*Sarah, the ever-present and ever-rambling, enters* Hi everyone! :D
phoenix queen: No problemo! If there's one thing we understand it's the way life is occasionally, uh, intrudes — to put it mildly. Why do you think our next fic won't be coming out until mid-summer at the very earliest? We don't like to make promises we can't keep, that's why. :P Good luck on your exams! Hope all your hard work pays off. As for next week: I think we'll still be posting… I'll have to double check that, but if we aren't, we'll look forward to seeing you on 'Darkest Night', whenever we finish it. Namarie for now! :)
saber crazy: *blinks* Whoa, I didn't realize elves cursed! ;P Ah, an honest torture fan! How nice. Not for Thorongil, but for us. ;) You still have all of those memorized? Cool! There must be a way to use that talent somewhere… ;D
Asen: *stares as Asen flies away on… cardboard wings??* Uh, sure, no problem. *jaw begins to feel sore from hanging open like that* Uh… *closes mouth and smiles* I mean, yeah, busy happens! Don't worry, we understand. :) Glad you liked the reintroduction of Gandalf! He's one of our absolute favorite characters and we just couldn't resist — even if he is a pain in the neck to write. ;) As for Thorongil… no, his luck isn't exactly the greatest, is it? :P
Anarril: Thanks! Glad you liked Gandalf; yup, Legolas is tired; yup, Mavranor wants blood; yup, Thorongil's in trouble; and yup they're safe enough, I suppose, but what if they suffocate under all that? *pokes pile of armor with toe* LOL! ;)
Gwyn: Yes, after many LOTR fanfics, we are obliged to admit that Thorongil just sort of attracts this kind of thing. Alas — for him! :D And we'll try to keep Legolas endearing, but I don't know if what we have is half as endearing as what Sio cranks out as easily as breathing… *sigh* But no one can say we didn't try! ;D
Maranwe: Thank you so much! *sigh* Aye, alas, 'twas too tempting for us to stand. *glances guiltily at Thorongil, who is getting beaten senseless* Well, it's Mavranor's fault! :P Glad you're looking forward to more chapters! Wish I could say the same for our heroes… ;) We've always liked that aspect of Gandalf's character and really enjoyed using it here — which character in the books was it that said 'may you always arrive where you are most needed and least expected'? As for whether this is the ending or the beginning… time will tell! :) On the chapter subject: I'm not sure if you should quit mentioning it or not — it's becoming somewhat traditional, isn't it? ;D
Mercredi: We really surprised you? Great! :D And you're right: they're really aren't many people who can joke with elves that way, but it's funny when they (make that 'he') pop(s) up. :) What kind of authors would we be if Thorongil's life became easy? :P
Lina: ROTFLOLATND!! *glub blub* If you were wonder that was 'rolls on the floor laughing out loud and then nearly drowns. *catches hold of Gandalf and Leoglas' boat* Good grief Lina, sometimes you are too much even for us: yes, us! Sarah and Hannah, older siblings of the infamously goofy Chloe! As for Duurben… *glances over to where Thorongil is resuscitating his buddy with a resigned air* He'll live, but we'll never get him near water again at this rate! ;D *sees Lina dash off after Mavranor* Um, Lina…?
(a few minutes later) Eomer: Yikes, you're right, that *was* too close! But we know you'll do your job; we have great faith in you! Rohirrim: (monotone) You're welcome! ;P Now who's going pump out the forest so you can ride south without drowning…?
