Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1. Okay. Hmmm. Let me see. Well... •finally shrugs• I won't even try to come up
with a suitable excuse. I had exams, papers, more exams and finally went on an
unexpected four-day-visit which I had to pay a friend who was having a good-bye
party (one of those "What are you doing this weekend?" - "Uhm ... nothing?" -
"Great, then you'll come to my party. It's Friday evening, bring a bottle of ...
something and try not to scare the others this time" - things). It was actually
a very nice party, even though about 85 percent of the people there studied medicine
and I had this horrible vision of me waking up the next morning with a couple of
IVs in my arm. •g• Never trust a drunken med student. Anyway, I have my last exam in a week, so I can't promise that it won't happen
again. Since I'll be leaving for Spain in six weeks, though, I am trying to
finish this story before then. I simply don't know what will happen then, but I
doubt that I'll have much time to spare in the first few weeks. And keeping you
waiting for that long would be cruel and unusual. Hmm, my alter ego likes that
idea... All right, enough gloom and doom, here's the next bit, in which Legolas finally
wakes up. I know, I know, took long enough, too. He can be stubborn, that one.
What else do we have ... oh yes, our intrepid heroes make plans which, as always,
sound like a very, very bad idea, Tibron realises that he's really in quite a
bit of trouble with a lot of people and Legolas and Elrohir make a decision
Aragorn doesn't like in the slightest. •g• Enjoy and review, please!
A/N:
Chapter 29
A sound interrupted the peaceful silence he was floating in, causing him to
breathe a soundless sigh of annoyance. For a moment or two he occupied himself
with trying to figure out what that sound could have been, but then he dismissed
the question as unimportant and not nearly worth the trouble.
The damage was done, however, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't return to that soothing, all-consuming darkness that had surrounded him until now. The part of him that was apparently charged with his health and well-being was particularly annoyed at that and voiced its displeasure in no uncertain terms, even though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.
There were quite a lot of things he couldn't figure out, though, among them who and where he was and what he might be doing here, so it didn't alarm him overly much. Annoy him it did, though, and even though he didn't really know who he was, he could already tell that he didn't like being annoyed.
Legolas didn't know how much time had passed since he had first noticed the sound that had ripped him out of his comfortable, painless nothingness (and, if he was completely honest, he didn't really care either), even though he suspected that it had been at least a year, if not more. Before he could think about it any longer, something else joined the strange noise: Pain. It wasn't the worst pain he had ever been in – that was at least what a soft voice whispered in his ear – but it was a rather close second.
Tightly closed eyes were screwed shut even further as the pain began to grow as awareness increased, and he caught himself wishing that he'd never heard that accursed noise in the first place. Wishing didn't change anything, thought, and so he found himself drifting closer and closer to full consciousness. In the end, he stopped fighting the process with a weary sigh and an unspoken curse even though he didn't try to open his eyes. A part of him that was apparently quite used to such situations was telling him calmly that he wouldn't be able to convince his eyes to open anyway, and besides, it would be a stupid idea. You never knew who was waiting for you to regain consciousness, after all.
That didn't make much sense, and Legolas frowned inwardly as he tried to figure out what that part of him had meant. Who could be waiting for him to regain consciousness, or rather, who could be waiting for him to regain consciousness that he wouldn't want to inform of that fact?
He had barely asked himself that question when that certain part of him gave a decidedly cynical laugh and departed into the deeper recesses of his mind, leaving him even more confused than he'd been before. Just when he had reluctantly come to the conclusion that at least a part – if not all – of him was apparently mad or at least having a seriously bad day, the sound that had awoken him became clearer – much clearer.
It was not unlike surfacing in a still pond after having taken a dive, he mused thoughtfully; the sounds of your surroundings increased with every inch you ascended. All of the sudden the picture of a small, crystal-clear lake appeared in his mind's eye, causing him to wonder wherefrom it had just appeared. The waters were clear and dark blue, and the sunlight that filtered through the branches of the surrounding trees caused the still surface to sparkle like polished silver. There was a flittering memory of light and laughter accompanying the picture, almost like a faint melody one could sense rather than hear, even though he had not the slightest idea where the lake could be or even if he had ever been there – or, in fact, with whom he might laughed there.
In retrospect, it was this single memory more than anything else that prompted the elf to shake off his prior lethargy and try to reach the surface of his own, private little pond whose leaden, unyielding waters were preventing him from returning to consciousness. Not remembering what was going on was nice, surely, and remaining care- and pain-free was even nicer, but there were some things that were far more important. Things like remembering who he was and who and what he cared for – and also the memory of who the shadowy person was who was tied to such memories. If remembering meant that he had to endure the full level of pain his body was in or even the wrath of some unknown person who might be waiting for him to wake up, then so be it.
Despite his determination, Legolas didn't make much headway for a while. He might as well have tried to stab a troll with a hairpin; his mind was still too sluggish and too concentrated on dealing with the pain that seemed to fill his entire body to pay his insistent commands to wake up any heed. In the end, he fought his way towards consciousness, an achievement that was only to be attributed to his stubbornness and sheer mulishness. He may have no idea what was going on here, but he would be damned if he allowed his body to tell him what to do.
Just when he was convinced that the simple process of waking up and opening his eyes would take at least another year or so, the indistinct sound turned into something else. He actually needed some time to identify it, and only after using almost all of the concentration he could gather did he manage to find out what it was: Voices, voices that didn't sound overly happy about something. Or someone, now that he thought about it.
In fact, one of them sounded quite a lot as if it wanted to tear the other limb from limb – granted that the voices did have limbs, that was.
"… definitely not! No!"
"If you have a better idea, please share it with us, brother."
"Of course I have a better idea! Anybody and anything more intelligent than a snail would have a better idea!"
"Snails are rather intelligent, you know."
The other voice didn't answer, but there was a sharp intake
of breath that spoke volumes. For a few seconds it was silent, but then a third
voice could be heard, sounding torn between frustration, amusement and even a
little fear.
"Please, my lords, this will solve nothing. Estel, sit back,
and you, my lord, please calm down. The humans will come to investigate if you
two aren't quieter."
Legolas still couldn't manage more than a faint, almost undetectable fluttering of his eyelids, but he did have a vague idea to whom the two voices might belong. Cloudy images, faces and memories were hovering just beyond his reach, but he was already certain that he knew only a handful of people who would be able to make someone else sound like this.
"You are right, Isál," the first voice announced after a few more moments, rather grudgingly one might add. There was a short pause, before it went on, "He is, Estel, not you. You are mad, totally mad."
"So I've been told."
