A heart felt "Thank you" everyone who has been giving me reviews. They are appreciated. If you thought you knew what was going to happen next, I hope this is a surprise for you.
Sabercrazy, thank you again. Because of you, I discovered the Mellon Chronicles in the past couple of days, and I've been spending every free minute reading them!
Now on to our story.
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Chapter Eight
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Stunned, Aragorn could only look from Vanasulë to the man's healed shoulder.
"I guess our father did not teach you that form of healing, did he?" Elrohir joked softly. "It cannot be taught and, as far as any of us know, Vanasulë is one of the only two Elves left in Middle Earth who can still heal that way."
The Ranger was too amazed to comment further.
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At last, Legolas found a free moment to return to the bathroom and retrieve the rest of his clothes. As he stood there, slipping his arms through the silver-blue sleeves of his tunic, his gaze wandered to the trunk Dwalkin had disappeared into.
Fastening the last silver latch at his throat, Legolas went to the trunk, opened the lid, and knocked on the false bottom. "It is over, Mr. Skipkey. You can come up. We killed all but one, and he is captive."
Legolas had time to pull on his outer tunic and begin tightening the suede lacings on the sides by the time Dwalkin emerged from his hiding place. "Did you say you killed them all?"
"But one."
"All?" Dwalkin's face registered disbelief.
The Elf raised one hand and pointed to the pile of bodies in the doorway. "See for yourself. We have not had time to bury them yet."
Incredulity written across his face, Dwalkin stepped over the bodies and disappeared from sight. After finishing his grooming, Legolas slug his weapons harness back across his shoulders and refastened the buckle securing it. He picked up his bow and went back to the common room, where he found Dwalkin surrounded by the other Elves and Aragorn. They all had unreadable faces.
"What is amiss?" Legolas asked, stepping up beside young Aragorn. The Man's blue eyes burned with worry.
"You have accounted for only a couple dozen of them." Dwalkin turned to face Legolas fully. "This was only part of their numbers."
"Dwalkin tells us there are at least sixty more," Elrohir informed him, his fair face clouded by his concern.
"Sixty?" Legolas echoed. "So many?" His gaze rose to meet his mentor's. Vanasulë looked as distressed as the others. He slowly nodded. Legolas squared his shoulders: "Then we need a plan."
"Legolas is right," Elladan nodded. He strode to the one captive they'd taken, who still sat in a daze not far from the door. "What is your name?" he asked the man.
"What?" Blinking, the man looked up at the dark-haired Elf.
"What is your name?"
"Pao."
"Pao, we need to know how many men ride with you."
Pao shrugged. "We got separated in the storm yesterday. We number between eighty to almost a hundred. It varies."
Dwalkin moaned, and put both hands up to his head. "When they come and find their men dead in my inn, they'll skin me alive. What shall I do? What shall I do?"
"I shall go watch for anyone approaching town," Elrohir announced. "I'll be up on the roof." He headed up the stairs.
"It's a very steep roof," Dwalkin called.
"He is very clever with heights," Elladan assured the innkeeper. "Now, what about a plan?" His blue gaze touched lightly upon Legolas and Vanasulë, before Aragorn spoke and Elladan focused upon him.
"Mr. Skipkey." Aragorn, left hand casually resting atop the hilt of his sword, walked to the innkeeper's side. "Have you any neighbors who can help us?"
"There are no warriors here." Dwalkin looked distraught.
"Not warriors, just men who are willing to put an end to the murder and intimidation." Aragorn's eyes blazed a volcanic blue as he stared into the shorter man's face. He put both hands on the man's shoulder, demanding his full attention. "We can beat them."
"I almost believe you," Dwalkin said softly.
"Believe me." Aragorn removed his hands from the man. "If you can find five good men to aid us, nay, five good people, men or women, we can defeat them."
"How?" Dwalkin asked.
All eyes were on Aragorn. "They raid, hit and run. So shall we. But they cannot know their friends already met their end. We must bury the bodies and send the horses out of town so they are not alerted. Then we must set up an ambush."
"Mirkwood tactics," Vanasulë nodded slowly. "But we have no forest here to hide in here. The ground is mostly level."
"No, but we can still create an ambush. Surely the town has wagons and barrels. We can blockade one end and then shoot from rooftops, disappearing into the snow when they come looking. They'll think a whole army of Elves is after them." Aragorn grew more animated as he talked.
"Or we can drug them." Vanasulë spoke softly, his gaze far away. "If they intend upon drinking Mr. Skipkey's ale, why not put a little something extra in it? Once they're asleep, we can remove their weapons and secure them."
"Some may go off on their own looking for women," Dwalkin told them. "Or worse, the young ones. No one is safe from them, not even our youngest ones."
"Then we can track down those that slip through our trap, one at a time, and dispense of them while their fellows drug themselves." The tall Elf's silver-blue gaze met Dwalkin's.
"And what will you do with all of them?" their prisoner asked. "You can't just tie them all up and leave them here."
Elladan "He has a point."
"We can march them to the nearest lawful settlement for trial," Aragorn suggested.
"In this snow?"
"I will not slit their throats while they sleep." Aragorn crossed his arms.
