Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.
Author's Notes: You like me! You really like me! *ahem* Thank you all for your well wishes; South Carolina is GORGEOUS, and the sea air really wakes up a person's muse... which you all know is absolutely vital. :D
Cudae - Your reviews always make me smile! Yay! In answer to your question, my laptop does not have the Internet wirelessly. But it does have a phone jack...
Amarth - As for your questions, one of them will be answered by the end of this chapter. As for the other... wait and see... *looks around mysteriously*
TK - Yes, Sam is Sam. :D
Everyone Else - Gah! I love all my reviewers! That's why I immediately hopped on the writing program to bring you...
Chapter Seven
~
Vengeance.
That was all that mattered now.
The Pack of the Quest was destroyed. Boromir and the Hobbit wolves slain. Only two remained. And those two would die before they let those that had killed their comrades escape.
Swifter than the moonbeams above, Legolas and Aragorn swept across the tundra in impossible strides. They ran without tiring, they ran without fear. Only one thing mattered:
Vengeance.
Occasionally, Aragorn would stop and press his muzzle to the ground, searching for their trail. And every once in a while, Legolas would throw back his head and howl the cry of an Elven wolf on the hunt. Hunting for blood.
They had been running for two days. The trail of the Orcs was strong and easily followed. So easy it was to follow, that Aragorn didn't need to search as much. This nearly proved disastrous, for they almost missed it...
But they didn't.
Aragorn's keen eyes swept along the ground, and he spied the signs of a scuffle. A little ways from that was a set of tracks that could not be Orc made.
Lowering his head, he sniffed it cautiously.
Pippin's familiar scent raced up towards him. It smelled of fear and danger, but it was still Pippin.
Alive.
The song of Aragorn and Legolas filled the air, their joy resonating with such emotion that even a swarming pack of Orcs would have felt their hearts warmed.
Pippin survived.
And so the lust for vengeance disappeared to be replaced by a different mission. A rescue party.
~
And even then, hope seemed miles away.
They had scarcely reached the Southernmost border of the land when they came across the remains of a battlefield. Orc bodies littered the ground, dozens of the filthy carcasses heaped together. The scent of the Rohan pack was thick on the air; they'd been patrolling and had attacked without mercy.
In vain and for many hours did Legolas and Aragorn search for the bodies of Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam. But no sign of them was to be found, even though they followed the Orc scents to the icy stream that ran Southward.
The Hobbit wolves were lost indeed.
A new song rose, a song reminiscent of the mourning song for Gandalf. But the woe in this was almost double; for the two now thought themselves to be the last of the Pack of the Quest.
And so they were in that state of mourning when the Rohan pack came upon them.
Handsome young Eomer came bounding over the crest of a hill, his tail lifted like a flag in the breeze of the early morning. Eowyn followed, then Theoden, and lastly, sulking Wormtongue.
Aragorn and Legolas, still weary with grief, nonetheless braced themselves for battle. Gandalf, their safeguard, was gone, and they were at the mercy of this pack for trespassing on their land.
But instead of attacking, Eomer pranced forward with his tail relaxed. Friendship. Theoden came forward and inspected them, but otherwise made no attempt to snap or snarl. Eowyn stood at the respectful distance of a female. Only Wormtongue, sniveling Wormtongue, nipped at Aragorn in disgust. But Theoden bossed him to the ground, simply by virtue of his powerful alpha posture.
Exchanging bewildered looks, the remainder of the Pack could not understand. The Rohan pack was notorious for fighting their trespassers.
And then all became clear.
Neck arched proudly and tail raised like a banner, Elrond himself came loping over the hill, followed by Arwen. He indeed had been doing an important task, and had long spoke with Theoden of the Pack of the Quest. It was he who had convinced the old alpha of their importance, and it was because of his council that Aragorn and Legolas were not slain on the spot.
Yipping with pleasure, Arwen and Aragorn raced towards each other, meeting and rubbing their noses together affectionately. He nuzzled his head along her side, and she did the same for him. These were the gestures of mates that loved each other, and Elrond saw this.
He did not have long to think on it, for a very happy Legolas was nuzzling him under the chin. 'You are the alpha' he said. 'And you have been missed.' Elrond smiled and exposed his fangs, but the smile quickly faded.
Parting the two lovers, he looked intensely into Aragorn's eyes.
-The others? Where are they? Have they fallen so quickly and so many?-
Aragorn looked away in sorrow, and Elrond hung his head. But in an instant, the iron will that had kept him alive in the years of solitude hardened once more, and he lifted his gaze again.
-The stakes are raised and the battle continues. But all hope is not lost.-
He turned his face to the East, his ears lifted and his nostrils quivering. Closing his eyes, he listened. Eowyn and Aragorn did the same, straining their senses to the limit. Suddenly, Aragorn's eyes flew open and he understood. Slowly, Elrond woke himself and glanced about at the seven wolves before him.
Not enough for what was coming.
Elrond sighed, the burdens of this task weighing on him. But strength was found once more, and he rose to his burden.
His eyes fell on Theoden.
-Ready your pack.- he commanded levelly. -The enemy moves in great numbers, and even now rises to attack. They will come here. Be ready. And fear not; hope will come when all seems lost.-
Ever restless and ever needed, Elrond spun towards the North and ran like the wind, his ruff dancing from the speed until he eventually winked out of sight.
And still the danger drew near...
~
Far to the South, Merry and Pippin fled for their lives.
They had escaped from the Orcs during the attack from Rohan, late at night, and ran as fast they could on their little legs through the icy stream, their scent lost in its' depths. They didn't look back, they didn't even think, only focused on getting away.
Merry was bleeding from the head; a particularly nasty bite from an Orc had marked him. But otherwise, the Hobbit wolves were only tired.
And also very afraid.
For they though themselves to be the last of the Pack of the Quest, having seen Boromir fall they could only assume the worst for their comrades.
And still they ran, until they were beyond the lands that any wolf had ever gone to before. Lost in the wide expanse of the South, they stopped at last to rest.
Merry paced about, sniffing the ground and searching for any sign of something to eat. And on the ground, Pippin shivered, tired and hungry and longing for the protection of Boromir once more.
Suddenly, the pup cried out in terror.
Startled, Merry whirled around and found himself staring up at the largest creature he had ever seen....
~ To Be Continued