Mouse: *glances around, wondering where hers and Hannah's Easter eggs went…* Like we said, we were really surprised when everyone else was stumped like that! Prior knowledge messes rather badly with your perception of your own writing, it seems. Glad we got a bit of an extra surprise in there for you! :)
RainyDayz: WoW! We never realized we had such devoted readers… *stares in amazed admiration* I've never actually had that happen myself (I'm the only one of the two of us who wears glasses at all regularly), but glasses as a rule sure are a pain, aren't they? :P Ooh, I'm SO glad you like that part!! I rather wanted it to go over well. *big smile* Thank you ever so much for reviewing in spite of all difficulties!! We really appreciate your feedback. *hugs Rainy* :)
Staran: Congratulations!! Glad you approve. ;D
Iverson: S'okay, we like lurkers fine, so long as they give us an opinion when they can. :) And rescuing Thorongil sounds good to me. *glances hintingly at Gandalf and Legolas*
None: Thanks! Glad you liked it so much! But gosh, as much as we love our readers and don't like to ignore their orders, 'Thorongil safe and happy' just isn't nearly as interesting as 'Thorongil hurt and desperate'… Sorry in advance? :D
w: *bounces gleefully* Golly, you liked Gandalf, and Duurben, and our Legolas angst (such as it was), and our Thorongil torture, and even Mavranor and Harnwe (so to speak)! Sorry that we're causing you to miss out on sleep like that, but I'm afraid we enjoy your feedback too much for us to suggest — as perhaps we ought — that you find another story to review that doesn't have you typing at 2 am. ;D It's okay about 'Gandalf-y': it certainly got the idea across, and we're so glad he's turning out right! It's one think to like Gandalf because he's crusty on the outside and soft underneath, and helpful and skilled; not to mention clever, secretive, humorous, and unexpected — but it's far different proposition to actually *write* him that way! To be honest, as much as we couldn't help but include such a favorite character of ours, he's probably been one of the most edited figures in this story (probably right after Findel, in an ongoing attempt to avoid Mary Sue-ism). ;) *shakes w's hand* Pleased to meet another Aragorn-torture lover! Hannah does most of that in our stories (she did all the stuff you've read so far), but I enjoy reading it when she or Cassia write it! :D More pleased than I can say that Harnwe and Mavranor came off as intended; to be exact: sick. In spite of the fact that they do love each other as much as such people are able, that somehow just adds to the problem. *disgusted face* Thank you so much!!
Now then: more story! :D
___________________________________________________________________________
/ (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 21
A Plan of Sabotage
Legolas slept until late morning and awoke much refreshed. The usual wind seemed to have stilled for a short time and as he silently opened the stable door to try to determine where Gandalf had gone, he immediately caught the sound of voices.
"…I can go!"
"I do not wish for you to endanger yourself when you are still recovering."
"I am well, Father, truly! And you will be best served if you can bring the men you brought originally, as the king suggested. That would most certainly include me, for I saw the catapults myself; Thalion has not done as much."
"Nethtalt…" the protest trailed away and across from Legolas, Kollnaur, Kelegalen's steed, stamped. The owner of the horse and his son both turned and caught sight of the elf standing in the doorway. "Legolas?"
"I am sorry to intrude," the elf apologized, "I was in search of Gandalf."
"He spoke with Kelegalen earlier, and then I believe I saw him in the village," Nethtalt offered, "but what his business was, I could not have said."
Legolas nodded and turned to go, but Kelegalen halted him, "You had best know of this before you go; the others have already read it. The king sent us a return message requesting that the commander of the original expedition — which would be myself — take whatever force necessary and destroy the enemy's weapons as secretly as may be. He hopes, I believe, to draw the Southrons out on our battle plan as intended." Kelegalen shrugged faintly over that, making no judgment one way or the other. "Eorwine cannot spare many extra men to us so I had intended to take only those who had accompanied me on the first trip. They were none of them seriously injured except my son here, but…" here he gave Nethtalt a searching look, "I do not think I will leave even him behind."
Nethtalt's smile was full and genuine.
"I am glad King Thengel is taking such prompt action," Legolas said warmly, "and you cannot hope for better men." But then he hesitated, unsure of how to say what he needed to say.
Kelegalen's expression showed clearly his understanding, "For twenty catapults, I will only have need of a few men. Half a dozen at most. So if you and Duurben would consent to wait but a short while longer, we should be able to accompany you as far as the camp and then rejoin you and Thorongil when our work is completed. I would not think of leaving him in their hands."
