Author's Notes: Yep! All the men from Laskan have 3-letter names. There's a lot of jumping around in this chapter, so I hope it all fits together somehow.
Ral gazed up at the sky, which was a pale, piercing blue this day, and ordered the group to move on without him. It would be easy for him to catch up; he would have congratulated them had they moved even a mile from him in four hours' time.
Why had he not remembered the perils of crossing mountains? How long would it be before they grew used to this cursed place of thin air? He would have sighed, if he had had the air in his lungs to do so. As he did not, Ral concentrated on picking his way over the rocks.
Hanging in the air, but slowly heading his way, was a falcon. At least, that was what he preferred to call the Laskanik birds. Falcons, in truth, were meant to be sleek and stealthy, but it was long since he had seen one such as that. Though, Ral conceded, these were well trained; lazy at times, and the short years under Vel's command had given them opportunity to eat more than their fill of man flesh, making them terrifying to look upon, and vicious at heart, but they followed orders well enough.
He held out a forearm and the black, haggard, once-falcon lighted upon it gratefully. Careful not to touch it - few men in Laskan were without the scars of such a folly - Ral pulled a message from the leather cylinder attached to its claws.
He hadn't been expecting Falconers to come so far West, and the sight of this bird had deeply unsettled him. What had happened to worry Vel so much that he would use the falconers?
R,
Hurry. When over the mountains, camp for one week, go to Laskan with or without the next group. Vel's orders.
Grp 8
Ral sent the falcon on it's way, slipped the paper safely into a pocket, and went to his place at the head of the line. As he hiked, he noticed the injured Elf, hobbling next to his kin. Ral hesitated, and then quietly slipped them a vial of medicine.
Glorfindel allowed Asfaloth to lead him. He considered it 'leading', though he did not walk, for he had not asked the horse to take him to any particular destination. At least a mile behind them, he could still hear the men in the group.
The wolf tugged constantly at the rope, but Asfaloth was not to be swayed until Glorfindel asked him to follow. "Daro, Asfaloth," he murmured at last, when his hand was nearly rubbed raw from the wolf's impatience.
Obediently, the white stallion stopped. The wolf had just launched herself into another fit of struggling, expecting Asfaloth to be moving; Glorfindel heard the wolf yelp, and knew the rope had jerked her to the ground. Asfaloth shook his mane and snorted, and Glorfindel wondered whether he should reprimand the horse for it.
"Lasto!" he murmured, waiting for a reaction that would tell him if Asfaloth indeed heard the wolves.
The wolf certainly did. She whined, stood tensely, and paced in moderation, and when the howling paused she answered them in low, unearthly tones. Asfaloth cried out his indignation, but Glorfindel laid a hand on his neck to quiet him.
There was a chorus that answered her, and it brought a slight chill to the air that Glorfindel did not care to sit long in. "Ado an Legolas, Asfaloth," he said, and the horse turned sharply back. He had turned to the outside, away from the wolf, and jerked her off balance, cutting off her howl ere it could pass her fangs.
The troupe had moved on through the day, towards the latest sighting of the wolf masters. Glorfindel knew for a fact that the wolves were there, and had told Legolas how near they had sounded the night before. As the group had grown, so had their eagerness for blood, and it emanated to the horses, making them difficult to hold back at times.
Yet still one horse responded to soft words. Asfaloth moved easily out of the way of the horses behind him, and stopped. "Go on and claim back our kin, Legolas," Glorfindel said, turning his face over his shoulder out of courtesy. "This is as far as I might travel with you."
He was prepared to move on with no other word, but one of the men spoke up in surprise and agitation, "What do you mean by this? You cannot go on your own!"
"I am not obligated to remain with the group," the Elf answered patiently, but there was a strength and nobility visible in him that no one present could contest. He laid a hand on the stallion's gleaming white coat and added, "And I go not alone. Few horses can match a pace set by Asfaloth, and even these wolves will not run him down."
Legolas watched the exchange sadly and spoke at last, for his words would be final, "Nay, you do not answer to me, nor to anyone here. Return safely to Rivendell, mellon nin."
