Part Two – The Horse-thief



Legolas reached the fallen thief just seconds after Gimli. Drawing his knife, its long white blade flashing with moonlight, he tightened his grip around the hilt.

"Looks dead," said Gimli with his pony in tow as they bent over the crumpled form. Most of the body was tangled in a hooded black cloak. Two leather-booted legs stuck out from below the tattered and frayed edges, and one was twisted at a rather unnatural angle. Farther up, the first of Legolas' long arrow shafts jutted sharply from deep in the back of the left thigh while the second had lodged just below the buttock. Both Elf and Dwarf hesitated at the sight, grotesque battle memories surfacing all too quickly in their minds, and more painfully the memory of Boromir punctured to his death by black Orc arrows.

Setting his jaw, Legolas stepped forward and grasping the hood of the cloak, jerked it back to reveal a thick mass of dark, human hair.

"Not an Orc, to be sure!" Even gruff old Gimli couldn't mask the relief in his voice.

"No, and not dead either," said Legolas quietly. "Look, he breathes still."

Sure enough, when Gimli stared hard enough he thought he could make out a very shallow rise and fall beneath the cloak, so faint it looked more like stirring of wind than a human breath. He grunted in disgust. "Weak moron. What sort of man faints after falling off a horse! Roll him over and let us have a look at this fool's face."

Legolas let go of the hood and grasped the thief's shoulder.

Odd…

It felt round and bony under his hand—and much too small to belong to a grown man. There was hardly any muscle at all on this skinny childish arm. Feeling slightly ashamed but not caring at the moment, Legolas breathed a small sigh of relief; he had had enough of fighting Dark creatures to last another century. They had subconsciously been expecting a different sort of foe than the one lying in a helpless heap at their feet.

"No, Gimli, first I shall remove my arrows lest they break and pierce him further. Bring Grey around and hold him steady while I put the boy across his back. He's in no condition to be moved any other way."

The Dwarf stared at him. "Has your Elf mind also gone to mush? Bring him to our fire in thanks for attempted theft, eh? Then I suppose I should be hospitable and offer him tea when he wakes! Soft-hearted Elves!" muttered Gimli crossly. "And what of Arod now? Won't you go after him?"

A momentary flash of anger at the loss of his horse swept through Legolas. Pressing his lips together tightly, he sheathed his blade with more force than necessary and lifted the boy belly-down onto Grey's sturdy back.

"Arod will return when he feels he has strayed far enough. Let him run."

The truth was, he wasn't even sure in which direction the stallion had bolted. If he didn't come back on his own will, they would have to continue their long journey on foot. The delay would add another two weeks between him and home. Legolas grit his teeth at the thought.

Back at the campfire, while Gimli stirred up the embers with what little wood he had managed to collect, his companion lay their unconscious captive cheek-down on the grass, close to the flames for better lighting.

Legolas surveyed the twin arrow wounds with a critical eye. Though deep, they had bled little so far which indicated he had fortunately missed the major blood vessel running through the upper leg. The pain, however, would be crippling for quite some time; if the thief planned on escaping he had at least a week to think of a way. Legolas smiled grimly and grasped the first arrow near the base with his right hand fingers. With his left thumb and forefinger he positioned them just below so that they were pressed against the wound. He felt blood seeping out and quickly began to work.

In what seemed like a minute, the first arrow was out. Gimli couldn't see how it happened—his eyes were no match for the subtle movements, so quick that they looked like mere finger flutterings. The second one, stuck in the thigh, took a little longer to extract but presently it too came out, glistening red, to be laid aside next to its twin.

Wiping his stained hands on the grass, Legolas exhaled deeply through his nostrils as he nodded thanks to Gimli holding out a large wrinkled handkerchief.

"The boy must have struck his head harder than I thought," the Dwarf remarked. "To sleep like a baby while someone pulls arrows out of your…" He trailed off chuckling to himself.

Legolas looked disdainfully at his hands, and the bloodied cloth. "I must clean myself more thoroughly in the river. Wrap his leg, Master Gimli, if you have the heart. I fear it might be sprained at the knee." He stood gracefully and ran off on silent cat's feet. Soon Gimli's eyes lost him in the thickening shadow. Mumbling and grumbling, he turned to glare at the boy lying in the same awkward position as when Legolas first set him down. The left leg, which seemed to be the unfortunate target for all the suffered injuries, glared back at him from its twisted angle.

"'Wrap his leg', he says," Gimli mimicked. "I most certainly will not, I'll have you know! Since when has a Dwarf in his right mind gone soft, healing his enemies right and left, setting broken legs and whatnot? Never, and I will not be the first! Let the Elf do it if he chooses." He crossed his arms with a huff and sat put.

The dying little fire sputtered pitifully. Please, it seemed to say. Please.

Gimli turned his back and closed his eyes. Legolas, that priss, he thought. Couldn't stand to have those beautiful hands soiled any longer than necessary. Well, he wasn't going to lift a finger. A thief was a thief—child or not.

Please…

"Humph!" Heaving to his feet, Gimli furiously stomped out the flames. Suddenly he paused. Standing in the dark, amidst charred ash as delicate tendrils of smoke rose slowly from underneath his heavy boot, he turned slowly to look upon the boy again.

No one ever spoke of what happened afterwards. When Legolas returned, he found the fire curiously put out and the Dwarf curled up fast asleep underneath his blankets. He glanced at the thief, still unconscious, but his hands were bound securely behind his back with spare rope. Then something white caught his eye…something wrapped about the left leg, which was now straight as the right.

Smiling to himself, Legolas lay back with his head pillowed on his arms a little apart from the other two slumberers. And so the night passed over three unlikely travelers and one dozing pony.