire day?
And why was the air so heavy? He was feeling as if he did not have enough air and took a few deep breaths, but every breath he took made his head swim dizzily.
Contrary to what he had expected, his leg hurt more than it had before. It was pressing against something hard, which aggravated the injury.
He was about to move his leg, when a sudden sound made him freeze. A bird was singing although the sound was strangely muffled. Why would a bird sing during the night? Was it night at all? Or had he… had he gone blind?!
Suddenly feeling panic, Aragorn tried to raise his hands to rub his eyes, but was unexpectedly stopped by a solid wall in front of him. He frowned in confusion and tried to turn around, quickly discovering that he was surrounded by hard, restraining walls.
He was closed in a box! His breathing accelerated as claustrophobia started to settle in, but with every breath he took, he could feel the air growing heavier. He could feel consciousness slipping away and shook his head to clear his mind, but this made him even dizzier. And then he heard another sound right above him. It reminded him of soil hitting wood. But what could possibly sound like soil hitting wood?
Well, soil hitting wood perhaps, a little voice in his mind suggested.
Panic and confusion clouded his mind, and he let his instincts guide him. And his instincts told him to press his palms against the wood above him and give a strong push.
oOo
Many villagers had gathered around to watch the bandit's burial. Some had come out of curiosity, and some wanted to feel the grim satisfaction of killing a man who had endangered their stock and perhaps their families.
Guliel, her assistant, and Bollen were not present as they had all retired to have some rest after a sleepless night. The other healer had awoken them briefly to examine them of any signs of the illness, and had left them to go back to sleep, satisfied that they were all healthy. Maybe the disease was stopped at last. They had burned the young ranger's body immediately. The grandfather had not accepted the boy's death easily, but the healer was glad that at least no one else was ill.
Two muscular men with spades were swiftly working to cover the grave. "This will teach those bandits a good lesson," one of them murmured angrily, and the other one grunted in approval. Suddenly, both men cried in unison and jumped back.
"What happened?" A little girl squeaked and rushed forward to take a look.
"Stay back!" One of the men shouted and spread his arms to hold back the curious crowd. "Stay back! The lid is moving!"
Surprised cries and whispers went through the crowd. People exchanged worried glances and gazed at the uncovered grave.
Suddenly everyone froze as two pale hands rose from the grave and grasped the grass growing around the hole. And then the body of the dead bandit crawled out of the grave. Screams of terror sounded through the village as the deadly pale face turned forward and stared at them with pain-filled, glazed eyes.
"The dead has risen!" A man shouted in horror. Everyone around him was running back in panic.
"Quiet!" An elderly woman said, in a voice loud and filled with authority. "Be quiet and I will tell you what happened." The words had the desired effect and everyone stopped and looked at her. "He has been jumped by a cat," she announced triumphantly.
"A cat?" A young boy asked and looked at her in confusion.
"Yes," she explained. "If a cat jumps over a dead body before the soul has fled, the dead turns into a vampire and rises again."
"Vampire!" Panic shouts were heard and the wild running resumed.
Aragorn did not know what was happening or where he was. He had awoken in a dark box, and after opening the lid, he had crawled out of a hole in the ground.
A crowd had gathered around him, and people were screaming something about cats and vampires, but his lungs were starved for air, his leg was on fire, and his vision was swimming, and he had no strength to concentrate on the words. His eyes had adjusted to the complete darkness, and when the bright sunlight assaulted them, he gasped in pain and shielded them with a hand.
"Look! The light is hurting him!" A man observed.
"Of course the light is hurting him," the old woman said calmly. "Vampires are creatures of darkness. They fear light. Do not let him bite you, or you will become one of them!"
"Kill him!" Someone shouted. "Kill him before he has hurt us!"
Several men drew out their knives and hesitantly walked forward. Their fear was obvious.
"No!" The woman cried once again. "You fools! You can't kill a vampire with a knife! You have to stab his heart with a stake made of the wood of an ash tree!"
Murmurs went through the crowd. They had no such stake, but a few of the men were swiftly appointed to make one. The "vampire" seemed in no hurry to attack them. He had collapsed on the ground, as if in pain, but of course they knew better than to believe any tricks. His leggings were covered in blood, but they knew that unfortunately after the dead had risen, all of his wounds had closed. Killing him anew would be hard.
The woman ordered everyone else to go to their homes and hide. They had to hang garlic by the doors since vampires feared garlic. Everyone hastened to do that and moved away, throwing the prone body nervous glances.
