I am finally done! A whole 19 pages of story!!!! you like 'em long, you got long so never say I don't do anything for ya!
Dedication: to the Darkness and Shadow group – you all know who you are. May the darkness forever live I your hearts and may you never go without the pain of others!
Very special thanks to: Lady V for the wonderful help that you gave me! It would have taken me another three weeks to update if it were not for you. As you can see, I used most of your suggestion, added a bit, changed a bit, but, all in all, it was you that did it for me. Thank you! and I know that I said I would have it up last night, but I kinda fell asleep, which is a heaven sent for me, so you, Carpe Diem! Lol.
Pearlrosses: for your threats of stealing my muses' and other abusive e-mails! Lol. I hope this was worth the wait.
Everyone who has reviewed or e-mailed me with their opinions, suggestions or just to say hi! I never would have gotten though all this if it was not for the encouragement that you all give me and the boosting of my ego! lol
***
Ok, I have decided that this story will be in three parts, working on the main settings. We are still in the first part, the second will be in about two chapters time and will be a bit shorter, and the third (obviously) will be after that and shorter still. Though I should tell you that.
Umm, this chapter is VITAL to the story. Don't want to say too much, but I introduce *counts on her fingers* four, (but five if you included that other one) new characters into this story, that will all, at some point in time, play a major role in this little tale.
Also, for the sake of doing the right thing, this chapter carries a STRONG WARNING!!!!!! - if you thought that the bloodsucking thing last chapter was bad, than look out. It is very graphic and rather disturbing plus quite violent. But, I can safely say that, while things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before they get better, they will be getting better very soon. (Lady V, don't kill me!)
Ok, so read and I hope you enjoy and are not too angry with me in the end. I will also rave a bit more down the end.
*****
Shadows Within; Darkness Without
By: Minka
Part One:
Path into Darkness
Chapter Eight:
Of Darkness and Light.
*****
"Then wise Penelope spoke to Odysseus again, saying
'Stranger, there are certainly dreams that are useless,
Senseless stories that hold nothing for men.
There are two gates for our intangible dreams:
The doors of one gate are wrought of horn,
And the other are of ivory.
The dreams which pass through the gate of carved ivory,
These dreams are deceptive, since they portend nothing real.
But the dreams that pass out through the polished horn,
Those dreams hold true deeds to be accomplished,
Should a man be able to perceive them.'"
Homer's ideas of the meaning and conception of dreams, published in the Odyssey, Book XIX, lines 559-567
*****
"Aragorn!" Gimli raced to his friend, calling out his name in desperation. One minute Aragorn had been fine, the next he had crumpled forward and fell to the ground.
Reaching where Aragorn still lay perfectly still, Gimli turned his friend over gently so his face was no longer buried in the dirt. Aragorn's eyes were closed and fluttering slightly as if he were entranced within a dream and his breathing was slightly labored, yet other then that it looked as if the ranger had merely fallen asleep on his feet.
"Aragorn?" Gimli questioned whilst shaking his friend's shoulders, trying to rouse him. It was such an odd occurrence and the entire situation had left Gimli with an undeniable sense of forbidding; it was not a natural situation and seemed to reek with the smell of evil.
Pulling out his own water bottle, Gimli uncorked the neck and poured a generous amount over Aragorns' face in an attempt to wake him yet the action was in vain – Aragorn showed no signs of waking anytime soon or by any means that were not his own. It was as if he had given up hope and let himself fall into a deep sleep that he could control at will.
Sighing and crossing his legs, Gimli settled himself next to his unconscious friend. The sun continued to burn in the sky and there was nothing that Gimli would not do to be in the cool confides of a cave, surrounded by the cold rocks with little rivulets of water dripping down their rough surfaces. He longed to see the ways the fire light played upon the cracks of the stone and made the precious jewels glisten from the walls of the many passage ways that snaked their way through the mountains of his home.
Pulling his helm from his head, as it was growing unbearable hot, Gimli set it to his side and took a long drink of water. Glancing back at Aragorn, who showed no signs of improvement, Gimli pulled out his sharpening stone and started to run it rhythmically along the blade of his axe.
Willing his apprehension to flee with each stroke, Gimli tried to calm himself and get used to the terrifying fact that they were now forced to stop in their search.
Precious minutes ticked past and still Aragorn showed no sign of waking or even movement; it was as if he was dead. Panicking slightly at the thought, Gimli reached over and pressed two fingers to Aragorn throat, and only when he felt a pulse did he turn back to his axe.
They would have to stay there until Aragorn recovered from whatever ailed him, and in that time, the dwarf would just have to hope that his Elven friend and the two small hobbits' would be all right.
*****
Heavy. It was so heavy and seemed to be growing in its weight as it tugged at the chain about his neck. Frodo sighed in exhaustion as he and Sam continued their way down Emyn Muil towards the east and the Dead Marshes.
From the very beginning of their journey, Frodo knew that it would be hard and dangerous, but now, with each and every step that he took leading him and his friend closer to Mordor, it became worse. The Ring was always whispering in his mind, calling to him to take it for his own. But he would not, he could not – he would not let everyone that had sacrificed so much down, as he could not keep the Ring at bay.
It was harder now, without Aragorn and the others. They had all been so strong and supporting that it was only because of them that he pressed himself to keep going.
Aragorn had been an excellent protector, always making sure that he and the others were safe and all right. He was so strong and knew what had to be done, but he was also unapproachable. From the very first time that they had met, Frodo had felt slightly intimidated by Strider. He was not afraid of him, at least he was not once he grew to know him, but he still felt that, on some level, he, Sam, Merry and Pippin were a hindrance to Aragorn and that he did not want them there.
Boromir he had never trusted. The day of the council when he and Legolas had engaged in their first of many fights, Frodo wished upon wish that the man would not be a member of the fellowship. The hobbit could see something in Boromir's eyes, something that he knew if he looked in a mirror now he would see in his own. That thing was the Ring, its small band turning in the pupil of the eye as the voice called out to the holder to keep it and use it for their own reasons. It was for these reasons that he did not want the man to accompany them, but now, now it did not matter if the man was part of the fellowship or not as it was just him and Sam now.
The delegate that he had felt most at ease with was Legolas. The Elven member had been easier to talk to than any of the others, as he seemed to have an air of innocence about him despite his age. He had also been one that would help the small hobbits anytime that they needed it and he seemed to be able to tell when they needed reassuring of some sort. Even if the Elf had an on going fray with Boromir and Gimli, he seemed the most approachable of all and the nicest of the fellowship.
It was with these thoughts that Frodo found the courage and the strength to continue on with his quest. With Sam by his side, talking merrily of better days and the Shire, the entire situation became slightly easier to bear.
But the Ring still called, and still, it grew heavier.
*****
A slight gasp stirred Gimli from his half-dosing as Aragorn started to come around. The ranger had sat up and was now holding his head, a look of confusion in his eyes.
Even with his eyes open and cast upon the spotted grass green ground, Aragorn could still see the blood changing from black to red, moving in and concealing his friend while all the while he stood, pressed against an invisible barrier that blocked his path. He had called and shouted to Legolas time and time again in the dream and yet the Elf was deaf to his cries and did not even respond in the slightest.
He had no clue as to whose dream it was, whether it was what he feared had happened to Legolas or if it was what Legolas feared, but he knew that somehow, he had been there, watching his friend and being so close that he could see him, but not close enough to reach. That pulled at his mind, whispering to him of his own failure. He should have been able to get to his close friend, he should have been able to break though the barrier and save Legolas from what they both feared, and yet he could not. He was forced to stand idly by and watch as Legolas panicked within his own boundaries of reality.
"Aragorn?" Aragorn jumped at the sound of his name having forgotten all about Gimli's presence. "Are you well?" Gimli persisted after Aragorn had nodded his head in recognition.
