"Silence in the air
is anybody there
searching every sound
walking on quiet ground
somebody's out to get you
hiding in shadows
poison arrows
somebody's out to break you
hiding in narrows
poison arrows
don't give in
don't come any closer
no sir
keep running
running closer
closer
when you gonna break
watching every move you make
in everything you do
evil eyes will be on you
(...)
what you gonna do
time is running out on you
any way you choose
anyway you gonna loose
(...)
Mike Oldfield: "Poison arrows"
I.
This night they all waited, waited for a long time. The hobbits for the return
of their friend. The wood elves for the return of their leader. They all waited
in vain.
II.
A quiet night was not granted to Elrond, too. When he heard the soft knocking
at the door to his private room, he already knew with the sure instinct of the
elves that no good news were awaiting him. With a sigh he got up, putting aside
the old document he'd been reading thus far. He was tired, a state which was
highly unusual with him, and accordingly nervous and irritable.
"Yes?" he asked the elf interrupting his work, and he could read it
in his haggard face that it was indeed an unpleasant message the other elf was
about to deliver. "The captain of the guardians is here, Lord Elrond, as
well as Raldon, the healer. They both have arrived in a hurry, just a few
moments ago, and they wish to speak to you, urgently." He held the door
for Elrond, thus inviting the elven king to follow him. Elrond sighed again and
accelerated his steps. His uneasiness grew. That didn't sound promising after
all! Was it this foolish Greenleaf again, throwing another tantrum? Who else
but the wood elves could be the source of new trouble?
The reality was worse than his darkest imaginations. At his sight the captain
of the guards, in full armour, face dark, got up, and Raldon, which had not
even seated himself, stopped his angry pacing and turned to him abruptly,
having heard his approaching steps. Both of them started talking in unison,
excitedly, only to stop seconds later, probably feeling ashamed that they had
allowed themselves to show their distress. With a nod of his head the captain
assigned the healer to speak first His hand never ceased to instinctively caress
the hilt of the knife in his belt.
Raldon didn't waste his time with a long introduction. "I've come here
straight from the sickbed of Elwyne Thornbush." he said. "The elves
who care for him have called me earlier." Elrond looked up in alarm. His
mouth suddenly went dry. "The state of Thranduil's heir has deteriorated,
much to our surprise." Raldon continued, and irritation was clearly
audible in his voice. "You've reported that his condition was
stable." Elrond said, carefully keeping his voice even. "He
was." Raldon replied. "Thornbush was still in a bad shape, but he's
been on his way to recovery. The crisis came this very morning, fast, and
surprising. If it hadn't been for one of the healers looking after him in this
early hours, he would be already dead by now. When I left to search your
council, they still had to fight for his life, though."
"Send word to Saruman and Gandalf." Elrond commanded. His lips formed
a thin line. "Perhaps they can do something to save Thranduil's son."
Raldon gave an approving nod, but the relief on his face was short lived.
"You should send someone for his relatives, too." He said. "For
I'm afraid it's looking grim." Elrond nodded absentminded. In his head the
thoughts followed hot on each other's heels. If Elwyne would indeed die, then
Greenleaf would be the last surviving member of Thranduil's family. Elrond did
not even dare to fancy how a stubborn elf like Greenleaf would react to the
loss of his last surviving brother... This just couldn't be true!
Still lost in thoughts, he turned to the captain of his guard, which looked
tense and angry. "I'm afraid I'm the bearer of even more bad news, Lord
Elrond." he said. "Two of my men have been found dead this morning at
the 3d northtower from the Old wall. Two guards. They've been stabbed."
Cold anger was in his eyes. Elrond took in a deep breath and lifted an eyebrow,
questioningly. "Orcs?"
"No, Sir. We've searched the area between the old and the new wall
thoroughly. Up to now we didn't find any intruders. I'm fairly sure there won't
be any, too." "What does that mean?" Elrond questioned, somewhat
impatiently. The captain usually wasn't a man of much words. He must be hiding
something... "The murderer didn't come from outside Rivendell." the
captain said and drew the knife he'd been fingering all the time. "He came
from Rivendell itself. They will not have put up much resistance when he
stabbed them..." he lifted the knife accusingly, "... with
this." "Double the guards at the Old Wall." Elrond spat.
"Every single guard is to be in a state of alarm in case of an emergency.
Our best trackers are to be sent to investigate the scene of crime."
The captain nodded; he'd given exactly these orders before he went to see
Elrond. "I'll report on the events as soon as we know what exactly has
happened." Elrond, already leaving, stopped to address him again.