Aragorn finally raised his head quickly and blinked several times to clear his vision. The dizziness had passed, but the burning pain in his leg still remained. What was worse, he was completely disoriented and had no notion of what was happening around him or where he was. He felt that he was lying on the ground, and the crowd around him was running away until he was left completely alone.
He could hear murmurs about stabbing his heart with a wooden stake. The ranger could not imagine why the people would want to do that, but it was obvious that he was in danger. He had to get away!
Shards of memory were slowly returning, and he realized that he had to do something else first. The ring! He had left his ring with the ill man in the healing wing. And he had to take it back before he could flee to safety.
And where was Gandalf? The wizard would surely know what was happening and why.
Looking around, he finally spotted the tall and dark building which served as a healing house. Bollen and he had arrived there late at night, but the moonlight had been bright enough for him to see it and remember it. His ring was there and he had to take it back before he left this place.
Aragorn limped slowly towards the building, the pain in his leg increasing with every step he took. He finally gave that up and continued crawling on his hands and his good leg. No matter how undignified it looked, it didn't worsen his injury and so it seemed to be the better alternative.
He could see several curious faces at the windows with huge and scared eyes staring at him, but no one dared come out. At least they left him alone and for the moment it seemed he was safe. However, Aragorn was unsure how long this safety would last. He had heard some men talking about making a wooden stake to pierce the vampire's heart, and he had a certain disturbing suspicion about who this vampire might be.
When he reached the building, Aragorn grabbed the door handle and managed to rise. The heavy oak door opened with a soft crack and he peeked inside the room. What he saw made him gasp in alarm.
His own bed was covered with tousled sheets and blankets, and his pillow had fallen to the floor. What worried him, however, was the fact that the bed next to it was empty. Completely empty. Not only was the ill man gone, but also all sheets, the pillow, the blanket, and even the mattress had disappeared! Only the old wooden frame remained.
Naturally, the Ring of Barahir was gone as well.
Aragorn knew that he had no time to look for it if he wanted to escape this village alive. He had to give up the ring, no matter how important the heirloom was, and find a way to leave the village as soon as possible.
The young ranger turned towards the door and froze in horror. Three tall men were standing there, holding a large wooden stake.
"It must go directly through his heart," one of the men advised the other two. Strider noticed in wonder that there was some garlic tied to the man's belt.
"You are making a mistake," Aragorn said calmly and raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "I am no vampire. If I was, I am sure I would have known it. As far as I am aware, vampires are dead and feel no pain, and I certainly feel pain at the moment."
"Do you think we would believe your lies?" The same man hissed. "You were a bandit while you were alive, and now you have no honor in death!"
"Please, listen to me!" Aragorn said as calmly as he could. "This is only a misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding? The only misunderstanding here is that you are still alive." The three men raised the stake.
The ranger grunted in frustration. Apparently the peaceful approach would take him nowhere, and he decided to change the tactic. Strider raised his hands above his head, constricted his face in a threatening grimace, took a step forward, and snarled viciously.
The man who had spoken gave out a high-pitched scream that Aragorn had through impossible to have come from the throat of a male being, turned back and ran away. The other two dropped the stake and rushed after him.
"The vampire attacked them!" A woman's voice screamed in horror. "He tried to bite them! I saw it!"
Ah… so there are certain advantages of being a vampire, Aragorn thought grimly and walked outside. The street was empty, and all doors and windows were shut and heavily covered in garlic.
Strider knew that at some point the people would find their courage once again and would renew their attempts to kill him. Now was the perfect time to escape.
He turned back and limped towards the forest. His progress was slow, but he hoped that the people's fright would last for at least a few hours. Unfortunately, he knew that he could not get far in his present condition. He would need to seek shelter somewhere in the woods for a few days until he had recovered sufficiently to continue.
This meant that he would need to survive on berries until then since he was in no condition to hunt and had no weapons except for a short dagger in his boot. He could make a snare and try to catch some rabbits, but he had no means to cook them. Lighting a fire would be unwise since the entire village would soon be chasing him. He had to stay hidden.
Strider sighed. He could feel a very long week ahead of him.
oOo
(present time)
When Gandalf and Glorfindel arrived in Zemen, Bollen strode forward to welcome them. "I did not expect to see you again," he admitted when Gandalf dismounted his horse. "What brings you here?"
