Ladies and gents, my return from exile is complete and Unbind is back on track. I do not deny that seeing The Two Towers SEVEN TIMES helped to get the literary juices flowing, not to mention the confusion (hello, what happened to Erkenband et al???) but as always, Legolas and Aragorn were superb and Gollem (bless…) holds a special house. But I digress, on with the new chapter. Needless to say, I demand reviews, be they nice or nasty. To quote my current fave musical master: ROCK ON!!!!!!!
For three days more, the four ran on. To the observer, it might seem that they did so tirelessly, but a bone-deep fatigue weighed their every step. In the twilight hours of the second morning of their journey, they came upon the hewn corpses of a band of Orcs. There was naught to suggest that the carnage was related in any way to the group pursued by the fellowship, and so they moved on quickly, unwilling to wait for the sunrise that might resolve the mystery.
In the afternoon of the third day, they finally came upon the token that would allay the worry that the hobbits were not on the trail they had followed thus far. Aragorn had run ahead of the others, setting pace just quick enough that any clue on the strewn ground would be visible to his sharp eye. In the glare of the midday sun, the sudden break in the near constant trail of destruction left by the Orcs was inimitable. Aragorn pulled up short and held up one hand, indicating that the rest stay back. He bent low over the battered foliage. Clearly, something had forced the fell band off their hitherto undeviating path. The prints in the ground were lighter; the ground not quite so battered by what had strode upon it.
"Hobbits have treaded here! Judging from the size, I'd say it was Pippen, who broke the trail" Aragorn muttered, almost to himself than to anyone else. By why, he mused, would the hobbit break from the path? Clearly, escape was not an option, he thought as he surveyed the unprotected plains that stretched for leagues in every direction. He was about to relent to yet another mystery when a tiny glimmer of metal broke through the tall grasses and caught his darting eyes.
He bent down and searched through the damp, muddy ground until his fingers met with a small sharp object. He picked it up and broke away the earth that had caked it. By now Legolas and Gimli stood next to him, and as the Ranger held up the tiny object, their faces brightened as they realised their find.
"The brooch of an elven-cloak!" they exclaimed in unison.
"Indeed," Aragorn cried in triumph. "At the very least, we know that we are not following an empty trail and that the halflings have use of their wits and their legs."
"Come!" he cried, his energy instantly replenished that at last they had some sense of purpose. Without further pause, the four departed wordlessly, the swift legs impelled by the thought that every second they delayed, was another second the brave hobbits spent in the ruthless custody of the Orcs.
The sun descended into an amethyst horizon at the end of the third day. They had travelled more than thirty leagues in three days journeying. After a short discussion, it was decided that they would rest that night. All knew that the band of Orcs would not stop: they had not rested so far, not even in the day, so why now would they cease at night. But the break was necessary because, except for the four short hours they had rested on the second night, none of the four had slept since the death of Boromir.
Six hours the sun had sat in the sky when Legolas woke them, exclaiming loudly at the blood red sunrise that marred the lilac-grey horizon. When they departed once more, none spoke for the prospect of yet another day of crushing toil robbed them of any desire to speak. When the stopped once more on the fourth night, Aragorn felt as though he and his companions were travelling on four distinct plains for there had been little or no words among them at all that day.
He'd watched as Legolas grew increasingly worried and stayed close always to Nephryn, for if she'd uttered even three words that day it was as much. She pushed hard to keep the fast pace and did not complain once, though the way she favoured one leg slightly was not lost to Aragorn. When she ran, she stared straight ahead, as though she could pull herself closer to ever-elusive destination through sheer force of sight. She ate almost nothing and Legolas had had to insist on several occasions that she stop and take water.
Now as the sun sank low on the cloudy dips and peaks of the distant mountains, Nephryn ran ahead of him, her long braid whipping out behind her. She kept one hand firmly on the hilt of her longknife, which now rested at her hip since she'd given her dagger to Sam. They were nearing close to a small copse at the foot of stony hills that broke the lie of the plain. They would rest there.
Once they'd arrived, Gimli and Legolas checked the outlying areas and returned with news that their small haven was deserted. At this, the elf-maid half-sat, half-collapsed to the ground. Legolas darted over to her, easing her down to the ground. Gimli stared for a moment; concern etched clearly on his gruff features and then looked away.
"I'm sorry," Nephryn mumbled as she succumbed to the elf-prince's reassuring grasp.
Legolas said nothing as he lowered her to the ground, one hand firmly around her small waist, the other gripping her hand. He watched as her eyes glazed over and her head lolled against his arm.
