Sarah here! Happy Easter everyone!! :D
Staran: Thanks! That voice? Just keep reading! And yes, ten chapters to go. :D
Mercredi: Glad you liked that! We figured after living over 2,000 years, Legolas must have used every trick at least twice. ;) Us? Torture queens? *blushes* Really, our stuff isn't half of what Cassia's is… And we didn't think we'd stump everyone so bad on the identity of our mysterious voice! Guess it goes to show that when *you* know who it is, you just assume everyone else does too. You'll find out in just a minute! :P
Gwyn: Thorongil escape without a scratch? Tsk tsk, what kind of writers would that make us? ;) But yes, we're not being terribly nice to Legolas, are we? *brief maniacal chuckle quickly stifled*
Maranwe: Yikes! I can't imagine keeping up with fanfics without internet at home… :O Thanks! And it was weird for us reading SoH while posting too; especially when we ran into similar moments, like Legolas disguising himself in both of our fics! :) Glad you like Duurben and even Stavhold a bit! He is a bit standoffish, but that's mostly because he still feels guilty about chickening out twelve years ago. Yuppers, this story is exactly 30 chapters long. :D About the conversation: I think it must have been the style that made it seem that way, but you're right: Tolkien never really favored casual. Beautiful, yes, but not casual, and our imitation may come off a little stiff. ;) Last of all: we ARE planning another fic titled 'Darkest Night'! We'll be including a trailer for it when this fic is over, but it probably won't appear until summer/fall because we have only yet completed the outline and we never post WIPs. Hope to see you there! :D
Mouse: Yes, we've officially outed him! As for reaction, I think you've seen most of it. And as for betting on anything: that could be dangerous, unless you happen to be betting on Aragorn's chances of getting beat up in a fanfic. :P
Anarril: Thank you so much! We're glad the elf-revelation went well, although you needn't gripe at Thalion: he was just joking about his niece's outgoing personality; it was Legolas who drew a comparison out of it. ;D You *did* just say that, but you aren't the first to do so, and certainly not the first to *think* so. ;) If it makes you feel any better: the mûmak was already mad when it attacked them -- like a hydrophobic dog. It would have died without help, it's just it decided to attack them first. No, I don't think we intend to kill Thorongil or Legolas this time… *checks schedule to be sure* As for Nethtalt: he appreciates the concern, I think, but I'm afraid I can't answer on the subject of his fate. Once again, if it makes you feel any better: as we said at the beginning, we only have two character deaths in this fic. :) We like monster reviews, and about the 'familiar voice': just keep reading! :D
RainyDayz: *covers ears* Yow! Really, we didn't expect to fool anyone with that -- too much prior knowledge keeps you from realizing how a simple sentence doesn't really give much personality away. The identity you want to know? Read on and we shall keep you in suspense no longer! We're so glad you liked our 'revealing Legolas' scene!! Especially his close escape and everyone's reactions. :D Yes, I used to dislike 'Thorongil' too, but after winding up stuck with it for a whole fic, I've gotten pretty well over it. To the point where I sometimes start to type 'Thorongil' instead of 'Aragorn' when responding to Cassia/Sio's posts… :P We just saw Holes yesterday afternoon, and you're right: it was awesome!! Of course, we really liked the book before we saw the movie, and the movie was almost the book verbatim, but they could have ruined it and they didn't. :)
saber crazy: *hands saber a gift certificate to get a manicure* Sorry about that. ;) Yeah, we liked the Lion King a lot, especially when it first came out! Hannah and I and our sister Chloe (author of 'Erfier') used to divide up all the roles and repeat the whole movie -- songs and all -- verbatim. We've forgotten most of it now, but we had a really good laugh when years later three of our younger siblings did the same thing with Toy Story! :D
reginabean: Glad you liked that line!! That one was one of the few survivors of the original version of that scene -- which was almost completely rewritten by the time the editing was all finished. :D And I don't care how much coffee you drink: you remain practically the only person who seems to be enjoying my maps! *hugs regina* I therefore love you and offer you chocolate to go with your coffee. ;D
Elwen: Naw, that's okay: we beat up Aragorn and Legolas themselves plenty without a clone! ;D But by all means: strangle away yourself -- anything to vent your frustration without damaging our plot. You really don't need to worry like that though because-- er, just keep reading. :)
w: Thank you ever so much!! On our battle scenes: you know by now how we are about those — anything nice said about them practically sends us walking on air (or at least: it does me — Hannah's better at it, so she doesn't worry about it as much as I do). :) On the elf-revelation: I'm so glad that went over well! And yeah, I wanted Duurben to accept him right of the bat too (being rather fond of him myself), but that's a classic example of me putting aside my Hollywood inclinations and trying a desperate stab for realism. Believe it or not, the concept doesn't come easily to me! ;) On putting off Operation Rescue Thorongil: *sighs in relief* One of those scenes where you figure either people will like your reasoning and pleasantly scold you for putting the poor characters in jeopardy, or hate your reasoning and complain that it's a complete departure from Legolas' character! That's kind of what happened after a similar incident in Death or Despair… Anyway, ThAnK yOu!! And on our cliffy: Really?? Amazing. Honestly, we never considered that chapter to be a cliffy — but that was probably just because we always knew who the person was. So it's a lucky extra for us, a not-so-lucky problem for you. Thanks for taking it so well! :D Now are you sure you want to get back to Thorongil…?
