Sarah: responder extraordinaire! :P
Larus: Hey there! It really is okay if you can't post very often: we totally understand life's habit of intruding! ;) Thank you ever so much for the long review, though, it was fantastic!! :D Now let me see if I can answer your questions… No, we don't generally do much specific research for our character torture, but our dad is a doctor, so out of respect for his profession we try to avoid an really serious bloopers in the injury/recovery arena. A lot of the info we use on basic cuts/fractures are taken from some of the cases he's told us about, but no (if you were about to ask) he's never had anyone come in with an arrow wound. ;P Legolas didn't hide his identity from the Haradrim (the bad guys), but yeah, he did hide from the Rohirrim (the good guys) and that was because of a mild case of superstition that many of the Rohirrim had in those days -- chiefly because they lived relatively close to the great sorceress of the Golden Wood. Poor Galadriel; she didn't deserve the reputation she got! ;) Yeah, Duurben's a little too serious for his own good; poor Legolas. :P Thumbs up on you summary of Thorongil's authority difficulties! That's pretty much what we were thinking. :) It's been ten years since Thorongil set out on his errantries, yes, but we attempted to keep things vague about when the two friends last met so that (honestly) if we wanted to write another fic during this time period, we could do so! ;D Thank you so much on the angst bits especially! Sometimes tears are the sincerest form of flattery. ;) LOL!! We'd actually forgotten about that part in the DVD, but you're right: it was almost just like it! Except that Duurben isn't short… ;P *hugs Larus* Come back when you can; we look forward to seeing you! :)
Elemmire: Thanx! :)
Mouse: *nonplussed for a minute* It's a good thing? Oh, good; you had me worried there. ;) Now, back to clobbering…
None: No problem! Review when you can, and we'll *try* not to kill you. We can't make any promises, of course, but we'll do our best. ;)
Lina: *leaps sky high* WHAT?? What did we do?! Oh. *That* IS a poem by Tolkien, supposedly written by some hobbit or other, and recited by Sam in The Two Towers -- we were trying for a bit of humorous irony. *covers eyes with hand* Lina, it's MEANT to look ugly! If it looked cute, you'd be chewing on our ankles and demanding that we stop hurting it! ;D And no, the world isn't coming to an end. Yet. And no, we aren't killing Thorongil. Ye-- *catches Lina's glare* I mean, uh, EVER! :D
Eomer: Sometimes we can't tell who's more at risk in our stories when Lina comes to give feedback… The villains (in danger of being strangled to death), the heroes (in danger of being hugged to death), us (in danger of being pummeled or praised to death), or Lina (in danger of… death: by many and various means). ;D
RainyDayz: Cool song! Looks like great song fic material. :D And we're so glad you're liking it! In particular the struck in the chest part. *grins big* Hey, we love details! Especially odd ones. ;)
Elwen: Yes, he's very trustworthy that way; makes fic writing pretty easy! ;D And no, we don't have an Estel clone, but I'm not sure what we'd do with one, so maybe you'd better just keep him to decapitate next time Thorongil does something stupid. :P
saber crazy: I dunno, that says a lot, really! :P Yeah, if Thorongil's got an arrow magnet in his shoulder, he's got an even bigger one that seems to draw capture-happy villains. ;) And yeah, I'm the oldest of nine, so if it's Disney I've probably seen it! Beauty and the Beast is actually my favorite cartoon, but Aladdin is a pretty close second; Robin Williams is such a hoot. :D
Staran: *bows* Thanks! And Thorongil? Alright? Uh… I mean: Oh yes, of course he'll be alright! *giant smile* :D
Mercredi: The elves vs. men thing has always interested me too; especially after reading the Silmarillion! You don't have to get very far beyond Feanor and the kin slaying before Elrond's 'men are weak' line from the movie begins to take on distinctly laughable qualities. :P On the flip side, men DO seem to have a great many more problems with each other in recent history, and generally manage a significantly greater amount of damage in a far shorter period of time. *mumblemumble ISILDUR mumblemumble* *sigh* ;) Thank you so much on our character development and battle planning!! We enjoy positioning the pieces, but fear to bore our readers by straying too far from the actual game (if that makes sense)… Glad