Chapter 2
Many A Long Journey
Deep underground, in what appeared to be a man-made cavern, the cloaked figure stood before a small, dark, filthy cell that currently housed a large cocoon that appeared to be composed of yellow-green mucus guarded by two large Orcs. He smiled under the hood, his face completely hidden except for the twisted shape of his mouth, as it started to shift and tremble, the being inside regaining consciousness and fighting against the oppressive confinement.
The Orcs on either side began tearing at the incasement, working from the outside to reach their new companion as it worked from within. Soon, their efforts were rewarded and a third Orc, slimy and shaking with its efforts, was produced. After a moment, looking around in utter confusion, it howled with rage and an excruiationg pain that was both physical and emotional. It lunged, suddenly, at the figure, who merely chuckled as the two restrained it.
"Bestow upon this one..." he breathed, turning to leave. "The name of Bagbag...."
****
Aragorn and Gimli journeyed that very same path where the Elf had been attacked in previous nights. The telltale verifications of the rumours they had heard made themselves frighteningly clear in the trampled and destroyed plantlife that had been left in the wake of the Orcish army.
Aragorn was the first to spot the grisly scene of dead and already decaying Orcs and the scattered Orcish and Elven arrows. "Gimli, come and see this!"
Gimli swiftly made his way over without hesitation. He was quicker than a casual observer might think for one so small, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell already wafting from the carrion. He studied the arrows for several long moments, before stepping away and drawing a deep breath. "Those are Elven, I'd wager."
He wandered away as the Human examined the scene with a ranger's practiced eye, towards the rocks, where something caught his eye, partially obscured from view by dead leaves and needles. He knelt down and brushed the debris away, revealing a slightly damaged bow that, to him, was startlingly familiar. Frowning, he called out to his companion. "Aragorn! I've found something!" He waited for his friend to come over before speaking. "Would you not say that this looks very much like the bow that the Lady of the Galadhrim had given Legolas upon our departure from Lothlorien?"
Aragorn nodded, studying the bow with a scrutinizing eye. "Indeed it does, however, it is possible that Legolas is not the only Elf in posession of such a weapon...." He glanced around to lay his eyes upon more Orc bodies and something gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the trees. He moved to take a closer look when he realized that it was a long knife, very similar to the one he had often seen the Elven member of the Fellowship fight with on their quest. He paused for a long moment, taking this new evidence into consideration. Whomever these weapons belonged to- Legolas or otherwise, he realized, was very likely in a great deal of trouble. Were they not already dead. He nodded again, sharply, as though coming to a decision. "Come. We shall continue to follow their trail."
Gimli, however, hadn't a chance to respond, for several Elves had stepped into sight, armed with swords. "Who are you?" One of them asked in Westron as he pushed his way forward. He looked quite young- no more than twenty-two, were he a man- with long locks of light brown hair, much the colour of tanned deerskin.
Aragorn held his hands up, palms outward, to show he meant no harm. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and this," he gestured to the dwarf, "is Gimli, son of Gloin. We have been tracking a group of Orcs through these woods."
"Of the Nine? The Fellowship?" The Elf sounded incredulous, but relaxed considerably, and went as far as to resheath his weapon, gesturing for the others to do the same. "Legolas has spoken very highly of you." He glanced at the dwarf with an air of curiousity, "both of yo-" His eyes found the bow Gimli was holding. "May I have that for a moment?" He took the bow and turned it over in his hands, frowning. "Where did you find this?"
"Over there," the short, bearded fellow replied, pointing at the ground a few feet away.
The Elf murmured something to the others in Sindarin, and they fanned out, looking over the area carefully. "You must come with us to see King Thranduil," he said, switching back to Westron. He glanced at the bow, still clutched in his hands and frowned again. "We were sent to search these woods for Legolas, he was due to return several days ago from Rivendell, and under the circumstances..." he hesitated. "It is not my place to explain further. You shall have to wait and speak with the king."
"What?!" Gimli snapped, turning an interesting shade of red. "The more time we waste discussing is more time those great bloody brutes have to... do whatever it is they intend to do with him! We ought to go after them now! While the trail is still fresh!"
Aragorn considered what his friend was saying for several long moments. Yes, it was important to start after those Orcs as soon as possible. On the other hand, however, it was also important to understand what they were dealing with. Thranduil might be able to clear that up. He sighed. "It will only take a few hours, Gimli, and the information we recieve could be invaluable. "We shall still be able to track them." He nodded to the Elf. "Let us go, then, quickly, for our time grows short."
****
The Elf came around slung over the shoulder of an Orc. He closed his eyes against the world around him, upside down and bouncing up and down with his captor's footsteps, and willed his throbbing head to stop pounding so. He recalled little, his mind still feeling frighteningly fuzzy, but he was aware of one overpowering desire. The desire to escape. He squirmed desperately against the Orc, who after a few moments let him slide down its back. He didn't have time to run, though, for it had already seized him roughly by the collar and dragged him to his feet. It sneered, shoving its nose in the Elf's face, "you awake. You walk, Elf."
He wrinked his nose in disgust at the Orc's putrid breath and stared at it defiantly. "My name is Legolas," he replied coldly. He regretted it instantly, realizing it likely was not in his best interest to provide the enemy with information.
"Don't care," the Orc snarled. It turned him around and, gripping the back of his neck, shoved him forward. "Almost there. Move."
For the first time, he noticed his surroundings. They were drawing near to the foot of a group of foothills, a tall, imposing looking mountain looming in the background. He recognized the area as one he had long avoided for the darkness that lingered; the Iron Hills. There used to be a prison here, that was destroyed long ago, called Angband. One desperate thought remained prevelent in his mind. He had to escape. He glanced behind him to the trees. If he could just make it back into the forest... It wasn't far. About thirty yards or so. Thirty yards. Three Orcs. Maybe... Just maybe...
Quite suddenly, Legolas kicked backwards as hard as he could, hitting the Orc holding him just about the knee and causing it to shout and let go of his neck. He took his chance while he could and bolted, running swiftly through the tall grass. The other Orcs scrambled after him and a backwards glance told him the orcs were still uncomfortably close, but he was nearly in the clear. Once in the safety of the forest, despite his earlier problems getting rid of them, he was certain he could make his escape.
The Orcs had other plans, however, and one of them had managed to stay close enough to throw its club at the back of the Elf's head, striking him with a sickening thud and causing him to crumple to the ground.
It scowled and kicked the unconscious form in the ribs, for good measure, before picking him up. "Stupid Elf," it snarled and started back towards the mountain.