Sarah here at last, and I'm so glad you all liked it!
Seska: one of the best stories on the site? *turns red* My, that's very high praise indeed! : )
Cassia: AHA! We finally managed to strike *you* speachless! It's about time, considering how effortlessly you do the same thing to us. And wait just a minute: *our* cliff-hangers were to get back at you for all the ones you already tortured us with. If you put more in Seventh Stone, then we'll be forced to put even *more* in our next fic to get square with you! Not that I'm expecting that to deter you, or anything... ; )
SpaceVixen: I'm rather hoping he'll survive also. After all, if Legolas dies, who will we torture? Besides Aragorn, of course.
Halo: I give up! No matter what we do, you always wind up hysterical. *sighs, helps Halo put a band aid on her nose* Still, I suppose our two heroes are glad your here to protest our treatment of them so vehemently... Not that it changes their fate much, but at least you're there to care. ; )
Astaldocalwen:Welcome! And thanks. : )
Lina Skye: You know, you really should have taken 'Gilraen' as your screen name, since you seem so intent on mothering our favorite ranger! As to his fate: well, that's classified, but we will be sure to reveal it at a later date. *smiles brightly*
Ecri: Did I really keep you guessing? Cool! I wasn't sure if it came off too obvious or not, so I'm glad you mentioned that. : )
Emmithar: Quite aside from hiding it better, it's all a matter of comparisons! At the beginning, compared to Aragorn (who was still pretty healthy), Legolas looked absolutely flat-out awful, but when Aragorn got injured even worse, the comparison made Legolas look a little better. As for leaving his best friend behind: beleive me, we wrestled with the problem for a long time! In the end, we decided that when faced with the decision to leave the other behind (Aragorn at the beginning, Legolas at the end) they knew full well both what was at stake, and how their friend wanted them to act, and that would at least leave them the *option* of going on their own. Faced also with the fact that Aragorn wouldn't be able to handle a good run across snow covered mountains, Legolas did what needed to be done. A complicated sort of mess, but really, even that is merely *our* oppinion, and yours is free to differ! I'm glad you're liking it! : )
Infinitys-End: Welcome to you too! We don't know Cassia and Sio in a face-to-face sort of way (i.e. we've never met in person), but we know them fairly well through the 'net. Our cliffhangers are, in fact, something of a revenge on them for doing so many. We'll try and releive you of your unpleasent imaginings ASAP, but I'm afraid it will get worse before it gets better... (yes, that *is* still possible). Glad you're liking it! : )
Thanks so much for all the lovely feedback!!!
Oh yeah, and you guys wanted a post too, didn't you...? ; )
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Death or Despair
By Sarah and Hannah
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
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Chapter 12
Flight Through The Mountains
Having not seen his pursuers for hours, Legolas occasionally began to doubt they were still behind him, but then the crunch of feet punching through the ice crust, or the crackle of falling rocks would reach him faintly, and he would press on, unafraid of an ambush before him at least. They were having a difficult time navigating the snow which was something the nimble elf had counted on, but they also knew of short cuts and safer paths of which Legolas was ignorant, and not once had he gotten a significant enough lead on the men to rest. He was hurting inside and out from long captivity and old injuries, and his head was throbbing with the constant motion, but could not pause for breath, nor break his stride.
Legolas threw one glance over his shoulder, his sharp gray eyes quickly moving around rock outcroppings and stunted, snow bitten trees, but he could not see the men behind him. Naraka was clever, not deigning to lease arrows at his prey, and thereby give away his position, until he was sure of a clear shot.
Yet even with all this, he was suddenly much stronger under the brilliant sun as the fresh air breathed around him, sending his hair ruffling behind him as he ran.
//If only Aragorn—//
Legolas stopped himself. Right now the only way he could help his friend was by getting to Gilthad. If he could only convince the dwarves of their danger, then he would return and rescue the slaves...rescue his friend.
The elf pressed on across the heavy drifts of snow that thickly blanketed the mountain side; he was afraid this snow would not last and, if it didn't, he would not have the advantage over the men and he would need to devise a new plan.
Not far ahead his fears were confirmed: slowly but steadily the drifts were thinning out, and once on an even footing with him, his pursuers would be able to gain ground. Legolas was fast — far more swift then the men — but he was weaker than usual, even below the sun's warming rays, and his legs throbbed where the burns had not yet healed completely.