you're enjoying it! :D The thing with SoH is actually kind of funny: we were literally mere *days* away from posting our first chapter when Cassia's teaser pages from SoH appeared at the end of Priceless Treasure! We had had absolutely NO idea she and Sio were writing a Southron/oliphaunt fic until that moment. Needless to say: there was a solid minute of panic before we calmed down. As you can see, we decided to post anyway, in spite of superior materials being presented elsewhere, and fortunately (in spite of our worries) our fics haven't managed to seriously clash so far -- even if Aragorn *would* have likely had an easier time with the oliphaunts, had we read SoH beforehand… ;) And speaking of oliphaunts and their short chapters: here's some more! :D
Gwyn: *sighs with relief* Oh good, I'm glad you're okay with them! Reader mobs and feedback are like dragons and treasure: if we can't have the latter without the former, then so be it, but we're really rather not wind up in flames… :P
Anarril: Yeppers, ouchies ahead! *rings warning bell* Galmod *thinks* his love is Findel. As for what she thinks… *remains pleasantly silent* ;) You do begin to wonder why the villains don't clue in and duct tape Dixie cups over their war beasts eyes, or whatnot, don't you? In this case, though, Tolkien actually thought of the idea before we did (in The Return of the King), so we can't actually claim full credit for the oliphaunt damage. *recalls too late that Anarril *likes* oliphaunts* Uh, as a matter of fact, we'd rather not claim *any* of the credit! And no, you *don't* know where we live, or where we post from, or even where we evacuate to when the readers become too blood-thirsty! *sighs in relief* ;)
Cassia: ROTFLOL!!! High-five, torture-lover! I don't think I've ever seen anyone go for full blown cheering like that -- though you really wonder why it hasn't happened sooner. Everyone knows we approve, even when we try to protest! ;P It's true: Aragorn by now ought to have a healthy fear of cliffs, arrows, orcs, wolves, wargs, taergs, spiders, nazgul, swords, trees, rivers, taverns, knives, poisons, floods, mines, trolls, oliphaunts, brushfires, bounty hunters, carnivorous plants, deranged elves, mountains, plains, other people's uncles, and (like his friend) caves -- fortunately for us, he's suicidal by nature, or else he wouldn't ever leave his bedroom! :D Thanks on our battle!! Our insecurities aren't as bad as they were before tackling D or D, but they still nag at us right when we need to reel off a fight. ;) As for ouchies: it depends on the ouchy! Generally Hannah winds up (due to amazing skill and inclination) with the REAL torture stuff -- she did Aragorn's forced encounter with the orcs in Gundabad. Then I usually do the milder injuries -- such as Legolas' molten metal accident in Gundabad -- and the really crowded battle scenes (armies clashing sort of thing). We don't always split off that way (in particular Hannah has done a good deal of minor injury and army clashing stuff), but that's usually the way it falls out. :D Thank you so much, and hope you have a good time in Florida in spite of the sun! We'll miss ya! :)
Hiro-tyre: *blushes the color of boiled lobster* Wow. Gosh, I really don't know whether to hug you and thank you for such encouraging feedback -- or to hide! *glances at Hiro-tyre's sword nervously* Believe me, we'll do our absolute best not to disappoint -- just please remember that whatever accidentally brilliant moments we may produce (and believe me: we frequently have more luck than talent…), we'll never be Tolkien! *decides she's insured herself and her sister as much as she can against possible future slaying for character defamation and goes for the hug* Thank you so much! You really made us feel great, and yes, our egos had a brief moment of rubbing against the ceiling. Who could avoid it with such a review? ;P As for our OCs: praise for them is the stuff we usually appreciate most. We can always say to ourselves, 'Yeah, but soandso does better Legolas than we do!' (in particular: Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and Cassia/Sio), but we can't ever do that with Thalion, or even Galmod (though I personally don't care for him ;P): they're altogether ours! The only trick is to create them decently without taking up too much of the story with them… ;D Glad you liked our fighting and our emotion -- clichés always will rear their ugly heads, but we're happy that the final result was enjoyable! I agree with you on the guilt factor; it's very true. :) Last of all: thanks on the Legolas/Aragorn relationship! We really don't know what else to say beyond that, but we are thrilled it's turning out as it should (i.e. NON SLASH and PLATONIC). An especial (if bemused) thank you on our fourteen words! :D