"I brought the news of Strider's death to the boy's father," the wizard said. "My son," he added quickly, remembering that he was supposed to be the ranger's grandfather. "He did not take it lightly." Gandalf sighed sadly and looked down. "I thought that he deserves to know exactly how his son died. I have a few questions for there are still things I do not understand."
Bollen looked confused and sadden at the same time. "I would gladly help you to find out what you want, but I thought the healer already told you everything he knew. Come, we can go to him, and we will try to answer your questions together."
Gandalf thanked him and followed. Soon he noticed that the man was throwing curious glances towards Glorfindel, and hastened to introduce his friend. "This is Findel," he said, deciding that the elf's real name would sound too unusual to the man. The golden-haired Balrog-slayer cringed at the butchering of his name. The wizard should have come up with a better alias! He hoped the man did not speak Sindarin because he certainly did not appreciate being introduced as 'Hair'.
"He is...," Gandalf continued and suddenly realized that they had not agreed on who Glorfindel was. They had only decided that he was neither Estel's brother, nor his wife, much to the wizard's disappointment, but this still left numerous possibilities. Well, this was good because now he had the freedom to choose himself, and did not need the elf's agreement on the matter. "He is the husband of the sister of the aunt of Strider's cousin," he said in a casual tone, as if this was one of the most common relationships among people, and winked at the elf.
Glorfindel sighed and shook his head. Of course he had never expected that the wizard would invent a description that he would be able to remember and repeat if need be.
Soon the trio reached the healer's house. The man was surprised to see Gandalf too, but was also willing to help. "It is as I told you," he explained. "Your grandson contracted this terrible disease that has killed many of our people. I regret that we had to burn the body before your arrival, but we had to stop the spreading of the illness."
"Please tell me," Glorfindel said, "has anyone else died of this disease after that?"
The healer looked at him in curiosity. Even though his ears were hidden and his hair tied, he hardly looked like a mere human. His magnificent locks were shining like molten gold and his face was fairer than any the man had ever seen. "I do not remember seeing you," he said.
"My name is Findel," the elf said resignedly. Hopefully no one in this village speaks Sindarin. "I am the husband of the cousin of Strider's aunt." Curse that wizard and his games.
The healer gave him a strange look and Bollen frowned. "I thought you were the husband of the sister of the aunt of Strider's cousin," he said, sounding confused.
Glorfindel caught sight of Gandalf, who seemed to be enjoying his predicament, and gazed at Bollen. The man flinched under the intensity of the elven stare. "I think I know my relation to Strider better than you do," he said with a slight smile, and Bollen swiftly nodded.
The elf seemed satisfied and turned towards the healer once again. "You never answered my question," he said. "Has anyone fallen ill after Strider's death?"
The man shook his had. "No. The boy was the last one to die."
Gandalf frowned in thought and stroked his beard. "Interesting," he said. "No one has died in the past one week…"
"… and no one has fallen ill during the three days before Strider's arrival…" Glorfindel continued his train of thought.
"… which gives rise to an important question," the wizard finished.
Glorfindel looked at the healer, and his grey eyes were burning with hope. "Then how did Strider contract the disease?"
"He must have contracted the disease from someone," Gandalf clarified his friend's thought. "And if no one else has fallen ill, this leaves us with no possibilities."
"I have never thought about that," the healer admitted. "But I remember quite well that while the disease was at its peak many people fell ill just by touching objects, such as clothes, that had been in contact with any of the sick. Perhaps something in the bed Strider used, maybe the pillow or the blanket, had been used before by someone ill. Perhaps this is how he contracted the disease, and he probably fell ill after Guliel, the boy, and Bollen left him, which would explain why neither of them was affected. Everything in this bed was burned afterwards, and this is why no one else fell ill."
"And yet, this sounds unlikely," Gandalf muttered thoughtfully. "Tell me, Bollen, did you see him dead?"
The man shook his head. "He was burned while I was still sleeping."
Glorfindel looked up and gazed at the healer. "I will be honest with you. We have a reason to believe that Strider is still alive. A very good reason." And Elrond's senses are a good reason, he reminded himself, trying to quench his own doubts. "We are just trying to find out what happened."
The healer frowned. "You believe that I am lying to you?"
The golden-haired elf shook his head. "No. But I believe that there is some misunderstanding."
The healer shrugged. "I am sorry, but there is nothing more I can do for you. The disease was terrible, and delivered a heavy blow to all of us. Alas, now our village is plagued by a new evil. I sometimes fear that we have been cursed."