"Nor we," Legolas assured him. "Then it is attack and withdraw. We will need a safe place to meet." He looked back at Dwalkin. "Surely there is some place outside of town where we can set up a safe camp?"
The innkeeper looked thoughtful, his gaze still upon the Elf's flawless face. "There's a cave, it's not far. I can take you there. But first, I have to do as Master Aragorn has suggested. I will get some friends together, those who haven't gone out into the countryside to hide. We have to bury these bodies and get rid of their horses." He looked over at the prisoner. "And I don't see why Pao, or whatever his name is, can't help."
******* ******** *********
Elrohir sat watching the second dawn from his perch atop the inn. The sun rose in the east sending shafts of rose and gold flowing over the winter landscape. Even as it rose, its light was shadowed by a thick line of storm clouds hanging threateningly over the village and as far as Elrohir could see. The higher the sun rose, the more it was cut off until the morning was once again grey and overcast.
From his vantage point on the inn's roof, Elrohir had enjoyed a view of most of the goings on in the village over the past twenty-four hours.
Yesterday, Dwalkin had gone from house to house with Aragorn, recruiting those with courage to help fight the marauders. Legolas, Vanasulë, Elladan and the prisoner Pao had spent most of yesterday burying the bodies of the dead raiders. The villagers who had volunteered had split up into three groups of two people each. They had driven the horses of the ravagers far away from the village, before setting them free. The Elves and Aragorn's own horses had been split up and hidden, each at a different home in the village.
The rest of yesterday was spent in archery practice with the Elves as the villagers' instructors. It soon became obvious that the town's women were the better shots and they were handed out the best bows.
Elrohir was relieved for a few hours at sunset by a villager who said he would keep lookout from the top floor of the inn, but not up on the treacherous roof. Free of his self-appointed task, Elrohir joined the others. Dwalkin lead the Elves and Aragorn to his secret cave. Each carried supplies, candles, bedding, wood and water through the deep snow. Their path lead them out the back door of the Dwalkin's kitchen, across the garden and over a small rise to the other side. The cave's opening was covered over by a well cap mantled in snow.
"Word has it that this was a good well once, but the stream underground changed its course decades ago." Dwalkin brushed the snow aside with gloved hands, revealing the metal well cap. "Good thing it did, because now we have the well right inside my kitchen. I haven't opened this since I was a boy. It is very old."
"Allow me." Vanasulë put down the bundles of blankets and bedding he carried. He stepped gracefully over to the edge of the well cap, grasped the iron ring with both hands, and pulled. A loud sound of resisting rusty metal sang in the air as aged hinges grudgingly moved.
Picking up his lantern, Dwalkin held it over the black hole. "It's a ways down."
"Let us see." Legolas lowered a length of rope, handed the end to Vanasulë, then carefully lowered himself over the edge and down. His pale head disappeared from view and Vanasulë let out more of the rope.
"How long is your rope?" Aragorn asked, leaning towards the Healer.
"Just short of eighteen fathoms."
Aragorn's brows rose. "I hope it is long enough."
"I am down," Legolas called up moments later. "It's only about three fathoms from the top to the floor. Can you secure the rope somewhere?"
Vanasulë looked around. The only thing he could see stable enough to secure the rope to was the well cap itself. That wouldn't do. They might have to close it and hide.
"Mr. Skipkey, did you say that this was part of an underground river?" Vanasulë asked.
"I did indeed."
"That's what I thought." Vanasulë bent over the opening. "Legolas, look and see where the cave leads. There might be another exit."
It was quiet for a while, then they heard Legolas' soft voice again. "I will need light. This is dark, even for my eyes."
"I'll bring down the supplies and light for him," Aragorn volunteered.
Elrohir stomped his foot in the snow. "I'm getting bored. I'll go, too." He unslung another length of rope from his shoulder and handed the end to his brother. "Brace yourself well," he instructed Elladan.
"Oh, I shall. I don't want you to pull me down with you." The twin gave his brother a conspiratorial grin.
Aragorn caught the look and knew there was a history there, but the telling of that tale would have to come later.
Once down on the firm rock below, Legolas, Aragorn and Elrohir explored up and down the length of the cave. To the south it dropped down through a narrow channel into an uneven, boulder-strewn cavern, and continued down beyond the reach of their lantern. To the north, it sloped gently uphill. The ceiling continued down to meet it, until there was only a very narrow slit and they could go no further.
"Well, if they discover our place and try to follow us, we shall lead them south," Aragorn announced, "but I do not think we have time to search it thoroughly now."
"I am not fond of caves anyway," Legolas admitted as they retraced their steps to the space below the entrance.
"But your father's halls are caverns, are they not?" Aragorn asked.
"True, they are under the hills, but you have seen them, Aragorn son of Arathorn, have you not?" Legolas asked. "They were inspired by the Halls of Thingol. Each pillar is carved into the likeness of a tree with branches and leaves and there are lights everywhere. It does not feel like a cave. And gentle springs run here and there, their music filling the chambers. It does not sound like a cave."
"You have me!" Aragorn grinned, holding up both hands. "I will never refer to the Halls of Thranduil as a cave again!"
"Rightly so," Legolas sniffed, but Aragorn caught the sly wink he cast at Elrohir.
Their journey back to the entrance was accompanied by an infrequent tapping, which roused their curiosity.