w: *grins until the ends of her mouth meet her ears* Golly galoshes, really? Thanks!! Next to character compliments, action compliments are some of the very best an author can get -- and in our case that is especially true! Seems no matter how long either of us write such stuff, we always start into fight scenes with a sense of oh-my-I-hope-I-don't-botch-this nervousness. I'm particularly that way, since Hannah's had more fanfic writing experience (she's probably written over thirty Star Wars fanfics all told). I'm glad the description of the oliphaunt went over so well! The whole time I was writing that bit, I had an over-sized photo of the oliphaunts charging in Ithilien (in TTT) up on my desktop to refer back to. ;) The thing about Thorongil and how he killed the mûmak didn't actually come through the way we wanted, I'm afraid… Duurben's answer of "He never said" was supposed to be accusing (i.e. that Thorongil, because of too many bad memories and too much modesty never told him the specifics). In the end, though, knowing how much you like Duurben was worth messing it up! We *never* but NEVER expected him to garner so much approval, but oh, we couldn't be more pleased. *huge smile* :D Glad our injuries hit the right mark, and our death for the oliphaunt came off right as well -- once again: nervous, nervous. And yes, the poem is Tolkien's! Sam recites it for Frodo in The Two Towers when they see an oliphaunt outside the Black Gate of Mordor. Between the last chapter and this one, I think we quote almost the whole thing (though we may have omitted a few pieces and I'm just forgetting). Anyway, we liked it too, and felt it added a touch of humor to an otherwise not-so-humorous situation. If only those hobbits knew! :D
*to herself* Heaven's above, I'd better shut up now! *to the readers* Okay, everyone off the cliff! ;)
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Thorongil
By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
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Chapter 19
'I make the earth shake…'
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I make the earth shake,
As I tramp through the grass;
Trees crack as I pass.
With horns in my mouth
I walk in the South,
Flapping big ears.
Beyond count of years.
— Old Shire rhyme
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The remainder of Kelegalen's group had barely had enough time to pull Thalion from the foot of the rock face and regroup before the creature was back amongst them and they were once more fighting for their lives. Legolas just managed to recognize Thorongil's arrow protruding from one of the mûmak's eyes, but could see no other evidence of his friends' whereabouts.
"We cannot hit its eyes when it is so high up and moving so quickly," Gálmod protested, running his sleeve across his sweaty face, leaving a trail of grime mixed with red. The mûmak did not seem to have caught their scent yet.
Legolas casted about for a solution. Kelegalen had been caught over the head by a falling maple, leaving a heavily bleeding gash in his graying hair that was now trickling blood into his eyes. Duurben was badly bruised from leaping from the creature's path into the side of a tree and he was favoring his right leg. Gálmod had blood on his hands from somewhere. Legolas and Stavhold were the only ones still unhurt; yet Stavhold was covered in the mûmak's blood, and grime had clung to his wet clothing.
The beast was nearly upon them when at last Legolas remembered the platform.
"You're right, Gálmod, I must get closer. Can you distract it?"
They all seemed to follow his thoughts instantly.
"No one could get up there," Gálmod declared flatly.
But at the same time Kelegalen said, "Yes."
"Go at it from the left," Stavhold advised, already breaking from cover to attack. "It won't be able to see a thing on its blind side!"
The parted again. Duurben gave Gálmod a bewildered look in exchange for the Rohirrim's frustrated one, and they both dropped to one knee in the bushes, firing as rapidly as they could with their depleted arrows. Kelegalen and Stavhold ran dangerously about its feet, alternately luring it and driving it towards rock face, slashing at its feet with spear and sword.