"Another evil, you say?" Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow. "And what might that be?"
The healer collapsed on a chair and suddenly looked very tired. "There is a vampire living in the woods," he said softly. "He has been living close to our village for about a week. People are afraid to leave their houses, especially after sunset. Several search parties have been sent to find him and pierce his heart with a wooden stake, but he hides his track well. We have found a few places where he had stayed, so we know that he is still near Zemen, but he is cunning and moves all the time, and we are always a step behind him."
Glorfindel and Gandalf exchanged a look of mixed shock and curiosity. "This is most interesting," the wizard murmured. "In all the ages I have roamed through Middle-earth, I have never seen a vampire. I would love to meet one. Besides," he added with a suddenly bright smile, "I am sure that he will prove to be most pleasant company."
Bollen and the healer stared at those words, but Glorfindel was used to the wizard's ways and did not react. However, he had the unpleasant feeling that Gandalf knew something that he did not. The elf didn't believe that it was a vampire that plagued those people, and yet the man's account on the creature living in the forest was a complete mystery.
Strider's presumed death was another mystery.
Maybe, just maybe, the two mysteries were somehow related.
"Tell me," he said, "where did you find the newest vampire's tracks? We would like to help in the search."
oOo
Glorfindel carefully searched the forest floor, and after what seemed like an eternity, he found a little broken twig close to some bent grass. It was too hard to notice to be left on purpose as a false trail, so the elf believed that they had found the real track at last. But following it would be slow and uncertain.
"Whoever this 'vampire' is, he knows what he is doing," he murmured in frustration. "No wonder the humans are unable to find him." It was only his feeling that the answer to this mystery would tell them more about Estel's fate that kept him going.
"I am sure he does," Gandalf replied with a secretive smile. While the golden-haired elf had been working hard reading the clues, the wizard had been sitting on the grass, leaning his back against a tree and smoking his pipe contently. A few minutes ago he had started blowing little smoke figures into the air, and Glorfindel found this quite distracting. Especially when one of the figures resembled an elf crouched on he grass, as if reading some tracks.
The Balrog-slayer glared at the little figure. "You got my left braid wrong," he remarked dryly.
"Oh, did I?" The wizard looked at the golden elf intently. "My apologies." He blew out another figure. "Better?"
Glorfindel shook his head in exasperation. "It would be 'better' if you come here and help with the tracks. This is impossible!"
"Do not despair," Gandalf said. "I doubt that our fugitive hid his entire trail. It would be too much work. I would suppose he would have hidden only the beginning. It would be enough to lose the villagers who are unable to read it anyway."
"And if he is wise, he had probably hidden the end as well," Glorfindel added. "This way even if any of the villagers stumble in the middle of his track, they will be unable to follow it to his new hiding place."
The two continued searching, meaning the elf continued searching while the wizard continued distracting him with smoke figures. Finally, their efforts, or rather Glorfindel's efforts, were rewarded, and he came across a clear trail. Apparently the fugitive had grown tired of hiding his track.
Glorfindel frowned in surprise and studied the tracks carefully. "Gandalf, I am not well acquainted with the vampire legends," he admitted. "Tell me, is it considered possible to wound those creatures?"
"Not as far as I know," the wizard replied. "Their flesh is believed to be 'undead'. The only way to kill them is to pierce their heart with a special wooden stake, and you can weaken them with certain substances or objects, such as garlic. But I do not believe you can inflict wounds on their flesh."
"Interesting," the elf murmured.
Gandalf stood up and walked to his friend and peeked down at the tracks. A smile lit up his weathered face.
"Most interesting indeed," the wizard said thoughtfully. "It seems that our vampire has a wounded leg."
oOo
Once they had picked up the visible trail, it was easy to follow and they made good progress. Soon, however, as Glorfindel had predicted, the trail disappeared. It seemed that the 'vampire' had indeed decided to hide his trail at the very end, and the elf hoped that their quarry was not too far away now.
Now it was nearly impossible to find any clues where the fugitive had gone. Obviously he had taken great care in hiding his trail, but Glorfindel's experience and keen sight aided him, and soon the two followed a narrow path to a small clearing.
What they saw there made them freeze in their tracks. The young man had risen on his feet, apparently having heard their coming, and was gazing at them with tired but alert eyes. He was clutching a dagger in one hand and seemed to be favoring one leg over the other, although he seemed much more capable of staying on his feet than Gandalf remembered him to be. The only thing that worried them was that he had grown rather skinny, as if he had not been eating properly the last few days.