The answer was short, to the point and spoken in a thoroughly unrepentant tone of voice. Strangely enough, it was enough to prompt Legolas' memory to return to him, something that would later be a great source of amusement for all of them. If the blond elf's eyes had been open, he would have closed them against the sudden flood of images that flittered through his head, but it took him only a second or two to remember who he was, to whom he was listening right now and, more importantly, how he had got here.
Worry and fear gave him enough strength to push his lingering weakness aside, and he struggled to open his eyes with renewed urgency. This time, he almost managed to open them, and the short fluttering of his eyelids was enough to attract the attention of the other beings who were with him.
"My lords!"
"I am not going to strangle him, Isál, calm down. Even though I have to admit that I am sorely tempted to give it a try."
"You could have fooled me, brother."
"Believe me, Estel, if you don't stop this nonsense right now and see reason I will do something that…"
"My lords!" That was Isál's voice again, and even Legolas noticed that the dark-haired elven captain sounded very much as if he had reached the ends of his patience. "Will you please be quiet for a second?" A stunned silence followed, and Isál added, still sounding annoyed, "It's the prince! He's waking up, I'm sure about it!"
If Legolas' eyes had been open, he would have been greatly amused by the reaction these words prompted. The two beings in question stopped glaring at each other from one second to the next and turned towards the fair-haired elf's bed, almost as if expecting him to get up and walk away. Elrohir prevented his human brother from doing just that since the man was rather intent on reaching his friend's side, and unceremoniously pressed him back into his pillows. Ignoring the human's dark look with the ease that only long practice brought, he scooted closer to the elven prince's bed, his eyes fixed on his pale, bruised face.
"Legolas? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes, mellon nín?"
The rational part of the fair-haired elf that was gaining strength with each second only shook its head, annoyed. Just what did that stupid Noldo think he was trying to do?
Before he could try and say
something along these lines, the twin spoke again. The annoyance that had tinged
his voice only a few seconds ago had disappeared and had been replaced with open
worry.
"Legolas? Come now, you stubborn wood-elf, can you hear me?"
That did it. Legolas put up with being called many things, but being called stubborn by a son of Elrond was intolerable.
"Of course I can hear you," he informed the other elf hoarsely, his voice soft and rough and almost inaudible. He made a last attempt to open his eyes, and, to his substantial surprise, even managed to do so with only minimal trouble. If he'd thought it to be a good idea, he would have laughed with joy. He'd shown his body, hadn't he? "How … could I not? You two make enough noise to wake a hibernating oliphaunt."
"Oliphaunts do not hibernate," Aragorn informed him, leaning over the side of his bed as far as his protesting body and Elrohir's warning glare would allow him. The humourous tone of voice masked neither the concern nor the relief in his voice.
"Yes, they do."
"No, they do not."
"Yes, they do."
"No, they do…"
"How would you know?" Legolas interrupted him, turning his head slightly to give the younger being a haughty look. In his present condition, it looked rather like the look a half-dead rat would give a three-quarter-dead rat because it thought its tail looked springier. "You have never seen one."
"Neither have you." A wicked glint crept into the man's eyes as he added, "Unless you had a stuffed toy oliphaunt as a child."
Before this conversation could go down the very predictable
path of mayhem and bloodshed, Elrohir shot his younger brother a look
full of dark promises and gently grasped the other elf's chin, carefully
turning his head back around.
"What my charming brother is meaning to say is 'Welcome
back', I believe."
The same relief he had been hearing
in Aragorn's voice was plainly visible on the slightly older elf's face, and
Legolas gave him a small smile.
"Where did I go?"
Elrohir answered that question with a wry grin of his own as he released the other's chin and sat back slightly, eyeing the prince in a manner with which the other was rather familiar: The twin either wanted to sell him to a slave trader or was under the impression that he was Lord Elrond or Hithrawyn and therefore responsible for his welfare.
"Are you in pain?"
Legolas actually thought about the question for a second –
not that he would have needed to, mind you. The dull,
throbbing pain that pulsed through his very core with
every heartbeat would have been hard too miss even for an intoxicated troll.
"Not all of me," he finally said, judging this to be an
acceptable compromise.
Elrohir exchanged a wry look with his human brother as he
took an earthen cup with water from Isál and helped the fair-haired elf to sit
up.
"What part of you isn't, then?"
"Let me think," Legolas answered with a small frown after he had drunken some of the cool liquid that almost immediately alleviated some of the headache that was raging behind his forehead. "My left heel. My right eyebrow, strange as that may sound. My right forefinger, a strand of hair just left of my right ear and approximately one inch by two inches of skin left of my navel. Yes, that should be about it."
Try as he might, Elrohir couldn't suppress the smile that
spread over his face. He could understand why most healers hated the two of
them.
"You're almost hale, then," he announced cheerfully, putting
the half-empty cup down onto the small wooden stool that was standing between
the two beds. "You were lucky, my friend, very lucky. That cut to your side was
a nasty one, but I don't think I have to tell you that. Another inch to the
left, and…"
"I know," Legolas nodded without hesitation. "Trust me, I know." He closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillows as the sudden movement caused his headache to spike once more. "The Valar hate us, I swear they do. I just don't understand why they can't stand me. I'm not even a Noldo."
Ignoring the two dark-haired elves' mumbled words that
sounded quite a lot like "arrogant Sinda", Aragorn inconspicuously moved even
further to the left, almost hanging out of his bed by now. If Elrohir noticed
what he was doing, he was ignoring it for once.
"I think you are right, mellon nín," he told the
blond elf in a long-suffering tone of voice. "If there is anything we can do
without getting ourselves almost killed, I have not found it yet."
Legolas nodded glumly, this time more slowly. He didn't open
his eyes, though, not just yet. Even despite his closed eyelids he could feel
the room spin around him, and he was certain that he would have been sick if he
had eaten anything in the past few days.
"They want to kill us," he agreed. "I just wish they would
just do it and get it over with."
"Don't say something like that," Elrohir admonished him. "They might view it as a kind of challenge. Which, strangely enough, reminds me of something." He leaned forward again, checking the other elf's bandages. "Whatever possessed you to jump into the Mitheithel?"
For the second time in less than a quarter-hour, Legolas found himself opening his eyes in outrage. For a second, his wide-open eyes made him look ridiculously like a disgruntled fawn.
"I?" he asked incredulously. "I? Trust me when I tell you that I did not jump!" He turned his head and raised a slightly shaking hand, using it to point at his human friend in the bed next to his who had at least the good grace to look faintly embarrassed. "Do you want to know what happened, son of Elrond? That madman you call your brother pushed me!"
Elrohir rolled his eyes, grasped the other elf's hand and pressed it back down before he could take someone's eye out by waving his fingers around like this. Giving Legolas a stern look, he turned and gave his human brother a similar glare. The man who had, after all, grown up in the House of Elrond didn't even pretend to look impressed by his look. Elrohir couldn't really decide whether he should feel affronted because of it or not.