Legolas forged up the hill, springing lightly over fallen trees and loose stones. What he was about to attempt would be impossible for a man, but hopefully not an elf. He reached the edge of the rise and looked up at the platform, now rumbling only a few feet above his head. Fastening his bow over his shoulder, he leapt, catching at the splintering beams and pulling himself up as the mûmak bucked beneath him. Staggering as on a ship's deck in a storm, he stumbled across towards the animal's head, only his quick balance keeping him from being pitched to his death.
Below, Stavhold ducked low under the trunk, flattening himself to the earth as it swung by — only to become pinned as the animal drove its lower tusks into the ground on either side of his body. The mûmak bellowed, nearly shattering his senses, and for a moment he was faced with its huge mouth. Pulling his sword free, he drove the weapon upwards almost without thought, sinking it by half its length into the roof of the mûmak's mouth, almost not daring to hope the monster would feel it. It did.
Wrenching its tusks free of the ground and showering the prostrate man with soil, it jerked away, opening and closing its mouth in a vain attempt to rid itself of the piece of steel. On its back, Legolas was flung headlong across the platform, catching the railing and swinging himself back on even as he was pitched off; then bracing his shoulder against it as the world around him shook and tilted. The tops of tall trees blurred as the mûmak shook and charged in a wild zigzag, their leaves brushing against the elf's hands as he clung on and tried once more to edge towards the animal's head.
At last he reached the edge of the platform and for a moment paused, focusing on his next move and knowing he mustn't slip.
"Hold!" Duurben shouted, catching Gálmod's elbow. They could not risk shooting their comrade.
"This is madness; he cannot hope to make that leap safely!" Gálmod spluttered, and behind him Thalion's hands clenched.
The elf jumped. For half a second he feared the creature might jerk out from under him. And then he landed lightly on the beast's head and sank into tight crouch, his bow once more in his hand. Taking three short steps forward, until he was standing on the mûmak's forehead, he aimed two arrows at once downward and fired.
Only two feet away, his shots could not help but penetrate all the way up to their green feathers.
The mûmak's cries until then had been of anger and madness. Now there came a last gasping cry of anguish as the animal stumbled back, seeming to get its own legs tangled as it moved. On the ground, Kelegalen and Stavhold ran for the trees, motioning for everyone to get further back. Screaming trumpets echoed across the Anduin for miles, fading out into silence as they became deadened by the trees.
Legolas ran to the beast's ear and made a desperate leap. And the monster fell. Knocking against the rock face, it lost its balance and crashed to the ground, sending several trees falling to the earth, and smashing its skull on a jagged mass of stone behind it.
The dust drifted in the air, and the silence seemed to deafen them. Moving quickly forwards, Kelegalen stared in dismay at the fallen mûmak… Legolas had leapt the same direction as it had fallen! For a moment he simply stared and the others dashed through the underbrush to join him, taking in the bleeding face of the blinded creature, and its massive bulk as it lay prostrate on the ground.
At last, the elder man cried out in disbelief, "Legolas?!"
"Yes?"
The men whirled about, startled to hear the response coming from above their heads. And with barely a sound, the elf dropped from the branches of a lofty oak; a tree at least three quarters of the height of the mûmak, and with very sturdy upper branches.
"Thank Ilúvatar," the man breathed. "We had thought you dead!"
Legolas smiled, but the expression faltered uncertainly as he saw the faces of several of his companions. Stavhold was looking relieved as well, but Duurben, Thalion and especially Gálmod had expressions of utter shock on their faces, almost akin to fascinated horror.
Kelegalen glanced at his men, and then closer at Legolas, and his face became unutterably tired; as if he saw a rift in a path and did not look forward to crossing it. And then Legolas realized: his headband was gone. When he had lost it, he could not recall, but it had certainly vanished; revealing clearly to all present the delicate points on his ears.
