Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.
A/N: OMG, I had a week from hell - technically speaking, that is. First, my phone
company DID provide me with DSL access, for which I am deeply grateful, of
course, but it didn't go all that smoothly. Then my router decided that it
wanted a break, then my computer informed me that my processor speed wasn't
properly adjusted or something like that (which is of course nonsense, because
it's been working for two years), and then FF-net decided to have its little
face-lift or whatever it was. I have to admit that I'm surprised that,
apparently, they have been successful - I was slightly suspicious (well,
terror-stricken might be the more appropriate term) at first. Also, something else has come up: Ali 64 informed me about some new FF-net rules
(thanks a lot, btw) - they're getting more complex every month, I swear they do.
I can't believe they actually pestered Cassia & Sio until they withdrew all
their stories! I have now taken a look at their new "guidelines", but have to
say that I can't find anything that would forbid me to reply to reviews. Was it
really one of the reasons? I would hate to have to stop replying to them - I
love all of them so much, after all! - but I will if I have to. I'll have to cut
back my A/N, but I already knew that. So, tell me what you know. •g• Okay, so, in the spirit of cutting back on my A/N, here's the next chapter.
Aragorn realises that he once again did something incredibly stupid, Isál is
unhappy, Elrohir is mopey and - in true Elrondion style - antagonises
people he really shouldn't be antagonising. Oh, and Legolas is annoyed. And
unconscious. •g• Have fun and review, please!
Chapter 26
Even though he'd thought he had mentally prepared himself for what was to come, there was no way he could have readied himself for the intense, mind-numbing cold that washed over him the moment he hit the surface of the Hoarwell. It was not unlike suddenly finding oneself on top of Caradhras in mid-winter. Naked.
That particular, thoroughly desperate thought was still forming in Aragorn's mind when he plunged into the icy waters of the river. For half a second, he didn't feel anything, neither cold nor anything else, but then the temperature of the frigid water registered in his mind, hitting him with the force of a hammer someone had aimed right between his eyes.
The young man gasped involuntarily, an unconscious reaction to the cold he couldn't have helped anymore than he could have stopped his heart from beating, only to realise that that wasn't the most intelligent thing to do as water filled his nose and mouth. Aragorn did his best not to attempt to gasp for air, knowing that that would be even stupider, and tried to figure out where the surface was.
He could feel the shock at the sudden cold travel through his body, making it hard to think or even feel his body, but after a few moments he realised that the strange bubbles all around him was air that was rising to the surface, and yet a few moments later he decided sluggishly that following them might be a good idea. The man blinked, trying to see anything in the churning, swirling waters around him, and began to struggle toward the surface.
It took him far longer than he would have thought, and while he was swimming toward the surface, he pondered just how long it should have taken him. He had been less than fifty feet above the river, and even considering that he wasn't up to his usual form, he should have reached the surface by now. Then again, he thought lazily while he was trying to move through the cold water, that might also be because someone had exchanged the water for lead. He had never seen cold, liquid lead, so it had to be a new kind, but it was the only possible explanation.
The young ranger was just calmly deciding that he wasn't going to make it when his head broke through the surface, and for a second he was actually too stunned to breathe. His paralysis lasted only a second, though, because the need for oxygen soon became overwhelming and he gasped for air. After a few moments the roaring in his head and the wild pounding of his heart had subsided somewhat, and even while his head was still clearing, he realised that there was something he should be thinking about. Something that had seemed important just a few moments ago, when he hadn't been well on his way to becoming a human popsicle.
The last remnants of confusion disappeared from his mind in the same moment he remembered just what had been so important. Aragorn froze in mid-motion, once again realised that he had just done something incredibly stupid and struggled back to the surface when he threatened to sink once again. It took him a few moments, having to fight against the current that was pulling him under, the cold that threatened to paralyse his body and his wet clothing. In the end he once again reached the surface, spluttering and inwardly deciding that this would most likely be the last time he would managed to do that. The next time, he'd simply sink.
The frantic, desperate thought that had just come back to him resurfaced with the force of a small tornado, and Aragorn found himself moving before his half-frozen body even realised he was doing it. Raising himself as best as he could in the swirling water, he tried to see anything but water, but no matter how hard he tried, he might just as well have tried to find a mushroom at a hobbit family picnic. The current became stronger, pulling him down the river with increasing force and speed, and the trees and rocks that were moving past him more and more quickly only served to add nausea to his already quite long list of maladies.
Aragorn was still looking about him frantically when his body connected with something that, a second later, turned out to be a large branch that was floating down the river along with him, and the brief but rather painful contact was enough to bring him out of his short spell of panic. Trying to calm his wildly beating heart as best as a man being carried down an ice-cold stream could, he forced himself to gather the shambles of his willpower and concentration.
Legolas couldn't be far, he reasoned, a hope that, somehow, failed to reassure him at all. The elf would have been surprised by his involuntary little jump, but Legolas adapted quickly to new situations. And besides, it wasn't as if the elven prince had never before found himself in sudden mortal peril, was it? Still, the man thought frantically, his friend hadn't been prepared for being pushed into a cold river. He hadn't been prepared for the sudden fall and the subsequent impact, and he had been injured to begin with. If he was lucky, the unexpected cold would have cleared his head enough for him to keep himself above water, but that was about all he could hope for.
A sudden wave washed over him, dunking him under as effectively as if a giant hand had taken hold of his hair and pushed him beneath the surface of the river. Aragorn spat out the mouthful of water he was swallowing right now, and decided that he had had to get out of the river, now, or he wouldn't be able to help anyone, neither Legolas nor himself. He was already beginning to have trouble feeling his extremities and his thoughts were becoming increasingly sluggish. In a few minutes, the cold would break through his barriers and he would sink like a stone.
Even despite the seriousness of his situation Aragorn smiled inwardly while he was trying to swim towards the bank of the river, after having made sure that it was not the one where Gasur and his friends would be waiting for them. Some years ago he had heard Elvynd tell someone that crossing the Mitheithel anywhere but close to Aberon was either a "rare act of foolishness or megalomania". If the elf were alive to hear about this, he would most likely be hard-pressed to say which was the case here.
After only two seconds, Aragorn was beginning to see what the captain had meant. Spring had arrived late this year, and so the Hoarwell had swollen to twice its normal size. The additional water had caused the current to become swift and treacherous, and there were other things swimming on top the surface, or even below it. Logs, branches and other things the thawing ice had carried away with it were floating all around him, and avoiding the bigger objects was beginning to drain his already quickly diminishing strength.
He had managed to close the distance to the bank to maybe sixty or seventy feet when his eyes that were sweeping over the surface of the water noticed something, causing him to fight twice as hard as before to remain in the same place and not allow himself to be carried further downstream. The man quickly realised that treading water, fighting against the current, blinking water out of his eyes and trying to see anything at the same time was quite impossible, especially when you were feeling like a half-drowned rat. A second later he decided that, unless there was another blond being floating in the Mitheithel, he had just found Legolas.
The elf was somewhere to his right, no more than twenty or twenty-five feet away, but in this kind of current, he might have been on top of Barad-dûr. Aragorn couldn't actually see more than an occasional glimpse of fair hair, but unless he was very much mistaken, Legolas was at least keeping his head above water. Even though he felt as if he was only one step away from turning into an ice sculpture, he felt as if a huge weight had been removed from his chest. That meant that the elf was at least partly conscious, so they might be able to get out of this after all.