"You are awfully quiet," Aragorn looked to his foster brother. "What ails you?"
"I'm just hoping those brutes do not kill any more innocents," Elrohir admitted. "Perhaps Vanasulë's plan is the wiser choice, but I cannot see myself killing drugged men, no matter how evil they have become."
Aragorn put a hand on Elrohir's shoulder. "There is always hope that they can reform. Look at Pao. He has turned out to be rather industrious today."
"He has," Legolas agreed.
They had reached the bottom of the ropes and Legolas called up. "We still have to secure the ropes so we are not stranded down here."
"We have driven stakes into the sides of the opening while you were exploring," Elladan called down, his face a dark shadow against the darkening sky above.
"That explains the noise we heard," Elrohir said softly.
"We will lower down the rest of our gear, then you can come back up."
They had managed to supply the cavern without incident and everyone went back to the inn to wait for the marauders. Several of the villagers joined them for a hearty meal that night, for some it might be their last night of peace together.
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His eyes scanning the shadowed horizon, Elrohir had to admit they had come up with the best plan possible under the circumstances. He saw a dark bird fly out across Dwalkin's garden then swing around to the north. His gaze followed it until it was out of sight. Idly he wondered where it was going in such a hurry.
Something caught Elrohir's attention. Far north of the village a dark smudge on the horizon shifted. He stood, peering into the dimness, his dark grey cloak whipping about him in the cold breeze. It was several men on horseback, though he could not count how many.
With the agility only an Elf possessed, Elrohir ran down the snow covered, deeply sloped roof and jumped off. Turning in mid-air, he caught the rim of the roof with one hand and swung himself onto the small balcony outside the second floor room he shared with his friends and brother.
"They are here," he called inside. For a brief moment he felt the warmth of the room as Aragorn opened the balcony door.
"How many?" the Ranger asked.
"At least fifty," Elrohir told him.
"Sound the alarm," Legolas called out the room's door.
Below a bell began to ring. Nodding swiftly at Aragorn, Elrohir put a hand on the Man's shoulder. "Be well, my foster-brother," he said, his blue gaze meeting Aragorn's.
"May the Vala protect us," Aragorn's own hand rose to Elrohir's shoulder.
Elrohir heard a door open and close downstairs. He looked out over the balcony to see Elladan running lightly across the snow to the neighboring home.
Stepping back, Elrohir jumped up, catching the roof's lip and pulling himself up. He returned to his perch, but this time hid most of his body away from the street side of the building. It would not do to make himself a target.
Legolas and Vanasulë raced across to the west side of the street, each taking a pre-arranged position on the roofs of the houses there. Aragorn and Mr. Skipkey also ran out, Aragorn to the north, Mr. Skipkey to the south. They gave quick orders and encouragement to the villagers who were piling out of their homes to aid in the ambush.
Wagons were ready on the north. The south side of the street was already barricaded with furniture, barrels, blocks of hay and loose pieces of wood. All had been dosed in oil, ready to be set afire.
Aragorn lit his torch from a village-woman's lantern. Her name was Verona. It was Aragorn's job to run the horse pulling the first wagon across the street once the raiders had passed his position. It was Verona's job to run the second horse and wagon into place. Once the wagons were in place, they would release the horses from the wagons and set it's contents alight.
"Good luck, Master Aragorn," Verona whispered to the tall man beside her. If only she had been a few years younger, she thought wistfully.
"And Good luck to both of us," Aragorn smiled at her.
Despite her fears, she felt her insides melt a little as the handsome Ranger smiled at her. Remembering herself, Verona looked up the street. She could just make out the profile of her husband, Bret, as he peered around the edge of the barricade. Silently, she sent him her love. As if sensing her attention, he looked over and their eyes met. He inclined his head towards her, and she smiled back.
The sound of the approaching riders drew everyone's attention to the north end of town. Sitting on the inn, the tallest building in town and far above the others, Elrohir could see the raiders clearly now. He stopped counting at fifty. At least they had surprise on their side.
The band of raiders passed down the deserted road that ran the length of the small town. As they came close to the end and found the road blocked, the leaders reigned in their horses. Before they could warn the last of their party that something was amiss, Aragorn and Verona dashed across the road with their horse-drawn wagons. A few straggler marauders had not been caught in the trap, but Elladan and Vanasulë were already targeting them.
Standing, Vanasulë ran lightly from rooftop to rooftop, leaping the distance in-between, pausing only to fire at one of the fleeing invaders.
The raiders at the front of the group, including their leader, RaChay, still had not grasped the fact that they were in difficulty. It was only when the barricade before them, and now the wagons behind them, burst into flame that the realization that they were trapped dawned upon them.
"Take cover. Shoot anything that moves," RaChay growled.
Already the deadly arrows of the village archers were landing with terrifying efficiency among his men. How did these peasants learn to fire so well?
RaChay leapt from his frightened horse and dashed for the shelter of the inn's porch. Looking across the street, he pulled his short bow from his back. He could see the culprits. The really deadly fire was coming from the archers positioned on the rooftops. How they didn't slide off and break their damned necks, he didn't know. They were difficult to see, but they rose slightly just before firing.
He timed his own shot, then let go at the closest one as he rose. The arrow missed, but the result was that the archer now turned his attention on RaChay.
