DARKNESS STIRS
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. ANYTHING AT ALL...*sniff*
ATHELAS/ DOT: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, you're both my first reviewers! *hugs you fiercely, squeezing the air out of you* I'm happy you liked the first chapter! I'm afraid this one is a very dark one, but I don't intend to keep the humour from popping out of the bag. There will be humourous chapters (humourous in my dreams), too, when it fits the story, but it will be mainly adventure and angst, lots of angst. But everybody knows that our friends are very prone to banter... and Elves are very mischievous creatures...;-)
WARNING: This chapter contents violent images, so don't read it if you have a weak stomach. I'm not to be held responsible for damaged screens or keyboards, so please don't sue...
Since English is not my first language I appreciate any kind of advise and corrections.
ENJOY, PLZ R&R!!!
Chapter 2: ELVISH BLOOD HAS BEEN SHED TODAY
"Elvish blood has been shed today..."
The words still rang in Aragorn's ears, leaving a dreadful feeling. As he unsheathed his sword he heard his men follow his example immediately. Within a second the whole company, 30 soldiers all in all, was battle-ready, some holding swords, others bows with arrows nocked, ready to fell anything that dared to come within reach.
Gimli moved closer to Eldarion, his battle-axe firmly in both his hands.
The guards positioned themselves closer around the king and his heir, forming a protective circle. Everybody would fight until their last breath to hold this position.
Something was definitely wrong. It was not only the lack of sounds. Now that he thought of it, they were already well into Elvish territorry, and by now they should have encoutered a border patrol,usually led by Legolas himself.
Yes, it was the lack of Elvish presence that unnerved him at most.
The company rode on, warily eyeing the surrounding trees, attentive at any sound or shadow. But there was no trace of life at all.
As they arrived at a big clearing they saw it.
Aragorn had had his share of violent death, seeing more corpses in more conditions than he cared to remember. But most certainly he had never encountered anything like this. The mere sight made him violently sick. He could hear some of his men retching. Before him laid a whole Elvish border patrol, or the remains of it. From the condition of the bodies he could tell that they had met their death only a few hours ago.
And they had met it in the most gruesome fashion.
The Elvish warriors hadn't been merely killed, it looked more like they had been slaughtered. All over the clearing there were bodies whose limbs had been literally ripped off, chopped off heads, disemboweling remains, some bodies were split in half or simply reduced to torsos. The sickeningly sweet stench of blood was in the air, and the forest floor was all in that blackish red colour of clotted blood. Among the bodies Aragorn caught the gleams of blades and knifes.
This hadn't been killing, it had been a carnage. Whoever had done this had poured all his hatred on the bodies of the dead, intent to mutilate them and destroying the beauty of the fairest beings af Middle Earth.
Aragorn slid off his horse, steading himself on it as his knees threatened to give away under him. He clung on his reins, afraid of what he might find if he ventured further into the clearing.
"Ada..." [Dad] whimpering his son clung to the mane of his horse, his face pale and drawn in shock and pain. A sob broke, more followed until he was shacking with sobs and breathing raggedly.
Aragorn was completely frozen, unable to move, unable to comfort his son. In a distant part of his brain he was aware of his son's sobbing and the soothing sounds from Gimli who was craddling Eldarion and rocking him like a small child. In a distant part of his brain he was very grateful to his friend for that.
"What happened here, Aragorn?" Gimli whispered hoarsely.
Aragorn licked his lips. Gimli's words seemed to waken him from his trance. With an effort he tore his eyes from the massacre and turned towards him.
" I don't know."
Drawn as if by an invisible lead he ventured into the clearing, careful not to step on any parts of a body. With each step the ground made a sucking sound as it was soaking wet with blood.
*How many have died?* The bodies were strewn all over the clearing, it looked as if it had been dozens of elves. But Aragorn knew from experience that a border patrol usually consisted of eight to ten warriors, and the company to greet him about fifteen.
*If this is the patrol Legolas led to meet us..*.He didn't even want to finish this thought, utterly terrified of what it implied. Suddenly he found himself making up a hundred of reasons why Legolas had been kept from coming to meet him personally, as he had always done on the numerous occasions before, discarding each and every one at once, knowing all to well that nothing could have kept the Elf from doing so. Nothing short of death.
As he moved through the bodies a glimpse of white caught his eye. It was the ebony handle of a long knife. A very well-known knife. One that together with its twin had guarded his back uncountable times. Automatically he bent down to retrieve it. *How odd of Legolas to leave his knife lying around. He's so tidy..* The thought struck him hard, he felt his heart stop as he realized what he had been thinking. He stared hard at the kinfe in his hand unwilling to look at the filigrane engravings, to read the Elvish runes: Legolas Thranduilion, Caun o Eryn Lasgalen [Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of Greenwood]
A twig snapped, and Aragorn whirled around, swinging the knife, ready to thrust it into anybody lurking behind him.