Fate didn't hesitate for long to show him that it was never an intelligent idea to say or even think such things. Having realised that calling out to his friend was thoroughly ineffective, with the roaring of the waves drowning out his every sound, he began to swim over to the fair haired elf, constantly praying that his friend wouldn't do something stupid, like maybe start sinking. Aragorn tried to call out to the elf once more, and, this time, Legolas' head was even beginning to turn into his direction and he obviously stopped trying to swim toward the shore to look behind him. Aragorn felt himself relax minutely and he would have sighed in relief if he'd had any breath left, and, just for a moment, he stopped paying his surroundings the attention they deserved.
One moment he was swimming towards his friend, the next he was sinking, desperately trying to shake off the complete, stunned surprise that had taken hold of him. He needed some seconds to realise what was happening, and when he understood that he had got caught in an underwater current, it was almost too late. He was already being pulled under and away, the water swirling wildly around him and pulling at his hair and clothes.
For a few, stunned seconds Aragorn couldn't really remember what he was supposed to be doing, but then he felt how a burning anger began to fill him. He clenched his teeth and began to fight against the current with all his strength, refusing to give in and die just like that. He knew that he would die one day, as did all of his kind, but he intended to postpone that day for quite some time yet. And besides, he would not die like this, in a way that was most certainly unbefitting a young lord, elven or of any other race.
The current seemed to think differently, though. It became even stronger, turning into a maelstrom of wildly moving air bubbles and chaotically swirling water, and no matter how strongly the man fought against its pull, he was still carried away with it. Aragorn tried to keep in mind where up was, knowing only too well how disorienting being tossed around like this could be (he had grown up as Elladan's and Elrohir's brother, after all), but he might just as well have tried to teach an orc Sindarin.
He was just about to make another attempt to reach the surface, well aware that his need for air was becoming ever more pressing, when the current even increased, pulling him another six or seven feet deeper and to the side. The thought that the riverbed would have to be somewhere to his right hadn't even fully constituted in his mind when he felt his back collide with something hard, cold and extremely unyielding.
With a strange sort of calmness he realised that he had apparently just hit some of the protruding cliffs he had seen only a minute ago, but that realisation changed nothing and helped him little. With a grating sound he knew he was only imagining the current pulled him forward, further downstream and along the sharp-edged rocks at his back. Aragorn gritted his teeth and forced himself not to cry out, knowing that it would be a highly stupid thing to do, especially underwater, and would only serve to deplete his already almost exhausted oxygen supply, but this problem was solved for him when he was pulled around a protruding rock formation and his head slammed into the next cliff.
The impact was hard enough for him to see stars and would have given a troll a roaring headache. Even though it had been disputed several times in the past – most of the time by Elrond and his brothers – he did not possess a skull that was as thick and hard as a troll's, and so the young ranger couldn't help but cry out as his head impacted with the stone behind him. The pain was so intense that he didn't even have the strength to fight his body's instinctive reaction, namely to gasp for breath while his body went limp, which, as he quickly found out, wasn't the most intelligent thing to do when being pulled alongside a rock wall by an underwater current.
Water filled his mouth, threatening to choke him and pulling him under with a power he wouldn't have thought possible. The part of him that was still capable of rational thought – a frighteningly small, quickly diminishing part – noted calmly that the fact that the burning in his lungs was lessening simply couldn't be a good sign, but the rest of him found it hard to care. There was a dark cover laying itself over his mind, threatening to envelop him completely, and one by one his senses faded into nothing until he couldn't even feel the sharp rocks at his back or the pain that raged in his head.
He was just calmly coming to the conclusion that he had indeed been very wrong and that he would die, right here, right now, when the water around him began to swirl even more strongly and, more importantly, flowed into another direction. He had far too little air left to try and figure out what was happening, and so he didn't even think it strange that something or someone took hold of the back of his shirt and hauled him upwards.
As suddenly as he had been sucked under the surface of the river he reappeared, gasping for breath and feeling as weak as a kitting someone had rather successfully tried to drown. He tried to understand just what was happening and why he wasn't dead, but his eyes firmly refused to co-operate with him in any way, dark and light spots colouring his vision.
The next few moments or even minutes – he wasn't really sure about it – were nothing more than pure confusion into which he couldn't bring any light at all. His body was far too concentrated on the pain in his head and back to pay his surroundings any heed, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop gasping for breath. Taking deep breaths, however, had the unfortunate side-effect of making him nauseous and increasing the dizziness that was sneaking up on him, and so he was highly surprised to find himself suddenly lying on something rather hard but definitely unmoving. Something like … earth.
The suspicion that he wasn't any longer in the water was enough for him to try and open his eyes, no matter how strongly his hurting head disagreed with him, telling him most insistently that to see light and movement would be a very bad thing. At first, he couldn't see much, but then he narrowed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate, and so he finally could see what the small, still rational part of him had already been suspecting.
Kneeling next to him, looking ridiculously like a half-drowned rat, was Legolas, his clothes rather torn and his hair hanging in limp, wet strands around his head. There was a large abrasion on his forehead that hadn't been there before, and Aragorn realised that his friend had probably had a little encounter with the very same rocks that had nearly cut him into ribbons. Right now the elf was staring at him in concern, which, in combination with the pallor of his face and the blood that was once again staining the bandage on his arm and dripping from the abrasion on his forehead, was a most interesting sight.
It was, in fact, Aragorn realised wryly, a sight that would have caused even the most battle-hardened orc to turn around and flee. Or start laughing uncontrollably, that was up to the orc in question – or rather its sense for irony and the ridiculous in general.
The object of his scrutiny raised a single, dripping wet
eyebrow, for a half-drowned, rather seriously injured person managing quite
nicely to convey long-suffering irritation.
"Drowning. That's a new one."
Under different circumstances, Aragorn would have said something, would have either laughed or told his friend to shut up and help him stand up so they could get as far away from Gasur and his men as possible, but now he did neither. His eyes had been right, as it was quickly turning out, and the dark spots in front of him were growing and beginning to swirl from side to side in a thoroughly unsettling way.
Legolas was either not expecting an answer or was too busy ignoring the way his entire body and especially his wounded arm ached, and so the elf merely shook his head tiredly as he contemplated his human friend's new foolishness.
"I really can't leave you along for a second, can I?" he asked in a tone of voice that suggested that he already knew the answer. He paused for a moment, feeling how the adrenaline that had been singing in his veins until now dissipated and how the various aches and pains began to demand his attention once more, before he returned wide, slightly unbelieving eyes to the young ranger. "You pushed me! You know I will have to kill you for that, don't you?"
All Aragorn could do was nod his head solemnly, which turned out to be the last straw. His mind decided that it had about enough of a person that so blatantly ignored its recommendations, and began to shut down with an inward huff of indignation. Aragorn wasn't even surprised, nor could he blame it. He would have done just the same, he guessed.
The world was growing darker still, and so the man merely
gave his elven friend a blinding smile.
"Yes."
Then the bleary sunlight was swallowed up by a great, dark wave that washed over his senses, and along with the relief at the swiftly disappearing pain he felt an overwhelming gladness that he wouldn't be awake for Legolas to start telling him what a reckless idiot he was. The elf's threat, on the other hand, didn't concern him overly much.