Strider gaped in surprise and dropped his knife. Before the stunned ranger could speak, Glorfindel took a few long strides towards him and looked him in the eyes. "You have a lot of explanations to give, young man," he said sternly.
Aragorn looked nervously at his former mentor. Under the intense gaze he could once again feel like a ten-year-old child who had to explain why he had done something wrong. "Glorfindel, I… I do not know what happened myself," he admitted softly.
"Neither do we," the elf said. "But the villagers told us a lot. When we hear your story and you hear ours we will probably be able to put the pieces together." Suddenly he could restrain himself no more. His lips curled into a smile and he took a step forward, enveloping the young man into a tight embrace. "I knew we would find you, Estel," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
The ranger returned the embrace, feeling incredibly relieved. When he looked up, he could see Gandalf gazing at him with a mysterious smile and a merry twinkle in his blue eyes. "I am honored to meet a real vampire at last. And not simply any vampire, but the only one injured vampire ever to have walked on Arda," he said solemnly and winked at Glorfindel. "I told you the vampire would prove to be most pleasant company."
The elf shook his head. "You suspected it all along, didn't you? Ever since the man mentioned a vampire?"
"Maybe," the wizard said. "And yet maybe not. Now let us return to our horses and depart before the villagers have arrived with their stakes and highly dangerous garlic."
"I wouldn't mind the garlic right now," Aragorn admitted. He had been eating only berries for the last several days and his hunger at the moment would have rivaled the hunger of a hobbit who had missed second breakfast. "But since the garlic comes only with a wooden stake, I am afraid I will have to miss it."
"Wise decision, my dear boy," Gandalf replied and offered the young ranger an arm for support. Aragorn's leg was faring much better, but the lack of food had prevented the wound from healing completely.
"Where are we going?" The man asked.
"Home," Glorfindel replied and frowned when he noticed that Aragorn was about to protest. He knew that the young man had planned to return to the rangers, but right now he had no intention of letting that happened. "Elrond was sick with worry when I left," the elf said sternly. "The least you could do would be to spend a few months in Rivendell and ease his heart."
The ranger nodded, feeling slightly ashamed for all the worry he had caused. When they reached the horses he mounted behind the golden-haired elf and the trio rode forward, leaving Zemen behind.
"Gandalf?" Strider said suddenly.
"Hmm?"
"You said no smoking for me until we reach a village where my wound would be treated. I think we reached that village… a week ago."
The wizard laughed and reached inside his bag in search of pipe-weed. Glorfindel's eyes widened in horror. This was going to be a very long journey back. Most pleasant company. Indeed.
And just like he had expected, the journey was long. Especially for the unfortunate elf, who finally decided to ride a few paces ahead of his friends in a vain hope to escape the smoke. To his immense relief, they finally reached Imladris, where the young man received a very warm welcome.
oOo
(a few weeks later)
The bright and sunny day contrasted sharply with the mood of the three young elves riding at the greatest speed their exhausted steeds could bear. As soon as the messenger had arrived, the three had left Mirkwood and ridden towards Rivendell as fast as possible.
What worried Legolas the most was that the Elven Lord had clearly mentioned in his letter that he should come with the twins. This meant that whatever bad news Elrond had in store for his sons, it concerned him as well. And he had a very good guess what the news would be about. They all had made this same guess.
"It must be about Estel," Elladan murmured for the seventh time that day. He had been repeating this since the first day they had departed from his friend's home.
Legolas absently stroked his horse's mane, trying to come up with a proof that Elladan was wrong. He refused to believe this no matter how logical the theory was.
"Perhaps it has nothing to do with him," he offered. "Perhaps something has gone ill in your home and Lord Elrond needs your assistance."
Elladan snorted in frustration. "Don't try to make me stop worrying, Legolas," he grunted. "You know as well as I do that there is a reason to worry. If it is as you say, how could you explain that ada wants to see you too?"
"There are numerous possibilities," the wood-elf argued. "Perhaps there was a terrible fire and many of your crops were destroyed, and now you have no food. Your father needs Mirkwood to assist you in your recovery, and this is why he has contacted me."
Elrohir sighed. He was well aware that his father would never let such a devastating fire happen simply because he had the means to control it. But it would do them no good to tell Legolas that Elrond possessed Vilya. Not that he did not trust his friend, but the fewer aware of the secret, the better. Unfortunately, the twins knew that their father had this ring of power, and were aware that he would have never allowed a natural disaster to harm them greatly. No, no natural disaster had befallen their home. There was something more sinister here.