___________________________________________________________________________
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
Thorongil
By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
Chapter 20
Friend and Foe
"Mithrandir!" Legolas cried in shock and delight.
The wizard eased in the hollow with the bearing of someone accustomed to command, and raised a heavy gray eyebrow at the mostly injured group sitting there. His piercing gaze came at last to rest on the elf, who was also looking none too healthy after his exertions.
"I might have known." The tone was gruff, hiding his concern from those unfamiliar with him.
"How came you here?" Legolas asked, ignoring the comment.
"Impatient elf; sitting down to exchange pleasantries within miles of your enemies!" Gandalf snorted. "As for 'how': I walked, naturally. Now come, you should not stay here."
Kelegalen rose uncertainly, guessing that the stranger was friendly by Legolas' reception of him, but unsure if his men could move without rest. "I am Kelegalen of Rohan and the leader of these men. Whom might you be?"
"I am Gandalf the Gray," Gandalf returned with a sudden courtesy, removing his blue hat. "I have heard of you from Legolas here."
The Rohirrim stared. They had heard of Gandalf as well, but only as a wizard, seldom seen in the lands of the horse lords. This stooped, gray clad traveler, carrying only a satchel, a cloak and a gnarled staff did not seem to match the tales, as Legolas had not. But now the authority of his stern face called for their attention as he replaced his hat and peered out into the sun from under its wide brim. "Your men are injured and weary, but it is foolhardy to remain. The other Haradrim in charge of the mûmakil have discovered your work and will soon come in search of its authors. Come." He started out westwards, seeming to know already which direction to go.
Kelegalen turned to Legolas in question. The elf picked up his weapons, "You would be wise to do as he says. He would be the first to tell you that he is generally right about such things as this."
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
With steady urging from Gandalf, they reached Nannva by early evening and decided to rest but a short while before riding on to Medui. The horses seemed glad at their masters' return and whinnied from the repaired paddock behind the barn in which Aldor had hid. Much of the ash had blown from the ground, leaving the blackened beams of the houses clean cut against the pale winter grass.
Medicines and bandages were retrieved from Maerhiin's saddle bags and passed about as they took their rest. It was only then that the wizard pulled Legolas into a more private corner and sat him down, his calloused hands gently but firmly catching hold of the slender ones of the elf. They were still sore with splinters and scratches and Legolas, though glad for the respite, winced as the wizard examined them, turning them towards the light and working carefully to clean them. Eventually, Legolas' attention drifted to the others and the pain lowered to a dull ache.
Gandalf's blue eyes were soft as he looked at the elf, who was unaware of the scrutiny, "Legolas, where is Meldir?"
The elf inhaled slowly, and his gaze turned back only as far as his knees. Now that he had already told the tale once, it seemed easier to tell the wizard what had become of his friend; starting from when they had parted from Gandalf — a seeming age ago. And then he continued on, telling of Thorongil's presence in Rohan, the Southrons, Thorongil's rescue, Kelegalen and Nethtalt and the other Rohirrim, the plan to spy on the enemy, the catapults, the crossing of the river, the confrontation with the mûmak, and the final capture of Thorongil. The wizard listened keenly and continued his work.
When the elf finished, Gandalf was silent for a long moment, placing his medicines back in his satchel. At last he said, "You did not do too badly, young prince."
"It is difficult to believe so." Legolas shook himself, "We will be glad to have you with us. I think the others have an easier time accepting a wizard than an elf."
"You seem so sure I am going!" the wizard protested.
"Mithrandir," Legolas retorted in his own language, "you are nearly as meddlesome as Estel: of course you are going."
"Impudent scamp," Gandalf rumbled, but the twinkle in his eyes proved the elf correct. "You and your friend have become quite a nuisance to me, you know; I can hardly understand how Elrond copes. It took me days to find your trail after Lord Celeborn told me you had never arrived. He was quite concerned."