"I am grateful, Kelegalen," Legolas said softly.
The stable door swung open again to reveal the imposing form of Gandalf, but he was rendered somewhat more commonplace by the large sack over his shoulder which appeared to contain black grain. "My goodness, what one must go through for the most common of ingredients," the wizard grumbled.
"What are you about, Gandalf?" Legolas asked in astonishment, staring at the other items his friend had procured.
"If you, Kelegalen, intend to destroy even half of your target with only five men, you will need something more destructive than a common axe," the wizard's voice took on a lecturing tone as he removed his hat and ran a gnarled hand through his gray hair.
"Aye," the Rohirrim nodded, "though the greater difficulty in my mind is how to approach them without being apprehended by the sentries. It will require something in the way of a diversion, probably staged at the nearby camp — but *what* is a mystery to me."
The wizard's eyes twinkled, "There at least I can aid you, and perhaps in your intended destruction as well."
"You can distract all the sentries and half a camp of Southrons at once?" Nethtalt asked incredulously.
"That would be a terrible waste of materials," the wizard frowned, concealing his humor from everyone but Legolas. "I fully intend to distract all of Bywater from here, or else it is not worth trying. All that should remain for you is to smuggle it into their camp in some way or other; preferably into a foundry, if you happen to have blacksmith in your company."
"Not exactly," Nethtalt demurred, "but I may know enough to do it. I had some training in those skills… years ago." He cast a sidelong glance at Legolas.
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
"The only difficulty, then, is whether I can slip in and out of their camp undetected," Nethtalt leaned on his elbows, resting his chin on his laced fingers.
Duurben nodded his understanding, though he would not be going with the sabotage party. Behind him in the small kitchen area came the soft thumps of bread dough being kneaded, the rhythmic pounding mixing with the sounds of Rokhiell humming under her breath. Findel listened to the talk as she worked, tidying the single bedroom that her aunt, uncle and cousin shared in the borrowed house. Her hair was bound like a rope in the back with a long strip of brown cloth.
Now she paused, "Whatever else, you cannot go with your hair as it is, even under a turban."
Thalion turned to smile at his niece, "As usual, it falls to the woman to remember such details. She is right, of course: the Southrons all have dark hair, and darker skin for that matter."
"He could dye it," Duurben suggested.
"Aye," Findel agreed, as if she had been leading up to that, "Aunt Rokhiell has berries that you could use; she uses them for clothing, but they ought to do well for a few days." She paused a moment, pushing at the stray hair about her face in an unconscious gesture, as if she were about to plunge over a cliff, "And you would stand out not at all if I were to accompany you."
Nethtalt blinked, staring as if he hadn't heard correctly, "Findel, what— no, of course not!"
"*Why* not?" she asked, taking a step closer.
"Because I — we cannot risk you that way!" the young man fumbled, coming dangerously close to openly admitting what everyone else already knew.
"And you think I can risk you? I cannot fight or ride into battle and have no intention of trying, Nethtalt, but only of aiding you in this one fashion. They will not even spare you a second glance if you are accompanied by," a similar fumble, "your sister. Cannot you allow me to help in even this small way?" There was pleading in her eyes, "I who would gladly die this moment if it assured me you all might live?" Her tone broke on the last words as she seemingly forgot that there were others present. "I have lost too many dear ones in my life already."
Nethtalt lifted his hand and almost touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, then shook his head slowly, "No, Findel. I cannot let you." He started to say more, but then stopped himself, the words dying stillborn. A silence as heavy as midwinter snow settled over and about them. In the other room, Rokhiell's humming had ceased.
Findel's eyes lowered. "Very well," she agreed softly, her lips set.
As she left the room, Duurben wondered why she had given in so suddenly.