"Did you really push him, brother?"
Aragorn decided to ignore the tired, thoroughly unsurprised
undertone in the elf's voice.
"I didn't really have a choice;
it was either that or be recaptured.
I chose the lesser of two evils. I did not intend to allow ourselves to be taken
again."
"And for that I thank you, Aragorn," Legolas inclined his head minutely, not having missed the slightly guilty undertone in the other's voice. "I spoke in jest. You did the right thing, and had I been in a more … lucid … state of mind, I would have done just the same and pushed you."
"Why, thank you, mellon nín."
Elrohir exchanged an annoyed look with Isál – or he tried to. It wasn't entirely successful, since the young captain in question was right now backing away and trying to make his way over to the door. Whether it was because he wanted to get an axe with which he would be able to shut the two of them up or because he simply wanted to flee, the twin did not know, but he was having none of it and pointed at the chair he had just vacated.
If he was stuck here and had to endure Aragorn's and Legolas' unique way of dealing with stress and overcoming the relief they undoubtedly felt, Isál would have to bear it, too. The dark-haired captain reluctantly sat back down, shooting Elrohir a glare that suddenly caused the other elf to be glad that Isál harboured such great respect for his father.
Ignoring the two younger beings' bickering, Elrohir finished inspecting Legolas' various wounds, redid the bandages and sat back again. A second later the two of them realised that he was finished, interrupted their conversation from one moment to the next and turned to look at him. The worry both of them were trying to hide beneath masks of indifference was rather plain to see, and once again Elrohir was struck by how alike these two could look.
"You will live," he finally declared, smiling at them in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Both of you. If you rest and refrain from getting yourselves into any more of your 'situations' for a few days, that is."
Legolas accepted his verdict with a minute nod, but couldn't refrain from voicing his doubts. The last time he had been awake, Aragorn had been barely able to stand and had been shivering from head to toe like a leaf in the wind. He was no healer, no, but he was rather sure that jumping into an ice-cold river after having sustained various injuries was not something a human should be doing, especially not if he intended to drag his equally half-dead friend halfway across Eriador.
"What about that idiot brother of yours?" he asked, ignoring the darkly muttering man. "Are you sure he didn't contract one of his human illnesses?"
"They are not my illnesses!"
"No, I am not sure," Elrohir admitted seriously. "He claims to be fine, though."
"And you believe him?" Legolas asked incredulously. "How long have you known him now? Twenty-one years? And how many times during these twenty-one years has he actually been all right when he claimed to be 'fine'?"
"Not very often, I'll admit that," Elrohir agreed thoughtfully. "Maybe you are right. I could ask Master Tibron if his wife has any herbal remedies for colds."
"I am right here!" Aragorn announced darkly, shooting both of them rather murderous looks. "It is rude to talk about me as if I were a child or a mindless object! And besides, I do – not – have – a – cold!"
The sentence's effect was ruined by the sudden, hacking cough he couldn't suppress, and Elrohir and Legolas merely smiled at each other in a patronising, condescending way that clearly stated that they would ignore the little one's latest outburst. Aragorn's eyes narrowed even further as he tried to get his breathing under control. He might be feeling a little warm, yes, but that was hardly an indication that he was coming down with something! He was inwardly already planning their most gruesome demise when the two elves apparently decided that they had annoyed him enough and leaned back, looking like a pair of parents who had once again been proven right.
Giving his human friend's forbidding face one look, Legolas decided that further inquiring as to the man's health would right now a mistake. He had long ago found out that teasing him when he was in this mood would result in death, doom or destruction, and so he changed the topic – and besides, he wanted to find out what was going on here. He didn't have the slightest idea, and if he liked something less than feeling annoyed, it was feeling clueless. A Prince of Mirkwood did not feel clueless.
"Be that as it may," he began, ignoring the truly nasty look Aragorn shot him, "but could somebody please explain to me what is going on here? Where are we?"
"In Aberon," Elrohir answered reassuringly. The other elf's reaction wasn't exactly what one could have called reassured, and the twin had to grasp the fair-haired prince's uninjured wrist to stop him from jumping out of his bed in agitation. "Calm down, my friend. We are safe."
"Safe!" Legolas repeated, clearly unconvinced. "Safe? Whatever are you talking about? You said yourself that we are in Aberon! How can we be safe?"
Seeing that Legolas was a long way away from being calm or
reassured, Elrohir reached out and cautiously grasped his shoulders, taking care
not to press down too hard.
"Legolas," he began as reasonably as he could (Legolas
did have a point, after all!), "Listen to me. We are safe here. You
know that I would never endanger Estel's or your life like this. You can trust me, my
friend. We are safe."
The other elf didn't answer immediately, apparently still
hard-pressed to accept the truth of Elrohir's words. After a few seconds he
nodded very reluctantly.
"I do trust you, Elrohir. But did Aragorn not tell you what
we found out? If Hurag finds out that we are here, he will…"
"He won't find out," Aragorn interrupted his friend who was still tethering rather close to a panic. "And yes, I told them everything we found out. That is why Elrohir was close to starting yet another kinslaying."
"Oh, you are exaggerating again," Elrohir waved a hand dismissively. "I do not think it would classify as a kinslaying, considering that you're adopted. And besides, I was not even considering killing you."
"Isál?" Aragorn prompted.
"I have to agree with Estel, my lord," the dark-haired captain admitted with a pained grimace, looking very much as if he would rather face a stone-giant with nothing more than a spoon and a silly hat. "You were definitely considering it, if I may say so."
Before this could get any further out of hand, Legolas raised
his hand, feeling how his headache intensified once again. He could
already feel how the strength returned to his limbs, but in case of his head it
was accompanied by roaring pain.
"Please, do me a favour and discuss this fascinating question
with the Lord of the West once you reach
the Blessed Realm. Where in Aberon are we?"
"In Master Tibron's house," Elrohir answered, eyeing his friend as if expecting him to become agitated again.
Legolas did not disappoint.
"In Tibron's house? Are you mad? His brother
must be working with Hurag!"
"Yes, Toran is," Aragorn nodded patiently. "Tibron is not, however. It has been over a day now since we were brought here. Tibron's had enough time to betray us, and yet he hasn't."
"Over a day?" Legolas repeated incredulously. "How long have I been asleep?"
"One day and a half," the man answered seriously. "Torel, Toran's son, and the son of Tibron found us the night before the last and brought us to their father."
The elven prince had some trouble coming to terms with what his friend was telling him, but then he decided that his questions could wait. If Aragorn had told him, in this tone of voice, with this kind of look on his face, that they had been saved by a group of singing orcs clad in pink armour, he would have believed him, too. Barely, maybe, but still.