Shaking the last of the haunting images that had followed him from sleep out of his head, Aragorn just smiled at his companion. He did not wish to trouble Gimli with such strange things as it seemed folly even to him that he had somehow gained access to Legolas' world of dreams.
"I am well," he lied, trying to make his own head believe what he had just uttered.
A humph was all his answer as Gimli reached into his pack and handed over the ration of waybread that he had kept for Aragorn once he woke. "Here," he said while handing it over to the grateful human, "eat this and lie no longer. I know something is wrong and that not all is well for 'tis not everyday that a ranger would collapse from the heat. Now be out with it."
Aragorn gave his friend another smile, torn between being pleased at his observations and being angered at his bold intrusion. Yet he had to tell him for the matter concerned him just as much as it did Aragorn for Legolas and Gimli had formed a somewhat strange friendship. Taking a bite of the food that the Elves of Lothlórien had supplied them with, Aragorn pondered on the best way to tell Gimli what he had seen in his dreams.
*****
Legolas woke, gasping for breath as the feeling of the blood blocking his senses lingered from his dream. Panic rose in his stomach as he could detect the tangy taste of blood on his lips and for a split second he thought that his nightmare was coming true, that he really was being drowned in his own blood.
Slowly his heartbeat returned to normal – or at least the fast beating that he now took for normal since being with the Orcs' – and the last remains of his dream disappeared into the fogy mist that seemed to cloud his mind.
Taking a quick moment to calm himself down completely, he looked out over the camp, making sure that none of the Orcs' had been alerted to his wakefulness due to his panic attack.
It had been the worst dream that he had experienced in his entire life, the only other nightmares being after his mother had died, and he could still feel the warm, slimy touch of the blood as it slipped over his skin, making its way up to his face. Yet the strange thing was that, throughout the entire dream, he could have sworn that there was another presence, standing just behind him on the other side of the barrier that denied him an escape from the approaching blood. It had felt familiar, as if he had known the person that seemed to be standing by and watching as he was consumed, and his first rational thought was that it was Aragorn. Though now, in the relative safety and clarity of mind that came to him in the real plain, he knew that it was impossible, for Aragorn was no Elf, he had no access to the world in which Legolas traversed in his sleep. Besides, why would Aragorn have just stood there, not even attempting to help him? Unless Legolas' worst fear was true, that Aragorn looked down upon him for the revenge that he had extracted from that Orc and the lust for the kill that still pumped through his veins.
Pushing all thoughts of Aragorn, dreams and blood away, Legolas took to studying the camp further. It was now night, sometime after the moon and reached its zenith in the starry sky and, if anything, closer to dawn. Already the air held a heavy, sticky feeling to it that Legolas had grown used to identifying with the early morning dew that fell upon the ground and the people that walked upon it, yet the night was still black and held no signs of the rising sun that he so longed for.
The Orcs' sat huddled around a large fire, soaking in the warmth that the flames offered to them. Even though Legolas could not feel the cold or heat, he longed to be next to his own fire, inhaling the sent of burning wood and listening to the soft crackling of the logs as the flames swiftly lapped up, sucking the moisture out of them.
The Orcs' seemed restless, uneasy, as if something that even they feared was approaching and the entire situation only put Legolas more on edge. Anything that was able to frighten the Orcs' was not bound to be good. The riders had long since disappeared from the plain and Legolas was now sure that they were probably some servants of Isengard, thus explaining why they did nothing to stop the Orcs' path. The Elf only hoped that the hobbits' were not so unlucky as to have met the riders after now knowing who they probably were.
A sudden chill came into the air, one so cold and unnatural that even Legolas could feel. The night turned quiet, even the crackling of the flames were soundless as the Elf strained to listen to what was whispered upon the wind. Something drew nigh; something that had disturbed all that dwelt in the night and sent all the small, plain animals into hiding. The air seemed to crackle with energy as a fierce wind blew up, sending dried grass and dust into the air alike. A loud crack like that of a burst of lightening sounded in the otherwise quiet night and a single white flash upon the outskirts of the camp also suggested a storm, though Legolas knew better.
Peering into the gloom, he could just make out the Orc' doing the same. The Elf kept his eyes trained on that one single spot past the ring of light cast by the fire, and, as time slowly wore on, a figure could just be made out, coming slowly towards them.
As the stranger came into the light of the Orcs' cooking fire, Legolas could now make out the features of the man' garb. The figure was stooped low, leaning upon a staff, a full length grey cloak rustled and floated in the wind that still blew across the prairie and a large, wide-brimmed hat sat upon the person's head.
Legolas' heart skipped a beat as he saw the man walking slowly to the camp and thoughts of Mithrandir formed within his mind. Was it possible that the old wizard had somehow survived his fall in Moria?
As the man came closer, Legolas' hope rekindled and he almost shouted out for the man the only thing stopping him from doing so, the white that he saw flicker under the folds of the cloak.
It was as if all his nightmares had come true, it was Saruman, he knew that much, and here he was, tied and beaten, helpless upon the ground whilst the evil wizard was in his bow's reach.
The man walked into the full light of the fire and any doubts to his identity were quickly forgotten. A long white beard could be seen hanging over the front of the grey cloak and a good few inches of white robe could be seen under it.
The figure went straight to Ashbukra, again showing that it was not Gandalf, and started to converse with the beasts in the Black Speech. After sometime and a few raised words from Saruman, the wizard turned his eyes on Legolas, and once again his heart skipped a beat. The eyes were dark and evil, full of hate and vengeance and lacking all light just as his smile was wicked and cruel.
The wizard straightened himself up and walked towards Legolas, the evil sliver of a smile widening as he took in the Elf's appearance. Deciding that he did not like being upon the ground at such a time, Legolas struggled to his knees, also raising his head in a sign of a strength that he did not feel.
The wizard came to a stop just in front of Legolas, "if it isn't the young prince of Mirkwood – if indeed there is an Elf under all that grime!" Saruman exclaimed while looking down on the now kneeling Elf. At his words, Legolas' eyes widened in surprise at his knowledge and at the same time they flared at the insult, "you think I would not know the ones that dare stand to oppose me? Yes, I know everything about you and your little idealistic friends," the man concluded with a smile and a slightly inappropriate chuckle.
The laugh chilled Legolas to the bones and as he shuddered, he began to tug and struggle vigorously with the rope binding his wrists. The struggles seemed to light a spark in the hollow eyes of the wizard, and the smile broadened. Ignoring the harsh bite of the cords upon his scared wrists and newly made wounds, Legolas continued to struggle while never taking his eyes off the wizard before him.
"It is with great interest," the wizard bit out, "that I hear you played a major role in the loss of my other two captives." He paused, as if waiting for a reply from the Elf before him, and when none came, he continued. "I do not think you realise how important they were to me!"
A smile of his own swept across Legolas' dirtied features as he vowed not to let the wizard get the better of him. "I think I have a rough idea of their importance," he said in a low, dangerous tone.
A nervous murmur travelled through the Orcs' that stood watching the confrontation between their sport and their master and Saruman's face turned a dark and malevolent shade of red. At this reaction, Legolas straightened himself even further, ignoring the pain that swept through his body and cried for him to crumple back to the ground.
"Do not play with fire, Elf, especially when you know you can not possibly win!" Saruman snarled out between his teeth. "'Tis humorous to think that such a pitiful creature like that which you have become can still think themselves strong. That one so obviously put in their place as yourself could be so disillusioned and foolish."
"Nay, it is not me that is foolish or disillusioned, Saruman," Legolas shot back against his better judgement, "that is you in thinking that you can betray Gandalf and the people of Middle-Earth and still seek to stand against the power of Sauron. You are the disillusioned one here, not I."
Saruman's eyes blazed in his anger, and Legolas could have sworn that he saw fire flick through the pupil of the dark orbs. "You will pay for your insolence, little prince." His voice cut through the tension on the air like a blade would tender skin and Legolas inwardly flinched, not allowing himself to show such emotions on the outside.