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
Nethtalt was absent for most of the rest of the day. Thalion explained the reason briefly to Legolas and Kelegalen, and they did not try to find the young man. Gandalf had vanished into the armory, only reappearing once or twice, and by late evening his work was completed. Wrapping his creations carefully, he divided them amongst the saddle bags of the saboteurs — for the horses were again to accompany them as far as Nannva. Legolas and Duurben were also bringing Maerhiin and intended to ride the whole way to the Anduin, since they did not plan to cross it.
"Five per horse and one extra," Gandalf announced. "Nethtalt will need to carry the diversionary package."
"That is only five horses," Legolas reminded the wizard searchingly. "Will you not be carrying any?"
Gandalf shook his head, "I am not coming."
"What?" Legolas' face was incredulous. "Why?"
"Because you seemed to have the situation well in hand and a feeble man such as myself would only be a hindrance," the wizard's eyes twinkled slightly.
"Mithrandir," the elf scolded in his own tongue, "do not tease."
"I wasn't. You do not in fact need me, Legolas Greenleaf, so far as I can foresee. Therefore I intend to remain here and rest. It has been most a most tiring journey to reach this point."
Legolas raised a single eyebrow. The thought of resting in Medui — with the day of battle approaching ever nearer — was almost a cause for laughter. But the wizard knew what he was about, and the elf did not question him any further.
When Nethtalt returned he finished packing his saddle bag, ate the evening meal with the others, and then took his sword and spear and sat beside the fire, sharpening them. *kkkshhhingg* *kkkshhhingg* The whetstone rubbed in a rhythm like Rokhiell's bread dough.
"Has anyone seen Findel?" It was Aldor at the doorway, his tousled blond hair telling of his run through the cold wind outside.
Thalion rose from the corner and greeted his son, "She went for a ride on Gailloth and hasn't returned, but she has never been lost on the Wold and you may tell your mother that I have given her permission to cease worrying."
Aldor grinned, his red nose wrinkling under a smattering of old summer freckles. He seemed to recollect something, "Oh, Mother said to bring Nethtalt this." The boy held out a small bottle, stained dark about the rim. It was the dye.
"Thank you, Aldor," Nethtalt smiled, only his eyes holding any trace of the distress from earlier in the day. "You intend to look after your mother and cousin, do you not?"
"Of course!" the boy agreed, faintly wide-eyed with importance. "I've been practicing with my bow. I'd wager I can aim as well as — as —" he seemed at a loss for a comparison, "as Legolas!"
The elf laughed merrily, though his heart felt heavy. He remembered the last human he had taught to aim, and the enthusiasm was much the same in the boy's eyes, though not nearly so well hidden by either maturity or modesty.
/ (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \ (o) / (o) \
Mavranor's eyes grew black and empty, bottomless, like twin openings on a great abyss. It was him. The man. The man who had driven the knife into her brother's body until his blood and life had poured from him, leaving him a cold body on the cold ground... She bit the inside of her lip until she could taste her own blood in her mouth. Turning fiercely to Harnwe she spoke in her own tongue, "He is indeed foreign my lord, and I shall see that he is properly questioned."
Harnwe nodded to her before taking his leave. Uninterested directly with this prisoner beyond what aid he might gain from the man's knowledge, he was willing to leave the task to his wife and his general.
Mavranor rounded again. Ignoring Brerg, who had bowed to her upon her entering, she moved towards the man bound before her. He did not avert his eyes and stared fixedly at her as she spoke again in the common tongue so that he would be sure to understand her.
"At last the stars favor me. I have wept, thinking this moment would never come, and now, beyond all hope, it has been placed in my hand that I may smite the murderer who has thus destroyed me."
Thorongil heard the words and the hatred behind them, and his hands clenched as she came to a halt before him.
From her side she brought a knife into his sight. Crusted to it still was the bitter stain of dried blood and he recognized the handle instantly. It was the dagger Kelegalen had given him and he had lost defending himself and Findel against the Southron prisoner. Wordlessly Mavranor pressed the knife against Thorongil's cheek redirecting his attention to her.