"All right," he finally nodded carefully. "So we are safe, at least for now, and will most likely not be betrayed by Tibron or his family. Where are the rest of our party?"
"Back at the stable that we … well, let's say commandeered after the house burnt down," Elrohir answered. His tone of voice was completely unapologetic. "Tibron intercepted us at the main gate and brought us here. Commander Meneldir led the rest of the warriors back to the stable so that no one would get suspicious. It is unlikely that anyone has noticed our absence, at least not yet."
"So the commander and his warriors are in one part of the town and we are in another?" Legolas summed up, arching an eyebrow. He might still be a little confused and suffering from a rather impressive headache, but that didn't mean that he had forgotten all the lessons his tutors and his father's captains had taught him over the years. "I do not mean to sound paranoid, but I believe there is an expression for that. 'Divide and conquer.'"
"Tibron is on our side, your Highness." Isál's quiet voice announced calmly, surprising not only the fair-haired elf. It was no secret that Isál had nothing kind to say about any human in this town, and no secret either that he couldn't stand Tibron, the man who had brought him the news of Elvynd's death. It was a somewhat petty reaction, considering that nothing of this was Tibron's fault, but not even the Firstborn were above such feelings. "He will not betray us, nor has he ever wanted to. He truly wants to help us."
Legolas looked at the other elf for a long moment, but finally decided that if he would believe Aragorn if he told him stories about orcs in pink armour, he should believe Isál as well. He didn't know him all too well, but the dark-haired captain was one of Lord Glorfindel's officers. If the golden-haired elf lord – not to mention Lord Elrond, Elrohir and Aragorn – trusted him and his judgment, then he would, too.
"All right," he conceded after a few more seconds. "I will trust your judgement, Captain. But even if it is as you say and we are safe for the moment, what are you planning to do about Donrag, that … woman and that captain of hers?"
Even Aragorn, who could more than sympathise with his friend's obvious hatred for the 'Fox', blinked, a little startled. The elven prince usually reserved that special, burning level of intense hatred for Sauron and his creatures. Then again, he reasoned, the 'Fox' was far more despicable than your average orc or uruk.
"Easy enough," he finally replied in a calm, very cold tone of voice. "We kill them, both of them. Then we find Erestor and return home as fast as possible." He paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "If we have time, I wouldn't mind stopping by here again on our way back and killing Hurag. Slowly, if somehow possible."
Elrohir smiled at his human brother, a smile that reminded
not only the ranger of a predator that was thinking about tearing someone's
throat out.
"I would like that very much, Estel."
"Wonderful," the man smiled back in just the same way. That smile in combination with the bruises and cuts that adorned his features was a slightly disconcerting sight. Isál asked himself, not for the first time in his life, if sons of Elrond – adopted or not – were automatically gifted with this particular, off-putting smile. They probably were. "If we are agreed on this," the man went on, "then where is the problem?"
"'Where is the problem'?" Elrohir repeated, apparently torn between outrage and incredulity. "Did you hear that, Isál?" He didn't even wait for the captain to nod forlornly before he continued. "Let me tell you where the problem is, dear brother. The problem is that you are mad. Completely, totally, utterly mad. I honestly have no idea how you survived Erestor's lessons with your kind of logic."
"Why?" Legolas demanded to know. He had the very distinct feeling that he was missing something important here. "What are you talking about? What logic?"
"There is absolutely nothing wrong," Aragorn interrupted himself, trying to suppress a cough, "with my logic."
"He doesn't possess a shred of logic, that's the problem," Elrohir ignored his brother's words. They would have to talk about this condescending behaviour, Aragorn decided between two coughs that belied his earlier assurances that he was 'just fine'. "Let me tell you what his grand plan is, Legolas: He wants us to go back to Donrag, preferably but not necessarily in the night, and enter the city via a secret gate whose location he cannot remember."
"It is not a secret gate," Aragorn explained patiently. "It is a gate that is not guarded as strongly. It is the gate they used to get us into the city, most likely in order not to announce our presence to the general population."
"That may very well be," Isál nodded, speaking in his most reasonable tone of voice, "but that doesn't help us, Estel, if you cannot remember which gate it is."
The confidence on the man's face faded slightly.
"I know that, Isál, but it is our only option as far as I can
see. We need to get Erestor out of there – soon. And I don't mean
tomorrow rather
than the day after it. I mean now, this very
instant. As soon as possible."
Elrohir did not ask what he was implying, nor did he have to.
He remembered every single word Aragorn had said when he had described their old
teacher's condition, and he didn't need to be told that Erestor's health would
not have improved.
"I agree with you, muindor. I understand why you
had to leave him, and I want to free him as badly as I do, but…"
"I doubt that, Elrohir," Aragorn interrupted his elven brother. He knew that it was the stress, pain and fear that still clouded his mind that caused him to lash out at his brother, but he simply couldn't help it. "I very much doubt that. You weren't there. You haven't seen what I have seen, what we have seen. I have known Erestor for practically all my life, and never before have I seen him like this. He tried not to let us see how bad off he really is, but he still couldn't hide it. Do you know what that means? For him?"
"Yes," Elrohir finally said softly. "Yes, I do. But that doesn't change anything."
"I think it is a good plan," Legolas announced, his forehead still wrinkled in a frown. "In my opinion, however, it would be best if we separated our forces into two groups."
Elrohir and Isál stared at him as if he'd just said that he
wanted to join Sauron's armies.
"Let me see if I understand you correctly," the elven twin
finally began. "You not only agree with my dear brother's harebrained plan, you
want us to split up first so we can get ourselves killed more easily? Am I
correct so far?"
"Yes," the fair-haired elf nodded dispassionately. "Even though I wouldn't use these particular terms." The two Noldor were still staring at him as if he'd just gone mad (and, a small voice inside of him commented wryly, perhaps he had, too), and so he went on, "Aragorn might not remember where that gate is, but I do. I can show it to you."
Aragorn shot him a look that was somewhere between surprise and suspicion, and Legolas had to work hard in order not to smile. Aragorn could look ridiculously like Lord Elrond sometimes.
"When they brought us to Donrag, I was a little more capable of paying attention to our surroundings, mellon nín," the elf reminded him. Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, but then he remembered how he had felt that night three days, when he had feared that Elrohir and Isál had died in the fire. He was too honest to dispute that he had been little more than a nervous wreck. "I saw which route they took," Legolas went on. "It is a small gate, almost undetectable. I know where it is, but we can't get anywhere near it with a large group, no matter how stealthy we are. We need to split up."
"Oh, no," Elrohir shook his head. "I am not dividing my forces, Legolas. This is suicide."