"It still makes no sense," the younger twin said instead. "If this was indeed the case, ada would have wanted to speak to your father, and not to you."
"Perhaps he believes that the Prince is responsible for Mirkwood's food supply, and thinks that I could assist him," the golden-haired elf tried one last time.
"Legolas, please!" Elladan said tiredly. "We all know that this is about Estel, and trying to convince ourselves otherwise will help no one."
Legolas bowed his head and silently kicked his steed's sides with his heels. No matter how much he hated to admit it, the twins were right. The best thing they could do at the moment was to ride hard and face whatever news Elrond had in store for them.
When they arrived in Imladris, however, they were completely unprepared for what was waiting for them. They had not even dismounted yet, when the young elves spotted a tall figure, coming towards them with quick strides.
"Estel!" The twins cried in unison and jumped from their horses, rushing towards the young human.
"What happened?"
"Are you all right?"
"What are you going here?"
"Are you hurt?"
"Why did Ada send this letter?"
"What is the bad news?"
Elladan and Elrohir were talking at the same time, firing a question after question, not bothering to give their foster brother any time to answer. At the same time they were busy assessing his body for any hidden injuries.
Legolas was still standing on his horse, staring at the human in shock. The man's next words, however, finally broke his stupor.
"All is well," Aragorn said when his brothers finally allowed him to speak. "There is no bad news. There were just some… some misunderstandings."
"Misunderstanding?" Everyone turned towards Legolas, who had spoken for the first time. The Mirkwood elf swiftly dismounted and in a few quick steps reached his friends. Before anyone could say anything, he grabbed the front of Aragorn's tunic and almost lifted the man from the ground. "Misunderstanding?! Do you realize, human, that our hearts nearly broke with worry the moment we received this letter, and we have been riding hard with almost no pause since we left my home! We have gone days without rest or sleep, and we come here prepared to hear the worst, and all you say is that all has been 'just some misunderstandings'! I certainly expect a better explanation!"
The twins exchanged a glance. During the entire journey the prince has insisted that the bad news they were expecting had nothing to do with their brother, but apparently he had believed in his own reasoning not more than any of them had.
"I am sorry, mellon nîn," the ranger said, unsuccessfully trying to free his tunic from the elf's strong grip. "I never meant to make you worry. It is a very long story, and I am afraid that it will have to wait for later, after you have eaten and rested."
Legolas finally released his friend's tunic, and his hands moved to the back of the men's shoulders, pulling him forward into a tight embrace. "All I can say is that I am most glad it turned out to be 'just some misunderstandings'," he said softly.
"You forgive me then?" Aragorn asked hopefully.
The elf released him and laughed heartily. "Foolish question, Strider. How many times do I need to tell you that I cannot be angry with you for more than three minutes? However," he continued with a relieved smile, "I do expect an explanation. The entire story might be too long to hear, but you could tell us a shortened version now."
"A shortened version?" Aragorn sounded unsure.
Three sets of eyes gazed at him intently and three fair faces nodded in unison. "Yes, a shortened version."
The man sighed. "Very well, you asked for it. What happened is basically the following – I attacked a village and tried to steal their cattle, but the people managed to kill me. However, apparently while I have been dead, a cat had jumped over me, so I rose as a vampire. For about a week, I plagued the poor helpless village, trying to bite the people… but only when they weren't carrying around wooden stakes and scary garlic of course."
The twins stared in shock, and Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "I see," he murmured. "Nothing unusual then."
"No," the ranger replied with a shrug. "Nothing unusual."
Elrohir scratched his head. "I am afraid, brother, that we will have to wait for the full version of this story."
"I am afraid so," Elladan replied. "But for now I am just glad that Estel is alright."
"So am I," the younger peredhel replied with a genuine smile. "So am I."
None of the four noticed the slender figure, looking at them from one of the balconies. Elrond smiled warmly as his gaze fell upon his sons. Oh, how he had dreaded the twins' return! How he had feared telling them of Estel's fate! But all of his fears had been for nothing – his youngest was home, safe and whole. He could still vividly remember how a simple misunderstanding had nearly shattered his heart. He would never let this happen again. And then, Elrond made a silent promise to himself.
I shall never lose faith again.
With a smile of pure joy the Lord of Rivendell walked to the gate to welcome his sons.
The End