Looking up at the appealingly old man, Legolas felt as if something was forcing its way into his mind, searching for something. With a clarity that surprised him, he realised what it was, and pushed all thoughts of Frodo, the ring and Mordor out of his mind and away from Saruman's inquisitive search.
"Tell me," the wizard inquired, "why is it that you Elves are so hard to break? You know you can not win this and yet you continue to aggravate me and hide what I seek," the last word was spat out, defining his point as Legolas felt the probing within his mind continue.
You can not win this. You can not win this.
Legolas repeated the words over and over in his head, making them the only thing that the wizard gained access to. He had known that he had spoken out of heedless pride and not wisdom and as he continued to repeat the wizard's sentence, he started to wonder if it was in fact true.
Frustrated, Saruman gave a savage cry and Legolas felt the presence leave his head and, for a split second, he thought it had gone, but a sudden pain in his chest revealed that not to be true.
The pain felt as if it were caused by a hundred daggers, all poking into him at once, and he lost his balance, falling to the ground gasping for air. He knew enough of the dark arts of the world to tell him what was happening; Saruman was trying to force the light out of him, drag him into the darkness that the wizard and his minions lived.
Closing his eyes, he fought what was possibly the most important fight of his life: the fight for his soul. Battling against the invasion and the pollution of his soul, he closed his mind and his heart he best he could, trying to force Saruman's evil presence from his body and back into the night.
"Elves, so hard to break yet so easy to destroy their light and turn them to darkness," the man said, the Orcs' behind him erupting into laughter.
It became harder and harder to keep the invading darkness out of his being and as another wave of what felt like pure evil swept through him, he screamed out in agony unwillingly. He could not let this happen, let Saruman take everything that he loved from him when he had already suffered and survived so much.
Drawing on all his strength, he raised his head from the dirt and opened his eyes, locking them with Saruman's own. "No," he choked out, satisfied with the started look upon the wizards face. "No," he said louder and more confidently as he glared at the shocked wizard, "you will not have my light and you will not see me broken!"
Shocked at the Elf's resistance, Saruman lost his concentration, his power withdrawing from the Elf in the process.
Letting his eyes close in peace, Legolas smiled to himself. He had done it, he had defeated the wizard's intentions.
Saruman was in a rage, his eyes flickering with their hate and vengeance. How had such a battered and worthless excuse for an Elf been able to stop his wraith – it was unheard of. Focusing in on Legolas again, he tried to renter the Elf's soul in another attempt to squash the light from him yet he met a barrier.
Legolas' smile broadened as he felt the wizard seek entrance to him again, only to be blocked. He had succeeded, and through his will and light, had managed to keep the now drained wizard from attempting to turn him again.
Realising that he could no longer gain access to the Elf's light, Saruman snarled at the Elf that lay now at his feet. "You will pay," he said between breaths, "have no fear of that, little prince, for you will pay. No Elf, prince or no, defeats me, especially one that is no longer one in appearance or thoughts. You think I did not see what goes on inside you? Your doubts, your fears and your questions of what you really are. I saw them all! And I tell you now, Elf, they will be your demise."
Legolas lay there, barely hearing what the wizard had to say in his angered rambling's. To him all that mattered was that he had defeated him, he had won this battle and preparing for the next or the consequences was not his top priority.
He was vaguely aware of the presence of Saruman leaving the position that he had taken above him, and he could hear the slight, startled murmurs of the Orcs' about him as Saruman walked up to Ashbukra.
"Make him regret it," the wizard said coldly ere walking slowly out of the camp to disappear in another flash of blinding white light.
It took only a moment for the Orcs' to register what their master had commanded and Legolas could almost see their evil minds ticking over, thinking of ways to make him suffer more then he already had.
One of them yelled something at Ashbukra who responded by sending a harsh slap into the face of the aforementioned Orc, sending him wheeling back. More cries sounded about the camp as Legolas looked on, wanting to run yet knowing that he would not be able to.
When Ashbukra finally turned towards him, the look in his eyes made Legolas cringe, again wishing to be swallowed by the ground and taken away from such an evil place.
The lead Orc came closer and Legolas concentrated on making his face a mask of indifference, not allowing the panic that rose in him to reach the surface. Ashbukra held a small, black handled knife in his right hand, the hilt of it fashioned into a snaring face that closely resembled a warg as it was about to attack. Legolas had no clue as to what the blade was made for, as it certainly was not one designed for fighting as it was too flimsy and almost dainty looking. The Elf tried to think of anything but the Orc that strode confidently over to him, the thin, gleaming blade held in his hand.
Flashes of his life came to him, as if he were about to die as the human always put it. It was strange, he could see his home, his father and mother sitting upon the green slops of the palace gardens, his first visit to the water boarded lands of Rivendell and his meeting of little Estel. He saw the man grow up and the first hunting trip that they had gone on together, along with Elladan and Elrohir. The fellowship setting out, the beating that was bestowed upon Gimli for trying to help him and the little, hope filled faces of the hobbits that had also been captured.
So much came to him in those few seconds, his eyes still open and staring blankly at the Orc, and yet he felt no emotion. Nothing as he saw the face of his mother that he had not looked upon for many years, nothing at the sight of the hobbits' and Gimli's defeat. It was all there and yet he felt as if he were a shell, a fragment of his former self that was incapable to feel anything but pain, self-doubt and loneliness.
Before he could get himself back to the present and know what was happening, he felt rough hands grab him from behind and keep him pinned to the ground. He felt a hand press onto each of his shoulders, one right on his previous arrow wound, in an attempt to keep him flat to the ground and Legolas could not help but wonder what the Orcs were thinking.
Bucking against the restricting grip, the Elven prince squeezed his eyes closed against the pain of his shoulder as he tried desperately to get himself free.
A clawed hand wrapping itself around the base of his right foot took him by surprise and his eyes flew open, staring straight into the yellow fire that was Ashbukra's. With a cruel smile, Ashbukra held the knife up in the air, right in front of Legolas' face, waving it from side to side as he taunted the Elf with the weapon. Flicking his tongue over his scaled lips, Ashbukra quickly turned Legolas' right ankle to the Orc's left and raised the blade over the part of the booted foot that was soft and tender, holding no bones.
Sudden realization swept through the Elf as he looked on at the blade held high in the air and whilst every bone in his body told him to fight, he could not even bring himself to move as fear clenched tightly at his heart.
Ashbukra leaned in towards Legolas's bruised face, nipping out his tongue to grab a small stream of blood that ran from a small cut on Legolas's cheek. The Elf jerked his head away as best he could, and Ashbukra drew back and slapped him hard, before walking around behind Legolas to where even the Elf's eyes couldn't see.
The blonde prince felt his ankle being taken back into Ashbukra's hands and the Orc started to taunt him, holding the knife so the cold steel was just barely touching his boot, while the other Orcs looked on and laughed. Legolas clenches his eyes shut in fear as the pressure of the knifepoint was taken away from his foot for only few seconds.
It seemed like time had stopped as Legolas waited in apprehension, his eyes squeezed firmly closed.
Then Ashbukra rammed the blade into the Elf's skin.
It slid in, a cold, hard and unwanted presence under his skin and it was with a slight laugh from the Orc that held it, that the blade turned in the wound, opening it up for Valar knows what purpose. Gasping in shock, Legolas once again tried to school his features into not allowing the beast to see just how much such an act really hurt him, though he could not stop the quiet sobs that hiccuped up his throat.
No longer could he hold in his cries of agony. He had been through so much, felt so much more pain then anyone every deserved, and all the while he had not cried out his anguish, yet no more. He could no longer fake his resilience to the pain that was forced upon him and before he knew it he was crying out, disturbing the night air with his tortured voice.