"Very well, captain." he said. "I will contact you as soon as I
know more about the fate of Elwyne Thornbush." The captain merely nodded
and watched him leave. "Strange times are these." he thought,
shuddering. "When even Lord Elrond is losing his calm, and elves turn
against elves." Then he shrugged and returned to his men. He was a soldier
after all, and not a tactical leader like Elrond. He didn't know yet how prophetically
his thoughts had been; and that there indeed elves would stand against elves.
On different sides of a battlefield.
III.
The wood elf warrior Mardin, accompanied by two other elves from his people,
stood in front of the sick room of his prince, restlessly trudging to and fro.
His eyes were red, and his face looked even darker as usual. His two
companions, considerably younger, looked miserable, too, and held their gaze to
the floor. They kept a careful distance to the other elves in this room, and
the Rivendell elves, in their turn, took no notice of the silvan elves and
quietly talked to each other in hushed voices.
Aragorn, which sat there waiting as well could not fail to notice the tense
atmosphere, but he was far too stirred himself to care. Already two hours had
passed by since the healers had started their desperate fight for Elwyne's
life, now supported by Gandalf and Saruman; and still no one had emerged from
the room to let the waiting men and elves know about the state the royal
patient was in. That it must be desolate, though, was easy to figure out for
everyone seeing the amount of healers which tried to help the wood elf. Aragorn
felt strangely touched, almost shaken by this new disaster, even though it
clearly was of minor importance, comparing to the previous ones. Elwyne's
unexpected relapse had worn him out more than he could admit to himself. He'd
had the silent hope that things finally would take a turn to the better, and
that at least Elwyne of all his closer friends would survive. Both this hopes
were hanging now on a thin threat. And he'd seen Elrond's face; the elven king
would take Elwyne's death as a personal defeat. As well as he would.
So he waited, torn between hope and sorrow, like all the others, and when,
after endless minutes, the door to the sickroom flew open and Elrond stepped
out, followed by the two wizards, the former died, leaving room only for
despair and grief.
One could not read it in Elrond's face, but his walk was the one of an old man,
and even Gandalf seemed more crouched than ever. Saruman had bright red spots
on his usual pallid cheeks. The wood elf warrior planted himself before the
elven king. "Is he..." he asked, stuttering quite
uncharacteristically. "Is prince Elwyne...?" His sorrow was genuine
enough, making Elrond get over the informal addressing. He didn't look at the
soldier. "Elwyne Thornbush has died a moment ago." he announced,
speaking more to himself than to anyone else. "I'm sorry." The wood
elves winced at this as if being hit. They seemed shaken, like having lost
their bearings, people caught in a nightmare and unsure if they were sleeping
or not.
"He's dead, then." Mardin said. His voice was husky. He didn't clear
Elronds way. "May we see our king?" Elrond finally looked up. There
was a strange light in his eyes. Now it was his turn to block his opposite's
way. "No." he said, with enough authority in his voice to make it
clear that he did not bother to explain his refusal. Even Mardin seemed to
sense this, for he involuntarily straightened, and his "Why, Lord
Elrond?" came out more respectfully than he probably had intended.
Elrond looked at him, sharply. "Where's Legolas Greenleaf?" he asked
back. "I've sent for him, too!" Mardin's face fell. "I was just
going to ask you the same question." he answered. "For yesterday
night he has not returned to our dwellings. We thought he'd decided to stay in
Rivendell for the night, after his long talk with Saruman." The spots on
Saruman's cheeks became even brighter. He met Elrond's questioning glare and
shook his head, silently. "We did separate - things unsorted - at the
clearing with the graves of the wood elves." he announced. Mardin looked
really upset now, while Elronds face got darker. "His brother has been
asking for him, the last few minutes." he murmured. "Again and
again." Mardin winced again, and his gaze turned to the floor. He
preferred not to think about how Legolas would take this new tragedy. Elrond
looked as if HE was imagining it, though.
"Well then." he finally said. "May you offer the wood elves my
deepest condolences. We'll take precautions for Elwyne's funeral." He
stepped forth, and Mardin, still like in trance, gave way. He shook. Another
elf, which had silently waited in the background of the room, seized the
opportunity to address him. He wore the uniform and the signs of a captain.
"If you meet prince Legolas." he said amiably. "You may give him
his knife back. He has left it here." And he put the weapon, fastened to
his belt thus far, into Mardin's hand. Mardin gave a short look at it, then he
pushed it into his own belt.
