BETRAYED



"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!!