Glorfindel smiled faintly. "Go with caution, Legolas. I wish to speak with you when this is over, as I know Gimli the Dwarf does, and I fear the thought of bringing ill news to him."
The prince laughed, and yet his gray eyes were somber. Glorfindel whispered to Asfaloth, and the horse moved on at a fast trot, away from the relative safety of the company.
At Legolas' order, the hunt was resumed.
"You're going back to Gondor?" Tulian asked, his sticky little hands clasped around one of Aragorn's.
"In the morning," the King answered with a nod. He had knelt before the two children, expecting nothing different from the reactions they were giving him. Both looked sorely disappointed, though in different ways. Iryel stood just behind her brother, looking frightened but determined; Tulian was the more upset, at least outwardly. "But I do not wish to leave you here alone. I ask you to come with us."
"Can we?" Tulian asked, addressing his sister.
"Can we?" Iryel echoed, hardly before Tulian's question had reached her ears.
"Yes, you may," Aragorn said, smiling at their enthusiasm. It was a relief that the strength of a child's eagerness had not been robbed of them, even through what they had endured. "And now we need our rest; I will see you in the morning, at breakfast."
The two children darted up the stairs, to the softness of their beds, where they would lie awake to dream of Gondor.
Senia crept out of the dismal town, hardly stirring the dust around her, as though she were as insubstantial as the ghosts Vel left to haunt these ruins. "The children sleep," she whispered in their native, biting language.
Three ragged men looked up at her, their eyes gleaming vividly. Senia crouched down in the same way they did, with her knees drawn up to her chest and with her hands resting on the ground; they had to crane their necks to look at one another, but it was not uncomfortable for them, as used to it as they were. The position, however, appeared fully unnatural.
She met the eyes of the man straight across from her. "The Elf-named does not trust me."
"He is unimportant," one of the men whispered back. His job was research; because of this, he had more say than any other member save Senia, as she was the one in the middle of it all.
"Why do you say this?" Her tone was curious.
"He will be too busy to notice your presence, when he returns to Gondor. Do not worry yourself over him. Speak to the children when he is dirtying his hands in battle." The researcher blinked slowly when he had finished, and turned his head to look at the man on his left.
"Unimportant though you say he is, the Elf-named is the one we must watch. Elven eyes he has. There is little he will miss," the man said, taking the researcher's gaze to mean it was his turn. "I advise that we follow distantly."
"No," the last man spoke. "No, we will not follow yet. We must wait for a falcon, or we cannot get word back to Master Vel." He looked straight across at Senia, who nodded.
"I will tell the children that I will join them in a week," she whispered, looking over her shoulder as though she could see Iryel and Tulian.
They all focused on Researcher, who thought for several minutes before nodding. "It is the safest thing that we ought to do. Very well, then. In one week."
It was an uncertain Beregond who led the men home to Minas Tirith. He had never before had to give orders to his King; nor had he ever imagined that he would serve a King such as Aragorn.
With so many names, it was surprising that he kept straight whom would call him what; and with each face was a slightly different manner, hardly noticeable except to those who knew him. How then did Arwen handle him?
Riding near the back, with Tulian in front of him and Iryel riding with a veteran guard, one who was the father of many children himself, 'Estel' would point out to them the various things that no mortal man, in Beregond's opinion, ought to have been able to notice.
The children would gasp in surprise and delight at the new revelations in the scenery, and the men would nearly crack their necks trying to turn quickly enough to catch the new thing as well.
Beregond longed to ask Aragorn how he would inform the children of his real station. There was a vast difference between a King and a soldier, and it would be quite a surprise to the children; even more so if he would not explain his apprehension towards Senia.
Correcting his horse's path, Beregond dragged his eyes back to the road. In response, the gelding shook his mane and, Beregond knew, began to search for a new way of reaching the lush green field they were passing. "It isn't going to happen," he murmured, lowering himself closer to the horse's ear; in answer, that ear flicked back and swatted his face.
He had felt strange, at first, speaking to his mount with words as well as 'body language'. He knew from rumor that Elves spoke to all creatures -even plants- and when Aragorn and Arwen took the throne, there was a great deal more 'horse-speaking' around the stables of Minas Tirith. Eventually Beregond had taken up this habit and, he suspected, so had many other riders.