When he looked up, he was confronted with an angry looking elven king again,
much to his surprise. Elrond's eyes were glowing, and a dangerous smile was on
his lips. "This is Legolas Greenleaf's knife?" he formally asked, and
Mardin nodded, his irritation raising. What sort of question was this? Where
there not more important issues to discuss than one lost knife? Although it was
highly unusual for Legolas to carelessly leave behind one of his precious
weapons...
Elrond and the captain exchanged a short look, and Mardin eyed them
suspiciously when they left him to his own thoughts without a further word.
Something was terribly wrong here! Why all this secrecy about Elwyne's body?
What about the knife? And where the hell was Legolas? His anxiety grew even
stronger than his anger of being treated by these oh-so civilised, arrogant
rivendell-elves like an idiot! He'd been far more concerned, though, if he had
known that Legolas would remain untraceable for much longer...
IV.
"But why should he do such a thing?" Aragorn asked, face red with
anger. "It just doesn't make any sense!" He looked around,
questioningly, accusingly, straight into the faces surrounding him. From the
participants of the new council, summoned to answer this new crisis, only
Gandalf's eyes met his angry glare, calm and impersonate, making him look very
elfish indeed. Elrond, as well as his two counsellors, pretended to not have
noticed his outburst. The captain of the guards though looked slightly annoyed.
Perhaps he'd interpreted Aragorn's words as doubts at his own testimony.
Saruman smiled, condescending, and Aragorn felt a strong wave of antipathy
against the wizard washing over him. He struggled to keep his face even. He
couldn't fight these feelings against Saruman, although he'd tried, since he
respected the wizard, like all the others did. "It's weird! Only because
it was Legolas' knife being found by the killed rivendell-elves does not mean
that he has anything to do with this ghastly crime..."
"You do not know everything yet." Elrond gravely said, thus stopping
him mid-tracks in his tirade. "The murder of the two guards is not the
only crime which calls for our meeting." Aragorn watched him silently,
inviting him to continue, while Gandalf and Saruman exchanged a knowing glance.
"I'm talking of the murderous attempt on Elwyne Thornbush, the king of
mirkwood." Aragorns heart skipped a beat. "Murder? Murderous attempt?
What the hell does that mean?" Elrond gave him one these looks he was
famous for. "Elwyne Thornbush isn't dead." he then said. From the
corner of his eyes Aragorn could see that Saruman wrinkled his brow in anger at
the elven king's words. Obviously he would have preferred Aragorn not to know.
The ranger surely would have felt an utter relief if he hadn't known for sure
that Elrond was keeping something back...
"Thanks god" he said, his voice sounding hoarse in his own ears.
"But you've talked of an attempted murder." "Someone has tried
to poison the prince while he was still very sick." Elrond explained.
"He has filled a fast acting poison - it's origins are still not known -
into one of the prince's medical flasks." Aragorn stared at him,
terrified. "One of the healers looking for Elwyne unknowingly applied some
of this medicine to the prince. The killer has only made one mistake: He chose
too strong a poison. When Elwyne began to toss around in his deep
unconsciousness, and got spasms, the healer suspected that something was wrong
with the medicine he'd used. His quick thinking surely has saved the prince's
life..."
Aragorn felt as if he'd taken a fist right into his stomach.
"Poisoned..." the word resounded in his head, and suddenly he knew
why all the others wore grim faces. A poison of unknown origin..."Why did
you announce him dead?" he asked, pulling himself together with great
effort. "The murderer must not get a second chance to fulfil his filthy
task." Elrond answered. "He might even have partners in crime
somewhere. Elwyne's life on a threat. He needs our protection." "You
all think it was Legolas." Aragorn said, resigned. "But you're wrong.
He's not capable of such a crime. I...I just know it for I have known him
before!"
V.
"As you said quite truthfully, Aragorn..." Saruman spoke up for the
first time, "..You USED to know Legolas Greenleaf, in better times, before
the orcs invaded the mirkwood. Everyone present here could give a testimony
that he'd changed after the death of his father. We can only assume just what
the death of his family, the extermination of his people, and the loss of his
home, have caused in his mind. He may have been honest, valiant, brave,
adventurous, earlier, as you first met him.
But now there's only one feeling left in him, consuming him: Hate. That's how I
got to know him. You could read it in his eyes, in every of his words: A
burning desire for revenge. It's his new and only god, and he's willing to
sacrifice even the last surviving elves of his people for it."
Elrond nodded slightly, which was acknowledged by Saruman by a small smile.