"No you don't!" RaChay attempted to open the door to the inn. When it would not budge, he hit it with his shoulder and yelled at two of his men to help. 'Sidig, Jal, get over here!"
Arrows were now flying up at the archers on the roofs as the marauders gave back a little of what they were receiving on the ground.
RaChay and his men managed to beat down the door to the inn. Within he found Pao tied and gagged in a stout chair. Ignoring him, RaChay led his men, now joined by four more, out the back door.
"We have to get around behind them," he snarled. You four get the fellow on this roof. Me, Jal and Sidig will go around behind the barricade and get that other guy. Once we have a hostage or two, we'll have the upper hand. Don't shoot this one," he jerked his thumb up towards the roof of the inn, "until we get into place on the other side. We don't want to give our game away too soon."
From behind his post near the southern barricade, Dwalkin had seen the leader of the raiders break down the door to his inn. Anticipating what they might do, he had warned the villagers on his side of the barricade to run around towards Aragorn and Verona. In his haste to escape, he'd neglected to warn Legolas and Vanasulë.
By the time RaChay reached the south side of the barricade, its defenders were gone. He and the two men with him raced around behind the building on the west side of the street, where they had a clear shot at the long-haired, blond archer on the roof.
He's mine," RaChay told Jal and Sidig. Raising his short bow, he aimed carefully, then let his arrow fly.
Legolas had killed at least fifteen of the marauders and was wondering where Dwalkin had gotten to, when hot fire raced through his right leg. He looked down in disbelief to see an arrow sticking out of the back of his thigh, then had to grab for the roof as his leg buckled and gave out.
The icy peak of the roof had nothing he could hold on to, and Legolas began to slide down its steep incline. He looked over his shoulder and saw with growing horror that the leader of the marauders stood below, his bow still aimed upward.
Reaching with his free hand, Legolas clawed at the roof. For a moment he caught on a wooden shingle, then an arrow flew close enough to his hand to tear through the top of it, slicing the skin before imbedding itself in the roof. His wounded hand could not hold on and Legolas continued his slide.
He realized if he didn't let go of his bow, he was bound to fall right into the Men's hands. He flipped it, so that his hand slid between wood and string, then tried to use his left hand to find something to stop his fall.
He found nothing to hold on to until he'd slid off the edge of the roof, then he used the roof's cold wet edge to stop his fall.
"Come down!" the man shooting at him urged. "Jal, I think he could use a hand, don't you?"
"Vanasulë!" Legolas called urgently. In Sindarin he added: "I could use your aid."
Someone grabbed hold of Legolas' ankles and yanked. His precarious hold gave way and he tumbled down upon the man who had jerked him from the roof. The fall sent renewed waves of electric pain shooting through his injured leg.
"Now we have him," the leader gloated over him, as he brought his sword out and held it against Legolas' neck. "Turn over, hands behind your back, and no tricks or I'll tickle you with my blade," he ordered Legolas. "Sidig, you tie him up good."
Legolas could do nothing with the cold steel pressed close to his carotid artery. His hands were already empty, but the man the leader addressed as Sidig pulled the bow off his left arm, then turned him over, jerking both arms behind his back as he pressed a knee into Legolas' back. "RaChay, that was a fine shot," Sidig praised his leader.
"Look, it gave us something to control him with," the leader said, and Legolas felt a new searing pain as the Man cruelly turned the arrow embedded in the back of his leg."
Jal recovered from having been knocked to the ground as Legolas landed on him. He moved over and helped Sidig get their hostage to his feet.
RaChay moved around to face his prisoner face to face. His dark eyes narrowed. Something was odd about this person. He wore no heavy clothes, though it was well below freezing. And his ears were pointed. Gradually, though he had never seen an Elf, it dawned upon RaChay that he had captured one. A wicked grin slowly spread across his face.
"Let's hope the others caught such a prize," he said. "We shall have fun with this one." He stepped closer bringing his blade up to touch the fair face of his captive. The Elf glared silently at him with deep grey eyes. "What is an Elf doing here, anyway?" RaChay demanded. He turned the blade slightly as it caressed the Elf's pale cheek and drew a drop of blood.
"You will tell me anything I want to know, hostage," RaChey told the Elf in a low voice. "Just you wait."
His men laughed wickedly and Legolas clenched his teeth together as bile rose in his throat.
When their plan first went into action, Legolas had no doubt that the marauders would all be dead before anyone could be harmed. Now, when they referred to him as their 'hostage,' he was less certain. Would they use him to hurt the others? Most certainly they would take revenge for all their fallen comrades.
"Get our horses, or steal new ones," RaChay told Jal. "We need to get out of here."
They moved back and away from the building, dragging Legolas with them. Tied, barely able to bear weight on his left leg, Legolas found no hope of escape. Sidig kept both hands on the Elf at all times.
"If they threaten us, threaten to kill him," RaChay told Sidig. "Got that."
The squinty-eyed Man nodded. He held tight to Legolas as RaChay pulled a dirty cloth from around his neck then gagged Legolas with it.
"That should keep him quiet." RaChay sneered at his hostage.
Legolas looked up past RaChay at the white-covered roofs. Where was Vanasulë? Why had he not heard the call for help?
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To be Continued.