"I knew it," Gálmod hissed, drawing back as if confronted by a snake.
Duurben seemed mostly confused, "You're not — not Rohirrim?"
"Of course it's not," Gálmod's tone was almost shrill. "It's not even human!"
"Gálmod!" Stavhold rebuked, his forehead creasing in a frown even as he sagged wearily against the huge carcass's side.
"You need to understand," Kelegalen began, but Gálmod backed away even further, shaking his head as if he were being confronted with the greatest lunacy ever heard.
Thalion put his hand to his head as if dizzy, wincing as his fingers brushed a knot on his forehead. He, like Findel, was having difficulty trying to sort out the fiction of superstitious legends from the facts of what he knew about Legolas. In the end, it was he who regained himself first.
"I thought there was something different about you," he murmured; then added, "Little wonder you're such a good archer; I had heard that about the elves." He smiled faintly and everyone else shifted. It was the first time the word 'elf' had been spoken, and the tension both tightened and eased at the same moment. Duurben brought his hand up in a silent salute. He had not been raised with frightening stories of an elven sorceress and acceptance on that score came easier to him.
Legolas nodded gratefully to them both. He had felt for a moment that he was in a spotlight of uncertainty. Though Kelegalen and Stavhold knew him and had accepted him from the first, it was somehow important that the others did the same. //This must be what Estel once felt,// he thought fleetingly.
"Gálmod?" he questioned softly. "I may not be human, but neither am I a monster."
The dark haired Rohirrim had stopped backing, but the elf could see barely concealed terror behind the man's eyes. As brave as Gálmod could be in battle, at his core was a hidden fear of the unknown — be it creature, or circumstance, or death — and it was twisting almost visibly on his face. Besides that was his jealousy, spawned when he and the elf had first met.
The silence dragged on, and it began to appear that they might stand there until the sun set, but Kelegalen made the decision for them, "Gálmod, you do not have to like him personally, but you must accept him for now. My son and Thorongil have still not returned and we must search for them before the Southrons come to inspect the noises they have most certainly been hearing. We must be miles away, if possible, before the noon time is over."
Legolas acquiesced quickly and the confrontation was abandoned. Thalion walked beside him as they set off quickly through the trees, following the short trail the mûmak had taken when it pursued the two men. "So Kelegalen and Stavhold knew?" he asked almost conversationally.
The elf nodded, pulling his hair behind his ears and braiding it loosely out of his way. "We had met twelve years ago, when Nethtalt was a boy. When I was rescued from the Southron camp Thorongil felt it would be safer for me to pass myself off as a man to avoid trouble."
Thalion nodded in understanding, then realized, "So Findel knows as well?"
Another nod, this time a little hesitant, as if the elf was unsure how the girl's uncle would take the news of her withheld information.
Thalion laughed aloud, shaking his head in a sort of pleased pride and running his fingers through his dirty beard, "That girl! She'd befriend a warg, if it paused to listen to her."
"Considering my appearance at the time, the comparison is apt," Legolas retorted dryly.
They came to the edge of another drop off, its slope covered in stones like a frozen avalanche. There appeared to be no one there and for a moment the men were confused as they looked about. Duurben stepped onto a dead tree to gain a better vantage point, and then quickly jumped down with a cry of alarm.
"Nethtalt?" Kelegalen was by his son's side in an instant, his face horribly gray as he took in the young man's pallor and tried anxiously to ascertain the young man's injuries. He was still pinned half way under the tree and his head and side were badly bruised. As his father's browned hands felt his chest, searching for broken bones, Nethtalt blinked slowly.
"Father?"
"Stay still, my son, your ribs are fine, but I don't know about your legs," the older man's tone was deceptively calm as he worked.
Nethtalt moved his head in difficult denial, "There's a — a dip in the ground — just here. I — think they're fine."
Legolas rocked the log back experimentally and nodded to Stavhold who grasped the other side. Thalion pushed on the front and Gálmod and Kelegalen took the Nethtalt under the shoulders and pulled him gently free. He pushed himself doggedly up, ignoring his father's protests, and sat propped against the roots of the tree, concentrating on breathing.