"ARAGORN!?" the name came easily to his lips having been on his mind from his past dream and yet he felt that it was something deeper, something more powerful that made him call out his friend's name. He cared not if any of the Orcs' recognized it as the name of the lost King of Gondor, only that it was his friend's name and title, and that it was he, if any, that would be able to sense his turmoil.
As the pain increased, Legolas found himself almost chanting Aragorn's name into the air, feeling as if it lifted some of the pain in some sort of way. "Aragorn?"
As he felt the Orc's hand move to grab his other foot, a strangled sob escaped his cracked lips. His right ankle felt as if it were on fire and yet at the same time he could feel strangely nothing, though he knew that it would hurt just as much for his left.
It was, without a doubt, the most horrifying thing that the Orcs' had put him through in all his time with them, no matter how short it had been. Legolas had no real idea as to how much time he had been in the clutches of the Orcs' but he knew that it had not been even close to a week and yet he was broken already, a twisted form of his former self.
Without any warning, the Elf felt the blade pressed to his foot and the weight of the Orc on top of him increase. In one swift movement, Ashbukra pierced his blade through the flesh of Legolas' ankle, mirroring what he had down to the right.
"Aragorn?" no longer being able to cry out as loud as he once had, Legolas settled with merely sobbing in defeat as the blade did its work. No matter how hard he tried, he could not block out the pain or the snickering of the Orcs' that stood all around him, laughing at his agony and surrender.
As the blade was pulled from his foot, he felt it scrape against the bone of his ankle, making him arch up in agony and thrash against the beasts that held him. All his valiant attempt succeeded in doing was make the blade scrape further along the bone as it slide out slowly, the Orcs' laughing at the being, enjoying the torture that the Elf put himself through with his folly attempts of avoiding the blade.
Ashbukra reached behind his back, and, to Legolas' horror, he produced a short, think length of cord much like the ones that the Orcs' used to fashion their whips. Squirming against his captors, Legolas tried desperately to gain his freedom having predicted what was to be done with the rope.
Taking one end of the cord in his right hand, Ashbukra grabbed the Elf's right foot in his other claw. Rubbing the cord in the blood that trickled steadily down Legolas' boots, he made sure that the ends were taught and straight so he could easily thread it in through the wound.
Ashbukra started to slide the rope through the hole in the Elf's foot, but suddenly withdrew and said something to his comrades in the Black Speech. Legolas shuddered at the laughter that followed, knowing that it could only mean more pain for him, and he was right in that assumption.
Ashbukra, instead of putting the rope through his maimed foot, put his finger through instead. Legolas' back arched in his pain, and along with his sobs came whimpers and gasps. The clawed finger moved about in his foot, pushing against flesh and bone alike and all the while making Legolas' soft noises increase to louder, more audible ones.
Ashbukra then pulled out his finger, moved into Legolas' range of vision and the Elf's eyes widened as he saw the Orc's index finger dripping with his own blood. The merciless Orc touched the finger to Legolas' lips ere grabbing the pale jaw, forcing Legolas' mouth open. Smiling down at the terrified Elf, Ashbukra forced his finger into the princes' mouth, wiping the blood off on Legolas' tongue.
Gagging at the taste, Legolas tried desperately to rid his mouth of the substance and the finger, only to have more of his own life-blood forced down his throat. It was still warm as it slid down, coating his mouth with the foul taste and any attempts to bite the finger were cut short by the cutting hold of the Orc's other hand.
Once Ashbukra was finished, he removed his finger from the gagging Elf and returned it to the bleeding right ankle, pushing it in again to re-coat it. Bringing it back to Legolas' face, the Elf forced his lips closed, biting lightly at the inside of his lips, refusing entry. Only Ashbukra had other ideas, and dragging it across the Elf's face, covering parts of Legolas's features with the Elf's own blood, he went about licking it all from the pale skin, not caring that the Elf sobbed and struggled weakly.
When the Orc was done, leaving no drop left upon the smooth face, Ashbukra went back to Legolas' foot and picked up the rope once more, positioning it to move easily through the hole in the Elf's body he had just created. Lifting the foot, he slowly started to thread the coarse rope through.
Legolas cried out when the rope first entered him, feeling small bits of the metal woven rope break off and get lodged inside him. The Orc holding down the distressed creature laughed all the more at his struggles, while watching as their leader pulled the rope from the other side of the foot, having successfully threaded it through. As the rope went through the other ankle, the Orcs' amused themselves with how the Elf bucked in pain simultaneously to when the rope was put in or pulled out of one of his ankles.
Holding the two ends of the rope in his hands, Ashbukra inspected the job that he had done with a proud look upon his face. Looking up at the pain-ridden face of the Elf, an idea came to him and a sadistic smile crept upon his face. Keeping his eyes locked onto Legolas so he would see the pain and not just hear it, he began to pull the rope back and forth, through Legolas's skin whilst never letting one side get all the way out.
Legolas's sobs redoubled as he jerked madly against the hands that held him to the ground, wishing it to cease and be over.
Once the rope was bright red with the Elf's blood, Ashbukra decided to finish what he had started. With one last snicker, he tied firm knots in the ends of the rope, allowing little to no movement of the Elf's feet and stood up. Barking out an order, he kicked Legolas with a heavy boot as he walked past. The Orcs' quickly scattered at his shout and even the one that had held the Elf in place left, leaving the miserable Legolas on his own as the Elf curled up in a ball, his eyes staring out into space.
Not caring of the nightmares that he knew would come, he willed himself into sleep, hoping that, though suffering through his dreams, he would leave the pain that he felt far behind. Yet, he did not fall into the world of darkness that he had become so used to whilst closing his eyes without whispering one last time into the wind, "Aragorn?"
*****
Over the next hour Aragorn, as best as he could, filled Gimli in on the vision like images that he had seen after his collapse and answered any questions that the dwarf brought up with his limited knowledge.
"And so you believe that it is he trying to reach you?" Gimli asked, somewhat disbelieving.
"No," Aragorn said strongly, "we have not been in contact of any sort, but it is as if I have intruded in on his dreams and he knows it not." Even to him, Aragorn thought he sounded like a wandering fool that was shunned out of village after village for his thoughts and words that consisted of nothing but lunacy.
"Well," Gimli finally concluded, "it is a far fetched idea at that, but not one that should be easily brushed aside nonetheless. So, until anything else may be found out about this theory of yours, I say we keep searching else the dreams prophesize doom by not returning."
Sighing, Aragorn nodded his head again in a sign of approval at Gimli's words. "Very well, we shall be on the move again," he said while looking out at the way that they were to go wistfully. He wanted to get to Legolas as soon as he possibly could but still felt strange, as if had had too much Elven mead.
Seeing that Gimli had already stood, Aragorn grabbed his pack and slowly raised to his feet once again.
"ARAGORN!?"
Aragorn whirled around to face Gimli, his features showing his concern and confusion. "Gimli, what is it?" he demanded of the startled dwarf.
"What do you mean, Aragorn?" Gimli asked slowly as if the man were mad.
"You called my name, did you not?" by now Aragorn was seriously starting to doubt his own sanity. He knew that he had heard his name, but he could have sworn that it sounded like Legolas' voice that had called it. But that was impossible.
"I did no such thing," Gimli replied, still as if he were talking to someone who was emotionally unstable.
Frowning in confusion, Aragorn just smiled at his friend and shrugged his shoulders. "My mistake," he said quietly whilst grabbing his pack that he had dropped in his surprise. Yet he knew that he had heard it, he had heard someone call out his name – it had not been in his head.
Seeing that Aragorn was still in a daze, Gimli started out, taking the lead down the small hill that they had been camped upon.
"Aragorn?" the voice shouted again so loud that it almost deafened Aragorn's ears. Spinning around again he looked behind him, searching for anyone that could possible be trying to get his attention yet there was nothing. Nothing behind or forward, nor to either side, and yet he would swear on his mothers grave that he had heard it.
"Aragorn?"