He would have to get in line, after all, and somehow
he doubted that Gasur believed in sharing.
If there was something or someone more annoying than an
over-anxious, worried and ill-tempered son of Elrond, Isál had most certainly
never met or heard of it.
It wasn't that Elrohir was short-tempered, or condescending, or plain infuriating. He was all of it, to a degree that would have made even the most obnoxious dwarf weep with downheartedness. And everyone knew how hard it was to achieve that without cutting of their beards or taking away their rocks.
It had most certainly almost caused the councilmen of Aberon to start weeping, but then again, Isál suspected, they would have started weeping with exasperation, or anger, or pure, unadulterated hatred. They hadn't, though, not really anyway, even though he thought he had seen one of the younger men dab his eyes with suspicious frequency.
The elven captain gave his surroundings a quick look, noted with a mixture of satisfaction and self-consciousness that his second-in-command, Meneldir, was eyeing him in a manner that very clearly said that he knew his captain was at least preoccupied, if not completely absent-minded. If it had been anyone else but Meneldir, he would have been angry at himself, but the commander had known him for long years and had been his second-in-command for most of that time. He was someone he considered a friend, maybe even his best friend now that…
Isál stopped that thought with an abruptness that, a few weeks ago, would have been highly uncharacteristic of him. He would not go there or even anywhere near it, he – would – not. Thinking about Elvynd was not a clever idea, especially not now, especially not here. He forcefully shook his head, satisfied that at least one person around here would keep an eye out for trouble and would make sure Lord Elrohir's head wouldn't explode, and mentally returned to earlier this day.
They had been standing in front of Aberon's council – which, curiously enough, had been missing one very important member, namely Hurag – and their lord had been trying to explain what they were planning. It had been a little hard since nothing he had told the men had been the truth, but still…
Toran shook his head slowly from side to side, as if he just couldn't believe what he was hearing or rather if he couldn't believe that his conversational partner thought him to be so daft that he would actually believe what he was saying. Not for the first time Isál thought that the tall man with the mass of blond-grey hair looked like a confused bear that was shaking its shaggy head.
"I … I have some trouble following you, Lord Elrohir," he finally said slowly, also not for the first time.
"I find that hard to believe, Master Human," Elrohir retorted in a pointedly calm tone of voice that had served to drive centuries-old elves to the brink of a homicidal rage. "I do not believe I phrased our intentions in any way unclear."
"Not as such, no," the man admitted, trading a confused look with his fellow councilmen. To any objective observer, it looked as if he was asking them something like 'He can't really mean that, can he?'
"But?" Elrohir prompted, raising a dark eyebrow for good measure. Isál would have been able to name at least fourteen elves who would have been willing and capable to kill the twin right here and now if he had looked at them like that.
"It is a cultural misunderstanding, then," Toran said in the manner of a man who was grasping at straws. "Even though I have been dealing with your kind for some time now, there are still several aspects of your sense of humour I do not understand."
Elrohir's impassive face became dark all of the
sudden, and he leaned forward slightly, managing to infuse this simple gesture
with a lingering sense of menace.
"Trust me if I tell you, Councillor, that you would
know if I was joking."
One of the other councilmen leaned back in his
chair, unconsciously trying to put a little more distance between himself and an
so obviously rather unbalanced person, and raised both eyebrows in a gesture of
confusion that even looked genuine.
"So you really want to … to take a trip? To explore
the countryside? Alone?"
"No, of course not," the dark-haired elf smiled friendly. He waited just long enough for the men to start to exhale in obvious relief before he added, "I'll be taking my men with me."
The man began to deflate slightly, looking as if he
had just discovered that he was dealing with a raving lunatic. Isál was wishing
fervently that he could say with some conviction that he wasn't.
"All your men?"
"Yes."
"To explore the countryside."
"Yes."
"In the pouring rain?"
"Is there a better time?"
The councilman blinked rapidly, apparently trying to think of something that wouldn't cause an immediate diplomatic incident, when Toran raised a hand and caused him to fall silent before he could really begin to speak. Judging by the dark look on the other man's face, that was quite a good thing, too.
"I think it would be best if we discussed this in private, Master Elf." He turned to his fellow councilmen and fixed them with an insistent stare, as if to tell them to get out of here while they still could. "I will of course inform my colleagues of everything that transpires…?"
The three eldest members of the council only had to give the once again stony-faced elf standing in front of them one look before they came to a decision. They nodded as one, looking like old, very serious hens sitting on a long pole, gave Toran a quick look and stood up. They along with the rest of the councillors began to file out of the room amongst a soft rustle of clothing and murmurs of quiet conversation. A few moments later they were gone, and Toran rose as well and turned back to the two elves in front of him.
"We are alone now, my lords. You and I know that you do not wish to 'explore the countryside'. Will you tell me what you really want to do?"
Elrohir arched an eyebrow as if he was seriously
thinking about it, but then he simply shook his head and smiled thinly.
"No."
Sudden anger clouded the man's face, something that
didn't surprise Isál in the slightest. He had expected the trader's patience to
run out several minutes ago.
"Do I have to remind you are an ally of my home, my
lord? An ally who is staying under my roof and has shared my bread?"
Isál had already half-drawn his sword before he was even realising what he was doing, all-consuming fury colouring his vision a bloody red. How dare this man speak to Elrohir like this, how dare he appeal to his lord's sense of honour after all that had happened here, how dare he speak of things about which he knew nothing!
A second later Elrohir's hand closed around the captain's wrist, forcing him to re-sheathe his weapon even though he would have liked nothing better than to allow him to cut the master trader's throat.
"No," Elrohir said mildly, not even looking at Isál. His eyes remained fixed on Toran's face, and there was something disconcerting and very old flickering in them that even the most unobservant man was bound to notice. "Calm yourself, Captain."
Isál did so, though he was still glaring at Toran with enough force to make a bead of sweat appear on the man's forehead, and Elrohir returned his full attention to the blond human.
"Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Master Toran: We are not allies. Not anymore, and, if you ask me, we never really were in the first place. It is not my place to judge so, however: This will be decided by my father once we return to him. And concerning your little appeal to my sense of honour as my 'host': If I remember correctly, we also shared the bread with your friend Hurag, did we not? Where I come from, that entitles the sacred obligation to protect your guest and keep him from harm, not set fire to the building he sleeps in!"
"Are you accusing my fellow councilman of murdering five people, three of them from this town, and that in their sleep, Lord Elrohir?" Toran asked with a calmness he did not feel.
"Yes," Elrohir answered, his voice utterly uncompromising and very, very cold. "Yes, that is exactly of what I am accusing him. If he had any courage and honour at all and would not hide from me like a cowardly dog, I would say it to his face! And know something else, Master Toran: I know that you are not as clueless as you appear. Your brother, Tibron, assured my father and me that he did not know what happened to our delegation, and we believed him without hesitation. Do you want to know why, Master Toran? It was because he could look us in the eye and say that he knew nothing and that he deeply regretted their deaths. Can you?"
"I do not have to prove myself to you," Toran muttered, doing his utmost best to avoid the elf's eyes. "Nor do I have to justify anything."
"No, you do not," Elrohir nodded slowly. "But it would most certainly help."
"Help!" the man exclaimed, looking at the two elves with wide eyes. "You are the one refusing to be honest with me, my lord!"