Gimli stopped abruptly, instinctively bringing up his axe to block the swipe of the knife. Metall clattered against metall. The point of the knife was very few inches from his throat, steady, unwavering. But it didn't slide forward to meet him as it had been intended to. He swallowed and allowed his gaze to leave the knife and wander upwards, toward the King's face.
Aragorn blinked. There was not a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he stared down at him. He shook his head as if to dispel something. Slowly, ever slowly Aragorn let his arm drop, still clutching the knife tightly.
Gimly allowed himself the breath out, only now realizing that he had been holding his breath. He had not intended to sneak up on Aragorn, certainly not here, not now. But the years spent traveling with the Elf and the former Ranger had made Gimly acquire a lot of stealth.
Suddenly his heart stopped beating. He could feel it bursting. Following Aragorn's slow relaxing movement Gimli's eyes fell on the knife.
Trembling he reached out to stroke the engravings only to flinch and withdraw his fingers as if being burnt.
"The coat of arms of the house of Oropher..." His voice broke.
"Legolas is here, Gimli."
Aragorn shuddered at those words. Suddenly it dawned him that it had been himself to utter them. He was completely stunned.
His eyes locked with Gimli's, it was like looking into a mirror. In Gimli's eyes he saw the same turmoil of emotions which threatened to drown him: confusion, disbelief, anger, pain and grief...Immense grief. He felt like someone was tearing his heart in two, slowly, cruelly, ruthlessly. An agony swept over him, washing away reality and sanity. *Maybe that's like to be mad...* he wondered idly. He certainly felt as if the rational part of his brain was standing beside him, interestedly observing and analyzing him. *Yes, you're mad.*
"Where?"
Yanked back to reality Aragorn looked around him. He had retrieved the knife from beneath two darkhaired Elves, so they certainly couldn't be him. They had to be Noldorian. From Imladris. He looked at them, but they were not reconisable. At least at first sight. And he didn't want to find out at the moment, either. He didn't have the strength to find more dead friends at any rate. Childhood friends, Elves who had been his companions and mentors. By sheer force of will he overstepped the bodies and let his gaze sweep over the site. As far as he could see all the elves wore the colours of Eryn Feredron, green and grey. It had been a clever compromise of Legolas, green being one of the coulours of the Silvan Elves, grey one of the colours both the Galadhrim and the Rinvendell Elves wore.
He walked through the site, discarding the darkhaired Noldorians, stooping over the fair-haired ones, always discarding them as Galadhrim as he saw them wearing armoury. Legolas was Silvan, they never wore armour, not even in war. Gimli and him had to literally beat Legolas into waering armour at Helm's Deep.
From time to time he would bend over a Silvan Elf, only to find that he was too short, too tall, didn't have the right frame. Each time tensing and then sighing relievedly, feeling guilty for doing so.
After a few minutes he came to the fringes of the battle-field. Another Silvan Elf. This time with the right height and the right frame. A look at his face send a wave of nausea washing over him. So far he had been able to stomach the sight of the mutilated bodies, but now... Were once there had been and undoubtedly handsome face now a bloody mass had taken its place, grey eyes looking accusingly at him. Aragorn's inside were in a turmoil, heaving and twisting, only to turn to ice as his eyes fell on the Elf's hand. He was clutching the twin of the knife Aragorn was holding at the moment. The same engravings. There was no doubt. Legolas.
Unable to stand any longer Aragorn dropped on his knees, using the knife to support himself.
"I'm sorry my friend. I'm sorry I'm too late. I failed you."
Gimli had followed Aragorn, each time holding his breath as he bend over the Elves and allowing himself to breath again when they were discarded. With every Elf discarded Gimli's apprehension grew, as well the hope that somehow his dearest friend was not to be found among the dead, that he might have escaped. Although he knew that the idea was ridiculous he clung at it desperately, for hope was the last thing to loose.
Suddenly Aragorn dropped to his knees.
This could only mean one thing.
"Legolas." He felt as if someone had dealt him a blow to his stomach. He doubled up. *No, this can't be. That Elf... He can't be dead. He won't dare to die without my permission. Oh, if this infuriating treecuddler is dead, I'll kill him myself. I'll have his hide dried and salted...* Not caring that his thoughts didn't make any sense he stepped forward. A cracking sound made him look down. He almost wished he hadn't, for he was standing on a bow. Legolas' bow.
Hastily he stepped down. The bow had been snapped in two, unable to bear the Dwarf's weight. Gimli picked it up gently, craddling it against his chest.
"Aragorn...I broke his bow...I... He'll have my hide for this...He..."
"He's dead. We came to late, Gimli."
Gimli looked at him. HIs vision was blurred. Blurred from the tears stinging in his eyes. From the tears rolling down his cheeks, leaving hot streaks on their way.
An anger like never before seized the King. With a quick movement he straightened, unsheathing Anduril, the sword that had been broken and reforged, he held it high above his head, pointing at the sky.