"Then there's the first backslash. Lord Elrond is refusing to take part in
his plans, denies him the revenge which he's living for. Even worse, he's
challenging him his role as a leader. Doing so he only deepened the young
prince's hate, a hate which already had poisoned his mind." The word
"poisoned" was only slightly emphasised.
"He must have figured out then that Elrond would have the will to reign at
his place. That he might have made an agreement with his elder brother; to
replace him and to give up any revenge plans against the orcs. It was then when
he most likely formed the idea to do away with his brother. As a caring
relative he'd the possibility to enter and leave the room of the elder prince
whenever he wanted. The healers will confirm that he'd been there often enough,
as often as you, Lord Elrond, by the way. Your presence may has involuntarily
added to the evil plans in Greenleaf's mind. To poison one of the medicaments
has been an intelligent move from his side. If fortune hadn't been merciful
with Elwyne, no one would have unravelled his brother's doings..."
Saruman stopped and watched them, silently, one after another. "Legolas
must have been out of his head, from hate and desperation. He may not even have
planed it, but acted out of panic..." That was too much. Aragorn couldn't
take it any longer. "This is nuts!" he burst out, the hostility
against the wizard clearly audible in his voice. The angry glare he got from
Saruman was proof enough that the wizard felt the same. "Why has he
escaped then, over the north frontier, not before having killed two non
suspecting elves?" It's not making sense!"
There was only fatherly kindness in Saruman's face when he turned to address
him. And pity. "You still have to learn more." he stated. "There
was another reason for Legolas to murder his brother, and for his escape."
He threw Elrond a questioning glance. The elven king silently motioned him to
continue. "The reason was one of the elven rings." There was a touch
of awe in the wizard's voice. "Thranduil was a bearer of one of those
rings. At the day of his death he gave it to the only son witnessing his dying,
Legolas, youngest of his siblings, no doubt telling him to hand it to his
oldest brother, the future heir of the mirkwood's throne. Thranduil couldn't
know that only two of his sons would survive the day...
I can only guess what was going on with the ring then, but I think Legolas has
handed it to his brother quite immediately, as his father had wished him to do,
in ignorance of the true nature of the ring. But instantly the things began
gliding out of his hands, and being no fool, Legolas noticed that together with
the ring he'd given away his leading qualities. You personally questioned them,
Lord Elrond." For a brief moment there was a tortured look in Elrond eyes.
The wizard's voice went on.
"So he decided to get the ring back, ignoring the fact that it legally
belonged to his brother. He met no difficulties while he carried out his plans.
Elwyne Thornbush surely was not able to call him to account..." It was so
convenient! Little by little Aragorn's anger was replaced by cold fear. Of
course he'd heard of the elven rings... and the strange happenings in
rivendell, seen in the way Saruman had put it, suddenly began to make sense, a
terrible sense. The wizard's words were like the points of small arrows,
carefully aimed to tear down Aragorns -or anyone's- conviction of Legolas'
innocence. If he continued to just sit here and let Saruman continue with his
nonsense, it would mean Legolas condemnation, for he could clearly see the
others hanging on Saruman's lips eagerly.
"And then, hunted by his guilt, gripped by sudden twinges of remorse, he
decided to flee, even though he owned now everything he wished to in his
boundless greed for power." he quipped, sarcastically, but this time it
was Elrond himself who motioned him to be silent.
"He escaped, indeed." Saruman continued, not commenting Aragorns
remark. "May it be remorse which made him do so, may the fear of
discovery, I cannot tell. But listen to me further. Yesterday, when darkness
was about to fall, I decided to talk to Greenleaf because of his unholy desire
for blood. I met him in a strange mood, secretive and all excited, but as you
can imagine, I did not know the reason for this at this point. But there was
something else catching my eyes: A small piece of jewellery he was wearing on a
fine chain around his neck. The ring. I asked him about it; and he got nervous
even more; and I found that he was unable to meet my eyes. I told him about the
power of the ring, unsure whether he knew. From then on he refused to listen to
me further, and when I tried to press the matter, he shrank back from me. I let
him go, unaware of the crimes which brought the ring into his possession. But
my words, heard with a guilty conscience, must have sounded like accusations,
and driven by panic, he decided to escape our reach. He couldn't expect the
support of his loyal wood elves any longer, once it would be known that he has
slay his own brother, their king. In rising fear he turned to the north, where
the guard on rivendell is not that strong. The soldiers may have asked him
about his errands, perhaps they even have tried to stop him, noticing the state
he was in. A killer gets used to murder. They probably didn't even put up much
resistance. With their death they bought Legolas some precious time, in which
his flight could not be discovered; and no one would be able to tell later on
in which direction he'd escaped.