Elrohir smiled coldly, but it was clear that he was
swiftly beginning to tire of this particular conversation.
"I am being as honest with you as you are being with
me, Master Human."
Toran smiled as well, even though he didn't manage
to get even close to Elrohir's cold-blooded, rather menacing smile.
"Forgive me for saying so, but you are about as
helpful and open as a brick wall."
"Precisely my point," Elrohir nodded emotionlessly. "You want honesty? I couldn't agree more. Why don't we start with this: Where – is – Hurag?"
"I don't know where Master Hurag is," the blond man shook his head quickly, stressing the other man's title. Isál didn't have to be a seer to know that the man was lying, and not very skilfully at that.
"Now who is being dishonest?" Elrohir asked wryly, even though there was not a bit of humour or lightheartedness in his voice.
The blond trader's eyes darkened; apparently there
was a limit even to his patience.
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"I don't really know," Elrohir answered slowly, turning around to look at Isál. The corners of the dark-haired captain's lips were beginning to twitch slightly, even though Elrohir couldn't tell whether with suppressed merriment or anger. "Am I, Captain?"
"Yes, my lord," Isál nodded obediently. "I do believe you are."
"Ah well," Elrohir began jovially, turning back to the fuming man in front of him. "It appears you are right after all. I am calling you a liar, Master Human."
"Then I believe we have nothing more to talk about," the man announced haughtily. "Go and 'explore the countryside' or do whatever you like. We will most certainly not stop you, but do not expect any of us to send any guards after you!"
Elrohir blinked before he leaned forward and placed first one, then two hands on the long table that was separating him from the fair-haired human.
"Seven people I cared very much about are dead. Two more have disappeared. You and the other members of this council have tried to hinder us in every conceivable way, and are hiding the man responsible. Your guards are the last beings I would want at my back."
Toran opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to think better of it almost instantly. After several moments of glaring at the two elves the man whirled around and strode out of the room, looking about ready to strangle someone. Preferably someone with dark hair, grey eyes and pointy ears.
Isál looked after him for a while, but then he
shrugged almost imperceptibly and turned back to Elrohir. Telling the other elf
that he really could have phrased that more diplomatically would probably be a
waste of time.
"So we are going, my lord?"
Elrohir nodded calmly as he picked up his cloak he
had deposited on a chair next to him.
"We're going."
And so they had, Isál mused darkly. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed that little interlude – he had, very much so – and having had the chance to see Toran almost suffer a stroke had most certainly been worth it, but … well, but nothing, really. He just had a very bad feeling about this, that was all.
Then again, he admitted to himself wryly, he had been having a very bad feeling for the past few days. This town made him edgy, nervous and generally rather paranoid, and if Elvynd had been right and there really was a benevolent kitten somewhere around here, he most certainly hadn't met it yet.
He doubted that it existed in the first place, anyway. Elvynd had probably just made it up.
Even despite everything that was going on and the trickle of rainwater that had managed to find its way past his cloak and tunic and was trickling down his back, Isál had to smile darkly. He could almost imagine Elvynd sitting in front of a fire on his way back from a diplomatic mission, thinking of a story that would amuse his friends. That would amuse him.
The dark-haired elf's smile faded as quickly as it had come, and he blinked and swiped his hand over his eyes to brush away the tears that had suddenly welled up in his blue eyes. Valar, how he missed Elvynd, how he missed talking to his friend and seeing him smile that reserved smile of his! How he missed the look of incredulous amusement on his friend's face every time he told him about one of his plans, or the good-natured, long-suffering patience he would display when he told him about Gaerîn and all the reasons why she was the most beautiful elf ever to walk this earth.
But the thought that tormented him most was the fact that he hadn't got the chance to say good-bye, and no chance to tell him that he loved him as much as he would have loved a brother. Elvynd had known it, he was sure about it, but he would have liked to say it to him. He should have said it to him before the end, should have told him that nothing would have made him happier than see his friend attend his wedding ceremony, should Gaerîn ever agree to become his wife.
Isál swallowed thickly and forced himself to concentrate on the muddy road beneath his horse's hooves. Just like every other time he had forced his thoughts away from the memories he had of his dead friend, a part of him turned to dark, passionate hatred that chased away the pain and grief that filled his heart. It pulsed through his as if there was a living, breathing thing inside of him, a thing that would only be satisfied once the people that had taken Elvynd from him were dead.
There was, however, another part of him, the part that knew that Lord Elrond had been right, that vengeance wouldn't change anything and wouldn't take away the pain and loss. No matter what he did, and how many people he killed, his best friend would still be dead, and he still wouldn't have the chance to say good-bye to him. Nothing important would change, nothing at all, and that was perhaps the thing that hurt most of all.
"Sir," a voice behind him addressed him softly, and Isál's head all but whipped around. Riding up to him was Meneldir, his second-in-command, his fair hair half-covered by the hood of his cloak even though the rain was barely more than a drizzle now. "Your cinch looks a little loose to me. I think you should refasten it before it comes loose entirely."
Realising only too well that his commander had just saved him from slipping into a state of self-pity that, in their situation, could very well become dangerous, if not deadly, Isál nodded at the blond elf and carefully spurred on his horse to catch up with Elrohir. He was rather sure that Meneldir had only said that to bring him out of his musings and give him the chance to take a little break to gather his thoughts, but that didn't mean that there really was nothing wrong with his cinch. The last thing he needed was to fall off his horse's back, right into the mud – and that in front of his men.
After a few seconds, he had caught up with Elrohir, but hesitated to address him. If Isál had thought the other elf had been in a bad mood, he quickly discovered that Elrohir was in an even worse mood now. Ever since they had left Aberon a few hours ago Elrohir had been brooding, so much that it was beginning to get on everyone's nerves. It was common knowledge that Elrohir, as the more introvert and quiet one of the twins, could become taciturn and withdrawn from time to time, but this was ridiculous.
Isál gave the dark face of his lord and friend a long look,
took a deep breath and swallowed quickly, hoping that Elrohir would only stare
at him. He didn't think he would be able to stand one of his patented
I-am-not-discussing-this-with-a-moron-like-you-looks.
"My lord? Elrohir?"
The dark-haired twin didn't react immediately, but then he
finally turned his head and gave his captain a dark stare that would have made
his father very proud.
"Yes? What?"
"We need to stop for a moment, my lord," Isál said quietly. "A short break. No more than a minute or two."
"We can't stop," the other elf shook his head. "We aren't there yet. Once we see Donrag we can stop; no sooner."
"Elrohir," Isál repeated as calmly as he could, "I need to stop for a second. My cinch is coming loose. The men could use a rest, too; they have enough of this weather now. And so have I, if I'm completely honest."
"What else was I supposed to do?" Elrohir snapped at him. It was highly unusual for him to snap at others like this, and a testament to his frayed nerves. "Stay there, in Aberon, where half of the population hates us and the other one plans our most gruesome deaths? Tell me, Captain, what else was I supposed to do?"
"I did not mean to criticise you, my lord," the dark-haired elf tried to assure him, only one step away from urging his horse backwards and raising his hands to appease the other. "If I have offended you in any way, I am sorry."
Elrohir stared at him for a second before he slowly shook his
head regretfully.
"No, Isál. I am sorry. I should not have spoken to you like
that."
"No," Isál agreed calmly. "You shouldn't have, but I understand. Two minutes?"