Quickly, his gaze darted about the many caves and alcoves lining the path around him. Melted and scorched around their edges, they rose up high on the mountain slopes: old abandoned dragon caves, he identified them without a doubt. Perhaps he could—
His thought was cut off as an arrow pinged off the rock by his head, and swiftly he dodged to the side. The arrow had missed him by bare inches.
Urgently he pressed on, his eyes still searching the caves around and above him, a plan slowly forming in his mind.
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"Brilliant Mekhor." Naraka growled, watching the arrow fall harmlessly to the ground and the elf continuing on more swiftly. "What did I tell you about giving away our position?"
"I had a clear shot," Mekhor protested.
"Well quite obviously you didn't!" The captain snapped, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter; once he reaches the warmer patches, he won't be able to outrun us."
The three trackers continued after their prey, staying close on his tail, but ever hampered by the deep drifts, which came nearly to their waists at the highest. Naraka glared as a glint of light reflected briefly off the elf's golden hair.
"You wait *elf*," he spat. "You won't escape me."
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Legolas had to time his jump just right — the stray arrow had given him the trackers' full position and they were closer than he had thought. When he had rounded a sharp corner between a rock form and the cliff side he quickly ducked to the left and leapt up towards the nearest cave. His strength was waning, but he was able to almost reach the ledge in front of the high entrance, and by quickly gripping the rocks above him, he managed to pull himself safely up.
Knowing he had only a few moments before his pursuers rounded the same corner, he counted down the seconds in his head as he reached the cave mouth and threw himself inside only an instant before the three men came into view.
Legolas steadied his breathing as the rush of adrenaline wore away, and, stealing a glance down the cliff side, he saw the men searching for evidence of his passing. Legolas' hope was that they would find nothing and continue on, assuming he was still ahead of them, but Naraka was shrewd, possessing the uncanny sixth sense common in hunters, and after five minutes it became clear to the prince that they were not going to leave until they knew for sure where he'd gone. The elf leaned against the rock wall and exhaled slowly — he knew he'd worked himself into a corner, and unless he thought of something soon, the men would realize he'd gone up the rocks. Unfortunately, he hadn't given much care to covering his path, so rushed had he been to reach the cavern entrance.
He glanced down once again at the trackers: Naraka was pointing something out to his men, but he hadn't looked in Legolas' direction once....perhaps they had the wrong direction? The elf carefully leaned further out, trying to see what they were looking at, hoping against hope that it would lead them the wrong way, and he was just beginning to make out a moss covered rock by the captain's feet, when quite suddenly Naraka whirled around, his eyes locking directly on to his target. Legolas was so shocked he stumbled back into the cave, and not a moment too soon, as all three of the men had strung their bows with an arrow. At the very instant Legolas jumped back three shafts struck the lip of the cave just where he'd been standing. The elf's heart hammered as his mind worked tensely on what to do. Naraka was a better tracker than he'd thought: the man had known Legolas' position from the moment he rounded the corner, and had only been waiting for the elf to foolishly reveal himself.
Weaponless, Legolas ran to the back of the cave, hoping to at least preserve the element of surprise. He had gone only four paces when, so suddenly that he could not even make a sound, his feet dropped out from under him and he fell down into a narrow shaft in the floor of the cave.
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"We missed him!" Balkhfiren exclaimed in frustration.
"Yes, but it is of little matter." Naraka replied coolly. "He's not going anywhere in that cave. Mekhor and I will go and retrieve him."
"What should I do?" Balkhfiren asked.
"You will remain here and capture him if he slips past us and tries to leave."
Naraka motioned to Mekhor and the two started for the mountain side. He had the elf within his grasp, and he was not taking any chances.
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Legolas groaned and slowly rose up on his elbows, staring around the darkened chamber.
//This is why I do not like caves// he thought ruefully, letting out a breath and slowly getting to his feet. He was relieved to find he could still stand in the darkened place: the ceiling was a good distance above him, and he had no serious injuries to prevent him. It was pitch black except for a fogged glow that filtered down the shaft from the cave above. Putting a hand to his head, Legolas wasn't surprised to feel blood on his right temple, and he felt around for other injuries, but only found a few cuts and bruises.
It was only a matter of time before his pursuers discovered where he'd gone — Naraka in any case would find him soon enough — and the elf moved around the outer edge of the small cavern searching for an exit of some kind. From what he could feel and the little he could distinguish with his keen sight, he decided that he must have fallen into a sort of storage room for the den above. He had the unpleasant feeling that this had been the beast's place for unwanted carcasses, as beneath his feet came the dry snapping sounds of old bones.