So he now owns the ruling ring, but he's alone, unpredictable, and
desperate." The made a sinister pause. "He may will seek himself
allies in the north."
One of the elfish counsellors gasped; it was the only sound breaking the
shocked silence which followed Saruman's words. The wizard threw another glance
to Elrond. The elven king calmly continued: "Our scouts have been telling
me recently that there are some orc troops swarming the woods near Rivendell.
Orcs and creatures even worse. The ring Legolas carries with him shall not be
lost there - nor shall he fall into the hands of the orcs. Even if they would
not appreciate the true nature of the ring - others might will. We have to find
Legolas Greenleaf, and fast. Saruman, some of our best trackers, and I myself
will leave instantly to trace him. We'll bring the ring back safely."
Then he addressed Aragorn. "I would like to have you at my side as well,
but I need you here; mainly to keep an eye on the wood elves. Elwyne's supposed
death has made them even more rebellious." Aragorn nodded, absentminded,
and Elrond gave him a small, yet grateful smile.
The ranger felt numb and tired. He didn't believe a single word of what Saruman
had said, but it was no rational feeling. He just didn't want to believe that
someone he'd counted as a friend would be capable of such a gruesome crime.
Saruman's speech had irritated him a great deal. It had sounded wrong in his
ears, as if the wizard had not spoken freely, but had told them some long, well
prepared words instead... He turned to face Gandalf, the only person remaining
in Elrond's room. "Legolas Greenleaf is innocent!" he said, rather
fiercely. "Never would he have poisoned his brother! I know, for I know
him better than any of you does!" Gandalf faced him, his faced wrinkled in
sorrow. "Will you take council from me, Aragorn, son of Arathorn?" he
asked, and after he got a silent nod from the man, he continued gravely:
"Do not wear your heart on your tongue. For there is far more poison
around here than the one which almost took Elwyne's life." Aragorn looked
at him dumbstruck, but the wizard left the room not caring to explain his
cryptical remark.
VI.
Once again he turned his head to look out for the little hobbit, which had
seemed quite small and lost when Legolas had left him, but now he couldn't locate
him anymore through the thick spring canopy. Legolas stopped, just for a
moment, as if to acknowledge the bravery of the hobbit for one last time, then
he ran. Not half as fast as he wished he would. Exhaustion had left his limbs
clumsy, and the pain and the blood loss did their share to slow down his pace.
Soon enough it became painful just to draw enough breath into his lungs, and a
few times he tripped over roots or branches he just hadn't seen in time. The
blood was throbbing in his ears, dampening every other sound to a degree that
even the plumb orcs could have approached him easily without raising his
attention...
Then it was over. His knees trembled with weakness, and he was tumbling more
than running, and he felt warm, sticky blood trickling down his back again.
Legolas stopped and tried to calm his flying breath. A merciless exhaustion had
overcome him, and blackness began nibbling at the edges of his consciousness
and blurred his surroundings. The elf leaned himself against the stem of an old
oak and closed his eyes. The cracked bark of the tree felt good to his back,
and the rustling song of the leaves above him was lulling, tempting...
A sharp pain, knifelike, went trough his body, startled him. With the wound in
his back he'd sunken against the oak, overpowered by fatigue, and only the pain
penetrated his dwindling consciousness. Legolas hissed as the pain didn't ease,
but his mind became clearer. He straightened himself, again closed his eyes and
took a few deep, calming breaths. Vivid pictures of Saruman, his attack, and
Rivendell, went through his mind suddenly, as well as the image of Elrond, his
proud face and the quarrel between them. Oddly enough it was the thought of the
rivendell-king and his arrogance which sent a wave of adrenaline through
Legolas' body, finally snatching him out of his reverie. He didn't even try to
control his anger, gave free rein to his hate of Saruman, and his orcs. The all
too familiar fury seized him, and suddenly there was no trace of the previous
exhaustion left... Hate is a powerful mainspring.
Then he ran again, not light-footed, but heavy and plumb, yet still he ran, and
he heard the breaking of dry branches, the rustling of leaves and his own
laboured breath. Still there was no sign of an orc nearby. After a while he'd
to bit his teeth, for the wound in his back got going again, now that his life
wasn't in immediate danger, sent hot burning pain all through his body. But
although he didn't really realise it, it was not the wound which slowed him
down, but sadness, which seized his limbs, paralysed him, and numbed his mind.