(author's note: a fathom is about six feet)
Sabercrazy, thank you again. Because of you, I discovered the Mellon Chronicles in the past couple of days, and I've been spending every free minute reading them!
Now on to our story.
*** *** ****
Chapter Eight
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Stunned, Aragorn could only look from Vanasulë to the man's healed shoulder.
"I guess our father did not teach you that form of healing, did he?" Elrohir joked softly. "It cannot be taught and, as far as any of us know, Vanasulë is one of the only two Elves left in Middle Earth who can still heal that way."
The Ranger was too amazed to comment further.
******* ********** ********
At last, Legolas found a free moment to return to the bathroom and retrieve the rest of his clothes. As he stood there, slipping his arms through the silver-blue sleeves of his tunic, his gaze wandered to the trunk Dwalkin had disappeared into.
Fastening the last silver latch at his throat, Legolas went to the trunk, opened the lid, and knocked on the false bottom. "It is over, Mr. Skipkey. You can come up. We killed all but one, and he is captive."
Legolas had time to pull on his outer tunic and begin tightening the suede lacings on the sides by the time Dwalkin emerged from his hiding place. "Did you say you killed them all?"
"But one."
"All?" Dwalkin's face registered disbelief.
The Elf raised one hand and pointed to the pile of bodies in the doorway. "See for yourself. We have not had time to bury them yet."
Incredulity written across his face, Dwalkin stepped over the bodies and disappeared from sight. After finishing his grooming, Legolas slug his weapons harness back across his shoulders and refastened the buckle securing it. He picked up his bow and went back to the common room, where he found Dwalkin surrounded by the other Elves and Aragorn. They all had unreadable faces.
"What is amiss?" Legolas asked, stepping up beside young Aragorn. The Man's blue eyes burned with worry.
"You have accounted for only a couple dozen of them." Dwalkin turned to face Legolas fully. "This was only part of their numbers."
"Dwalkin tells us there are at least sixty more," Elrohir informed him, his fair face clouded by his concern.
"Sixty?" Legolas echoed. "So many?" His gaze rose to meet his mentor's. Vanasulë looked as distressed as the others. He slowly nodded. Legolas squared his shoulders: "Then we need a plan."
"Legolas is right," Elladan nodded. He strode to the one captive they'd taken, who still sat in a daze not far from the door. "What is your name?" he asked the man.
"What?" Blinking, the man looked up at the dark-haired Elf.
"What is your name?"
"Pao."
"Pao, we need to know how many men ride with you."
Pao shrugged. "We got separated in the storm yesterday. We number between eighty to almost a hundred. It varies."
Dwalkin moaned, and put both hands up to his head. "When they come and find their men dead in my inn, they'll skin me alive. What shall I do? What shall I do?"
"I shall go watch for anyone approaching town," Elrohir announced. "I'll be up on the roof." He headed up the stairs.
"It's a very steep roof," Dwalkin called.
"He is very clever with heights," Elladan assured the innkeeper. "Now, what about a plan?" His blue gaze touched lightly upon Legolas and Vanasulë, before Aragorn spoke and Elladan focused upon him.
"Mr. Skipkey." Aragorn, left hand casually resting atop the hilt of his sword, walked to the innkeeper's side. "Have you any neighbors who can help us?"
"There are no warriors here." Dwalkin looked distraught.
"Not warriors, just men who are willing to put an end to the murder and intimidation." Aragorn's eyes blazed a volcanic blue as he stared into the shorter man's face. He put both hands on the man's shoulder, demanding his full attention. "We can beat them."
"I almost believe you," Dwalkin said softly.
"Believe me." Aragorn removed his hands from the man. "If you can find five good men to aid us, nay, five good people, men or women, we can defeat them."
"How?" Dwalkin asked.
All eyes were on Aragorn. "They raid, hit and run. So shall we. But they cannot know their friends already met their end. We must bury the bodies and send the horses out of town so they are not alerted. Then we must set up an ambush."
"Mirkwood tactics," Vanasulë nodded slowly. "But we have no forest here to hide in here. The ground is mostly level."
"No, but we can still create an ambush. Surely the town has wagons and barrels. We can blockade one end and then shoot from rooftops, disappearing into the snow when they come looking. They'll think a whole army of Elves is after them." Aragorn grew more animated as he talked.
"Or we can drug them." Vanasulë spoke softly, his gaze far away. "If they intend upon drinking Mr. Skipkey's ale, why not put a little something extra in it? Once they're asleep, we can remove their weapons and secure them."
"Some may go off on their own looking for women," Dwalkin told them. "Or worse, the young ones. No one is safe from them, not even our youngest ones."
"Then we can track down those that slip through our trap, one at a time, and dispense of them while their fellows drug themselves." The tall Elf's silver-blue gaze met Dwalkin's.
"And what will you do with all of them?" their prisoner asked. "You can't just tie them all up and leave them here."
Elladan "He has a point."
"We can march them to the nearest lawful settlement for trial," Aragorn suggested.
"In this snow?"
"I will not slit their throats while they sleep." Aragorn crossed his arms.
"Nor we," Legolas assured him. "Then it is attack and withdraw. We will need a safe place to meet." He looked back at Dwalkin. "Surely there is some place outside of town where we can set up a safe camp?"
