Crippled Prize
by Mizalaye
Chapter Ten: The Turn of the Tide
Dómiel wanted to scream.
It simply wasn't fair! She had spent days – or was it weeks? – in that little cell, hoping that somehow, against all odds, she would be rescued. And then, in a moment, her dream came true – her father and Legolas appeared and spirited her to safety.
And then, just as quickly, her dream had shattered.
Her mount was now heading in the wrong direction, back toward the cell she had just escaped. In front of her, both her father and Legolas rode quietly, hands bound behind their backs. Though the blade had been removed from her throat, the soldier who rode behind her was armed and knew his orders – should either of the warriors attempt to escape, her life was forfeit.
Tears began to slip from Dómiel's eyes once more. Slowly, moving casually so as not to give the soldier in the saddle behind her the pleasure of knowing he had made a Princess of Gondor cry, she wiped the moisture from her cheeks. At least this time they did not bind my hands, she said to herself. Without her specially crafted saddle, Dómiel needed her hands free to keep her balance on the horse. When the soldiers had realized this, they had settled for tying her directly onto the horse.
Sadly, Dómiel raised her eyes to stare once more at her father's back. It seemed so strange to see the King of Gondor riding as a prisoner, hands bound tightly behind his back. Dómiel glared fiercely at the rough ropes, wishing she could will them off of her father's wrists. Wait…
Aragorn's wrists were moving ever so slightly, twisting within the tight bonds. Careful not to lean forward and so alert the soldier behind her, Dómiel squinted, trying to make out what her father was doing. Aragorn's wrists gave one final twitch, and the inside of the ropes, the side away from enemy eyes, dropped into his hands. Dómiel choked back a gasp. He was free! Aragorn had managed to twist free of his bonds!
And yet the King of Gondor remained still, not attempting escape.
Why does he hesitate? Dómiel wondered. He will have no better opportunity than the one he now has, while our guards are confident in his refusal to escape… Her stomach wrenched, and for a moment, Dómiel felt ill. Of course her father refused to escape. He would never do anything that would put his daughter at risk. Even if it means his life. She wanted to cry out, "Fly, father!" but did not dare.
She allowed her head to drop in utter despair. I can do nothing. My father and I and Legolas all shall die…because of me.
As guilt threatened to overwhelm the princess' already dangerously overtaxed mind, Dómiel felt a scream building up within her. Ruthlessly, she bit down on her lower lip, physically preventing the scream's escape. She could not cry out now – not with her father so close. I will be strong for him, she ordered herself. He has not lost faith…I can not, either. Another tear slid down her cheek before she could blink it away.
Suddenly, Legolas' words to her in the dungeons rang in her mind. "Estel tula. - hope comes." Hope has come, Dómiel retorted mentally to Legolas' voice. And it rides in front of me, bound like a criminal.
Idly, Dómiel studied the horse she now rode. The brown mare bore clear signs of her frantic dash to recapture the prisoners – her tangled mane was dotted with twigs and dirt and thorns.
Thorns.
Guilt, despair, and even exhaustion drained from the princess' mind in a moment of inspiration and were replaced by a desperate plan. Do I dare? she wondered, remembering the soldier holding the reins of the mare she rode and the others that flanked the party. Then, she glanced up at her father's still figure. Beyond him, she could just see Legolas, riding just as quietly. Do I dare not to?
Dómiel took a deep, silent breath and gathered up what energy still remained to her. Then, she feigned a swoon and fell forward onto the mare's neck. The soldier behind her was a bit slow to react, which was just as she had hoped. The princess had exactly enough time to work a particularly vicious thorn free from the mare's mane and begin to mutter savagely in Sindarin.
Many years ago, when her father was teaching her how to ride, he had told her that horses responded quite well to Sindarin. Over her years of riding, Dómiel had discovered the truth of this herself. A few words in the elven language could calm a skittish horse, or prod a meek one into action. She would often murmur to her mount in Sindarin to spur it on or calm it, but she had never attempted to convince a horse to spook by using the language.
She could only hope that it would work.
Almost immediately after Dómiel began trying to convince her to run, the brown mare began shifting her weight nervously. Encouraged, Dómiel's words became more insistent, firmer. Then, steeling herself, she cried aloud in Sindarin, jabbed the mare firmly with the thorn in her hand, and fell backward.
