Hunted
Well, hello once more! Posting once a week should be working well, so expect postings roughly every 6-7 days. Many of you commented on wanting to know the state of dear Elrohir - your wish has been granted. And yes, this is an unfinished tale, but I am writing about 2-3 chapters ahead of everything I'm posting, so I shouldn't ever be delayed in posting chapters because I've got three weeks to work! Hurrah!
Thanks to Calenlass Greenleaf1, Eli, MDarKspIrIt, Viresse, Gord and V (have you seen V for Vendetta yet?? haha), the randomer, Fluffy's Fangirls, and Seira Ayuda for their wonderful reviews!
Oh! I can't believe I'd forgotten - my disclaimer!
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Professor Tolkien's work, and gain no benefit (besides emotional) from my writings.
Chapter Two
Elrohir swore heatedly when Estel was beaten to the ground. Elladan was nowhere to be seen, and with an angry shout answered an Orc's attack with a parry and vengeful kick to the stomach before twirling to meet another Orc."Elladan!" he cried, glancing furtively for the identical raven head to appear out of the chaos. But there was nothing but yrch.
He ducked a scimitar hurtling towards his neck, thrust his blade into the attacker's stomach and pulled away, black blood spurting onto his knife. "Elladan?!"
He spun around, hoping to catch his brother in the opposite direction, but massive hordes of Orcs met him once more. Parrying several strikes and dodging others, he defended himself well while scanning the heads hurriedly. Then he heard his twin's faer, buried beneath the sounds of battle, resonate dully and unresponsively.
"ELLADAN!"
His brother had fallen.
The Son of Elrond swore again, this time feeling panic constrict his heart. His strength was waning, and he realized with a sinking feeling that all of the Orcs had turned their attention to him. They were attacking him from all sides. He could scarcely move, let alone breathe. To stop would mean death. He and his brother had learned that long ago from his father. But Valar, why couldn't he be here now? Where was help? Where was Elladan? What twist of fate had brought them here, the sons and heirs of some of the most important lords in all of Arda, just to have them slain? Why did-?
Someone let out a screech, ordering something in a terrible language that Elrohir could not comprehend. The Orcs suddenly pulled back, leaving him stranded and alone in the center of their circle, breathing hard. He looked from glazed eye to glinting orb, all around him, searching for their purpose.
"Finish it!" he cried. "You have killed my companions. Kill me now!" Rage blinded him. But this was not their ways. They did not leave their prey alive. Why was he an exception? He had seen Estel and Legolas fall, and he dared not think of his brother's fate.
But then suddenly, there was Elladan. Two Orcs shoved through the ranks, and Elrohir felt chills shiver down his spine at the sight of them. In their crusty black hands hung his unconscious brother, his best friend, half his heart and soul.
"Elladan," he breathed, and immediately rushed forward. But one of his enemies leapt out and stuck hard with a club, and before he had taken three steps Elrohir crumpled, clutching his right leg after hearing a sickening crunch in his knee.
"That was a warning, Son of Elrond."
Elrohir looked up, his gray eyes flashing dangerously when he met the steely yellow stare of the Orc captain. He rose slowly, favoring his broken leg but remaining strong and fierce.
"The next false step you make your brother shall suffer for," the captain continued, eyes glinting evilly. He produced a small dagger and pressed it against Elladan's throat. Elrohir stiffened. "Drop your weapon."
He glanced about, weighing his options, and saw Estel and Legolas being dragged away. He heard Legolas' quiet moans and his heart clenched. Valar, he could do nothing. If they slew Elladan they would not stop from slaying Legolas. And then they would slay Estel. They would destroy Aragorn, Man's only hope.
The clatter of a blade hitting the ground echoed eerily in the silence. Elrohir closed his eyes, and did not fight when the Orcs seized him roughly and dragged him away.