The innkeeper looked thoughtful, his gaze still upon the Elf's flawless face. "There's a cave, it's not far. I can take you there. But first, I have to do as Master Aragorn has suggested. I will get some friends together, those who haven't gone out into the countryside to hide. We have to bury these bodies and get rid of their horses." He looked over at the prisoner. "And I don't see why Pao, or whatever his name is, can't help."
******* ******** *********
Elrohir sat watching the second dawn from his perch atop the inn. The sun rose in the east sending shafts of rose and gold flowing over the winter landscape. Even as it rose, its light was shadowed by a thick line of storm clouds hanging threateningly over the village and as far as Elrohir could see. The higher the sun rose, the more it was cut off until the morning was once again grey and overcast.
From his vantage point on the inn's roof, Elrohir had enjoyed a view of most of the goings on in the village over the past twenty-four hours.
Yesterday, Dwalkin had gone from house to house with Aragorn, recruiting those with courage to help fight the marauders. Legolas, Vanasulë, Elladan and the prisoner Pao had spent most of yesterday burying the bodies of the dead raiders. The villagers who had volunteered had split up into three groups of two people each. They had driven the horses of the ravagers far away from the village, before setting them free. The Elves and Aragorn's own horses had been split up and hidden, each at a different home in the village.
The rest of yesterday was spent in archery practice with the Elves as the villagers' instructors. It soon became obvious that the town's women were the better shots and they were handed out the best bows.
Elrohir was relieved for a few hours at sunset by a villager who said he would keep lookout from the top floor of the inn, but not up on the treacherous roof. Free of his self-appointed task, Elrohir joined the others. Dwalkin lead the Elves and Aragorn to his secret cave. Each carried supplies, candles, bedding, wood and water through the deep snow. Their path lead them out the back door of the Dwalkin's kitchen, across the garden and over a small rise to the other side. The cave's opening was covered over by a well cap mantled in snow.
"Word has it that this was a good well once, but the stream underground changed its course decades ago." Dwalkin brushed the snow aside with gloved hands, revealing the metal well cap. "Good thing it did, because now we have the well right inside my kitchen. I haven't opened this since I was a boy. It is very old."
"Allow me." Vanasulë put down the bundles of blankets and bedding he carried. He stepped gracefully over to the edge of the well cap, grasped the iron ring with both hands, and pulled. A loud sound of resisting rusty metal sang in the air as aged hinges grudgingly moved.
Picking up his lantern, Dwalkin held it over the black hole. "It's a ways down."
"Let us see." Legolas lowered a length of rope, handed the end to Vanasulë, then carefully lowered himself over the edge and down. His pale head disappeared from view and Vanasulë let out more of the rope.
"How long is your rope?" Aragorn asked, leaning towards the Healer.
"Just short of eighteen fathoms."
Aragorn's brows rose. "I hope it is long enough."
"I am down," Legolas called up moments later. "It's only about three fathoms from the top to the floor. Can you secure the rope somewhere?"
Vanasulë looked around. The only thing he could see stable enough to secure the rope to was the well cap itself. That wouldn't do. They might have to close it and hide.
"Mr. Skipkey, did you say that this was part of an underground river?" Vanasulë asked.
"I did indeed."
"That's what I thought." Vanasulë bent over the opening. "Legolas, look and see where the cave leads. There might be another exit."
It was quiet for a while, then they heard Legolas' soft voice again. "I will need light. This is dark, even for my eyes."
"I'll bring down the supplies and light for him," Aragorn volunteered.
Elrohir stomped his foot in the snow. "I'm getting bored. I'll go, too." He unslung another length of rope from his shoulder and handed the end to his brother. "Brace yourself well," he instructed Elladan.
"Oh, I shall. I don't want you to pull me down with you." The twin gave his brother a conspiratorial grin.
Aragorn caught the look and knew there was a history there, but the telling of that tale would have to come later.
Once down on the firm rock below, Legolas, Aragorn and Elrohir explored up and down the length of the cave. To the south it dropped down through a narrow channel into an uneven, boulder-strewn cavern, and continued down beyond the reach of their lantern. To the north, it sloped gently uphill. The ceiling continued down to meet it, until there was only a very narrow slit and they could go no further.
"Well, if they discover our place and try to follow us, we shall lead them south," Aragorn announced, "but I do not think we have time to search it thoroughly now."
"I am not fond of caves anyway," Legolas admitted as they retraced their steps to the space below the entrance.
"But your father's halls are caverns, are they not?" Aragorn asked.
"True, they are under the hills, but you have seen them, Aragorn son of Arathorn, have you not?" Legolas asked. "They were inspired by the Halls of Thingol. Each pillar is carved into the likeness of a tree with branches and leaves and there are lights everywhere. It does not feel like a cave. And gentle springs run here and there, their music filling the chambers. It does not sound like a cave."
"You have me!" Aragorn grinned, holding up both hands. "I will never refer to the Halls of Thranduil as a cave again!"
"Rightly so," Legolas sniffed, but Aragorn caught the sly wink he cast at Elrohir.
Their journey back to the entrance was accompanied by an infrequent tapping, which roused their curiosity.
"You are awfully quiet," Aragorn looked to his foster brother. "What ails you?"