"Yes, my friend," Elrohir inclined his head minutely. "I think we can afford to lose two minutes. Donrag will still be there, unless it grows legs and walks away."
"Well, if it does, we'll know that Estel and the prince were there. Total insanity is a by-product of any of their stays."
"True," the twin smiled thinly as he brought his horse to a stop and gestured the warriors to do the same. "How any of us managed to survive Estel's teenage years is still beyond me."
"We were lucky," Isál announced solemnly while he carefully dismounted, gave the road a quick look and began to inspect his cinch. He allowed himself to dwell on those particular memories for a short while, carefully guarding himself against other, unwanted memories that might try to break through his carefully erected defences. "Very lucky."
Elrohir didn't say anything to that and just kept staring at the road in front of him, as if he could speed up their journey this way. He sighed softly, once again wishing with all his heart that Elladan were here. Not a second passed that he didn't, actually, but right now he missed his twin so fiercely that it actually hurt. Just to see him would calm him somehow, just like it had done since they had been children, and besides, Elladan always knew what to do. He was a lot like their father in that regard, decisive and headstrong and unable back down or take no for an answer.
The dark-haired twin sighed again. Elladan might have known what to do, but he didn't. He realised that he was acting out of desperation, a knowledge he did not cherish at all. Glorfindel had taught Elladan and him well, and very high on the golden-haired elf's list of criminally stupid things to do was allowing desperation or fear to rule you.
'Never allow your emotions to choose your course of action for you,' the elf lord would tell them, countless times and over and over again. 'Never. You will lose every time – your freedom of choice, if you are lucky, your lives, if you are not careful. Listen to your heads, young ones, not your hearts.'
When he had been younger, he had thought he understood what the older elf meant, thought that it was only logical. Now however, after his mother's capture and oh so many other events, he knew that it was neither logical nor easy. Riding to Donrag to see what they could find out might be a desperate course of action, but he honestly couldn't see any other way. He wouldn't stay in Aberon and stare at the walls while he could do something, however ill-advised it might be.
Elrohir thought about that again and shook his head, wincing inwardly. If Glorfindel had heard that, the golden-haired elf would have had his head on a platter. Or his heart. Or … other parts of his body.
A voice behind him interrupted his inner monologue, and he turned in the saddle, fully expecting to see Isál who wanted to inform him that they were ready to go on. Instead of one elf he saw two, however, both looking torn between confusion and suspicion. Isál was looking at his fair-haired companion with narrowed eyes, as though he didn't know what to make of the news the other had just brought.
"What is it?" Elrohir demanded to know, a curious feeling beginning to spread inside of him. It wasn't dread, not exclusively, and neither was it hope. "Isál? Meneldir?"
The two other elves turned slightly to meet his gaze, and
after a nod from Isál the blond elf began to speak, still looking slightly
confused.
"One of the men led his horse over to the edge of the road to
let it graze while we waited, my lord. He … he found
something."
Controlling the wave of impatience that swept over him, the
twin forced himself to nod.
"I see. What did he find?"
"A set of tracks, my lord," Meneldir answered. "Leading away from the road, to the East."
A dozen possibilities shot through Elrohir's head, and he
barely noticed that he was dismounting and pressing his reins into the hand of
one of the warriors.
"Show me."
Meneldir dutifully turned around and began to lead them down the road, past most of their warriors to where another elf was standing, holding the reins of his horse and studying the muddy ground with rapt attention. He barely looked up when his superiors joined him, his eyes still fixed on the faint, almost undetectable imprints of hooves on the ground.
No word was spoken while the four elves studied the tracks,
and finally Elrohir lifted his head and fixed his companions with a slightly
questioning stare.
"A group of human riders. Eight, maybe ten. They were in a
hurry."
"I agree, my lord," the warrior nodded without looking up. "They must have passed through here not too long ago. If it had still been raining heavily then, we wouldn't be able to see anything now since the tracks would have been washed away."
"The rain stopped … what, two hours ago? Two and a half?" Isál asked, raising a dark brown eyebrow. "Shortly after we left Aberon, I think."
"Yes," Elrohir nodded quietly. "It can't have been longer than three hours, at the most." He paused for a moment before he looked up and frowned at Isál and his commander. "Now what would a group of horsemen be doing on the road, in the middle of nowhere, in the rain? There is no market, neither in Donrag nor in Aberon."
"They came from the south, my lords," the warrior spoke up again. "From Donrag, I would think. They were travelling on the road, but decided to turn away from it and make for the Mitheithel."
"Why would they do that?" Meneldir wondered aloud.
"A good question, Commander," Elrohir nodded thoughtfully. "A very good question. I think we should go and see what we can find out. Don't you agree?"
The three other elves nodded instantly, interest and curiosity kindled in their eyes. Isál was already calling for his best scouts while Elrohir made his way back to his horse, hardly noticing the lingering sense of excitement that hung in the air. It appeared that the warriors were eager to do something to keep their minds occupied, and following a mysterious trail sounded at least as interesting as observing a human town.
Elrohir's frown deepened as he thought about the trail they had discovered. It could be nothing, he tried to tell himself, maybe nothing more than a group of travellers who had got surprised by the bad weather and had decided to take shelter somewhere. It didn't have to mean anything.
And yet, he admitted to himself while he took his horse's reins from the warrior and began to lead it back the way he had come, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow connected to Aragorn's and Legolas' disappearance.
He just did not know if that was a good thing or a bad thing,
and neither did he know if he was truly ready to find out.
Consciousness was slowly returning to him, something to
which he had not consented, by the way. If he'd had his way, he would have
remained in the comforting, very painless darkness forever. Well, not exactly
forever, but for a century or two, until his head had stopped exploding into
countless ragged pieces.
Aragorn frowned inwardly, knowing that there was something wrong with that train of thought. It took him several long moments to figure out the problem: If the darkness he was floating in was completely painless, his head shouldn't do its best to burst like a swollen bullfrog. The man winced. That thought hadn't been the brightest idea; now he didn't only have a raging headache, he was also beginning to feel nauseous.
No, that wasn't completely correct, he amended a moment later. The nausea seemed to be owed to the fact that he was moving, or rather being moved. He was rather sure that his head was hurting because it was swinging from side to side, or maybe because he was hanging upside down. No, he wasn't completely sure about that. He might not actually be hanging upside down; he couldn't figure out where up was.
This felt familiar, somehow, as if he had had the same problem not too long ago, but he really couldn't be bothered to think about that. One, because he was rather sure that he didn't know, and two, because the person who was obviously carrying him chose this moment to collapse. He couldn't blame him – he didn't even have the strength to open his eyes, so he certainly didn't blame anyone for not having the strength to carry him – but that didn't alter the fact that his body hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
He had thought it impossible (or at least highly unlikely) that his headache could yet increase, but he was quickly shown that he was mistaken. His skull touched the ground none-too-gently, bouncing against something rather hard, and fire tore through his mind, setting his every thought ablaze. There was another, less intense pain in his shoulders and back, but it faded into complete insignificance in comparison with the agony in his head.
That was, however, only mildly comforting, and it took quite a long time for the pain to abate to more bearable levels. He waited for several long, long moments for it to diminish further before he accepted that it wouldn't get any better, and with an inner curse that would have shocked even the twins (who, after all, were responsible for most of the swearwords he knew) he struggled to open his eyes. He didn't really know why he wanted to do that – most likely so he could find a way to knock himself out again. Headaches he could stand, but this was something else entirely.