"Not necessarily," the blond prince shook his head minutely. "We just need to get into the city separately, that's all. If the second group leaves Aberon two or three hours after the first, it should be enough. We don't have to move separately; we can wait for the second group before we do anything."
"'We'?" Aragorn asked suspiciously. "What do you mean by 'we'?"
"A good question, my brother," Elrohir stated in a curt tone of voice. "You are not going anywhere. Neither of you."
"'We' means we," Legolas explained not very helpfully. "As in Elrohir, Captain Isál, I and whichever warriors they will choose to accompany us. You will stay here."
"And you can decide that because you are perfectly well yourself and I am a child who cannot think for himself," Aragorn nodded in mock seriousness. "Surely."
Elrohir raised a hand before the two of them could start
insulting each other in earnest.
"Neither of you is going anywhere," he repeated. "Least of
all to Donrag or anywhere near it."
"Be reasonable, Elrohir," Legolas said calmly, as if he was just demanding that the other elf sit down and have a little chat about the beginning of the world with him. "One of us must lead you, is that not correct? I doubt that you wish to trust a human guide."
"No, we do not," Elrohir shook his head emphatically. "What one wishes and what one is forced to do are, however, two often diametrically different things. You have lived long enough to know that, Legolas, or so I had thought until now."
"Elrohir…"
"No!" the dark-haired elf exclaimed and shook his head once again. "I almost lost you three days ago! I will not sit idly by while you ride off to your doom once again! I am the leader of this party, Legolas, and am therefore responsible for you, just like I am responsible for Aragorn!"
"You are not responsible for me, son of Elrond," Legolas retorted mildly, yet there was a warning undertone in his voice. "I am an adult, both in the eyes of your kin and my own. I am not a child or a naïve little novice who has yet to see his first battle. I know what I am doing, and I am perfectly capable of making my own decision and accepting the consequences of my actions. For the sake of our friendship I beg you not to forget this."
Elrohir, apparently realising that he had overstepped a
boundary he was usually observing quite scrupulously, took a deep breath in
order to control his feelings and finally nodded.
"You are right, my friend. Forgive me."
The almost undetectable shadow that had laid itself over the
other elf's bruised face lifted almost instantly, and he shook his head
minutely.
"It's all right, mellon nín. It's already
forgotten. But," he continued, returning to the earlier topic with a
single-mindedness that reminded the other beings in the room of his father, "I
am still right. You will need a guide. Tibron's absence would be noticed, I
presume, so he cannot lead you there, even if he wanted to. There's still his
son, of course, and the other boy…"
"No," Aragorn shook his head sharply. "I know that you will probably laugh at me if I say this, but they are little more than children. Vonar – Tibron's son," he added when Legolas frowned in confusion, "and Torel, the son of Toran, are brave, yes, but they are not ready for something like this. They have already risked much, if not everything, by bringing us into this city; I will not willingly put them in any more danger."
"I have to agree," Elrohir nodded solemnly. "Torel has helped us much, and we are indebted to him, his uncle and his cousin, but he is already in over his head. Involving him further in all this would serve no purpose, and I doubt that Tibron would thank us for it."
There was a reluctant glimmer in his eyes as he admitted this, since he knew exactly what Legolas would say next. Once again, his blond friend did not disappoint.
"It is as I thought," Legolas said calmly. "We are out of options, Elrohir. We have to do something, tonight, or all we will return with to your father and Lord Glorfindel will be their friend's body. You know it, Aragorn knows it, and I know it. Please, Elrohir. Let me help you. Let me show Gasur and his lady that there are certain things you don't get away with. Let me show them what happens if you assault the Firstborn and those under their protection."
"We cannot attack them openly," Elrohir cautioned his friend, cursing the other's eloquent tongue a moment later. Legolas had already won, and he knew it, too. "We are too few, even if we get into the city undetected. If we had two more companies…"
"Nobody is talking about an open assault," Legolas shook his head. "I am not stupid, Elrohir." The dark-haired elf only raised an eyebrow and gave him a pointed look, but Legolas ignored him. "I would never ask you to risk the lives of your warriors in such a manner. The main goal has to be Lord Erestor. We will try to free him secretly, with drawing as little attention as possible. But," he added, something very dark appearing in his eyes, "if I come across Gasur or one of his lieutenants, I will kill them. Without question or delay, and without a second's hesitation."
"That," Elrohir replied with a very disconcerting smile and a side-look at Aragorn and the bandages that were visible, covering his wrists and right hand, "would be very acceptable."
"So we are agreed?" Legolas asked, waving his right hand to silence Aragorn who was beginning to protest. "If we leave in the early afternoon and the second group follows maybe two hours later, I believe we can get into the city without being detected."
Elrohir looked at the slightly younger elf and narrowed his eyes. There was reluctant acceptance in his eyes, paired with something that looked almost like suspicion.
"We are agreed, if you answer a question. Honestly." Legolas inclined his head, not even bothering to claim that he always answered all questions honestly, and Elrohir continued seriously, "Are you up to it? You must tell me how well you are, Legolas, and do so without holding anything back. If it turns out that you are not strong enough yet, it could jeopardise the entire mission. I will not lead my men into such a situation if the guide on whose direction they depend is hardly strong enough to stay upright."
Legolas looked at Aragorn who had apparently been dumb-struck
into silence by what was happening around him and then at Elrohir, and finally
nodded firmly.
"I will not lie to you, my friend. Right now I am feeling as
if something big and heavy had fallen on top of me and had sat on my chest for a
few days. I am, however, well enough for this kind of mission. If I rest for a
few more hours, I should be able to lead you to Donrag – granted that I do not
have to use my left arm for a while."
Elrohir looked at him for a long time, searching for a hint that the other elf hadn't told the truth or had held something back, but then he nodded slowly. Legolas knew the limits of his own body, and was responsible enough to listen to his body's complaints. The elven prince might act recklessly from time to time – all right, a lot – but he would never endanger the lives of his warriors. If he said that he was strong enough for this, then he was.
Before he could voice his thoughts, however, Aragorn regained the ability to speak. His face slowly began to assemble a dark red colour, which, considering that he was still far too pale, was a rather upsetting sight.
"Have you taken complete leave of your senses?" he demanded to know. "Are you actually agreeing with that mad scheme of his?"
"Yes," Elrohir said as evenly as he could in sight of his brother's obvious agitation. "I do not like this one bit, Estel, but we do not have any other choice."
"If that is so," the man began in a deceivingly calm tone of voice, "then I will accompany you as well. Someone will need to make sure that you don't get lost three yards away from the town gates."
"No," Legolas and Elrohir shook their heads simultaneously. "Definitely not," Elrohir went on. "You are not well enough to leave this house. You will stay here, muindor nín."
"No," Aragorn shook his head. His tone of voice was friendly, but utterly uncompromising. "I will not."