I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I
Rain fell in gusting torrents. The Orcs set up camp in the midst of it, taking care of their prisoners by snapping iron manacles about their wrists and locking them to an ancient oak. They left them sprawled on the edge of the clearing, unconscious, and so they lay in the same position for nearly an hour as the rain drenched their bodies, lightning illuminated their wounds, and thunder resonated in their chains.
Elladan awoke to find it still dark out, but the roaring fire threw crimson light on the entire clearing. But what he was most grateful for was that the moon glowed beyond the trees. The storm had passed. Groaning softly, he sat up and blinked the fogginess from his vision. It took him a few moments to gather his wits, but when he did he nearly stopped breathing.
They were prisoners in an Orc camp. There were nearly seventy-five Orcs in camp, all armed and strong. He vaguely began to calculate the odds, wondering if they could possibly escape. If the four of them were relatively uninjured...
Quiet coughing caught his ear. He turned around, the manacles clanking noisily. Legolas' body shifted before him not four feet away, and trembling bloody hands moved to clasp his side. Elladan's gaze shifted to focus on where Legolas was holding himself, and his lips parted in silent grief when he saw the gaping 'x' wound across his ribs. Quickly he crawled forward to stroke the Elf's shoulder comfortingly as he once more began to cough and moan.
Tired sapphire eyes flitted up to meet silver when Elladan drew near. "Elladan," he began, voice hushed and rough.
"Hush," the twin interrupted his friend gently but firmly. His gaze took in the wound with clear vision and understanding. At a loss for words, he stated the obvious: "You are hurt."
Legolas coughed once more. "Yes," he answered softly. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing as Elladan stroked the prince's damp hair comfortingly. He touched the pale forehead, feeling for fever.
"You do not appear ill, a fact we may be lucky to claim," he tried to smile. Legolas returned one halfheartedly, probably more so for the sake of his friend than in humor. Elladan sobered quickly, but quietly began to unfasten Legolas' shirt. Tenderly pulling it from the wound and over the prince's head, he tore it so that he would be able to remove it from the manacles. Leaving the prince's pale green undershirt on, he tied the thick hunting attire around his chest, impeding the slow ooze of the blood.
"There," Elladan murmured when he was finished. He sat back, metal clanking as he did, and studied his handiwork. Legolas nodded, touching the makeshift bandage tentatively.
Sapphire eyes met gray once more. "Thank you," Thranduil's son whispered, bringing a hand dripping in bright blood to feel the chains locked about his other wrist. He said nothing as he tested the iron. After a few seconds he laid his trembling hands down once more, shaking his head. "I cannot break this. With my knives, more than likely. Without them, no. Before tonight I might have been able to, given several minutes, but I am too weak now. Far too weak for anything." Sadly, he closed his eyes as his voice grew hushed, and he lay in silence.
Elladan looked to his brothers. Estel was stirring, and he could have sworn he saw Elrohir's hand twitch. In a few moments they both rose and sat blinking in the darkness as their eyes adjusted.
"Elladan? Are you all right?" Elrohir asked softly.
Elladan moved to his twin's side. "Aye, and my arrow wound only pains me slightly. And you?"
He heard his brother's breath catch slightly in a wince as he shifted. "My leg is broken, but I will manage," he answered.
Elladan grimaced, but turned to Estel. "And you, Estel?"
"A headache the size of Mirkwood," he groaned, holding his head in his hands. His comment drew a feeble laugh from Legolas, but he broke into soft whimpers quickly as it pained him. Estel looked up foggily. "Oh Valar, Legolas…" He had only now remembered how he had last seen his companion.
"Do not trouble yourself, Estel," Legolas murmured as Estel crawled to his side. "I'm all right."
Elladan shook his head when his brother touched his shoulder. "He does not speak the truth," he explained softly. "The wound is grievous; I doubt he could stand, let alone fight, without enduring extreme pain."
"You are not the only cripple, Legolas," Elrohir smiled sadly. "I, too, cannot stand."