Aragorn was teaching Tulian and Iryel an Elvish song; the flowing words caused the horses to lift their heads a little higher, to catch the sound better, and their hooves lifted a little more. The men listened in silence; the sun shone down on them when she could find her way past the dark green elm leaves.
The wolf thought she was doing her pack a favor. Glorfindel knew this; he assumed Asfaloth, too, knew where she was taking them. Or rather, where they were following her to. He had taken her off of the rope and she had headed away from the late-morning sun; West, where her pack had called to her the night before.
And as an offering, she brought fresh meat: a tamed animal and its blind rider. Grimly, the Elf Lord tightened his grip on Asfaloth's reins; the stallion made a soft sound low in his throat, comforting yet quiet, so that the wolf would not hear.
Glorfindel knew not how long they followed. The wolf was mostly healed, and when healthy her kind could go for perhaps a day at a jaunty trot, hardly slowing at all. But when the sun no longer felt so warm on his body, Asfaloth stopped, and there was silence.
Straining his ears against the pounding of his heart, Glorfindel heard the brush rustling in front of him, but he could not have judged the distance. That he left to Asfaloth. Soon the pack broke their silence, and greeted their lost sister, but there was no sound of horses or men anywhere with the pack. Glorfindel was cold with relief.
His hearing came back to his control, and perhaps two or three miles off, he heard faint hoof beats; that was where the men were, then. Two at least, and they were in no great hurry, and apparently not worried that the wolves were so far behind.
Slowly pushing back his cloak, the Elf closed his hand around the hilt of something very familiar to an ancient warrior. It was a short sword, and not what he favored lately, but his memories were keen of a time when he had been very accustomed to swords like it.
Almost mouthing the words, so wary was he of alerting the wolves, Glorfindel urged Asfaloth on into the center of the pack. The wolves didn't know what to make of this. Though Glorfindel could not see it, they fanned out into a circle and looked back and forth from one another to the horse and rider.
Before Glorfindel had finished giving the request, Asfaloth cantered away; the wolves quickly gave chase, at last realizing that this was prey. The horse slowed, as if tiring, and with a snarl, one wolf sprang lightly off the ground, seeking a grip on the horse's flanks. Glorfindel turned slightly in the saddle, hearing the wolf as it rushed, and deftly impaled it upon his sword.
Jerking the blade free, Asfaloth turned, leading the chase elsewhere. The scent of blood drove Vel's wolves mad, but unlike hounds, they did not bay and announce their presence as they ran.
Asfaloth paused, turning about as though now stricken with terror, and the wolves cut off his escape. They attacked one or two at a time, and while Asfaloth struck out when he could, Glorfindel guarded his sides as best he could. He heard the familiar snarl of the wolf he had taken in, but thus far that was all she had done; the stronger members of her pack handled the hunt.
When the wolves were down to three standing, their blood lust subsided. At last realizing the stupidity of their ambush, they turned and ran; Asfaloth followed them, an easy task for him, as he was not winded and Glorfindel's wolf was still half-limping.
Glorfindel fought the urge to stop Asfaloth. He had a clear idea of the risk he was taking; it was the reason he had not told Legolas, nor anyone, of what he planned. He had less to lose than they. He had nothing to lose, save Asfaloth. So even if he made no change at all in the forces that were against his people, at least he would know for certain what his imprisoned kindred faced, and he, Glorfindel of Gondolin and Rivendell, would never leave them alone in torment.
With this thought, Glorfindel's resolve hardened, and fear fled from his mind, leaving nothing behind but peace.
"Daro, Asfaloth," means "Stop, Asfaloth."
"Lasto!" means "Listen!"
"Ado an Legolas, Asfaloth," means "Back to Legolas, Asfaloth"
"mellon nin" means "my friend"
I'm taking it really slow with the climax, it seems, but hang in there, I do have one (and an ending) they're just not to my liking yet. :-) Thank you so much for the reviews! I LOVE feedback on this story; helps sooo much, even the little ones.