At first, he couldn't see much except muted colours and large, shapeless blobs of light and dark. That was probably a good thing, too, because this way his eyes had some time to get used to the comparative brightness that soon began to pierce his brain and made him feel as if someone was jamming huge, white-hot pokers into his brain. After having scrambled everything around for a little while, of course.
After several moments, he finally began to make sense of what he was seeing, even though he still couldn't get his vision to sharpen or his eyes to focus. There was something seriously wrong with him, and if he'd had a little more time, he would most likely also have figured out what, but before he could even begin contemplating that particular thought, his eyes that were still not working overly well came to rest on something to his left. Something that was lying on its side in what could only be called a crumpled heap, utterly motionless. He couldn't really see what it was, but something was familiar about it.
Aragorn's brow wrinkled, both because of the pain that was raging behind it and because he was desperately trying to figure out what or whom exactly he was seeing, when a soft, almost inaudible moan could be heard. The sound hardly touched the air before it was bitten off again, and yet it was enough for a wave of memories to wash over him, having about the effect of an ice-cold bath or a punch in the gut.
Gasur's men, pursuing them. The desperation that had consumed him when he had realised that they wouldn't be able to escape. The arrows, zipping past them and forcing him to make a decision he would never have contemplated otherwise. Icy water, closing over his head and pulling him under, the inability to draw breath and then, in the end, the fatalistic acceptance of his impending death. Legolas' hands that pulled him upwards, towards light and life and out of the water that fought so hard not to give him up. Legolas' white face hovering above his, red blood dripping down his cheek and staining his ripped clothes a dark crimson.
That memory more than anything else prompted him to start moving, and with fierce worry coursing through his veins he managed to sit up to try and close the distance between himself and the being that lay motionless to his left. It took him only a few seconds to realise that he wouldn't be able to do anything but crawl, but the severity of the situation and the fear that pulsed through him with every quick heartbeat were enough to make him forget about this indignity.
Mere moments later he reached the crumpled form of his friend and even while he was turning the elf onto his back, he realised that it was a miracle that he had managed to carry anything, least of all a man who would have been made heavier by his dangling limbs and water-soaked clothing. No, he corrected himself almost instantly. It was a miracle that Legolas was still amongst the living in the first place.
Aragorn's eyes widened slightly when he had managed to turn his friend onto his back, and not only because the elven prince had managed to acquire even more bruises and abrasions since the last time he had seen him. They were mostly on his hands and forearms; it appeared that the little fall they had just taken had not been the first one. The man shook his head inwardly, knowing full well that really shaking it would be a very, very stupid idea. Just why had that stubborn elf moved at all, let alone tried to carry him?
He knew the answer to that question, of course, and he also knew that Legolas was not stupid or irresponsible. The elf knew the limits of his body, and if he had pushed himself this hard he must have had a very good reason. Aragorn would almost have laughed aloud at that. Gasur was probably still on their tail, accompanied by every single of his soldiers he'd been able to get his hands on. Yes, that was a rather good reason.
That thought only served to add panic to the worry, fear, pain, cold, confusion and anxiety that already swirled inside of him, and so the young ranger mentally took a step backwards and forced himself to assess this as he would assess every other situation in which someone else needed his help and medical expertise. His training in the healing arts needed only a few seconds to resurface and push his swirling emotions and wildly scattered thoughts to the side, and he assessed the situation with new calmness.
They were in a shallow cave, that was the first thing he noticed. It was still light outside; by the looks of it, early evening or late afternoon, which meant that he couldn't have been unconscious for all that long. Well, "cave" might be overstating it a little, he amended a moment later – it was more of a protruding rock that formed a little hollow. The wind still reached them, icy cold and biting.
Aragorn had studied the maps in his father's library closely before they had let Imladris, and he knew that the shores of the Hoarwell were rocky and uneven. It was a safe bet that they were still in the vicinity of the river, even though he couldn't hear the stream right now. That might not mean anything, by the way; right now he could hear little more than the beating of his own heart and the blood that rushed through his veins.
It made sense, Aragorn told himself. Legolas must have been trying to get them to safety, to get as far away from the 'Fox' of his men as possible. That he had made it this far was nothing short of a miracle – that he had collapsed as soon as he had reached his goal was not.
The second thing he saw was that Legolas' wounds had reopened again – all of them, mind you, or at least all he could see. The cut on his throat was swollen and red, and bright red blood was trickling down the elf's neck and staining the fair skin. It was staining the remnants of the elf's shirt, too, even though it most certainly wasn't the only one. The long cut on his arm was bleeding again – hadn't he told the reckless elf to stop bleeding, he wondered – and so had apparently ever other scrape and cut he had sustained in the past days.
The thing that frightened him even more than the amount of blood he could see was the pallor of the fair-haired elf's skin, however, and the way his eyes were tightly closed. Aragorn's forced composure threatened to disintegrate, but the man pushed the rising panic aside with cold-blooded determination. The last thing Legolas needed right now was for him to lose his head, in any sense of the way.
He had just reached out to feel the elf's pulse when his friend's eyes opened without the slightest warning, and his right hand shot out to grab his wrist. He didn't quite manage to, however, and so the elf only raised his right arm half-ways before it fell back onto the cold earth.
For a few seconds the two of them only stared at each other,
both too surprised to say something, but then Legolas frowned heavily and
blinked at the man.
"A-Aragorn?"
A smile spread over the ranger's face, causing several small
wounds and cuts to start hurting fiercely, but Aragorn ignored that small
discomfort.
"Yes, of course. Whom did you expect?"
Even though he was in quite a bad state and the man's voice
was hoarse and soft, Legolas had apparently understood his words.
Instead of looking relieved, however, he just looked confused.
"We … you are not … you were unconscious."
Aragorn blinked and said the first thing that came to his
mind.
"So were you."
"Not … unconscious," the elf protested weakly. "Just … resting my eyes."
"I see," the man smiled again, his eyes already assessing the damage done to his friend's body. "Rest them some more, then. I need to have a look at you."
"No … no time," Legolas shook his head. "They could still be after us. We must go on."
"We can't, my friend," Aragorn answered simply. "You can't. I can't. Lie still and stop protesting. It gives me a headache."
"But…"
"The next ford is at Aberon, mellon nín," the man tried to appeal at the other's reasonability. "Crossing the river with horses is out of the question, and so is using a ferry, at least under these conditions. Half an hour will hardly matter."
Under different circumstances, Legolas would surely have answered, reluctant to yield this easily, but right now he simply didn't have the energy for it. He was shivering and hot at the same time, and his whole body felt as if it had been dragged behind a chariot for a few miles. Over rocky terrain, that was.
Aragorn, too, wondered about the elf's lack of protest, but he was far too busy to give it any real thought. He was trying to bind as many of the other's wounds as he could, which proved to be quite a task. There was not much he could use as bandages except the shreds of Legolas' shirt and what was left of his own cloak, and he had run out of dressings long before he had bound all of the elf's wounds.
After long minutes, Aragorn sat back slightly, trying his best to ignore his pounding headache or the way his right wrist and back hurt. Legolas hadn't reacted at all while he had been looking after his wounds, had neither cried out or given any other indication that he was in pain. He knew that the elven prince hated betraying what he perceived as weakness, but Aragorn had been a healer long enough to know how much his actions would have hurt the elf. That he was this listless just couldn't be a good sign.