He saw Legolas shift to look at him in the pale moonlight. "But, my dear friend," the prince interjected quietly, "you are not in danger of bleeding to death before dawn."
A hammer seemed to fall on their hope, smashing it to pieces at Legolas' words. It was not simply the prospect of Legolas in serious danger that scared them; it was the fact that he was accepting it.
Estel stiffened. "Do not speak like that," he hissed. He fumbled for the manacles on Legolas' hands. "We shall get out of here, I swear to you. We will all make it out alive. Do you understand?"
Legolas did not look at him.
"Do you understand?" The Ranger gripped his shoulder and drew the Elf's attention. Legolas nodded faintly, and gave a sad smile. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sight of Elladan abruptly turning his head toward camp caught his attention.
"What is it?" Legolas said, his voice husky, the one hand resting on his chest rising and falling slightly with the shallow breaths that he drew. He was hurting far too much to concentrate or listen.
Elladan's eyes closed. "They have caught someone," he said.
As if on cue the arrival of a small party of Orcs echoed in the quiet night. The four of them turned their bright eyes to the far end of the clearing, watching with a sad glimmer in their eyes as another captive was revealed.
Hysterical sobbing was soon engulfed by many harsh voices speaking at once. Someone yelled for silence, and his wish was granted. An Orc began to explain: "We found another Elven party out east during our patrol. We slaughtered the two males and brought back the other." A hiss of pleasure rose in unison from the enemy's lips.
"Were they a search party?" The captain snarled anxiously.
"No, captain."
"Good." The captives could hear the manic grin in the Orc as he continued. "It's our prize for the evening, a little toy for our delight before we tickle the others."
Shrieks and cackles of excitement rose in volume as the Orcs leapt to engulf the poor Elf that had been captured. The captive's voice grew frantic and desperate, screaming for release. Estel closed his eyes and turned his head away as the pleadings continued, although they were beginning to morph into screams and shrieks of pain and terror. "They should have killed him when they found him. It would have spared him much pain."
Elrohir shook his head sadly. "This one will suffer what we cannot," he murmured.
Estel's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
His brother looked at him. "It is a little girl."
Thunder echoed loudly in the clearing as if sealing fate. The realization struck hard, and the sound of cloth ripping made it worse. The Elven brothers turned away, already dreading the cries and sobs that would soon accompany the beating of the young maiden. Their horror only grew as her screams intensified and tore through their hearts. It burned their hearts and minds, and made waiting for what they were sure would await them even worse.
Legolas' heart screamed along with her. He was afraid of what would happen if he saw the poor girl, and so he kept his head turned away. His sapphire eyes were open and glimmering with tears. The voice sounded familiar, although he shouted at himself to let go of all connections to her. To sympathize with her would mean more anguish for him. He was suffering enough already, for he greatly feared the torture of that they were doomed to be victim. But his heart was too soft, and he could not force the pain away. The prince moaned. "Can we do nothing to spare her?"
Elladan shook his head. "Nay, my friend," he whispered. "We can do nothing. No distraction will avert their attention from this kind of prize."
Tears of pain and grief shone in Legolas' eyes. Next to him Estel swore quietly, still rubbing the back of his head where a large bump remained. "Mordor will pay for this," he vowed in a low voice.
"Aye," the others murmured, too pained to say much more. The girl was wailing in the camp, crying for her father and mother. Her screams would continue for what felt like hours before they stopped, and when they did each of the captives felt a rush of relief as well as grief for her.
They deposited her unconscious body amongst them shortly afterwards. Various cuts and bruises decorated her fair skin, and her arm was broken. She had nearly-white hair and was a tiny thing. Perhaps nine in mortal years, but Elves and Men were not easily compared.
The captives gathered around her closely, trying to help her as much as possible. Even Legolas struggled up and pulled himself over to her side despite the twins' warnings. "Let me see her," he requested softly. "I have heard her voice before."