At last he asked, "The mûmak?"
"Dead," Legolas reported, then asked what everyone had been wondering since they found the young man, "Where is Thorongil?"
Nethtalt's face fell, as if he had just recalled a half forgotten memory, "He… he stayed to keep the mûmak away from me and… he… he went over the edge. There was nothing I could do." He looked up, his eyes heavy with remorse, and searched out Legolas' face, but the elf was no longer there. He and Duurben were both gone. Kelegalen looked over the edge and saw them wending their way down the steep incline, Legolas examining the ground as they went.
Legolas winced at the blood smeared on the stones, drying quickly in the sunlight, but his heart was a little lighter. Thorongil may have fallen over the edge, but he had not remained there; he had still been able to walk. //But where has he gone?//
Duurben pointed suddenly at the ground a few feet away. There lay the imprints of foreign boots — foreign, but familiar. And a light tracing of blood on the grass showed that Thorongil had been dragged away. The Gondorian soldier gave a despairing half cry, but Legolas was silent. While it was true that *he* had been taken and forgotten, he had no illusions that the same disinterest would be granted his friend.
"We must rescue him," Duurben said urgently, taking an impulsive step along the faint trail.
Legolas nodded, as if in a strange trance, a thousand memories flashing through his mind. Old captures, old tortures, old agony… and Meldir. His friend, whom he had not managed to save. He shifted in the stained grass, prepared to start out at once. His body protested; his palms were sore with splinters, a long scrape ran from elbow to wrist from landing in the oak tree — //It doesn't matter! None of that matters! We should go — and go now!// Then at his side, Duurben stumbled. With a pain in his chest, as if solid lead had filled his lungs, he whispered, "Yes we must. But — we cannot; not this day."
Duurben gave him an incredulous look, "Legolas, you are his friend! Surely, you would wish to start immediately!"
Legolas fastened his bow over his shoulder with a short gesture, nearly jerking the straps from his quiver, and turned eyes saturated with intense pain on the misunderstanding soldier, "I *do* wish it, Duurben! Yet again, my friend has been dragged away — and to a fate I dare not even consider, else I shall go mad! And here I stand, weighted down by conflicting duties and unable to follow him. It has been a curse on my life since the day we met, and seldom have I loathed it more than I do at this moment. But Kelegalen cannot return Nethtalt, Stavhold and Thalion to our horses alone; even *he* is more greatly injured than is apparent. You yourself are not ready to start out on such a journey. And no matter what his condition, I know quite well what Thorongil would have me do." The elf looked out across the grass with a dreadfully haunted expression on his face, as if he feared he were sealing his friend's doom, "I must return for him later."
"You do not have weapons enough, or a plan either," agreed a voice from behind them. Stavhold had limped far enough down the hill to hear the end of the elf's impassioned words. "Do not worry," he said in a low tone, "we will not simply leave him there. Come, we must away before we are discovered."
Legolas gave one nod and started back up, lending an unobtrusive hand to Duurben as they went. The soldier was silent until they reached the crest of the hill, and then he turned and said quietly, "I am sorry."
The elf shook his head, "There is naught for which to be sorry, Duurben. Do not fear, we will return as soon as the others are safe. Thorongil has survived much in his life, and will certainly do so again."
Even without experience in reading elves, Duurben could tell Legolas did not believe a syllable of his own reassurances.
Nethtalt insisted on walking on his own, but Kelegalen and Thalion stayed on either side of him, supporting him. Gálmod and Legolas returned to the fallen mûmak and collected Stavhold's sword, the spears, and as many of the arrows as were salvageable; they did not wish to be caught unarmed.
They did not rest until they had cleared the sparse trees and entered the hilly ground of the Wold. A small hollow, overhung by a rough boulder, provided shade and protection from unfriendly eyes. Legolas was on the verge of offering to take up watch, when he was startled by the sound of a familiar voice.
"Ah, there you are."
TBC…