The omnipresent trees with their projecting branches, densely grown, in full
spring green, the climbing tendrils, the bushes, even the mosses and the ferns
of the forest - they all were there, a dark, dense shelter above his head,
around him - but still he didn't feel safe, secure, like he'd felt earlier, in
the mirkwood, or in every other forest.
There were branches, defensively raised against him, tendrils grabbing for his
feet, twigs with thorns hitting after him... He felt strange, not connected to
the woods anymore, like humans do when the night is falling over the trees. His
heart became cramped from sadness. If it had not been for the rational part of
his mind, driving him on, Legolas probably wouldn't have gotten far anymore.
The tangible hostility of a forest was something he had never felt before, and
it just pronounced his loneliness. "You've to warn Elrond." He
clinged to this thought, it filled his head, became his mantra, whispered
rhythmically with every breath; it drove him on. "You must warn
Elrond."
His determination to do so even held the sadness at bay, for a while.
VII.
Then his senses warned him that there were orcs nearby. The ugly creatures were
neither careful nor attentive, but they were many. Hate constricted Legolas'
throat, nearly choking him while he watched them In broad rows they advanced,
their hideous faces tense, but their weapons were not ready, and they made
progress only slowly. On they went, occasionally pushing a spear into the
bushes around them, spying into the canopy of a tree, searching, sniffing, thus
remembering of blood hounds pursuing a victim, trusting that it would not be
able to defend himself to become dangerous even to their majority. They looked
like searching for an elf and a hobbit...
And they effectively blocked Legolas' way back to Rivendell.
A small, demeaning smile appeared on Legolas' lips. The orcs were bad hunters,
especially if their intended victim knew of his pursuers. They kept far too
much distance between each other while searching. They were loud and
destructive. And they didn't count on resistance. They were like blind in the
forest which was probably not their preferred environment. If luck was on his
side, he would pass them without them noticing it. If there wouldn't be more
orcs troops, so he would find himself in between two fronts all too suddenly...
Legolas felt strangely excited while he watched them. The hairs in his neck
raised. It was unheard of the orcs moving in the sun. They must be highly
motivated to do so... And suddenly he just knew that they were. They had been
sent by Saruman, to hunt them down, and they would be facing the wizard's wrath
if they did not succeed. Evidently they preferred the sun before Saruman...
The orcs were still quite far. Legolas kept himself carefully hidden behind an
old, mighty acorn, observing them, while his looks wildly roamed around. Then
his plan was made. It was not really a plan, but merely a wait-and-see strategy
if the plumb orcs would fail to notice him while they passed him, a strategy
which probably would strain his nerves more than every sort of a fight, but
still he had no choice. He did not have any weapon worth mentioning, his
enemies were numerous, and he had his mission. He had to stay alive to warn
Elrond.
The orcs were nearer now. Legolas felt their foul, rotten odour stinging in his
nose almost physically; but this was most likely just his imagination. Still he
had enough time to climb on the acorn he was standing under, high enough to
stay out of reach from the spears which were occasionally put into the tree
crowns, and low enough that the tree did not start to sway under his weight,
thus betraying him. He sat himself on a branch, every muscle, every nerve tense
from strain. He withstood the urge to look down, but listened instead. His left
thigh became cramped from it's abnormal position, trembling slightly. Only with
great difficulty Legolas could still this small, yet treacherous movement. His
excitement grew, and involuntarily he opened his hands and closed them again,
as if handling an invisible bow. If he only had his bow here! Just his bow and
some arrows... Oh, how he would show the orcs what it meant to hunt down an
elf!
Then the orcs were there, and the hate threatened to suffocate him. The cramp
returned to his left thigh, but this time Legolas didn't care. The trembling
had also seized his body. He bit his lips until he could taste blood in his
mouth. Now! Now there was an orc emerging under the same tree he was hiding!
The ugly creature did even put a hand on the bark of the acorn. His shoulders
slumped. He did not even look up once. The sun seemed to have worn him out.
Legolas still held his breath, ready to attack the orc the moment he discovered
him. His shaking was uncontrollably by now. The orc's intended prey would not
go down without a fight! There was a part in Legolas almost whising to be
discovered. The hate of the orcs was painful now, almost unbearable. If they
gave him the slightest reason... at least one orc would pay for his discovery
with his life!
Then the orc went on. Legolas forced himself to remain motionless; and he
started breathing again. The trembling slowly subsided. The blood was hammering
in his temples. He stayed where he was, motionless, squatted, and now, since
the immediate threat was over, he even felt relieved of having been spared. He
was wrong, though.