Soon he found what he was looking for: a good sized crevice in the wall that, if his senses did not deceive him, would lead him to a second cave, opening out onto the path he had been taking — he could smell the air whispering through to him. However, if he was incorrect, then he would reach a dead end and have no where left to run.
Suddenly he heard the crackling of rocks cascading past the wall — the men had reached the cave and were now searching for him. Biting back a sudden sense of claustrophobia, Legolas squeezed into the crevice and started moving towards the source of the light trickle of air. It didn't take long for Legolas to start worrying that he would get wedged in between the tight rock walls; he felt the sinking feeling press down on him and found himself struggling to breath. Suddenly the walls were closing in, they were crushing him, he was being squeezed to death. His legs were trapped, he tried to move but the rocks only crushed him harder, he couldn't escape —
Legolas instantly shut his eyes, forcing himself not to think about the walls or the dark, taking several deep breaths and reminding himself that he was far from that hope-forsaken cave that had crashed in on itself so many centuries ago. He reopened his eyes and looked around, only to reassure himself that he was indeed still in the crevice, then, bracing himself, he continued to push through the small opening.
Several feet later he felt the reassuring breath of air swell and knew he was heading to an open cave. He pushed himself the last few yards to the edge of the crevice and nearly fell out into the opening. This cave was much like the other further above, and Legolas was relieved that nothing was living in it. Moving quickly to the cave mouth he risked a keen gaze around the corner. About fifty feet away from him he could see one of the men standing guard by the base of the cliff, but no others were in sight. Letting out a relieved breath, moving without hesitation, he ran from the cave and quickly disappeared around the next sharp bend of the mountain, putting as much distance between himself and the men as he could.
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Naraka looked around the small cave and studied the hole that Mekhor had discovered, his sharp eyes probing it and his ears listening closely.
"Should we search down there?" Mekhor asked quietly.
Naraka waited — he could not hear the elf below, but somehow he had a feeling the slave had gone this way. Finally he nodded and the two used rope to lower themselves down the shaft. The small cavern was impossible to see in, but the two felt around for the elf and there were no traces to be found.
Mekhor shook his head in wonder. "He must have escaped past us and Balkhfiren."
"Yes, and no." Naraka responded. "He got past us yes, but not in the way you think." Naraka ran his hand the length of the crevice he'd found — how the elf fit through it was a marvel, but this hardly mattered. "We must make haste." Naraka snapped, grabbing his rope. "We can't let him gain too much headway."
The two climbed back up and moved quickly down the mountain. The elf was clever, Naraka could see, but this didn't matter. He *was* going to catch the slave, and he was going to kill him.
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Aragorn fell again, his knees, refusing to hold him up a moment longer, had buckled harshly, dropping him to the ground. He felt the cold stone grind into his skin and let out a slight gasp of pain, but he quickly bit it back. After all, the pain he felt in his hands was nothing compared to the strokes laid on his back.
"Get up!" The guards spat giving Aragorn a swift kick. The young ranger stumbled to his feet again and fumbled back to the work to which he had been assigned. He was tired, hurting and starved, but this made little difference; at least Legolas had escaped.
His punishment had been cruel, as Furnmorth had promised when the prisoner had been thrown back in with the slaves. He had been refused food and barely any water — only enough to keep him from dehydrating — for three days, as well as receiving a brutal beating he wouldn't soon forget.
Gripping his hammer again he returned to the grueling shaping of round, metal helmets. Never had he felt so alone, without his friend, and surrounded by the lingering fear that Legolas might be too late, and the dwarves would not be warned in time. Aragorn squinted against a sudden wave of burning air and cracked his hammer against the iron once more. Carefully he scrubbed his tunic sleeve across his forehead, trying to relieve it of it's perspiration, and once more his shoulders flared with fire at the sudden movement.
Also still deeply painful was the arrow wound in his leg. Furnmorth's men had not been careful when extracting it and it throbbed constantly, often causing the ranger to stumble. Almost desperately, he tried hard to see past that. Here in the gloom and loneliness he comforted himself that Legolas was free, that he was going to warn the dwarves and that Naraka and his trackers would never capture the elf.
It was his one lone comfort — a single lifeline to cling to — but it was enough.
Aragorn dropped his hammer to iron again and let the sharp clang ring out through the foundry. No, he would not give up; he would hold on, he would wait, and he would hope.
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Legolas fell against a tree, even his slight weight bruising it's frail bark. His fatigue had built up against him for the past miles; he had been running without pause and he was beginning to feel it. Letting out a smoky breath into the cold air he looked around him. Naraka and his men had still not caught up to him, but he knew for sure that they were somewhere behind him, and they were not far.