Estel pulled back to let him see the lovely yet pale face. He heard the soft intake of breath beside him, and took it for shock at the terrible abuse and her raw, sweet age. But Legolas had noticed all that and more.
"Valar, it is Alassiel," he breathed. He reached out in horror and touched her cheek. The others turned to him, horrorstruck.
"You recognize her?"
"She is the captain's daughter," Legolas' voice broke. "I am close friends with her father, Taidîr. By Eru, she is but a child still…Taidîr and Adlanniel had…" He trailed off when his eyes took in the sight of her unconscious body. Her clothing was torn and bloodied, her body in a far worse state. She had endured terrible assault. She is lucky to be alive.
He broke down and wept. "Valar, she is so young and innocent…" Legolas pulled her close as best as he could manage and tried to cradle the poor girl. She began to stir as his tears struck her pale face, and several moments later emerald eyes gazed up in anguish at him.
Those same emerald eyes sparkled with laughter when they found his crystal orbs. Grinning broadly and shouting his name, she bounded ahead of her loving parents when the door to the antechamber was barely wide enough for her to squeeze through. She skipped forward, brandishing a crude bouquet of daffodils and wildflowers in her small hand…
He had watched her earlier that afternoon, her ashy hair gleaming in the pale autumn sun, as she giggled and squealed in her parents' warm embrace. They had been on a picnic, one of the last before the frost, eating cheese and bread and fresh fruit from a woven basket and sharing in each others' company. Taidîr had kissed Adlanniel softly beneath the golden boughs as their child pranced through the meadow. They had waited a great deal of time to have a child, a choice that suited each other well. That very offspring was now aglow with life, warmer than the sun and sweeter than honey. She could never stop smiling, nor could she stop loving her mother and father as much as she did…
"Prince Legolas…?" the quavering girl spoke in a hushed voice.
Legolas' mind snapped forward to the present, away from the memory that had transpired only two weeks ago. "Hush," he whispered. "I am only Legolas to you. Rest now, you are safe with me."
"We are free?" she gasped out, weakly twisting her small bloody fingers into his equally-bloody tunic.
He shook his head slowly. "No," he admitted. "But we will protect you."
Despite his reassurances Alassiel began to panic. "They'll hurt me! Kill them, please! I do not want to be hurt again. I want Nana and Ada…I want Nana and Ada!" Wracking sobs plagued her thin frame. She began to tremble and desperately curled into a tiny ball, pulling her ripped clothes closer around her for warmth and comfort. "Saes…" she wailed, and they could do nothing to comfort her.
Half an hour later her breathing had calmed slightly, but her eyes flitted across everything in the clearing apprehensively. They knew she was young. She had yet to gain the calm, collected demeanor of Elves, but they took pity on her, realizing that they were able to coolly handle themselves in an Orc camp because they had been toughened by battle. This girl, however, had barely begun her lessons. She stared at Estel as if he had sprouted a third head, repulsed by his stubble and unruly hair, and then watched the identical twins in fascination. When they smiled at her, she buried her face in Legolas' chest.
"Alassiel," Estel began, and she turned her head so wide eyes could watch the youthful mortal fearfully, "I am Estel of Rivendell."
"We are Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell," the twins said together.
"We will protect you," Estel assured her, masking their conversation in Sindarin, "We are seasoned fighters, you will be-"
"Safe?" Her green eyes blinked at the man. "You four were captured by these monsters and I am to believe that you can protect me, without weapons, from them?"
"There are more ways of defending you than fighting," Estel answered smoothly.
"We can draw attention away from you," Legolas joined in.
"In the morning I can search for herbs and make healing poultices," Elladan added.
"And we will work together to get ourselves out of this Valar-forsaken place," Elrohir finished darkly.
Alassiel, still curled up in Legolas' arms, stared at them with huge eyes. The firelight flickered dully on her expressionless face. She seemed to be waiting, weighing the odds, deciding if she should take the chance…
She pulled herself from Legolas' sheltering embrace and stepped over the rusting chains to the twins, still watching them with her large emerald eyes from behind loose strands of her buttermilk hair. Her left arm broken, she reached out with her right arm to the brothers, who quickly gathered her in and held her between their warm bodies.