"Legolas?" he asked softly. "Can you hear me?" The elf gave no indication that he had heard him, and Aragorn felt how his worry grew even more. "Legolas, don't do this to me. Please, answer me." There was still no answer, and so he added, very close to despairing now, "You were an idiot to carry me, elf. You reopened all your wounds, and I mean all of them. You are a fool, the biggest one I've ever seen."
Just when he thought that Legolas had lost consciousness once
more a silver-blue, rather outraged eye was opened and used to glare at him in a
way that would have made King Thranduil immensely proud.
"Says the … fool who pushed me … into a-an icy river."
Aragorn grinned, too relieved to pretend to
be annoyed.
"You do have a point."
Legolas returned the grin, or rather the faint imitation of one, before his eyes slowly started to close again. The worry in Aragorn's heart skipped another level of intensity and turned straight into panic. The elf was clearly feverish, had lost a lot of blood and had experienced too many shocks even for an elven system. If he went to sleep now, there was the very real chance that he would never wake again.
"No," the man said curtly and shook his injured friend roughly. "No, Legolas. You can't sleep now. We need to get to Aberon. I need your help. Don't you dare go to sleep."
The silver-blue eyes opened wide as the elf forced his
eyelids open once more, but Aragorn knew only too well that that wouldn't last
for long, not judging by the way the other was shivering like a leaf in the
wind.
"S-s-sorry … Estel … I'm just so … so tired…"
"I know," Aragorn nodded softly, swallowing against a sudden tightness in his throat. "I know, mellon nín. Stay awake for me, please. I can't reach Aberon if you don't help me."
Clearly against his will, Legolas' eyes were beginning to close once again as cold and pain became too much for him. Aragorn felt the panic inside of him turn into yet another, more desperate emotion, and the sudden rush of adrenaline gave him enough strength to ignore his own injuries and rise to his feet. For a few moments, he was swaying dangerously as he tried to balance Legolas' dead weight and figure out a way to best push aside his own weakness, but in the end he tightened his hold on his friend, managing to keep both of them upright.
The sudden movement had apparently succeeded in jolting the
elf out of his near-unconscious state for a moment,
and Aragorn could feel Legolas' head move slightly against his shoulder, even
though his eyes remained closed.
"Don't … just leave me and … find help…"
If he'd had the strength to do so,
Aragorn would have laughed at the sheer absurdity of his friend's words.
"No. I will not let you go like that, Legolas. Never."
He had already dragged both of them forward, out of the cave
and into the softly falling rain, when soft words reached his ears, so soft that
he would almost have missed them.
"You … are … stubborn idiot…"
Before the man could say anything, he felt his friend's body go limp as he finally lost consciousness again. He wouldn't have known what to say anyway, he thought darkly to himself while he slowly and painfully limped into what he thought was a northern direction. He knew that their chances of ever reaching Aberon were slim, if not nonexistent, but Legolas was right, after all.
He was stubborn, and he would be damned if he made everything even easier for Gasur. If that man wanted them dead, he would have to try a little harder.
He probably would, too, but that was entirely beside the point.
TBC...
mellon nín - my friend
Poor Elfsies. And ranger, of course. And everyone around them, I guess, because
they're bound to get into a lot of trouble, too. •g• Anyway, next chapter we'll
see a little more of our intrepid (half-dead) heroes, find out what Acalith and
Gasur think about all that's going on, and Elrohir gets a heart attack. Or
something like that. Can Elves get heart attacks? Hmm, I'll have to think about
that... As always: Reviews? Yes please! •g•
Additional A/N: Deana
Ainu Laire - •g• Staff Elf, huh? Good name, really... •g• And I really
hope I'll be able to finish this soon. I should, though, even if the characters
never shut up. They're annoying idiots, all of them. •grr• It's good to see that
you don't like Gasur, I have to admit that he IS kind of creepy. Okay, make that
VERY creepy. •g• I understand your choice, btw. Going to that school would be a
bit much, even for Aragorn. There are limits, after all. •g• I like your
ingenious plan, though. Really.
HarryEstel - Well, yes. It can ALWAYS get worse. Trust me on this. •evil
grin• Thank you very very much for all your reviews - it's great to hear that
you still like this weird little story!
Invisigoth3 - LOL, yes. Now they're wet, too. Poor them. •huggles them•
And I have found out that running won't do you much good. Elves can be very
fast, and so can rangers, apparently. I have bought a false nose and a wig. I
will outsmart them! •evil laugh•
KLMeri - Hmm, let me thing. The last "cliff plot" was in THOM, I think.
Nah, that's not true, now that I think about it. I think it was in Straight
Paths. It's been some time, anyway. •g• I can't tell you anything about Erestor,
sorry. That would be unfair, and it would make Gasur angry. We can't have that,
can we?
Slayer3 - Define "in one piece", please. •evil grin• It's all a matter of
definition. •g• I have to admit that that the twins are cool. If they're hot, I
don't know. Tolkien didn't really say and PJ ... •gr• Let's not talk about that,
shall we? Thinking about that always makes me very mad. •g•
Dreamzone - It appears that you have underestimated them, then. Or
overestimated them. Or whatever. What I'm meaning to say is this: They're far
stupider than assumed by most people. They're just hiding it very well. •g•
Elrond and Glorfindel will have to wait a bit longer, sorry. Right now we have
Day 28 (according to my special, weird timetable that enables me to keep track
of everything), and they can't possibly arrive before Day 29-evening/Day 30.
Sorry about that. •g•
Zerah - You're only too right. I hate Mary-Sues myself, with a passion
actually. They're an abomination, if you ask me... •grr• Ah, well, sorry about
that. I can get a little strange sometimes. It's great to hear that you're
enjoying the story so far. Thanks a lot for taking the time to review!
Claudette - When compared with some of their other escapes, this one
wasn't half-bad, wasn't it? •g• I really think they're learning. Slowly, but
still learning. Right now, Elrohir and Isál are on the other side of the river.
Bad luck. Elrond & Co. won't get here for a while either - you're right, that
would be far too simple. •g•
SeventhSpanishAngel12 - LOL, I love it! "There's nothing wrong with being
sadistic and evil - as long as no one knows your name". Wise words, my friend...
•g• I don't think Aragorn can really appreciate the irony of his situation at
the moment, though. He's a little distracted at the moment. •evil, sadistic grin•
Dae - Don't you worry - there's blood in this chapter. And quite a bit of
sadness and despair, too, so you should be just fine. •g• So you don't pity
Acalith? I cannot imagine why - she's such a nice, perfectly normal person...
•g• Glorfindel & Co. won't arrive 'today' though, sorry. Tomorrow evening at the
earliest.
Ithil-valon - Ah, I have suceeded then! You weren't supposed to like
Salir - he's evil, after all. He would never help them to "help" them, if you
understand what I mean... Sorry about disappointing you, though. Elrohir and his
men won't be fishing them out of the river - that would be cheating, wouldn't it?
•g•
Ali64 - LOL, he might have a death wish, actually. Only a tiny little one,
of course. •g• Legolas will make him regret it, though, you can count on that.