Gasping in shock, Aragorn dropped his pack once again. He knew that voice, his first suspicions were correct. "Legolas?" he whispered just loud enough to draw Gimli's attention to him. The dwarf stood there, watching his companion with a worried look plastered across his face as Aragorn just stood still, as if listening for something that he would normally miss.
"'Tis Legolas, he is in trouble – pain." Aragorn said, his voice still in a hushed tone. At this Gimli's eyes opened round, not even trying to hide his shock at what the human was telling him. How could Aragorn possible know what was happening to Legolas?
"Aragorn?" it was more of a sob now, one that was brought forth from a choked throat. Placing a hand to his head, Aragorn applied pressure to his temple, trying to block out the quiet sobs that he could hear as clear as day within his head. There was no mistaking it for anyone else but Legolas, even if Aragorn had never heard his friend in so much distress. He sounded terrified and riddled in agony and worst of all he sounded as if he had given up all hope.
"We have to get to him!" Aragorn exclaimed whilst picking up his pack for the third time. Motioning for Gimli to take the lead for the time being, he fell easily into line behind the dwarf.
The lead was not a place that Gimli was comfortable with, but seeing Aragorn's condition he thought it best that he was leading, even if it was only for a small while. It was not until Gimli heard a small cry and Legolas' name whispered into the wind that he turned around, already expecting the sight that met his eyes. Once again, Aragorn was sprawled upon the ground, his eyes closed, only this time he looked as if he were in great distress.
Walking quickly over to the man, Gimli tried once again to rose him, with no success, and so it was once more that he sat down next to his friend and sighed, cursing their bad luck and praying that the Elf and hobbits would be alright.
*****
Aragorn walked forward in a daze. He could feel the world all around him and yet at the same time he felt as if he were in a place that did not exist. It was completely dark and yet he knew that, if anything were to come near him he would be able to see it. The ranger could hear sounds all around him and yet at the same time all was quite just as he could smell things that he knew were not there. The ground was not visible, but he knew that he tread upon a surface like that of granite.
"Aragorn?" upon hearing his name he spun around, looking over his shoulder to the way that he had come. Peering into the gloom, a figure started to emerge from the shadows and his eyes grew wide in both terror and joy.
Legolas made his way slowly forward, as if hindered by something to do with his feet or legs.
Taking the first shaking step forward, Aragorn kept his eyes locked onto those of Legolas. As he saw the lightless orbs of his dear friend, Aragorn found the courage and strength to go forward. His unsure steps turning into the quick, light steps of his run as Aragorn covered the ground between them in haste.
Reaching Legolas he stopped and looked up into the Elf's eyes again and was rewarded with a small, insecure smile. Stretching his hand out to touch the pale cheek of the prince, Aragorn was alarmed to find that Legolas flinched away slightly. Repeating his action, only this time slower, Aragorn lay the curled knuckles of his fingers upon the unusually cold cheek of his friend, and, while keeping eye contact, went to pull the Elf into a hug.
In a movement that was slow for the Elf, Legolas pulled away and took a step back before he allowed Aragorn to get too close. Swallowing hard, the Elf searched for the words to say to his human friend. Coming up with nothing better he softly whispered, "it does me good to see you, my friend."
Creasing his brow with a frown, Aragorn slowly stepped forward again, only to have Legolas draw back once more. "Legolas?" the human asked gently and when Legolas made no effort to acknowledge his unspoken question that accompanied the said name, Aragorn continued. "What has happened to you?"
A small and almost hysterical smile appeared upon the Elf's pale, dirt covered face at this inquiry. "There is too much to tell here, Aragorn." He said in a stern tone that almost cloaked the hidden trace of laughter that was in his voice.
Aragorn's frown grew even deeper as he saw no reason that Legolas should have held laughter in his heart at a time like this, and it was not until the human looked right into the now dark eyes of the prince that he realised. Legolas was not well, not just physically, but emotionally. He had suffered through far more then any normal Elf would or could ever have endured and yet he still had not cut his ties with the world; he still held hope in his heart – somewhere.
"So be it," Aragorn told his friend, "yet when I find you, and I will, you will talk to me about this."
"If you find me," Legolas said solemnly, "I know not where I am myself – where is this place, Aragorn?"
Aragorn cast a quick glance around himself again, still seeing the same darkness as before. "I know not, I was hoping that you would have known the answer to that."
"I have no answers anymore."
"Do not give up hope, Legolas, I, and Gimli, will find you and we will get you free." Aragorn took another step to Legolas and was overjoyed when the Elf did not back away. Gently taking hold of the Elf's upper arms, Aragorn quickly checked Legolas' back for the wounds that his torn tunic showed were there, and yet, he found nothing. Looking straight into Legolas' eyes he asked his unspoken question.
"There are there but just not present in this place, wherever it is." Legolas answered his friend's gaze and by the look upon Aragorn's face, Legolas could tell that he had only further confused the human.
"Yet you still feel them?" the ranger questioned, the worry evident in his voice.
"As if they were to be seen, but fear not, you could not hurt them further for I do not believe that is entirely possible." Again Aragorn's eyes enlarged in fear for his friend and yet he pulled Legolas to him in a comforting embrace. "I saved them, Aragorn," Legolas whispered into Aragorn's chest, "I got the little ones' out of there, but they are on their own now and I fear for them. They are too innocent, Estel."
Aragorn gently stroked his friend's hair and placed his chin upon Legolas' head, "They will be all right and you must not worry for them, you saved them, you got them to safety and they will be able to look after themselves until we find them."
"But-"
"No!" Aragorn said in a stern yet gently tone, "you must worry about yourself now, not them. You have done all you could so it is now time to worry about getting yourself to safety. You must be ready when Gimli and I come to get you."
"And if you do not find me?"
"I will find you, my friend. I promise you that. I will find you."
*****
Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, waited patiently in the bushes near the edge of Fangorn forest with his eyes trailed upon the camp occupied by Orcs'. His men had ridden out of their hometown of Edoras two days ago against the orders of the king in search of these very Orcs' that they now watched.
The sun was fast rising in the east and it was at this time that Éomer had told his men that they would attack. The Rohirrim were all, like himself, still upon their fast steeds yet hidden in the shadows of the forest, waiting for the first rays of sun to peek over the distant horizon.
Rasing his clenched fist high above his head, Éomer made ready to command his men forward. Watching the slow creeping of the light across the land, Éomer let his fist fall in the signal to go, and, as one, the entire group of one hundred and five kicked their horse's sides and rode down in a mad frenzy towards the Orcs' camp.
*****
The Elf suddenly tensed in his arms and started to pull away. Aragorn fought to hold on to his friend and to reassure him that it was all right, but Legolas would have nothing of it.
"I must go," Legolas said in a panicked voice while his eyes darted about the darkened space fearfully.
"What? No!" Aragorn exclaimed as the Elf finally broke away from him with a slight hiss of pain. "Legolas, where are you going?" Aragorn called as Legolas started to walk off quickly in the direction that he had come.
"Something is wrong – something is happening!" Legolas called back, the fear so clear in his voice that it made Aragorn shudder.
"Come back!" Aragorn yelled as he quickly made his way after the Elf.
At Aragorn's request, Legolas slowly turned to face him, causing Aragorn to gasp in shock. Legolas' face was covered in blood and dirt while his eyes were sunken and blackened. His tunic was shredded and hung about his shoulders, like the scattered remains of a wispy cobweb, while being stained with his own blood. A large river of the red substance flowed down the side of his right face and Aragorn automatically panicked for the well being of his friend. The blood that ran from a wound in his shoulder had trickled all the way down his chest and breaches, and it was while following them that he saw the reason that Legolas' walking had been hindered. Through the back on the Elf's ankles, a rope had been threaded through and tied off, rendering the Elf unable to walk.