"I feel dizzy," she whispered feebly. Her words were slurred and panic rippling over her features as she clutched his hand tighter. A film of cold sweat gleamed on her features in the eventide, her chest rising and falling as she gasped for breath. This was the product, the elf knew of a journey too long and too gruelling for her, perhaps even for all of them, though he was astounded that she'd fought it for so long. Maybe if this had happened sooner, she might not be in such a ruinous state.
"Ssshhh!" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he cradled her gently, pulling his hand from her vice-like grip to push away stray hairs that clung wetly to her face. Wordlessly, Aragorn thrust his canteen of water into Legolas's free hand and the elf tilted the flask to her mouth. Clear liquid flowed freely over her mouth and down her throat. She gasped at the sensation and gulped the water eagerly.
Aragorn watched as her shaking hands reached forward to steady the flask. When she'd had enough, she blindly pushed the liquid away and turned her face into Legolas's chest, inhaling deeply to steady and slow her laboured breath. Aragorn relaxed as he watched calm descend over her frame. He'd known, just as the others had, that she had been pushing herself very hard, but they did not say anything. They could not afford to slow and they all knew that she would perceive any rest for her benefit as a sign of weakness.
Legolas looked up at him then, fear and frustration burning behind his icy eyes. There was silent question in his eyes and he looked to be in need of reassurance himself.
"She will be fine, my friend," Aragorn reassured softly as he settled down, sitting on his cloak.
In that instance, the elf-maid's eyes opened, and for the first time in almost three days, Legolas saw that there was some measure of clarity and lucidity behind the emerald orbs. He smiled down at her and embraced her tighter.
They spent a long night there. It was safe, and most likely the most secure place they would rest for a long while to come. The sun was high in the sky when Legolas rose the next morning. He'd taken the first watch, for Nephryn had slept immediately. Then, after three exhausted hours Gimli awoke and relieved him. It was unusual for the elf, but he slept right through the night, completely unaware of his surroundings. He sat up now, his back and legs aching dully from the long journey yesterday and the hard, rough ground where they'd made camp. As he looked around, he saw that both Gimli and Aragorn slept across from him. The sky was cloudless blue, mingling in the east with the golden sunlight that split the heavens. He looked instinctively to his left, where Nephryn had rested but her bedroll was empty. Her supplies were packed neatly. Her longknife rested, sheathed on the ground next to him, its hilt set next to his left hand. No doubt she'd left it in easy reach, lest they might need weapons in a hurry. The only question that remained was where the elf herself was.
As though she'd heard his thoughts, he saw Nephryn edge down the slope to the foot of the crest where they'd camped. She did not look up as she descended. She'd braided her hair again, and coiled it at the back of her head. She'd changed into a fresh tunic and Legolas could see no trace of the limp that had plagued her so doggedly for the past four days.
When she finally hit the flat, she looked over to the camp and Legolas could see that she was not quite as recovered as he first thought. A seeming permanent weariness drew her face still and dark circles ringed her bright eyes. But the smile that cracked her pallid face was artless and it warmed him to the core to see that she was not beaten.
As she walked over to him, he moved to stand and inadvertently put his weight on his injured arm. He hissed loudly and fell in a graceless heap. Nephryn's smile faded and she hurried over to him. She crouched down next to him and unceremoniously pulled up the sleeve that covered the wound, inspecting it thoroughly before she exhaled in relief. The wound had not reopened, as it had done so too many times since they started out.
Legolas looked up at her, and drew her face to his with his uninjured arm. She leaned in willingly, capturing his lips with her own soft kisses.
"Thank you for last night," she whispered between kisses.
Legolas drew back at this, holding her at arms length as he spoke, "I am only sorry that you allowed it to become so bad. You should have asked to stop, or at least rested more regularly."
Nephryn dropped her gaze at this, knowing well that she ought to have something. She did not say anything, for she wanted to accept fully that she'd been at fault. Her heart lifted when Legolas leaned in to kiss her once, his unspoken clemency far more soothing than any words.
She helped him to stand and they moved to awaken the others. When Aragorn woke, he thanked Nephryn with a silent nod, for she'd arisen four hours before, insisting that she was recovered sufficiently to take the last watch. He'd regarded her warily for several minutes, but then he himself had succumbed to the clutches of sleep that he'd thwarted for the last four days.
Though the rest was not nearly enough to replenish the sapped group, it was enough to put the wind beneath their feet once more and they set off, the early spring sun casting their shadows long across the expansive plains.
Well?? More?
Namárië…