Legolas started, having almost forgotten what his original destination had been. "What did he do?"
"He sent word to your father. I believe he requested a fresh copy of that message you lost, so it would seem you are no longer needed in that corner of Middle Earth. Just as well." A snort followed this last comment.
"If you mean to imply that I would refuse to leave Strider in the hands of these barbarians and go to retrieve an unimportant letter," Legolas began, "then you would be right."
"Mm," the wizard nodded sagely. "That boy attracts more trouble than a warg does fleas. He will be great some day, if he can only survive his friendships in the meantime."
"Shall I saddle Maerhiin for you?" Legolas queried calmly, having heard this lecture delivered before; to Thorongil as well as to himself.
"I can saddle my own horse," Gandalf replied genially, and rose with the aid of his staff. "Though your half dead young friend over there may need help with his."
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
Their return to Medui in the dead of night was hazy to them afterwards, for they were extremely weary. Kelegalen sent off a messenger to Thengel at once, telling of the catapults and requesting orders. Aldor helped to stable the horses, explaining eagerly to his father that he had waited for them nearly every night. Gandalf was introduced to Eorwine, who seemed both awed and skeptical of this ancient man and his sharp gaze, large nose, and gruff mannerisms.
In the middle of this Findel suddenly broke in upon them, took one look at Nethtalt — who was utterly spent from the ride — and blanched. It was all the young man could do in his weakened state to reassure her that they were all well, and had done what they had been sent out to do. She nodded shakily, and then insisted that he be laid down somewhere so that she and her aunt could tend to him. Kelegalen, understandingly, did not explain that he had already done so in Nannva.
At last Legolas was free to go and rest. He moved out of the fort and alongside the wall, entering his tent from the back. Thorongil's cot lay mussed and empty, as if he had just risen. The elf felt a sudden loneliness and fatigue come over him and collapsed onto the second cot. He was too exhausted to worry, and soon his eyes closed soundlessly. When Duurben entered shortly afterwards to offer the elf a portion of the late-night soup Rokhiell had prepared, he found Legolas completely immersed in a dreamless sleep. Grabbing the blanket from under the elf's boots, he draped it hesitantly over the sleeping figure and left, standing still under the brilliant ice-like constellations above.
"Is he asleep?" a voice asked.
Duurben started, only now noticing the hunched figure, smoking near the gateway. It was the wizard, Gandalf. The soldier's answer was cautious, "Yes."
"Good. You should rest too."
For some reason, Duurben did not resent the order. "I suppose," he agreed.
"Enough supposing and go!" Gandalf directed peremptorily. "Your captain will need to be retrieved soon, I fancy, and at present neither you nor the elf are in any condition to leave."
"I am fine," Duurben protested, "and Legolas is just tired."
The wizards thick, bushy eyebrows rose into the shadow that was cast by his hat brim. "His eyes are closed, aren't they?" He did not wait for an answer to this singularly baffling question, but rose. "Whatever you young folk decide to do in the late watches, I intend to sleep. I must go and see the blacksmith tomorrow early." He knocked his pipe clean and seemed to melt into the dark.
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
Thorongil felt a wave of harsh cold jolt him sharply from unconsciousness. He let out several gasping breaths as his eyes opened, and as he came out of his daze he felt ice cold water dripping from his face down his tunic — aggravating the cuts and other injuries from the battle with the mûmak. His eyelashes clung in points as he blinked, water obscuring his vision.
"Good," a rough voice sounded above him, "you're finally awake." This comment, spoken in an accented form of the common tongue, was punctuated by a cruel kick in the chest. Not expecting it, the captain gave a sharp moan. "Get him up," the voice snapped irritably.
Thorongil was roughly dragged to his feet and felt his leg buckle beneath him from a stiff wound; this was also when he noticed his hands were bound tightly behind him. Trying desperately to regain his memory from before his capture, he vaguely recalled fighting the mûmak, Nethtalt falling beneath the rotted tree, and before that he remembered speaking with Legolas. Still, all was tangled together and the ungentle handling was quickly driving all other thoughts from his mind.
Trying to catch sight of his captor he lifted his head and felt a stab of pain rush between his temples; obviously the remaining headache from the scouts' attack. However, he was able to catch a glimpse of the man ahead of him. He was tall, with the usual long piece of cloth wound about his dark hair, and by his strong presence and forceful stride Thorongil realized he was an important individual of some kind. A general, likely.
Sudden recognition seized his mind, and after another moment he knew why: this was Brerg, Harnwe's chief general, the one who had been at the head of the prisoner exchanged. Thorongil couldn't say he felt anything short of dismay at being this man's captive, for now more than ever the captain was left with no doubts of what lay in store for him.
