A.N.: Hello, dearest readers, it a bit late but I promised myself you'd have this chapter today, so here it goes!
I thank you very much for your continued support, even when you don't have the time or the wish to drop a review please know that the read count makes my day! Celebrisilweth, he counts on it, and won't be disappointed; The Other Writer Girl, chaos is the precise word! Mustard Lady, to be level-headed with his blood boiling might be the hardest thing he ever did in his life; Mizz Alec Volturi, your curiosity will be satisfied in a jiffy; pallys d'Artagnan, I imagine this trio will work fine together, given the chance; salwyn77, I'm trying hard to keep my update schedule, the story is almost where it should be and I can't leave it!
pallys d'Artagnan , salwyn77 and everyone who had a thought of well wishes for my health, thank you so much, I'm ready to conquer the world now!
Welcome eeemkaaayy to the boat, take a seat and have fun!
=^.^=
Mirkwood was an ancient forest. So ancient that Mirkwood was not its original name, just a name that stuck when things changed from Greenwood to what they were nowadays. So, its trees were ancient. At least, most of them. New growth was hard to achieve after the forest became hurt by the evil in the south. That same evil that took the fortress of Amon Lanc, casting out Legolas' people to resettle northward. Now, old trees…
When you have a very dense forest, entangled with vines and lianas, where black moss can be as dense as the natural foliage… When the darkness that spreads through the air and water darkens the very souls of the trees… The trees find death. It's a standing death, but a death nonetheless. Upheld by the younger and still healthy ones, moored by living lianas too stubborn to die, waiting for a storm angry enough to put them down. Avoided by black squirrels, ignored by giant spiders, feared by walkers of all kinds – at least, the ones smart enough to foresee a disaster where there is one.
Which didn't include orcs.
Dwarrow are a clever people. Forged by a brilliant mind, the same brightness shines in their brains. To forge is more than to heat a scrap of metal and bang on it with a hammer. There is science behind the alloys, physics in the choosing of the right temperature and the right angle to hit. Stonecraft demands knowledge on hardness, cleavage, resistance. You don't build a palace inside a mountain just hammering around. It's a kind of work that requires planning and wisdom to deal with unexpected technical features.
Kíli is a dwarrow through and through.
Of this, both Tilda and Legolas were sure when they saw the strange pattern of vines attaching old dead trees around the camp, and then noticed the sudden jerk that put the whole system in movement. If it were the top of a mountain, you'd have an avalanche. As it was, what happened around the orc camp was a domino effect of crazy proportions.
Given the right push, even the most stubborn dead tree trunk had to succumb to gravity. After hours of climbing trees and knotting vines like a maniac, Kíli used a liana loop in a living oak as a swing, gaining momentum to hit the first dead trunk with all he had. His feet ached inside his metal lined boots with the impact, but it was worthwhile. A loud crack announced the upcoming catastrophe.
The first tree wavered, resisting at first, but its own weight made it falter. The next closer ones, one living and another also dead, could do little under the weight of the massive first one. They fell. Tree after tree the ring around the clearing collapsed, several of them falling to its middle, setting the orcs into madness. Dead black moss, dry as dry can be, was licked by the flames of the orcs' bonfire, and turned into living torches, kindling the branches where they lay and those above it.
The flaming branches kindled the dry tree trunks.
In short, it was hell.
Tilda and Legolas lost no time wondering about what was happening, they saw the chance and seized it with both pair of hands. Bound hands, in Legolas' case, as they had had no chance to try to picklock the shackles since their first attempt, always one orc or two around them after the first excitement about horse meat. Yet, when the trees went down and fire spread, it was hardly time to cold-bloodedly try and open the lock. Too much adrenaline and the frightening crackle of the fire rushing towards them would prevent Tilda from steading her fingers if she even tried to do it.
Legolas didn't care, seemingly, using the chain between his hands to strangle the nearest orc and the next; to run away from the camp should be easy, he mused, with all the distraction provided by Erú knew who (despite his strong suspicions on a certain dwarf…).
And then it wasn't.
Whatever it was that moved the orcs, what dark purpose was behind their kidnapping, it woke up. Not three steps they moved and a new orc stood before them, scimitar or jagged blade in hand, cowing them to remain where they were. Suspiciously enough, most of those died with an arrow embedded in their eye, throat or heart.