Obligingly, the mare jumped and bolted away from the main group. The soldier riding behind Dómiel cursed and hauled on the reins, attempting to halt the now-racing horse. The mare, however, had stopped listening to her master; her actions were now entirely influenced by the steady stream of Sindarin in her ears and the occasional jab from the thorn.
It took the soldier a few moments to realize that it was his prisoner who was spooking his mount. Screaming something about an "elf witch," the man reached for his sword to carry out his orders and execute the girl.
Dómiel, however, had prepared for this. When the mare had bolted, she had fallen backward, making it look as if she was unprepared for the sudden movement. When she fell, however, she placed all her weight on top of the soldier's sword-hilt and then grabbed the back of the soldier's tunic with the hand that wasn't holding the thorn. While this left her in a rather awkward position on the horse, the rope tying her to the mare meant she was in no danger of falling off, and her position neatly prevented the soldier from reaching his weapon.
Predictably enough, the soldier tried to shove Dómiel forward to free his weapon. What he was not prepared for, though, was the surprising amount of upper-body strength the girl possessed for one her age. For a moment, the soldier struggled with her. Then, he momentarily released the reins, grabbed Dómiel by both shoulders and practically flung her forward onto the mare's neck.
Immediately, Dómiel called out fiercely in Sindarin, grabbed hold of the mare's mane with her left hand, and stabbed the thorn into the mare's side with her right.
Just as the soldier's sword cleared its sheath, the mare reared back, letting out a cross between a neigh and a scream of pain. In a desperate attempt to remain in the saddle, the soldier flung one arm around Dómiel's waist. The princess, with a cry of rage, drove the thorn she had been using to spur on the mare into the soldier's forearm. The man obligingly released her and slid unceremoniously off the mare's rump, landing with a grunt of pain.
As soon as the mare's front hooves touched solid earth once more, Dómiel urged her onward. Obediently, the horse galloped away, leaving the soldier in a heap on the ground far behind. Once she was certain the man could not catch up with her again, Dómiel turned her mare toward where she thought she had left her father and Legolas.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Legolas half-turned in his saddle when Dómiel's first cry in Sindarin reached his ears. The slightest of smiles touched the elf's stoic features when he saw the princess' mount bolt away from the main group, urged on by her rider's words. Taking full advantage of the distraction, the elf sprang into action. Though his wrists were still bound, Legolas half-fell off his own horse and ran back towards Aragorn, who had somehow managed to slip his own bonds.
Before he could reach his friend, however, his path was cut off by two armed men on horseback. At least no archers rode with this group, Legolas thought as he easily dodged the men's swords. Dodging left, Legolas forced both men to turn their mounts in order to keep him within their weapons' range. Then, faster than they could follow, he leaped right and slipped past them.
Aragorn had managed to rip a sword from its owner's hands and was wreaking a good deal of havoc among the soldiers. Legolas slid to a halt beside his good friend and turned his back to him. As soon as Aragorn had a moment's breathing space, he placed his sword-blade against Legolas' bonds and slit them. Immediately, Legolas grabbed a passing horseman by the arm, hauled him bodily off of his mount and swung aboard in his place.
It did not take long for the two trained warriors to either dispatch or at least knock unconscious all of the soldiers who had guarded them. Legolas slid off the mount he still rode and hurried over to Aragorn, who was bent over and breathing hard. "Are you wounded?" he asked.
Aragorn straightened slowly. "Not severely," he replied. His tunic now bore a long tear, revealing the chain mail beneath. "Though you are," he added, giving the elf a severe look.
Legolas looked down and, for the first time, noticed a deep gash running from just below his collarbone across his left shoulder. "Indeed I am," he replied wryly.
After a moment's search, Aragorn located both his and Legolas' original mounts. "We should leave this place," he said. "Your wound will keep until we find Dómiel."
Wordlessly, Legolas nodded and began chasing the horses away from where their masters lay unmoving, robbing the soldiers of any rapid means of transportation if any of them were to wake. When only their two mounts remained, he swung aboard his horse and followed Aragorn in the direction Dómiel had ridden.
After a few minutes of riding, Aragorn slowed his horse slightly, dropping back to ride beside Legolas.
"Legolas, there is something I must tell you before we find Dómiel," Aragorn said softly. "I do not wish her to worry, but I must tell you what happened so that you will be prepared." He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "While I was in that cave with those men, I was forced to undergo an…initiation, if you will. It involved poison."