"You will pay dearly for what you have stolen for me you barbarian of the foreign race. You are not even of the Rohirrim blood, but of Gondor. Think I do not know you for what you are? Long have your people oppressed those of mine and my house and no longer shall the Lady Mavranor endure such cruelty!" she spat the words in his face viciously, the steel blade biting cleanly into Thorongil's cheek. "Now you have murdered my brother in cold blood, and for that you will pay the terrible price, and at one with this you will deliver my people to their victory. Tell me now what plot your king intends for your defense," she commanded.
Thorongil did not speak, but continued to stare at her. She shifted her own gaze and stepped away, motioning to Brerg.
The man moved forward and Mavranor brought the full power of her persuasive tongue to bear on the Gondorian captain, "Speak now or feel the pain of your foolishness."
Thorongil was silent, knowing already what was coming and bracing himself.
The whip bit deeply into his back once, twice, then slashed again in the same places, ripping through cloth and slicing further into his flesh. Thorongil did not make a sound, but clenched his fists until his knuckles were white. The lash came down once more, snapping again through its first tracks. Mavranor let it continue, relishing each strike and taking pleasure in the strained look on her captive's face. Each strike was but another part of the payment for her brother's blood, and she determined to make this man return every last drop.
"You only prolong your death. I promise you it will not be painless even so, but there is no reason to add additional pain," she whispered convincingly.
Still the man kept silent, his eyes straying not to hers now that he had again fixed his gaze before him. He held tightly to his resolve, remembering those he must not betray — picturing their faces in his head. Mavranor was determined to break that strength, but she could not even begin to trace it and it made her grow still more enraged.
Lash upon lash fell on Thorongil's back and after a short time, the rhythmic beating became hard to bear. Each tracked across the last, deeply cutting him and making his face contort in pain. Still he did not speak, still he did not make a noise.
Mavranor at last motioned for them to cease and she dropped down before the prisoner, her eyes shining like steel, "You are a fool, man of Gondor! I will make you suffer terribly for all you have done, I will allow them to beat you until you scream for mercy, until you cry to be sent to your death! The last you will remember is the bite of this steel against your heart before you are passed from the earth!" Viciously Mavranor stabbed the dagger into Thorongil's shoulder driving it to the hilt. Thorongil let out a cry, unable to hold it back and he gasped again as she twisted it sharply, jerking it from the wound. "Do you wish it to end?" she asked threateningly, stabbing him again in the other shoulder so that he jerked convulsively. "It will not end until you speak the words I wish to hear." Slowly she began to twist the dagger in his wound, Thorongil felt the pain rip through him, his breath was taxed sharply and began to come in choked moans.
At last he turned his face towards her — his eyes were set upon hers and he spoke, his voice soft with agony, yet firm and as unwavering as the mountain of solid stone, "I have no words I would speak to you, true or false, and I will not beg your mercy." That was all he could manage. While he knew she would kill him for these words, yet he was now unafraid.
Mavranor, however, changed suddenly in countenance. Deeply did she gaze into the eyes of her enemy and fear welled with in her. The eyes were sharp, commanding, powerful — she felt suddenly as though she were at his mercy, that he could break the bonds that held him like so many worn threads and destroy her and all her people. Her heart throbbed erratically and her breath came short. She felt a barely concealed terror at the sight of this strange man. In a single motion she jerked the blade from Thorongil's shoulder and let out a scream, slashing her nails like the claws of a wild beast against his face, leaving bleeding welts in their wake.
Rising to her feet she turned to Brerg, "I leave him to your hands, General. Be neither lenient, nor merciful in your questioning; force the truth from him, but come inform me before he is dead!" Brandishing the dagger before Brerg, her black eyes flashed, "It will be as I said: I will see to it that this dagger is pierced through his heart!"
Mavranor then threw back the flap of the tent and departed without turning her face back to the prisoner.
TBC…