"I'm just hoping those brutes do not kill any more innocents," Elrohir admitted. "Perhaps Vanasulë's plan is the wiser choice, but I cannot see myself killing drugged men, no matter how evil they have become."
Aragorn put a hand on Elrohir's shoulder. "There is always hope that they can reform. Look at Pao. He has turned out to be rather industrious today."
"He has," Legolas agreed.
They had reached the bottom of the ropes and Legolas called up. "We still have to secure the ropes so we are not stranded down here."
"We have driven stakes into the sides of the opening while you were exploring," Elladan called down, his face a dark shadow against the darkening sky above.
"That explains the noise we heard," Elrohir said softly.
"We will lower down the rest of our gear, then you can come back up."
They had managed to supply the cavern without incident and everyone went back to the inn to wait for the marauders. Several of the villagers joined them for a hearty meal that night, for some it might be their last night of peace together.
**** ******* ****
His eyes scanning the shadowed horizon, Elrohir had to admit they had come up with the best plan possible under the circumstances. He saw a dark bird fly out across Dwalkin's garden then swing around to the north. His gaze followed it until it was out of sight. Idly he wondered where it was going in such a hurry.
Something caught Elrohir's attention. Far north of the village a dark smudge on the horizon shifted. He stood, peering into the dimness, his dark grey cloak whipping about him in the cold breeze. It was several men on horseback, though he could not count how many.
With the agility only an Elf possessed, Elrohir ran down the snow covered, deeply sloped roof and jumped off. Turning in mid-air, he caught the rim of the roof with one hand and swung himself onto the small balcony outside the second floor room he shared with his friends and brother.
"They are here," he called inside. For a brief moment he felt the warmth of the room as Aragorn opened the balcony door.
"How many?" the Ranger asked.
"At least fifty," Elrohir told him.
"Sound the alarm," Legolas called out the room's door.
Below a bell began to ring. Nodding swiftly at Aragorn, Elrohir put a hand on the Man's shoulder. "Be well, my foster-brother," he said, his blue gaze meeting Aragorn's.
"May the Vala protect us," Aragorn's own hand rose to Elrohir's shoulder.
Elrohir heard a door open and close downstairs. He looked out over the balcony to see Elladan running lightly across the snow to the neighboring home.
Stepping back, Elrohir jumped up, catching the roof's lip and pulling himself up. He returned to his perch, but this time hid most of his body away from the street side of the building. It would not do to make himself a target.
Legolas and Vanasulë raced across to the west side of the street, each taking a pre-arranged position on the roofs of the houses there. Aragorn and Mr. Skipkey also ran out, Aragorn to the north, Mr. Skipkey to the south. They gave quick orders and encouragement to the villagers who were piling out of their homes to aid in the ambush.
Wagons were ready on the north. The south side of the street was already barricaded with furniture, barrels, blocks of hay and loose pieces of wood. All had been dosed in oil, ready to be set afire.
Aragorn lit his torch from a village-woman's lantern. Her name was Verona. It was Aragorn's job to run the horse pulling the first wagon across the street once the raiders had passed his position. It was Verona's job to run the second horse and wagon into place. Once the wagons were in place, they would release the horses from the wagons and set it's contents alight.
"Good luck, Master Aragorn," Verona whispered to the tall man beside her. If only she had been a few years younger, she thought wistfully.
"And Good luck to both of us," Aragorn smiled at her.
Despite her fears, she felt her insides melt a little as the handsome Ranger smiled at her. Remembering herself, Verona looked up the street. She could just make out the profile of her husband, Bret, as he peered around the edge of the barricade. Silently, she sent him her love. As if sensing her attention, he looked over and their eyes met. He inclined his head towards her, and she smiled back.
The sound of the approaching riders drew everyone's attention to the north end of town. Sitting on the inn, the tallest building in town and far above the others, Elrohir could see the raiders clearly now. He stopped counting at fifty. At least they had surprise on their side.
The band of raiders passed down the deserted road that ran the length of the small town. As they came close to the end and found the road blocked, the leaders reigned in their horses. Before they could warn the last of their party that something was amiss, Aragorn and Verona dashed across the road with their horse-drawn wagons. A few straggler marauders had not been caught in the trap, but Elladan and Vanasulë were already targeting them.
Standing, Vanasulë ran lightly from rooftop to rooftop, leaping the distance in-between, pausing only to fire at one of the fleeing invaders.
The raiders at the front of the group, including their leader, RaChay, still had not grasped the fact that they were in difficulty. It was only when the barricade before them, and now the wagons behind them, burst into flame that the realization that they were trapped dawned upon them.
"Take cover. Shoot anything that moves," RaChay growled.
Already the deadly arrows of the village archers were landing with terrifying efficiency among his men. How did these peasants learn to fire so well?
RaChay leapt from his frightened horse and dashed for the shelter of the inn's porch. Looking across the street, he pulled his short bow from his back. He could see the culprits. The really deadly fire was coming from the archers positioned on the rooftops. How they didn't slide off and break their damned necks, he didn't know. They were difficult to see, but they rose slightly just before firing.
He timed his own shot, then let go at the closest one as he rose. The arrow missed, but the result was that the archer now turned his attention on RaChay.