VIII.
It were the screekers which betrayed him. These dark birds, having accompanied
the orcs since they were always a promise for some meat, had not turned an eye
from him for quite a while now, and they had waited, unsure if this silent
creature in the tree was worth of being their next prey. But when Legolas
-after what seemed like an eternity to him- got up from his sitting position,
one of them cried out hoarsely, followed by the whole flock of birds only
seconds later. Then the wood resounded from their hideous cries.
For a few precious moments Legolas was paralysed from fright, but then his
warrior's instincts kicked in, and he acted automatically, sprang from the
acorn without bothering to climb down a few steps. He landed unfortunate on his
left foot and had to clench his teeth against the hot wave of pain one of the
strained ligaments sent through his whole leg. He ignored the pain and threw
himself around. The screekers were flying around him numerous; a noisy,
threatening black cloud. None of them dared to attack the elf, for it was a
dangerous prey; so they confined themselves to nag. They preferred others to do
the actual killing...
The orcs were now about 30 meters away. They had turned, too, surprised by this
sudden turmoil. For a moment they just stood there, motionless, both orcs and
the elf, glaring at each other. Then Legolas started to run. This seemed to
bring back the orcs to their senses; their roaring was equal to that of the
birds when they set out to hunt the fleeing elf. Under normal circumstances
Legolas would have been much faster than his plump pursuers. But these were no
normal circumstances. The muscles of his thigh, cramped already before,
disobeyed his command to relax. Already there were arrows flying all around
him, getting uncomfortably near. Legolas was simply at the end of his strength.
And he had a bad feeling in his stomach about the direction of his flight. He
already knew instinctively that his exertions were in vain. He could see it
when he considered the fact that the orcs were yelling triumphantly behind him.
That they fanned out broadly, thus driving him effectively in just one
direction. And he was right. After what seemed to him like an eternity, in
which he only succeeded to bring about fifty meters between him and his
pursuers, he stood in front of the mighty, silent abyss to which the orcs had
directed him. Ironically it was the rocky riverbed of the river Loudwater, a
natural border of Rivendell, which put an end to his flight. He was much nearer
to his aim as he previously had thought ! But then again it was probably as far
as never before. The abyss, from which Legolas now stood, was much too deep for
anyone to try and cross it alive...
The triumphant yells of the orcs became louder, mixed with the excited cries of
the screekers. They even drowned out the wild rushing of the river, deep below
him. But the only thing Legolas heard right now was his own heartbeat. Just
below him, at least 30 meters deep, lay the river bed, behind him there were
the orcs... It wasn't difficult for an elf to make his choice in this
situation. Legolas jumped over the cliffs, followed by the angry cries of the
orcs.
IX.
He landed resiliently on a small ledge in the quite steep rocky abyss; which
had been worked out and polished in thousand years of hard labour by the waters
of the Bruinen. An alder had gained a foothold on this ledge. Her smooth, long,
snakelike roots promised hold, so he could continue climbing down the gorge for
a meter or two, but then his feet did not meet any resistance in the wall,
although he frantically searched.
Over him the yelling of the orcs came nearer, a few small stones and rocky
particles rained down on him, one grazing the skin over his right brow. Legolas
stilled his movements. He threw up his head and saw probably more than a dozen
hideous black mugs, staring down on him, a hungry look in their eyes. And the
points of equally numerous arrows, bolts and spears which did the same.
Resigned Legolas closed his eyes. His efforts had not been enough. Right now
the orc-arrows would pierce him, tear him into the yawning abyss; but strangely
he wasn't afraid in this moment, felt nothing but the slight regret that the
last thing he would see would be the ugly faces of his archenemies; and not the
lovely woods of his home, or the faces of those he cared for.
There were more hate filled yells, more stones raining down on him. Legolas
reopened his eyes and looked up again. Thus far no one had even taken a proper
aim at him... And for all he could tell the orcs were involved in a vivid
discussion if they should kill him or not.
"They wish to catch me alive!" the thought suddenly went through
Legolas' head. "That's why they're hesitating to kill me." He
clenched his teeth. He'd heard the rumours about the horrible things that
happened to an elf which had the misfortune to fall into the hands of the orcs
alive. He knew that they liked to "have sport" with their victims.
But this was different.