"Yes, you will," Elrohir disagreed, having to fight the feeling that he was just experiencing some sort of déjà vu. He'd had this kind of conversation very frequently in Estel's youth, much to the chagrin of their father and anyone else who happened to be in the vicinity. "Please, Estel, listen to me. More importantly, listen to your body. Your injuries by themselves are not to be taken lightly. You have, however, also taken a very hard hit on the head and nearly drowned in an ice-cold river. After that, you spent hours in the cold, wearing wet clothes. If you are lucky, all you will have caught is a cold. If you, however, overextend yourself – and overextending would be if you left your bed, not to mention riding or fighting or doing something equally stupid – you will catch something much worse."
Aragorn rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Elrohir, I know. I do not even want to dispute your
claims. I know how susceptible to illnesses
my kind is. What you are forgetting,
however, is that Legolas is not well himself."
"I am…" Legolas began to protest, but was silenced by a look Elrohir shot him.
"He is an elf, Estel," Elrohir simply said. "You are not. Forgive me for saying it like this, but you simply are not strong enough yet. I cannot allow you to come, knowing that your health will almost certainly deteriorate."
"So will his," Aragorn pointed out angrily. "And yours, maybe, or Isál's, or Meneldir's. How can you expect me to just let you go into danger and do nothing?"
"The same way Elladan and I let you go in Baredlen, when you went off to rescue Glorfindel," Elrohir answered readily. "We listened to you then."
The young man's mouth opened as if to say something, but then
he closed it again without saying a word. He glared at his brother, looking very
much like a very angry fish out of water.
"This," he said slowly and very clearly, "is not fair."
"No," Elrohir agreed with a small, almost sad smile. "It isn't."
It really wasn't, of course, as Aragorn pointed out many times over the next few hours. But, as Elrohir had said earlier, what one wanted and what one was forced to do were two very different things, and in the end the man fell silent, realising that there was nothing he could say that would sway his brother's or friend's mind. They insisted that he would be safer here, and promised him to bring back Erestor and to look after one another.
Not even twelve hours later they would regret their refusal.
They would be only mildly comforted by the fact that they weren't
the only ones.
No matter how hard he tried to calm himself and stop pacing,
he simply couldn't. It wasn't that he wasn't trying, no, most certainly not. He
was very aware of the fact that it was only making him feel dizzy and even more
insecure and confused than he already was, but he simply couldn't stop himself.
Tibron snorted, wheeled around and walked back the way he had come. He knew that he should be more mature than this, and usually he would be, too, but … well, these were anything but normal circumstances. In fact, he thought wryly, they were very, very abnormal, and if anyone had told him last week that he would be hiding a group of elves in his house who had escaped from Donrag and were now hiding from Hurag and his own brother, he would have told them that they were mad. Or that they'd had too much to drink, or maybe even both.
But it was very true, and the more he thought about it, the more the entire thing looked like a nightmare. Tibron sighed, stopped in front of the window, gave the busy street below a quick glance and forced himself to remain where he was. It wasn't that he didn't believe what the elves had told him. It came to him as no surprise that Hurag would resort to such methods – he had never liked the older man anyway. He was judgemental, insufferably arrogant and so belligerent that even his supporters were most of the time allegedly only one step away from strangling him. Still, if it had been only that, he might have had some problems believing the elves' allegations. Hurag, however, was also something else: Power-hungry. He wanted money and influence, and would stop at nothing to get it.
Tibron sighed again and softly banged his forehead against the window frame. No, he wasn't surprised at all, and Hurag could go hang for all he cared. What he couldn't understand was why Toran would go along with this. That wasn't entirely correct, he amended a moment later, he could very well imagine why his brother would support Hurag and his plans. Toran was not stupid, after all, and he had to know better than most people what Hurag was capable of. His brother had a wife and three children to consider, all of which could suffer certain … "accidents" at all times.
What he didn't understand, however, was why Toran hadn't come to him. They'd always had a good relationship, and there was no reason why his brother shouldn't have confided in him. Toran knew that he loved him and would help him as much as he could – or did he? Tibron was aware that there was a rift between them that had been developing for some time now, but he hadn't thought that it was already too deep for his brother to bridge.
The blond man closed his eyes for a second, trying to ignore the sharp pain and disappointment that stabbed through his heart. Why had Toran done it? Had he forgotten everything their father had taught them when they had been young? Had he forgotten all the lessons about honour and hospitality, about honesty and what was right and wrong? He was not naïve himself and was not above bending the rules a little from time to time, but this … what the his brother had apparently done … this went beyond the boundaries of what was acceptable. If Toran had only said something, if he had only once told him what was brewing on the horizon, he would have helped him. He would have done everything and anything in his power to help protect his sister-in-law and his nephews and niece, and they would have found a way to stop Hurag…
But now it was too late, Tibron mused bitterly. He loved his brother, but now that he had helped the elves, he had taken a stand against him. That in itself didn't bother him all too much; he was popular with his fellows and well-liked by the traders that frequented his tavern. If this ever reached the public, he wouldn't have anything to fear. The problem was that it wouldn't reach the public, at least not at a time when it would still matter. He was not a man prone to forebodings and premonitions, but he had the very distinct feeling that something would happen, soon. There was a conflict coming, between Donrag and Hurag and the Elves, and Toran and he would be on different sides.
Tibron shuddered openly. He could still remember the look the elf lord's son had given him in the alley when he had told him that he knew where the ranger and the blond elf were. Never before in his entire, not exactly uneventful life had he seen such an intense look of barely suppressed fury and worry, and he could very well imagine what he and the rest of the elves would do to those that had helped or aided Hurag in any way. To face such fury – no, he wouldn't wish that on anyone, least of all his brother.
It was a dilemma if there ever was one, he thought, almost amused. It was clearly a lose-lose situation: He could either tell Toran what had happened and whom he was sheltering – and risk that he told Hurag about it – or he could not tell him, therefore condemning him to finding himself on the wrong side of this conflict.
Tibron once again beat his head against the wooden frame, this time a little more forcefully. He wanted nothing more than go to his brother and plead with him to see reason, to stop this madness while there was still time, but he simply couldn't. The elves were his guests, and he would be damned if he endangered them in any way. And no matter how much he disliked it, Toran couldn't be trusted at the moment. He laughed inwardly, but there was no mirth in his heart. He couldn't trust his own brother, couldn't trust him because he had been conspiring to kill those who were guests of their town. If someone had told him that a week ago, he wouldn't have told them that they were mad. He would have hit them.