Glorfindel might indeed be the one to find Erestor - I'm not sure about it yet,
but he might. And I guess, if he does, that yes, he'll be angry. Very much so.
•g•
Pyro - I guess that, right now, they would actually be ecstatic about a
change to be yelled at by Glorfindel and/or Elrond. I would be if I were in
their shoes, that is. •g• Elrohir won't be fishing them out of the river, though,
sorry. Would be far too easy, not to mention nice. My alter ego hates to be nice.
•g•
QueenofFlarmphgal - •blushes• Thank you! It's great to hear that you're
enjoying this so much. I have a thing for Aragorn angst myself - I know, I know,
you would never have guessed. •g• Gasur is indeed a rather evil person - but you
need a villain, right? Anyway, thanks a lot for your kind words!
Elf-meat - I am doing my best, I really am. I have the problem that
ff-net and my computer hate me. •shrugs• Ah well. Thank you very much for your
review!
SmilingDragonGirl - Mhahaha, ein neuer Reviewer! Haben wir es doch mal
wieder geschafft, jemanden in unsere verrueckten Geschichten quasi zu
verwickeln... •g• Uhm, na ja, wie auch immer. Willkommen bei den total Irren.
•g• Ist doch nett, dass du Rashwe magst. Sagt, wie du schon sagtest, nicht viel
ueber deine geistige Gesundheit aus, aber trotzdem. •g• Die
Gusseisen-Bratpfannen-Methode koennte genau das richtige fuer Gasur sein. Muss
ich noch mal drueber nachdenken... LOL, und nein, wir koennen ihn nicht klonen.
Sorry. •g• Ich danke dir •vielmals• fuer diese lange, lustige Review. •knuddel•
Danke!
Tineryn - Hmm, yes, I guess Elrohir •could• fish them out of the river.
But, really, how much fun would that be? Answer: Not much. Plus, it would be way
too easy. •evil grin• And you know, I can just see Elrond perfoming CPR while
Glorindel is going insane in the background... Argh! •fends off plot bunny• Shoo!
Not another one of those! You put them up to it, admit it!
Sanaryelle - Well, sorry about the cliffy - I couldn't help myself. I
just HAD to. •g• But you're right - even I am beginning to pity Acalith. Her
subordinates are morons, all of them. •g• Let me see, Elrond, Glorfindel and
Erestor will have to wait for a bit longer, but there's some Isál and Elrohir in
here. That's something!
CrazyLOTRfan - Actually, I wasn't even thinking about that scene in
Movie-TTT when I wrote that cliffy. But now that you mention it, there are
certain similarities, aren't there? •g• Elrond & Co. won't make an appearance in
the immediate future, sorry. But I'll see what I can do. I promise. •fake,
cheesy smile•
Arrina - Nope, they never get a break. Would be boring otherwise,
wouldn't it? For us, that is. •evil grin• Well, let's see, 'today' is Day 28 (according
to my all-powerful timetable). Elrond & Co. won't get there till Day
29-evening/Day 30. Sorry, no can do. Continuity and all that. •g•
Soulinlondon - LOL, yes, you'll get the chance to enjoy the torture, I
mean adventures, of our intrepid duo. Never fear. •g• You really are a sadist,
aren't you? We have Wireless LAN in our libraries, but I still need a Wireless
LAN stick for my laptop, so it doesn't do me any good. •gr• My native language
is, as you may have noticed, German. It's a horrible language, I know. I have
never actually written anything in German, which is most likely because I have
read the books in English. I've never seen the movies in German either - I heard
how they had translated the names and such and didn't stop laughing for a week.
Really. •g•
Just Jordy - It took them long enough, too, didn't it? At least they've
managed to escape - that's something, I guess. Especially when you consider
their luck. •g• Sorry about the cliffies, btw. I just can't help myself. •grins
helplessly•
Deep Sorrow - Whoah, new name! It's nice - a bit dark, but nice! •g• I
think you're right, actually. Acalith should do something like that - but that
would be intelligent, wouldn't it? And, no matter what she likes to believe, she
can't be THAT intelligent. She kidnapped Erestor, after all. •shrugs• How stupid
is that?
CrazyAZN Kid - I'm sorry for keeping you waiting for so long. My
compuiter hates me, it really does.
Maerz - Na, dann ist's ja gut. Wenn man kaffeesuechtig ist, ist's schon
weit gekommen... •g• Und ich kann nur sagen: EINEN harten Schlag auf den Kopf?
Ich persoenlich wuerde eher sagen, drei oder vier. Oder 'n Dutzend. •g• Elvynd
geht's uebrigens relativ gut. Glaube ich. Danke fuer die Erinnerung; ich wollte
mal gucken, ob ich noch 'ne Szene mit ihm und irgendwem einbauen kann. Mal
schauen... •g•
Inuyashaloverfan - •g• Well, here it is. I know that it took a few
hundred years, but still. Thanks a lot for the review!
Viggomaniac - I have to admit that I've never seen that particular movie,
sorry. But I have to admit that it really sounded a lot like Legolas and Aragorn.
I can just imagine them saying something like that... •g• And being kicked out
of cinemas happens to me a lot, too. I was nearly kicked out during Gladiator,
Alexander of course, FotR (Sorry, but the death of Boromir was just TOO funny),
The Patriot... There are more, I think. Not my fault, though - why do they make
such movies?
Golden Elf - I don't think anyone should try and count. They would still
be counting in a few years or so... •g• Legolas will get some loving care in the
end, I guess. So will Aragorn - if the two of them survive long enough, that is.
But that's completely up to them. •g•
Madam Librarian - LOL, I mentioned Erestor and that was enough. Well,
perfect then. I would hate to disappoint a faithfuil reviewer such as yourself...
•g• Erestor's lucky, though, because Gasur's main grudge really is against
Legolas. Good for him - bad for the wood-elf, I guess. •g• Glorfindel won't make
an appearance this chapter or the next though, sorry. I'll see what I can do
about the one after that though. I promise.
Marbienl - Nah, Salir isn't nice. Would be too easy if he were, wouldn't
it? •evil grin• Legolas didn't have much choice, this time. He was pushed after
all. This mess is entirely Estel's fault. I'm sure Legolas will emphasise this
point in the future. •g• •grabs chocolate• Thanks! You can never have enough
chocolate! •g•
Jazmin3 Firewing - Hmm, let me see. I had to put a cliffy in there
because ... well ... my alter ego made me do it? Either that or because I just
couldn't help myself. Sorry. It was just too tempting. •g• Your weekend sounds
like fun though. Except for the sunburn, of course. •g•
LegolasGreenleafGil-Estel - I have to agree: Acalith and Girion would've
made a great couple. A pity he's dead. •sad sigh• LOL, I love the idea of the
two of them having "insane" alter egos. It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest,
and it would explain a lot. A whole lot. •g• Thank you for that huge review! •huggles•
Iverson - Ha! I remember you! Welcome back! •huggles• It's great to 'see'
you again! I understand you absence, I really do, btw. RL can be a real b••••
sometimes, can't it? •glares at it for good measure• And Aragorn might indeed be
learning something. It took him long enough, too, didn't it? LOL, yes, you could
be right, perhaps Gasur only wants to talk to them. That seems very likely. •g•
Thank you very much for your long review!
Well, I tried to keep each reply as short as possible. I really don't want to temp fate - or FF-net. It's plain evil, that's what it is. •gives website dark look•