Horror was in Legolas' eyes as he looked down upon himself with Aragorn following his gaze, and as he lifted his eyes, Aragorn could see the hints of tears playing at the corners of his half-closed eyelids. Aragorn wanted to run to his friend and help him, to cut the ropes that bound both ankles and hands but, even as he took a step forward, Legolas began to fade in front of his eyes.
"Legolas!" he yelled as the Elf grew dimmer and dimmer, as if he were but a mirage and was shimmering out of his sight and mind. "Legolas!"
Without so much as a word, Legolas was completely out of his sight, he had just vanished out of being and Aragorn was once again alone in the darkness that he was now once again aware of.
Screaming in rage and frustration, Aragorn kicked out at some fragment of his imagination, pretending that it was one of the Orcs that had done such a thing to his friend. He craved to get his hands on them, to make them feel some of the pain that they had inflicted upon the Elf that he thought of as another brother. There was no doubt in his mind that what he saw was real, it had to be real. He had spoken with Legolas, somehow, and he had seen what the Elf had been through.
A strange sensation started in his feet, and Aragorn looked down to see himself dimming and slowly vanishing out of sight. For some reason he did not fear what was happening, and it was with the knowledge that Legolas was still alive and that he would have his and Legolas' revenge, that he willed the disappearing act to be over with quicker so he could continue his search.
*****
A sudden cry forced Legolas' eyes open and his mind out of his disturbing dreams. The camp was abuzz with movement, chaotic, unorganized movement as Orcs' ran to and fro, shouting out to each other in their harsh tongue that Legolas had grown to hate and fear at the same time.
Something was happening that the Orcs' had not expected, and Legolas felt a slight glimmer of hope rise up in his stomach. He knew from his last dream that it was not Aragorn as he was not near but he also remembered the riders that he had sensed the day before. Maybe, just maybe, they were not followers of Saruman. Perhaps the hobbits' had found them and warned them of Legolas' plight or even if they had not, hopefully the riders were here to slay the Orcs'.
Lifting his tired and heavy head, Legolas looked over the camp with interest. Orcs' were everywhere and yet none paid an ounce of attention to him, for which he was thankful. He saw Ashbukra run up to an Orc and bark an order in his ear and as the leader of the Orcs' passed him, the Elf could not hide the shiver of fear that passed through his body. As much as he hated to admit it, he was terrified of that Orc. The others he feared at times as any Elf would in his situation, but Ashbukra, he was different. He was ruthless and unmerciful and every time Legolas lay eyes on him, he could not get the picture of his sucking his blood from his still breathing body out of his head. And after last night, which he still felt the intense pain in his ankles and could not move them in the slightest, he had even more reason to shrink back whenever the Orc came near him.
However, this time Ashbukra did not even look in Legolas' direction as he ran past, shouting out more and more words that Legolas could not understand at the Orcs' that ran about the camp.
"Naltdrepa! Naltdrepa, Naltlat lul gijak-ishi!" the last bit he yelled into the face of an Orc that was sitting upon the ground, doing nothing. Immediately the Orc leapt to his feet, his face full of anger at whatever Ashbukra had said, and scampered off to grab a sword.
Legolas watched with fascination. He had never seen these Orcs in such a frenzy before and his mind was racing with possibilities.
As it was, he only had a moment or two to think of what was happening until a sudden cry went up through the camp that was not of the Orcs'. Looking quickly from left to right and then back again, Legolas soon saw that it was indeed the riders that he had sensed the days before.
*****
Aragorn woke with startling clarity this time, and it only took him a minute to throw his things into his pack and to tell Gimli, who had remained on watch, to do the same. Jumping to his feet, he was already half way down the hill before Gimli even had the time to ask his question.
"What is it, Aragorn? What has happened?" the dwarf demanded as he followed his leader down the hill he had attempted to lead Aragorn down only an hour before.
"Hurry!" Aragorn called over his shoulder while not stopping his brisk pace. "Things have gone bad, Gimli, things have gone really bad. We must make haste else we have no reason to continue at all."
That was all Gimli needed to spur him on in his trek as his mind started to speed ahead of himself in the silent quest as to what Aragorn could have seen that would make him this scared and angry. He had seen the flare in the human's eyes as soon as he woken up and it had momentary stunned and shocked the dwarf.
"Hurry!" Aragorn called again as the human ran across the ground, his large steps that had earned him the name of Strider eating up the ground under foot in his desperate need for speed.
Sighing and looking to the early morning sky, Gimli quickened his pace until he was just behind the fleet footed human. They would hurry, they would go night and day if need be as long as they found their friends.
*****
The yells of the Orcs surrounded him completely and yet none came near the lone Elf. Lying upon the ground, Legolas watched all that unfolded with a morbid fascination as the riders literally swooped thought the camp, hewing and chopping from their horses, severing heads and limbs before the Orcs could even set up proper defenses.
A thunderous noise approached him and Legolas found himself flattening to the ground in order to avoid the hooves of a horse that jumped right over his head, the rider obviously blind to his presence. The man and horse rode on, paying no attention to him whatsoever, for which Legolas was thankful.
Another rider came his way, only this time the Elf was pretty sure that the man knew of his presence. As the rider came closer, a twang sounded through the air only noticeable to Legolas due to his higher degree of hearing then the humans that surrounded him possessed. Looking swiftly in the direction that it had come, he saw an Orc standing there with a bow, now empty as the fell beast reached for another arrow from the quiver on his back. Before he even had time to look back, Legolas knew where the arrow had hit as the sound of a horse rearing up and neighing filled the air. The man that was on the hose that was coming towards him shouted in his own language as his horse collapsed to the ground, rolling over itself. The young man threw himself to the side, just in time to avoid being squashed by the rolling animal, and landed in a graceful roll of his own. Springing back to his feet, he grabbed his own bow and loosed an arrow in the direction of the Orc archer, his target falling moments after.
On the whole, Legolas was quite impressed with the man's skill and grace, especially for a human, but he reminded himself that he was not in the best of places to ponder over technique. All over the camp, Orcs, men and horses fell alike, neither side looking as if they were prepared to back down and neither looking as if they were winning.
A footstep near his right side drew his attention from the mêlée that had swooped upon the camp, and Legolas turned to see a man standing over him, sword raised and pointed at his throat. Legolas' heart beat faster and faster, what if these men did not know an Elf when they saw one and if they did, what if they were not friends of the fair folk?
The man seemed startled to find him lying among the dying Orcs and the trampling feet of the horses and he seemed somewhat unknowing as to what to do. He still had the sword pressed right against Legolas throat and the man's shaking hand gave Elven prince cause to worry.
Suddenly, the man looked over his shoulder and called out in a language that Legolas did not understand. "What do I do with this one?" he yelled to who was obviously his leader, and Legolas recognized him as the one that had jumped from his dying horse. The man was tall with a white-topped helm that sat over blond hair and he was constantly in the thick of the fray.
"Leave nothing alive," the leader shouted while allowing his sword to pass through the stomach of one of the Orcs' that Legolas recognized as the one that had pressed his head down through one of his first beatings.
Having not understood anything that the riders had said, Legolas had to rely on the look in the man's eyes to tell him what had transpired and it did not look good. In the conversation, Legolas had taken the opportunity to move slightly to the right to be away from the tip of the blade that threatened his life and, searching the man's eyes he saw that it was a wise move.
The man looked slightly stunned when he turned back to see that his prisoner was not in the same place as where he had left him, but he was relieved that the strange looking person had not strayed too far. He knew that the being in front of him was not an Orc, and it seemed strange that any other beast would be travelling with a group of Orcs', but orders were orders and he would follow his captain no matter what.
Lifting his sword, he was about to move it into position over the being's head so he could carry out his command, when he saw something flash in the being's eyes. Without any further warning, Legolas' tied hands where around his right knee, pulling forward with all his might. The man lost his balance as the Elf put all his strength into his effort, and, as the rider fell forward, Legolas forced himself to slide across the ground in the direction the man had came, skillfully missing the falling blade.