And to top everything off nicely, he added in more scathing a voice than he could remember using for a long time, the elves he was trying his best to protect were right now trying to get themselves killed. Why they were doing it, he couldn't fathom, and by the Gods, he had tried. Not only that, he had pleaded with them, had begged them to reconsider, but they hadn't listened. He smiled darkly. What a surprise. No one was apparently listening to him anymore, or telling him anything truly important.
"Father?" a soft voice behind him asked, and he turned to see his son enter the room, looking at him in a rather strange way, almost as if he was expecting him to do something truly weird. "Are you all right?"
He realised that he was standing in his study, smiling to himself and banging his head against the window frame, and had to suppress another irrational smile. Vonar might be on to something if he thought him crazy, which didn't surprise him in the slightest. The boy might have got his looks from his side of the family, but he'd got his brains from his mother. And a good thing that was, too, he mused. His wife would never have got herself into this kind of situation, he was sure about that.
"Yes?" he asked, as if he was behaving in a completely normal and understandable fashion. "What is it?"
"The elves wish to speak with you," the boy told him. "They're about to leave."
"Yes, of course," he nodded. "Send them in."
Vonar nodded as well and was about to turn back
around, but his
father raised a hand.
"Vonar," he began, "just in case all this…" He trailed off,
realising that he didn't want to explain to his son just what he was talking
about. "You were right. You and Torel did the right thing when you helped the
elf and the ranger."
"Did we?" Vonar asked softly, raising his eyebrows. "What about Uncle Toran and…"
"Uncle Toran," Tibron interrupted him, "is not your problem. He's mine, and you must not concern yourself with him. But yes, it was the right thing to do. Not only because I don't even want to think about what the other elves would have done to us if they'd found out that we had the chance to help them and didn't. Far more important is that they are our guests, Vonar, guests of our family and of our town. The gods do not look kindly on those who betray the laws of hospitality."
"Yes, father," the young man nodded his head. "But … I didn't only do it because of that. It wasn't that I had much choice – Torel more or less talked me into it – but…" He shook his head and shrugged. "I also did it because … well … when I saw the ranger that night, barely alive, I just had to help them. No one should be allowed to do such things to others and get away with it."
"No, they shouldn't," Tibron shook his head with a small smile. "There is nothing wrong with sympathy and compassion, my son. Or with the desire to punish those who have done such things to others." His smile widened. "This only confirms what I've always thought."
"And that would be, father?" Vonar asked.
"That you've got your mother's brains," his father smiled. "Now send the elves in, before they get impatient and break down the door."
Vonar smiled back and turned around, walking over to the door. He hadn't even realised how much he had needed to hear his father say that – even though he knew that he had done the right thing, he hadn't known if it had really been the right thing. The young man re-thought about what he had just thought and had to hide the grin that wanted to spread over his face. And he had thought his father was behaving strangely…
The wide smile disappeared from his face in the moment he opened the door and came face to face with three elves, two dark-haired and the other one blond. One of them was the one had not too long ago dragged through the streets with the help of his cousin and a semi-conscious ranger, the second was the son of the Lord of Rivendell – Lord Elmohir or something like that? – and the third was that captain, the one who followed the elf lord's son like a shadow.
None of them looked overly happy or friendly, but it was the fair-haired elf who looked worst by far. Even under the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing one could easily see the thick bandages that wound around his torso and left arm, and the bruises on his face were rather impressive, too. The cut on his throat that had looked so bad when he and Torel had found him was bandaged, too, but he could still remember just what it had looked like. Vonar shook his head inwardly. Just how that elf was on his feet, not to mention walking anywhere, was beyond him. Perhaps it was true what the people said; perhaps elves did use some kind of magic.
The young man's thoughts trailed off quickly, and he nodded at the elves and stepped to the side. None of the three showed any reaction except for the elf lord's son who nodded back at him, and once again Vonar had to suppress a small shudder. He didn't know why, but somehow elves were making him feel decidedly nervous, even though he knew that he hadn't done anything to make them angry in any way.
Tibron's smile faded as well as he looked at the three elves.
He didn't know all that much about elves, he was more than willing to admit
that, but he was rather sure that even elves shouldn't be walking around if they
looked like the fair-haired elf in front of him.
"Lord Elrohir, I thought you were jesting. You can't be
serious."
"I am not jesting, Master Tibron," Elrohir shook his head resolutely. "We need to leave, but we wished to talk to you first."
"About …about what?" Tibron asked, slightly distracted. He was still staring at the blond elf, half-expecting him to fall flat on his face. If it hadn't been for the determined, very stubborn sparkle in his eyes, he would have betted he would fall, too.
"First of all, we would like to thank you for your help," the dark-haired elf said. "Without you and you kin, my friends would have died. We understand that by helping us you have placed yourself and your family in danger. In the name of my father I ask you to accept our deepest gratitude for your aid and hospitality."
"It was my pleasure," the man inclined his head. "You did not think that we would allow your … brother and friend to die, did you?"
Elrohir smiled wryly.
"To be perfectly honest with you, Master Human, yes, that is
exactly what I thought you would do. I have never been more pleased about being
proven wrong, though."
Tibron returned the smile. He wished that he could feel
surprised or affronted by
the elf's words, but he couldn't. After what had
happened to him and his friends, he couldn't blame him.
"As I said, it was my pleasure, Master Elf. I do have a
question, though: What do I have to do to convince you that what you're planning
is a very bad idea?"
"There is nothing you can do to convince us of that," the fair-haired elf shook his head, sounding rather healthy for a person who just had to be one step away from passing out. "We know that it's not a very good idea."
Tibron thought about asking the elf just why they were doing
it then, but decided against it. If they were suicidal, he'd rather not know.
"Can I at least convince you to stay here, my lord?" he
asked, looking at the blond elf. "I do not mean to affront you, but you look …
well, not too good."
The elf smiled in a rather strained way.
"I've been hearing that a lot lately."
The blond man shook his head exasperatedly, but he didn't try to sway the elf's mind. He owned a tavern and had met a lot of people, after all, and he knew when he was fighting a losing battle. He had no desire to get involved in an argument he would never win.
"All right," he conceded. "You can do whatever you want, of course. Are you sure you don't want me to find you a guide? Giras' brother is working in the tavern, and he…"
"No," Elrohir shook his head quickly. "Thank you, but no. I don't mean to insult you, but…"
"You don't trust anyone," Tibron returned the elf's favour and interrupted him. "I see." The dark-haired elf opened his mouth as if to protest, but the man raised a hand and interrupted him again. "No, my lord, it's all right. I completely understand."
"Then you will also understand that we need to leave now," Elrohir went on. "I have, however, two favours to ask of you."
"Name them," the man nodded. "I will do what I can."
"The first is about Strider," Elrohir began, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "He will, as you know, not be coming with us."
Tibron could hardly suppress a grin. He did indeed know, for
he had been present for a part of their conversation. The ranger had
not been happy about his friends' decision, that much was certain.