"No you don't!" RaChay attempted to open the door to the inn. When it would not budge, he hit it with his shoulder and yelled at two of his men to help. 'Sidig, Jal, get over here!"
Arrows were now flying up at the archers on the roofs as the marauders gave back a little of what they were receiving on the ground.
RaChay and his men managed to beat down the door to the inn. Within he found Pao tied and gagged in a stout chair. Ignoring him, RaChay led his men, now joined by four more, out the back door.
"We have to get around behind them," he snarled. You four get the fellow on this roof. Me, Jal and Sidig will go around behind the barricade and get that other guy. Once we have a hostage or two, we'll have the upper hand. Don't shoot this one," he jerked his thumb up towards the roof of the inn, "until we get into place on the other side. We don't want to give our game away too soon."
From behind his post near the southern barricade, Dwalkin had seen the leader of the raiders break down the door to his inn. Anticipating what they might do, he had warned the villagers on his side of the barricade to run around towards Aragorn and Verona. In his haste to escape, he'd neglected to warn Legolas and Vanasulë.
By the time RaChay reached the south side of the barricade, its defenders were gone. He and the two men with him raced around behind the building on the west side of the street, where they had a clear shot at the long-haired, blond archer on the roof.
He's mine," RaChay told Jal and Sidig. Raising his short bow, he aimed carefully, then let his arrow fly.
Legolas had killed at least fifteen of the marauders and was wondering where Dwalkin had gotten to, when hot fire raced through his right leg. He looked down in disbelief to see an arrow sticking out of the back of his thigh, then had to grab for the roof as his leg buckled and gave out.
The icy peak of the roof had nothing he could hold on to, and Legolas began to slide down its steep incline. He looked over his shoulder and saw with growing horror that the leader of the marauders stood below, his bow still aimed upward.
Reaching with his free hand, Legolas clawed at the roof. For a moment he caught on a wooden shingle, then an arrow flew close enough to his hand to tear through the top of it, slicing the skin before imbedding itself in the roof. His wounded hand could not hold on and Legolas continued his slide.
He realized if he didn't let go of his bow, he was bound to fall right into the Men's hands. He flipped it, so that his hand slid between wood and string, then tried to use his left hand to find something to stop his fall.
He found nothing to hold on to until he'd slid off the edge of the roof, then he used the roof's cold wet edge to stop his fall.
"Come down!" the man shooting at him urged. "Jal, I think he could use a hand, don't you?"
"Vanasulë!" Legolas called urgently. In Sindarin he added: "I could use your aid."
Someone grabbed hold of Legolas' ankles and yanked. His precarious hold gave way and he tumbled down upon the man who had jerked him from the roof. The fall sent renewed waves of electric pain shooting through his injured leg.
"Now we have him," the leader gloated over him, as he brought his sword out and held it against Legolas' neck. "Turn over, hands behind your back, and no tricks or I'll tickle you with my blade," he ordered Legolas. "Sidig, you tie him up good."
Legolas could do nothing with the cold steel pressed close to his carotid artery. His hands were already empty, but the man the leader addressed as Sidig pulled the bow off his left arm, then turned him over, jerking both arms behind his back as he pressed a knee into Legolas' back. "RaChay, that was a fine shot," Sidig praised his leader.
"Look, it gave us something to control him with," the leader said, and Legolas felt a new searing pain as the Man cruelly turned the arrow embedded in the back of his leg."
Jal recovered from having been knocked to the ground as Legolas landed on him. He moved over and helped Sidig get their hostage to his feet.
RaChay moved around to face his prisoner face to face. His dark eyes narrowed. Something was odd about this person. He wore no heavy clothes, though it was well below freezing. And his ears were pointed. Gradually, though he had never seen an Elf, it dawned upon RaChay that he had captured one. A wicked grin slowly spread across his face.
"Let's hope the others caught such a prize," he said. "We shall have fun with this one." He stepped closer bringing his blade up to touch the fair face of his captive. The Elf glared silently at him with deep grey eyes. "What is an Elf doing here, anyway?" RaChay demanded. He turned the blade slightly as it caressed the Elf's pale cheek and drew a drop of blood.
"You will tell me anything I want to know, hostage," RaChey told the Elf in a low voice. "Just you wait."
His men laughed wickedly and Legolas clenched his teeth together as bile rose in his throat.
When their plan first went into action, Legolas had no doubt that the marauders would all be dead before anyone could be harmed. Now, when they referred to him as their 'hostage,' he was less certain. Would they use him to hurt the others? Most certainly they would take revenge for all their fallen comrades.
"Get our horses, or steal new ones," RaChay told Jal. "We need to get out of here."
They moved back and away from the building, dragging Legolas with them. Tied, barely able to bear weight on his left leg, Legolas found no hope of escape. Sidig kept both hands on the Elf at all times.
"If they threaten us, threaten to kill him," RaChay told Sidig. "Got that."
The squinty-eyed Man nodded. He held tight to Legolas as RaChay pulled a dirty cloth from around his neck then gagged Legolas with it.
"That should keep him quiet." RaChay sneered at his hostage.
Legolas looked up past RaChay at the white-covered roofs. Where was Vanasulë? Why had he not heard the call for help?
*** **** ***
To be Continued.
(author's note: a fathom is about six feet)