After another moment Brerg raised his hand and the men holding Thorongil came to a halt. Thorongil turned his head carefully and realized for the first time that they were in the midst of the Southron military camp, standing now by the ruins of Tulganif. All around warriors of the Southron army were forming ranks and making all manner of preparations for the attack that would doubtless be launched soon.
Painfully Thorongil took hold of himself once more and as his strength came to him again, he stood a little straighter and faced the tent which Brerg had just entered.
After a moment's wait a man came from tent, followed at a distance by the general, and it was now that Captain Thorongil of Gondor faced King Harnwe — a Southron warrior in his days of strength and unyielding both in presence and authority. He spoke shortly to Brerg in his own tongue before switching to common speech and as he did this he turned unemotional eyes in a leisurely way on the prisoner. Thorongil marshaled his best semblance of calm and met the king's gaze squarely, willing his body to remain steady.
"A captain you say?" Harnwe asked, surprise carefully hidden in his tone.
"It is plain to see by the crest he wears, my lord," Brerg nodded slightly. "And I recall him from the prisoner exchange." The man lowered his tone slightly, "Any man in such a position is sure to know things that will be useful to us."
Harnwe glanced at Thorongil and nodded heavily, "See to it, Brerg. Inform me later of what he tells you."
Brerg bowed at the waist and gave a respectful reply in his own tongue. Harnwe then turned from them and reentered his tent, his cloak spreading behind him.
"Take him," Brerg ordered simply, gesturing to his men, and Thorongil barely kept his feet as they forced him in the direction indicated. He knew better than to waste energy on a struggle; there was no way he could escape so many. A dread he could not help rose in his throat like bile, but beneath the natural fear was the heart of soldier. If die he must, then die he would, and silently.
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
Harnwe entered the tent without awaiting the woman's pleasure, for he knew where she would be: lying unashamedly on her divan like one stricken with illness; now weeping, now staring coldly at the wall, speaking naught and hearing no reason. Long had she aided her husband with shrewd counsels — it was unlike her to abandon him thus.
"My own," Harnwe's voice held the tone of persuasion, "know you not how it pains me to see you thus broken? Your beauty diminishes and your spirit dwindles. Trouble yourself in loss no longer but take heart in our near victory!"
"I shall be not appeased until I have taken blood for my brother's sake," Mavranor bit out angrily, righting herself suddenly before her husband.
"My own," Harnwe began once more, pleased that she was sitting for once, and casting for something to please her, "our catapults are nearing completion, the men are drilling and will be ready to march at any time, and there is even now a prisoner in the camp who may provide yet more for us."
"Oh?" Mavranor said, her fingers moving fretfully along her gown.
Harnwe smiled and followed the subject that seemed to interest her, "Yes, and a strange man he is. I wonder as to his true heritage, for he is surely not one of Rohirrim kind, but at the hands of Brerg he may reveal information that will set our plans into motion sooner than we had hoped."
Mavronor's face slowly rose to his level and she looked at him quietly in the eyes. Something in her haunted eyes sparked, like a flint upon dead wood, and a fire seemed to kindle there. She rose slowly from her divan, moving gradually towards the king as she spoke.
"Tell me, my lord, I pray thee: may I not see this prisoner?"
Hiding his sigh of relief, he drew her close and kissed her, "I cannot deny you."
For the first time in too long, she smiled.
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
Thorongil's head hung forward as he tried to breath, needing air desperately, but wincing and inhaling again reflexively each time his lungs expanded. He was only allowed a brief moment's rest, however, before he was delivered another painful blow that knocked what breath he had gained from him once again. His hands were bound tightly to posts jutting from the ground at angles towards him; he had no way to block the blows as they came.
Brerg paced before him with a horribly genuine pleasure before speaking again in a measured, condescending tone, "Are you so witless that you do not see? We may treat you mildly for the present, but one way or another we will loosen your tongue."
Throrongil did not speak and simply stared fixedly at the ground before him. He saw the heavy rod a moment before it struck him again and he jerked forward spasmodically, but still no word came from his mouth.
There was a pause as the man wielding the rod drew back for another blow and then abruptly, there was a break in the proceedings as the tent opened and a figure entered. Thorongil raised his head to see who had come… and looked again upon the cold, grave face of Mavranor. Her eyes sought out his and as she saw him, her expression became quite still. She had replayed the scene within her head too many times to forget that face.
With a swelling that was equally exultation and hatred, she gripped tightly the handle of a familiar weapon she held in her hand.
TBC…