Tilda's smile was blinding when she saw the first of those arrows, knowing as she did the fletcher responsible for them. Kíli explained once the pattern he used, the choice of feathers and of knots making it impossible to mistake his work for any others'. Of course someone else could use his arrows as well as him (he mentioned the ones he makes were his uncle's favourites, and not because any personal partiality), but her heart knew better.
Which didn't mean everything was going fine in their escape.
"I can't see where we're going!"
Tilda shouted between the smoke, wielding a burning branch to fend off a smaller orc.
"Keep to your left, we must be close to the edge of the camp!"
Legolas punched an orc with both fists, spun around and kicked another one into a fire. A crude blade grazed the elf's neck and shattered on the ground beside him, and an orc howled in pain, an arrow sticking from his wrist.
There was no time to cherish the bowman (bowdwarf?) as another orc shoved the howling one aside and barrelled Legolas down. Tilda's boot connected with the orc's temple, eliciting a disgusting sound of broken bones, completed by her heel crunching some facial bones. The beast laid still.
Another orc took charge, grabbing the woman from behind and shoving her to the ground. Tilda used what was left of her strength to roll, sending the orc to the nearest fire. The creature howled and scampered off, eyes shining in red.
"Run! Don't linger!"
Tilda listed a dozen things she'd say to Legolas about why, oh! why she'd linger in such an accursed site when she had a chance to escape, but she was too focused on surviving to care. Run she did.
=^.^=
It wasn't stone.
If it were rock, he would know exactly what to do.
Yet, he had to make it do.
So, he prayed.
Maybe not so much as praying, but asking for guidance.
If she was bold enough to make him acknowledge his feelings, she should be bold enough to guide him now.
If, of course, her presence in his mind was real, not something his heart craved and his mind made up to comfort him…
Yet, if his mind had the power to make up things to ease his heart, he wouldn't have spent the last ten years suffering what he did, would he?
The orc camp was larger than he expected. By the trampling in his own camp, it could have been just a dozen, and that amount he expected to be able to deal with. Now, watching the place, it was clear it would be no easy task.
Now, what has ever been easy in his life?
He wished to be able to warn Tilda that he was close by, and that he would be acting soon. There was no way to do this without warning the orcs along. He would have to count on her wits, and luck.
To tie the trees was easy. Or, at least, the easiest part, even if it took hours. To calculate the best chain of trees had been harder, as trees aren't stones. But to calculate he did, and to hope.
After the tumbling trees were set in motion, with the added bonus of fire, Kíli used all his skill and aim to grant the prisoners the chance to escape. Legolas being there was a bonus, too, hiss prowess put to good use.
The fire was spreading faster than the dwarf would like, and the orcs acted as it didn't affect them. One after another they got to the escaping pair, one after another being beaten, strangled, hit by arrow, kicked and whatnot. It was as if something more than their own will moved them, consequences be damned. Kíli had to do something quick.
To jump head first in a fray wasn't novelty for him, and soon Kíli was handling a dagger to the running woman. His arrows were almost all spent, but in short range the sword was a better choice. The elf was using a scimitar dropped by and orc, showing how any weapon could provide severe damage once deftly wielded.
"We're almost out!"
"They're too many!"
"Keep running!"
The words were more incitement than communication, the deafening roar of the fire and shouts of the orcs. Sweat dripped from Tilda's forehead, Legolas had a smudge of ash on his face and Kíli could be taken for a wild bear, even if a small one.
Legolas had knowledge of the forest, it was his home, and the forest had knowledge of him. Once out of the circle of fire, the same brambles that gave way for them to pass closed behind them barring the orcs. Branches bent to allow the fugitives to climb, roots snapped to trip the pursuers. For once in a long time, the elf felt things were working on his favour.
Quiet as mice, the trio waited, perched on the top of an ancient oak. Some stray orcs still ran aimlessly on the ground, fleeing from the fire. When at last no sound of chasers had been heard for a long while, the three runaways dared to smile. Legolas broke the silence.
"It was an unexpected honour to fight by your side, dwarf."
Kíli chuckled.
"I'm glad the old saying you can never trust an elf is preposterous."
"My princes…" Tilda started, biting her lower lips. "What do we do now?"
Kíli turned his attention fully on the woman, his eyes serious as he caressed her face with the hand that wasn't currently holding on the tree.
"I don't believe we're totally safe yet. I trust Legolas to guide us until we are. Yet, despite anything that may to come to pass, I must talk to you. First, to apologize for my actions…" She tried to say something but he put a finger on her lips to make her wait until he finished. "And then, to tell you what I feel. I love you, Tilda, and I wish to court you, if you'll have me."