"Yes," he agreed. "I know."
"Then you already know that he did not … agree with our reasoning," Elrohir went on, deciding to put it this way. "You have already been most helpful, and I thank you again for supplying us with the medicines he needs. I have to ask you for something else, though: Please make sure that he doesn't leave this house. He will want to follow us, and if there is no one here to stop him, he will disappear as soon as he can stand unaided. It shouldn't be a problem since we should be back soon, but we all know that things rarely go as planned. We wanted to leave two warriors here with him, but…"
Elrohir trailed off, and Tibron had to hide yet another smile. So that was what that rather heated argument had been about that had been audible two storeys above their room.
"He dissuaded you?" the man finally offered.
"Yes," the dark-haired elf nodded reluctantly. "We promised him to take all of the warriors with us, and as unhappy as I am about that, I will keep that promise. So I must ask you to look after him, make sure that he stays in bed and doesn't do anything … stupid."
This time Tibron smiled openly. It sounded very much as if
this
was the voice of experience speaking.
"I promise that
I will do what I can, my lord," he assured Elrohir.
The elf looked instantly more relaxed, and so he added, "What about the second
favour?"
"That should be far easier to achieve," Elrohir said solemnly. "If you haven't heard anything from me or one of my men in two days, you may safely assume that we are dead or will soon be. Don't try to do anything; just take this letter," he reached into his cloak and withdrew a large, folded piece of parchment that was closed with a wax seal, "and see that it is delivered to Rivendell. My father will know what to do."
"I will," Tibron promised solemnly and took the letter, sliding it into a pocket of his vest. "If it indeed comes to that, I will do what you ask. What about the ranger, though?"
"Drug him," Legolas answered immediately. "Tie him up, knock him out, do whatever you can to keep him away from Donrag. If you can, get him back to Rivendell, if you cannot, keep him chained up somewhere until Lord Elrond arrives here."
"That should make a good impression," the man mumbled.
"Oh, Lord Elrond wouldn't be surprised in the slightest. Believe me."
"I … see," Tibron said, somewhat weakly. It was clear that he did not. "I will do what I can, I promise. We will look after the ranger."
"Thank you," Elrohir inclined his head, and the sincerity on his face was easy to see. "For everything. If all goes according to plan, we will have returned before the next sun rises."
"I hope so, my lord," the man said, obviously meaning it. "I seriously hope so."
"So do I, Master Human," Elrohir retorted in a similar tone of voice. "May Eru Ilúvatar and the Valar watch over you and your family."
"And over you," Tibron bowed his head automatically, even though he didn't really know what the elf was talking about. Then again, only because you didn't know what someone else was saying it didn't mean that you had to be rude, did it?
The dark-haired elf returned the gesture and a moment later he turned around and walked toward the door, trailed by his captain who hadn't said a single word and had only watched the humans in the room with his unforgiving, dark blue eyes. The blond elf was about to follow them, but then he hesitated, turning back to Tibron and his son.
"Please look after Strider," he asked softly, something in his voice clearly stating that he didn't like having to beg them for anything. "He is still young and sometimes reckless. See to it that he doesn't get himself into any more trouble. He's had enough for a while."
"So have you, Master Elf," Tibron pointed out before he was even realising what he was saying.
"Aye, I have," the elf nodded calmly. "But I am an elf. I do not contract things like illnesses, and recover from serious wounds far quicker than he does.."
"Then you and your people are truly blessed," the man said emphatically. "Do not worry. I promised your lord that we would look after the ranger, and I will keep my word."
Legolas only bowed his head, not bothering to point out that Elrohir was, in fact, not his lord. He had no intention of telling the humans here who he really was, and would welcome it if they thought him nothing more than one of Elrohir's captains or friends. As long as neither the twins or Aragorn nor Celylith or his father heard about it, he didn't care.
"Thank you, Master Tibron. I will not forget this."
Tibron inclined his head as well, and a second later the elves were gone. Tibron returned to the window and watched them leave his house, their faces covered by their cloaks' hoods, the blond elf being flanked left and right by his companions. They soon passed out sight, disappearing down the street that would lead them back to the stable where the rest of their warriors were.
The blond man bit back a sigh, not wanting to show his son how insecure and worried he truly was. He didn't really know what the elves were planning; they hadn't told him more than that they needed to return to Donrag. He was not stupid, though; he could imagine why they wanted to return to that less-than-hospitable place. If there was the slightest chance that there was a friend of his in that town, alone with that insane captain about whom people talked even here only in hushed voices and with fear on their faces, he would do everything in his power to free him, too.
Tibron took a deep breath and told himself to stop worrying. There was nothing he could do to help the elves apart from doing what they had asked of him, he knew that very well. Besides, if he couldn't calm himself, someone would get suspicious, and that was the last thing he could afford right now. He had to appear in front of the council this evening to discuss some business matters he should have been concentrating on this day, and there were enough men on the council that knew him well enough to notice that there was something bothering him.
His brother, for example.
Tibron frowned, inwardly cursing the fates for doing this to him and his family. A moment later he shook his head and turned away from the window, placing one hand on his son's shoulder and steering him into the direction of the door. The boy did not protest; he did in fact appear to be glad to escape the somewhat oppressive atmosphere that weighed heavily on the room.
He would have done well to keep watching to street for a few seconds longer, though, for only a moment later a dark form disentangled itself from the dark shadows that the buildings to the right of his house cast and quickly began to walk down the main street.
.
TBC...
mellon nín - my friend
muindor - brother (as in 'real' brother, not chosen brother or twin brother)
Well, what do you think? Will everything go according to plan? •readers simply
raise eyebrows• Well, I just thought there might be some optimists among you
guys... Then again, I think I'm asking too much. You know me, after all. Be that
as it may, next time we see just what happens if you let Legolas make any plans and
Aragorn realises something he should have figured out a long time ago. Silly
elves/rangers/humans. •g• As always, reviews are much appreciated since they
distract me from the Forum Romanum, Alexander the Great and other things like
that. Thanks! •g•
Additional A/N:
I'm right now trying the whole email thing, meaníng that I'm sending review responses by email. We'll see how well that goes; if it works reasonably well and isn't too much work, I think we can stick with it. If I have forgotten anyone - and the chances for that aren't too bad, knowing my memory! - please send me an email or club me over the head with something heavy. I'll try not to forget again! Sorry for all this - blame ff-net, not me. •shrugs•
Oh, and I apologise to:
Just Jordy, Jazmin3 Firewing, Grumpy, Nin and Washow. I don't have your email addresses. If you didn't include them on purpose, wonderful, if you'd like to receive review responses in the future, just send me an email or say so in your next review. Thanks!