For another minute he pressed his back against the tree, trying hard to regain his strength. A short while ago he had run across several deep drifts — these had not been trouble for him and he knew that it would slow his pursuers down for a time — but now there was hardly any snow on the slopes ahead and he knew he couldn't afford to rest a moment longer. Pushing away from the tree he began to run once again, hoping that he would come to deep drifts once again before he lost all his gained lead. His chest burned with the constant inhalation of freezing air, and the wounds on his legs still beat firmly against his progress, but thoughts of his home mingled with his loyalty to his friend melded into a strong will against the fatigue and against the opposition.
Legolas scanned his eyes ahead, searching desperately for further thick drifts. All along the way he had been forced to dodge in and out of abandoned dragon caves, to keep his pursuers from knowing his position. Though he had not yet come so close to capture as he had the first time, he planned never to let them get that near again.
At last, up ahead of him, his bright eyes caught sight of some heavy masses of snow, piled high and long against mountains. He let out a relieved breath and pushed himself towards it.
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"Captain!" Mekhor hissed. "We must catch the slave before he reaches the Iron Drifts; you know we could never navigate that area."
"And he'll be right on top of Gilthad if he gets through." Balkhfiren added.
"I know this!" Naraka snapped irritably. This elf was able to evade him well, but there was yet one path that would give him all the space for capture he would need. "I mean to break off at Sire Fork." He cocked his head towards the break in the path ahead. "The slave will not be expecting this." He murmured to himself, then turned to address his two men. "You keep on ahead and attempt to get as close as you can, but I do not have much hope that you will."
"Yes, Captain," the two hunters agreed. Naraka smiled cunningly as he turned off at Sire Fork. The elf had no way of expecting this at all.
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Legolas felt his heart throb with tension, though he was certain he would be able to reach the drifts now; he could neither hear, see, or sense the hunters behind him any longer. Just the same, he put on an extra burst of speed.
He had reached the ground but four feet from the drifts when the attack came. So suddenly that Legolas could scarce place what had hit him, he felt Naraka drop just behind him. Whirling for one startled moment he saw the Captain leer at him cruelly, then lunge at him. Legolas bolted towards the drifts, but Naraka had been expecting it.
"Oh no you don't." He growled.
Leaping after the elf, he whipped out a hand and tangled his fingers in the edges of Legolas' long, golden hair and yanked the prince backwards hard. Legolas felt his heart throbbing in his ears. This could not be happening! He had been so close to his destination, he could not be captured now.
Naraka jerked Legolas close to him and, yanking out one of the knives strapped to his side, he pressed it against the elf's cheek and smiled. "It will be my pleasure to kill you, elf." He sneered in Legolas' ear. In a sudden flash of inspiration, Legolas knew what to do. Faster than any man's eye could follow, he reached a hand behind him and jerked the other knife from Naraka's belt.
And with sharp accuracy, the prince sliced the weapon neatly through his own hair, cutting himself free.
Naraka froze, shocked, his second lunge a moment too late, and even as his dagger dug into the elf's cheek, Legolas tore away from him and crossed the distance between the captain and the drifts, running swiftly across the snow with a light tread that left his pursuer far behind.
Naraka's furious yell of frustration echoed off the peaks as Legolas disappeared in the haze of newly falling snow.
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The captain was still standing there when his two men caught up to him, and though he appeared calm, Balkhfiren's observation was cautious: "You did not capture him."
"No." Naraka replied, but there was something in his eyes that seemed to speak of his assurance in his own cleverness.
Mekhor frowned slightly. "Captain, should we not continue to pursue the slave?"
"No," Naraka shook his head. "As you said, there would be no point: he will reach Gilthad — I have no doubt — and we cannot risk the dwarves seeing us." He smiled. "Besides, they'll never trust an elf."
Mekhor nodded in agreement. "What of Lord Furnmorth?"
Naraka did not answer for a moment, then his smile became cold in reply. "We should put the Lord Furnmorth at ease. There is no use in making him worry about a slave who will be unable to make a difference to his plans anyway. He is dead. It is as simple as that."
"Will he believe that?" Balkhfiren asked softly.
"Will he believe it?" Naraka repeated with a short laugh. "Oh, he'll believe it Balkhfiren." Naraka ran his fingers through the long strands of blonde hair still in his hand. "Yes, he will believe it."
TBC…