Rolling over to his left side, Legolas saw the man getting his senses back, and, with a movement that was painfully slow for the Elf, he raised his bound hands and sent his left elbow into the face of the rider, successfully knocking him out cold.
Looking around wildly at all the beings', both human and not, fighting for their lives, Legolas knew that he had to find a way to get out of his situation, and fast. It was only a matter of time before someone stronger then him in this state would find him and attempt to add him to the pile of the dead that was starting to form at everyone's feet.
Turning his gaze to the man that lay beside him, Legolas did a quick visual search of the man. Seeing what he was hoping to find tucked into the man's left boot, he reached over and took the small dagger into his bound hands.
Placing the leather covered handle into his mouth, Legolas angled his head to he could see his hands off to the left of his vision. Concentrating hard, he angled his hands so that they were in line with the blade and, with a deep breath through his nose, he slide the blade to were his thumbs touched each other. Pushing his hands up so that the blade ran down the rope, he tried hard not to let the commotion going on around him become a distraction. Repeating the process over and over, he finally felt the ropes slacking from the severed threads that were woven to make the strong Orcish rope.
As the last few strands broke under his pull, he sighed happily at the feeling of being partly free and the circulation returning to his hands and fingers. Rubbing his hands over the small cuts that he had made in the process, Legolas once again checked the man beside him to make sure that he was nowhere near waking.
He used his hands as a brace and pushed himself up into a sitting position, still holding the dagger tightly in his right hand. His ribs were burring at even that slight movement and his head felt as if it were the only still thing in a revolving world. Looking down at his feet, his heart sunk as he saw the extent of the damage the Orcs' had done.
Chewing on his bottom lip to stop the cry of pain, the Elven archer leant forward with the knife still in hand while drawing his knees up to his chest. Tasting the blood that was now seeping from his bitten lip, Legolas moved the knife slowly back and forth over the thick rope that was threaded through the flesh of his ankles. He still wondered if he would ever be able to walk again let alone move with the grace of an Elf. Pushing such dark thoughts out of his head, he continued to work at the bonds until they too frayed and split apart. Placing a hand on the knot in his right foot, Legolas attempted to pull it out yet was overcome with such great pain that he felt as it he were about to pass out.
Punching the ground in frustration at his own weakness, he decided to leave the rope in for the time being, at least until he was somewhere safe were he could afford to drop into sleep.
Knowing that he had to move soon as the battle was starting to come to a close, Legolas rolled onto his stomach, preparing for an undignified crawl to safety. As he passed the man that he had knocked out, a sudden idea came to him, and, reaching over, he pulled off the helm that the man wore and placed it on his own head.
His crawl was long, hard and pained him with every inch of ground that he covered. Every millimeter of his body complained and yelled at him to stop his insane attempt of fleeing, yet he would not and scorned himself every time the want to stop overcame him. He could not sit around forever and wait for Aragorn or someone else to help him – he had to do it himself.
After what seemed like hours he found himself, alive and unharmed in the escape, at the edge of the camp near where some of the Riders' horses were. Seeing the opportunity of a faster escape, he forced his body to comply with his command to sit, and searched through the few horses' with his eyes. Upon seeing one that he though he could handle in this condition, Legolas let out a shrill whistle to get the horses attention.
"Tôl,' he whispered into the wind for the horse that he had chosen to hear. "Tôl an anim!" The horses snorted and, before the mare that he had chosen could respond, a white charger came over to him. It was a wonderful steed; pure white bar the grey speckled socks that stretched up most of its legs and yet it looked fiery, restive and quite untamed. Yet the Elf could see no other choice as this horse had chosen him so he made his mind up; he would make do and hope for the best.
"Tôl dad," he commanded gently of the horse and was rather surprised when it complied, bending its knees and kneeling down in front of him. Smiling gently to himself and the horse, Legolas used his hand to pull himself up onto the horse's back. The thick leather saddle was a hindrance but he would have to deal with it as he was in no condition, let alone place, to worry about unsaddling a horse solely for comfort. Letting his feet hang free of the stirrups, Legolas took a small clump of the horse's mane and in his right hand and wrapped the reins around his right knuckles, ensuring that he would not fall off.
Once settled, the horse stood on its own accord and, with a whispered word from the Elf on his back, set off in the direction of Fangorn Forest without so much as a backward glance at its friends and previous rider.
Relief was in the Elven princes' heart as he felt the horse speed up in its gallop towards the forest. He was finally free of the Orcs' and their harsh treatment. And yet, at the same time fear rose within him for now he was truly alone and wounded far worse than he had allowed himself to realise whilst with the Orcs. No small hobbits' would be there to help him or to simply make him laugh, no one but the horse that he was riding upon.
It was a scary thought, racing away from one danger to another. The warning the Celeborn had given them in Lothlórien was still fresh in his mind and it was even more disturbing to be going there alone. The archer knew that he could not hope to turn and head back in the way the Orcs' had brought him for at least a day or two, so to avoid the riders and any of the Orcs that may have escaped the slaughter.
With a sigh, he muttered to the horse to hurry up and, whilst the horse's hooves speed across the ground, he tried to relax and calm the inner turmoil that raged through his heart.
He was going to be alright, he had to be.
*****
Squinting his eyes and placing a hand upon his brow to block out the glare of the sun, the lone soldier looked out over the large body of water that stretched before him. Tightening his hand upon his sword, he waited for the strange object that he had spied to come closer.
He had seen it once it had rounded the bend in the river, and now that it was coming closer, his curiosity increased. It was floating upon the surface of the glass like water and yet it was not all that high from the water level.
As the current slowly pulled the object closer to him, the soldier soon saw that it was in fact the remains of a boat that coasted down the river towards him. The sun played upon the water and it was as if the rays all focused on the lone floating object, bathing it in a heavenly glow of gold.
Wading into the water to meet it, the man caught the tail end of the boat and was rather shocked to find the reason that it sat so low in the water. The boat was not whole and it was only the bottom half that bobbed up and down in front of him. The new top edges were uneven and charred; the result of burning and further to concluded his suspicions, a pile of ash lay spread across the entire bottom of the small, wooden remains. It was as if other planks of wood had been place on the top as it was burned and that the ashes were their remains.
Looking in the small shell something caught his eye. Reaching down in to the far corner of the once boat, the man pulled out a soot blackened sword that he recognized all too well.
"Boromir!" he muttered under his breath while turning his eyes back to the boat. There lay the bottom half of Boromir's shield as well as one of his gauntlets – of the remains thereof. Casting his gaze back on the sword that he held in his hands, realization came over him.
Steadying himself the best he could in the current, the man grabbed hold of the end of the boat and towed it back towards the shore. Once there and the boat was securely run upon the shore, the man collapsed to the ground, hugging the sword and burnt gauntlet to his chest and heart.
He stayed there for a long time, not crying but in a state of shock, rocking back and forth, all the while muttering; "my brother, not my brother."
*****
He rode on, not daring to stop even though his body screamed at him to do so. He could not afford to stop, not with the riders still on the plain and the threat of Orcs' still in the air. His only plan, or really lack there of, was to get as deep into the woods as possible so that he would have sufficient cover if chance should deem that he would need it.
So it was with that in mind that he pushed his horse on faster, ignoring the branches that swept back and stung his face after his swift passing.
He had been riding for close to half and hour now, and was well into the woods of Fangorn. It had taken him little time to cross the rest of the way of the plain and reach the first dotted lines of trees that would eventually lead into the thick forest that he was now inclosed by. All the way he had searched for the tiny prints of the hobbits' that he had risked everything for, but he saw nothing, whether it was due to the fact that they had not come this way or his unclear head he knew not. All he knew was that he had to get to shelter before, by some unlucky hand dealt by fate, someone looked up and saw his fleeting form as even a human could see all that passed between the forest and the place where the Orcs' were massacred.