The slightest hint of fear crept into Legolas' eyes as he absorbed this calm statement.
"I was given an antidote, but told that, without drinking of the antidote daily, I would die. They told me that, should I rebel, I would have three days to live." Aragorn looked Legolas firmly in the eye. "I will not survive to see Minas Tirith again."
"Can you do nothing?" Legolas asked.
"I will use what herb knowledge I possess," Aragorn replied. "But I do not know what poison was used. I do not know if I can slow the poison's progress, but I do not expect to live to see my home again. Legolas, swear to me that, whatever happens to me, you will see my daughter safely home."
"Aragorn, I-"
"Swear it!" Aragorn demanded.
Everything within Legolas demanded that he not give in. Death was not altogether foreign to Legolas – he had watched many a friend fall into its grasp. But never had death touched someone so close to him. He refused to believe that Aragorn – his closest friend other than Gimli – was going to die before his eyes. The vow Aragorn demanded seemed to him to be an admission of defeat. And yet his honor required that he agree. "I swear it, Aragorn. I will see Dómiel safely back to Gondor."
"Good."
"Hold!" Legolas drew his mount to a halt. His sensitive ears had picked out a familiar sound – hoofbeats. "Someone draws near."
Aragorn drew Andúril from its sheath. "Let them come. I am ready for them."
Legolas shook his head. "They will pass us by."
"How many?" Aragorn could hear the hoofbeats himself, now.
Legolas cocked his head. "One. And he rides awkwardly. Possibly a wounded survivor."
"Or the man who rode with Dómiel!" Aragorn muttered. Then, with a cry of near-animal rage, he urged his mount forward, toward the approaching horse.
"Father!"
Aragorn slid to a halt just in front of the brown mare who had burst from the thicket in front of him.
"Dómiel!"
The princess of Gondor cried out with joy.
Aragorn slid to the ground and leapt atop his daughter's mount. Wrapping her firmly in his arms, his whispered, "My daughter." Then, common sense reasserted itself. "We must ride onward, and quickly. Our lead is greater now, and yet we must ride swiftly if we are to win this race. For race it has become. The first to Minas Tirith shall win."
Legolas quickly transferred Aragorn's saddlebags to his own mount, set Aragorn's horse loose, and leapt aboard his own horse.
Once more, two horses, bearing three riders, galloped away from Mordor and toward Minas Tirith.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Legolas glanced worriedly at the horse beside his. They had stopped only once, nearly a day's ride ago now. After binding Legolas' wound, Aragorn had taken what medicine he could, but the King was now beginning to show signs of intense fatigue. The princess had fallen asleep a few hours ago, and rested peacefully in her father's arms.
"Aragorn?" Legolas called softly.
"Mm?"
"Aragorn!"
The man did not react. Then, sickeningly slowly, he slid to one side and simply slipped off his mount.
The movement woke Dómiel, who could not choke back a cry at the sight of her father lying on the ground, though she managed to remain aboard the mare.
Legolas was at his friend's side in a moment. One glance told the story. Aragorn's skin had paled to an unnatural shade, and his grey eyes were veined with red. A slight yellow tinge ringed his lips. The elf fought the urge to wince. Aragorn was not exhausted – he was deathly ill.
The poison of the Black Knife was working its revenge.
Note: I love my reviewers! Please, if you like what you're reading (and want to find out what happens), review! Thank you.
Elroclya – I'm so glad I have a new reviewer. There isn't much Legolas angst in this chapter, but there is a little. There will be more in the next chapter, I promise! Thanks for reviewing.
Chianna – Thank you for the reviews. I have tried to get "into Legolas' head" a bit more in this chapter (since I realized I have been neglecting him a bit). I hope you liked it! (And look for more Legolas in my next chapter.)
sabercrazy – I'm afraid not. Giving the good guys a break makes a much more boring story! Thank you for reviewing – I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Littlefish – Thank you for the review. I'm afraid I'm still making you wait to find out about Aragorn. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
My anonymous reviewer(s) – Thank you for the review…were both of those yours, or do I have two anonymous reviewers? Just wondering.
Mendy –Dómiel is fifteen. I made that comment in the second chapter, but it's been a while. =o) Thanks for your review!
SapphireRose – I don't like loose ends…in other people's fics. I like them in my own, because I know what's going to happen! *evil grin* Thanks for the review!