"Hannon le," she whispered.
"There is no need for thanks," Elrohir assured her. He and his brother rubbed her back gently, and were reminded oddly of their own little sister, their evening star, and how she would come to their room in the middle of the night just for this sort of attention when she had a nightmare, or when their father or mother were detained on some sort of excursion. That was years ago, but it was easy enough to remember how to comfort a little elleth.
After a hug from Estel she returned to her place next to Legolas, curling up on his uninjured side, and the twins made her comfortable with the outer layer of their hunting attire keeping her warm.
She is so close to freedom, Elladan noted to his brother. They had noticed her unbound wrists and ankles, while their chains clanked noisily as they moved their wrists. Their chains, if laid out on the ground, would resemble something close to a 'Y', with the split ends allowing their hands a little movement and the single end anchored heavily to the tree. It was an awfully permanent anchoring, and the realization of such sent shivers of worry down their spines.
Aye, but not when there is a double perimeter around us.
Elladan looked up at his brother, who nodded toward the underbrush. Sure enough, he saw the glint of eyes watching them, and several sets glaring out maybe five feet behind those. The little band of captives was surrounded by a double perimeter even within the Orc camp, and yet they were allowed to carry on conversation – most of it in Sindarin – freely. It was an odd combination, and something deep within their hearts warned them that this capture was not just for a "bit o' fun" as one of the Orcs put it. This was something entirely different.
"Estel, do you sing?"
The little girl's innocent question broke the twins out of their reverie and they looked to their brother, who was nodding. "Of what should I sing, tithen-iell?"
"Anything."
Estel glanced at his brothers and Legolas, inviting them silently to join whenever they saw fit. Then he opened his mouth, and the song began.
His tenor voice lifted in his smooth melody. He painted a picture of his memories, of his love for his brothers and companions, of the sweet city that he called home. He sang, in his lilting, smooth voice, of innocent travels to distant or not-so-distant lands. They could feel warm wheat beneath their fingers, the blessed rays of the sun warming their face, young green leaves wet with the morning's dew dampening their clothes. The felt the season's change, through the ice of winter to the blaze of summer, and nothing remained a constant save the comforting touch of a friend in his heart.
The twins began their melody with their companionship when Estel's music dropped to a soft piano, still pushing through his crescendos and sliding back into the soft rhythm as his brothers took the stage. There was a tightly woven harmony between them, as complex and difficult as naming every star in the night sky, as their voices lifted and fell like the ocean waves that had carried their mother away from them. Their closeness was defined by their ability to harmonize at will, complementing the other all the while, giving each other's separate melody life and light above Estel's accompanying hum.
When Legolas began to sing they felt stars raining down upon them from the gods, showering them with tastes of fiery battles and noble kingships that had defined the prince's life. His voice did not quaver or falter, instead ringing as clearly as a drawn sword. He sang with bravery and dared to touch high notes with great courage, but his voice did not pull attention from the others'. He held his head high, letting his heart fly freely, as his dangerous life spilled before him into the night sky.
Before Alassiel's eyes glazed over with Elven sleep she saw four distinct persons before her:
A dark Man of only twentysome years, crowned with the sunlight, was being guided towards his dreaded, ever-looming future with the support of his friends and family.
Two identical Elves quietly held hands, their hearts incomplete without the other, mixtures of pain and bliss swirling in their memories.
The Elf that held her sat proudly, framed against the trees of his forest home with a circlet of stars upon his brow, and in his crystal eyes she could see glimmers of fantastic battles beneath the canopy, treaties and trade conducted under the boughs, and a handful of precious, cheerful memories in a sea of troubles.
And their song, too soft to be heard by their captors, drifted sadly into the black of night.
To be continued...