With a thud a courageous orc landed on the rock nose on which Legolas had
escaped them earlier. He hissed, bared his teeth at the hanging elf, but then
he held out one hand. The other was kept on his dagger. The picture of an orc
holding out a helping hand was so absurd, so unbelievable, that Legolas'
nerves, worn out from the last days' strain, couldn't take it any longer. He
laughed out loud. The orc gnarled and reached out with his hand, as far as he
could without risking a fall from the ledge. Legolas laughed again, but this
time his laughter was stifled by a sob. The orc was here to help him! No orc
would do such a thing only to gain an object for his cruel games. There must be
something else behind the orcs' behaviour, and Legolas knew what it was. He
felt his strength fading. Still he had not found a hold for his feet. Cold
sweat covered his face, and burned in his eyes. Legolas took a deep breath to
calm himself. He had two options: To fall into the river; or to be saved by the
orcs. He did not waste another thought on the latter. He wasn't to fall into
Saruman's hands again, for it had to be Saruman which had commanded the orcs to
bring him back alive. Seen in this light, the screechers made more sense,
too...
X.
His hurt arm suddenly lost every
strength. With a small, terrified outcry Legolas gripped the root more tightly,
with his other hand, but strength was running out of it too, fast, merciless, like
water from a broken pot. He watched his clenched fingers open, slowly, like in
slow motion, and the black hand with the claws above him suddenly seemed over
dimensional; outstretched in a promise of aid, of rescue. Legolas lifted his
head and looked into the orc's distorted mug. The elf bared his teeth at him.
Then he let go of the root. Even while he was falling he heard the angry cries
of the creatures above him, cheated of their prey, and he felt a vague sense of
triumph of not having fallen into their hands, then his fall was stopped by the
cold, foaming water of the Loudwater.
Cool, clear water instantly filled his mouth, his nose, and he felt the strange
urge to panically row with his arms. His body was seized by a maelstrom, hit
against a rock, but the pain he'd instinctively expected didn't arise, due to
the cold water's paralysing, stunning effects. If his head would not have got
over water by chance, he might have drowned before he would have managed to
pull his senses together. But the two, three gasps of fresh, precious air he
managed to pump into his lungs woke his will to survive, and Legolas started to
fight. Again his head was overflowed with water, and he opened his eyes, wide,
to the shimmering, shining surface over him; and a few tiring swimming
movements bore again the reward of oxygen. Deeply he inhaled, and even managed
to stay long enough at the surface to take a look around. The river had already
drifted him off quite far, and from the orcs there was no sight or sound. They
surely would search the river for him... His body again crashed against a rock,
hurt arm first, and this time the cold was not enough to suppress the pain.
Legolas winced. He had to be more careful, or he most likely would break an
arm, a leg, or even something more vital, on the stones. Then again the river
carried him away from the orcs, and towards Rivendell...
If only he succeeded to keep his head above the water... Legolas advanced quite
well this way indeed, at least for a while. He even reached a place where he
might could have left the river, where the water flew into a broad natural
canal, in which the current wasn't too strong. Legolas swam along. Was carried
along. This was the shortest way to reach Rivendell after all... It was the
cold which finally thwarted his plans. Little by little his body became more
stiff, more immobile, and when he was smashed against a stone which he'd seen
before, but which he couldn't avoid since his arms suddenly weren't willing to
obey his commands anymore, he knew that it was time to leave the water. If he
still was able to. A prickling tingle had seized his arms, his legs, and his
lung seemed petrified, too, for he had to gulp in air in painfully small gasps.
More than once his head was forced under water again, and he swallowed a lot of
it.
His body was shaken by a violent coughing
fit when he was washed against a big rock, standing against the water in the
middle of the river. A branch which had been deposited there, too, bore
painfully into his leg, and the pain woke him enough to gather his last
remaining strength to pull himself on the cold stone, thus leaving the water It
was not too big a rock, just enough for Legolas to find a save, almost dry
place, even though it was sprayed with foam occasionally. There he lay for a
precious moment, just breathed and tried to suppress the shivering which shook
his body. He was cold, so cold... and most likely still quite far from
Rivendell. He needed to go on.. Go on... But there was another voice in his
head, soothing, tempting; it whispered sweet words of rest, of free breath, of
warmth. Legolas bravely tried to shut it out, but his senses started to
deteriorate, he felt strangely light- headed, and lulled by the soft singing of
the streaming water around him, Legolas fell into the deep, dreamless sleep of
exhaustion. More northwards the orcs began searching the river banks.
To be continued...
Authors note:
Had a severe case of a
"I-didn't-get-a-single-damned-review-depression" recently, resulting
in sudden allergies against the computer and a full force writer's block. So
please spare me this for the next chapter and review! Pretty please!!