He rode on in this hurried pace for nigh on an hour, slowly losing himself in the thickness of the dark woods and the swirling of the many shades of green leaves as he breezed past.
It had been an uncomfortable ride for many a reason. The saddle was more of an impediment then a help and he seriously wondered how any humans' could ride on such things. It blocked and restricted his control and contact with the horse, making it harder to feel what it needed and wanted as it traversed over the land. It also made it harder to move with the horses' natural rhythm, which, in effect, made his wounded ribs and back thump with each and every step. Once again his breathing was labored, and he had the slight inkling that one of his ribs was slowly being forced into his lung, stopping his lung from drawing in it's full potential.
With each passing minute he became more and more worried. For what was the point of surviving all that he had, for living through captivity with a band of Orcs' and not allowing himself to cut the ties that held him to the world if he was doomed to die alone, in a strange forest from his wounds. It was bitter irony that built up in his heart and made him think of all the terrible outcomes that his escape could have upon him and he hated it. Forcing himself to look on the bright side of all that had happened, he reminded himself that at least he had freed Merry and Pippin, and he himself was free, and if he was to die, at least he would do it in the comfort of a forest, surrounded by the trees that he loved.
Knowing that he could go no further, he leaned forward towards the horse's ears and whispered to him in his own tongue. "Dar-nin mellon. Æ an ir hae ir metuva noro!"
At his words, the horse stopped straight away. It's graceful white head moved left and right, looking for something that Legolas did not know, and, once it found whatever it was searching for, it started walking slowly to where its eyes were fixated on.
The horse stopped in front of a small boulder, flat on top and standing only as high as half of its bottom leg. Folding its legs under itself again, the horse lowered itself to the ground while being next to the rock, providing Legolas with an easy step to slide into from the horse and a shorter distance from the rock to the ground then what the horse's back offered.
Smiling to himself and saying a word of thanks to the horse, Legolas easily slid from the saddle to the rock and then to the ground. Looking back down on his feet, he found that he did not have the heart or the courage to try and relieve his ankles of the rope at the present moment. The horse had wandered off to graze at the far end of the clearing and it was with shock that Legolas saw two thick lines of blood down the horse's sides, obviously having come from his wounded ankles throughout the ride.
Wanting something better to rest upon, Legolas decided that now was as good a time as ever to try and walk. Using the rock as a brace, he slowly pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet, feeling the weakness in his ankles and the shaking of his legs as he tried to do something that he had not done in over a day.
It was hard, but he seemed able to stand, and with grim determination he lifted his right foot and moved it forward to place on the ground, though it never made it. His left leg buckled under his weight and, with annoyance and a little fear, he fell back to the ground, landing heavily on his backside.
Sighing, he placed his head in his hands, willing himself not to scream out his anger at the entire situation. He had long given up worrying about how much it all hurt and now solely concentrated on the fact that this rendered him useless. It was easier to bear if he dwelt on the anger and hate instead of the pain and fear as it kept him going, kept the blood pumping through his veins as his mind sort out a chance for redemption.
A slight nuzzling at his shoulder drew his mind out of the reserved state that he had slipped into and he turned to see the horse standing next to him, pushing gently at his shoulder. The horse flicked its head, forcing the reins over its head, and, for a brief moment, Legolas flinched at the motion and sound, his mind being dragged back unwillingly to the times that he was whipped without mercy.
He could see the whip, deadly in its owner's hand, as it flew through the air, coming to rest upon his already reddened skin. His back prickled against the small remainders of his shirt as the lash in his mind snapped against the skin, leaving a line of searing pain and red welts in its wake…
Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Legolas forced himself back to the present to find that the horse was watching him with interest. Smiling at the steed, he allowed the animal to move its head in such a manner that it looped his right hand in the reins. As if the horse had spoken to him, Legolas understood what it was implying with its movements, and, seeing no other option, he allowed the horse to pull him to his feet by turning slightly which raised the reins that Legolas clung to. Placing both arms over the horse's saddled back, Legolas braced himself for what was to come. As the horse took its first step, Legolas followed, putting most of his weight upon the horse's back while standing on his feet as little as possible.
It took them a few minutes, but, in this fashion, the horse managed to escort Legolas over to a thick tree trunk where he could safely and easily rest. Using the reins and the trunk, Legolas lowered himself to the ground and when the horse did the same beside him, he was rather puzzled. After a few minutes of wondering, the Elf finally saw a water skin attached to the saddle and a blanket that was rolled up on the back of the seat. Taking both, he used the blanket as padding between the bark of the tree and his torn back, and drank deeply of the water. The horse once again stood, seeing its job done, and went back to graze on the grass of the forest, only this time a little closer to he Elf.
It was only after making himself comfortable that Legolas could feel eyes upon him, watching him from the shadows of the gloomy trees that surrounded him completely. Though the gaze sent shivers up his spin, Legolas felt as if it were not evil or a threat and it was with that in mind, and the knowledge that even if he wanted to he could not go another step let along get himself back up onto the horse, that he tried hard to ignore it as he settled against a tree trunk. Even as his eyes grew stiff and hard to move, indicating the coming of Elven sleep, he could not have cared if the being watching him jumped out of the woods and proclaimed itself an enemy.
It was as the last stages of darkness crept into his mind that he heard it, a slight "Hrum, Hoom," and the approaching footsteps of a large beast of some sort. Yet, in his weakened start, he simply gave himself up to sleep, telling himself that everything would work out alright if he could just get some rest.
Once the Elf was fast asleep, lost in his land of dreams that no other being that lived could access, the creature made itself known. It had been many an age since he had seen an Elf, especially in these parts, and if it was not for the previous show of horsemanship and whispered words he never would have recognized the blood and dirt covered figure as one of the fair folk.
Moving slowly through the trees of the clearing, the large, tree-like figure approached the sleeping being, and, sensing its discomfort, made his mind up as to what to do with the Elf before him. Smiling down on the being, he gently stretched forth one of his branch-like arms and scooped the Elf up in his equivalent to fingers. Placing the Elf on his large shoulder, he made sure that the sleeping being was stable and secure in his branches by folding them around the figure, creating a little cradle padded with his own leaves for the Elf to rest in. Covering the crib with a few more of his smaller branches he made sure the Elf was warm and safe before digging his roots into the ground a little way, preparing for the sun's rising.
*****
Tbc . . .
Timeline fore chapter eight.
27 – night.
Frodo and Sam still making their way to Mordor.
28 – early morning.
Orc encampment visited by Saruman who is angered at the hobbits' escape. Legolas is crippled by the rope through his ankles. Again shares a dream with Aragorn.
28 – sunrise.
Éomer attacks Orcs, Legolas crawls away in the confusion and steals a horse (Arod) and rides to Fangorn forest.
29 – early morning (dark).
Legolas can go no further and collapses. Is found by Treebeard and taken into his branches to rest. Faramir sees Boromir funeral boat.
*****
Ok, so I could not resist making him fall on his arse! Lol.
I hope you all like that as it was a bit of a different sort of chapter. I mean, it ended happily!?!?!? Lol, I was rather pleased with how Legolas managed to escape – it took me ages to think of that. I didn't just want Aragorn and Gimli to come along and save his as that is far too boring and stereotypical and the riders finding him was kinda crappy – plus it spoils my plans for next chapter! Also, don't hate Éomer as he was not really "kill the Elf!" I mean, he did not even turn around to see what his solider was asking about – he was merely lost in the thralls of battle.
As you can see, we have a whole heap of new character in this chapter: Éomer, Saruman, Faramir, Treebeard and Arod (he was the fifth that I mentioned) and the return of Frodo, Sam and the Ring. This is setting everything up for what I have planned. Also, a lot of other characters will be coming into to it in the upcoming Part Two of this story, so look out for that.
Well, as always, please review and let me know what you thought, and once again, thank you to Lady V!
Minka.