"Im, Aragorn Arathornion, Aran Elessar Telcontar o Gondor, i Edhelharn, gweston, ah sereg nîn, annathan i-acharn Legolas! Gurth an chorth! Gurth an chorth Edhil o Eryn Feredron!"
[I, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar of the House of Telcontar of Gondor, the Elfstone, I swear by my blood, I will avenge you! Death to the enemy, Death to the enemy of the Elves of Eryn Feredron!]
He stood there, tall, proud. A King terrible to behold. Terrible in his wrath.
"Aye. Gurth an chorth i Edhil! [Death to the foes of the elves.]"
At the words Aragorn turned around. There stood Eldarion, his son. His face flushed from the tears, and extremely pale under the red spots. His eyes were wide, but it weren't the wide frightened eyes of a child. His silvery eyes were smouldering, burning with hatred. The hatred was so intense it sent shivers crawling down Aragon's spine. For a moment he understood what it meant to have the wrath of the elves descend upon you. *Oh my son. I wish I could trade my life to make you forget this.* Aragorn shuddered. No child should see this, it was horrible enough to break a warrior, more so a child. But looking into his son's eyes he knew that it would not break his son. But he didn't find his son in these eyes either. He only found hatred. Shivering he reached out at his son, embracing him tightly, feeling immensely relieved as his embrace was returned as tightly.
"Ion nîn... I'm sorry." [my son]
How long both were standing there, embracing each other, he didn't know. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. He did not know nor did he care. It just felt good to hold his son.
Footsteps approaching made him turn round. It was time for Strider to retreat and King Elessar to take his place.
"Your majesty...My King..." Yardil, his Captain, stopped hesitantly, not knowing if he was intruding.
"Report." Aragorn spoke curtly, not trusting his voice to form longer words.
Yardil swallowed hard. "We've counted sixteen bodies so far. At least we think there are sixteen. Some are... in a condition..." he cleared his throat, waiting his King to bid him to continue. Aragorn nodded again. "Three Elves are outside the clearing, they obviously tried to escape. They didn't get far. We haven't found any trace of the attackers, no blood, no bodies, no... no footprints. Nothing at all. It's like them vanishing into thin air. This is clearly not the work of Orcs."
"No, not Orcs. If it had been Orcs the clearing would been strewn with thrice the number of dead Orc bodies. *And Legolas wouldn't let himself be killed by Orcs* Even... Even them wouldn't have committed such a carnage. Besides they wouldn't leave the bodies. They wouldn't let food lying around." Gimli cut in.
"Whatever did this took them completely unaware. I think black magic is involved. Otherwise this..."
Aragorn nodded again, acquiescing the information. Whatever had done this had been able to defeat some of the finest warriors of Middle Earth. It reeked of black magic and Mordor.
"Lasser. Kelbil. Finled. Ride to Eryn Feredron, give notice to the Elves of this. Inform the border patrols you encounter and send them to meet us, we may need their help. Go!" The three men nodded and jumped on their horses, leaving the clearing at breakneck speed, as if pursued by Sauron himself.
Addressing the rest of his men he began barking orders.
"Find sticks to make stretchers. Use the bedrolls. Gather the bodies, wrap them in the blankets."
Soon the whole company was bustling, busy with the jobs, relieved to have something to do to take their minds from the gruesome surroundings, an oppurtinity to escape.
Gimli brought his blanket, gently wrapping his friend's body in it. Aragorn took one of the banners off his standards, and wrapped it aound him, too. He lifted the bundle and placed it on his horse. When he had mounted it he put his arms in front of him, craddling him, like the many times he had done when Legolas had been injured and Aragorn had to take him either to Imladris or to Mirkwood. Only this time not even the healing abilities of Lord Elrond would help him.
Quickly the stretchers had been made and the bundles laid on them, the weapons collected. As some of the bodies were unrecognisable, maybe the weapons could give some comfort to the realtives. Maybe.
"Everything`s ready? Well, then, let's go. Company, MARCH!"
And the company set in motion.
TBC...
Yes, I know, I'm evil, destroying all these pretty Elves like this, but... I'm sure I have orcish ancestors somewhere...mwahahahaha...
You see this beautiful button down here? It's a nice button. IT'S YOUR FRIEND. It needs your affection. So, please, press the button ;-)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. ANYTHING AT ALL...*sniff*
ATHELAS/ DOT: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, you're both my first reviewers! *hugs you fiercely, squeezing the air out of you* I'm happy you liked the first chapter! I'm afraid this one is a very dark one, but I don't intend to keep the humour from popping out of the bag. There will be humourous chapters (humourous in my dreams), too, when it fits the story, but it will be mainly adventure and angst, lots of angst. But everybody knows that our friends are very prone to banter... and Elves are very mischievous creatures...;-)
WARNING: This chapter contents violent images, so don't read it if you have a weak stomach. I'm not to be held responsible for damaged screens or keyboards, so please don't sue...
Since English is not my first language I appreciate any kind of advise and corrections.
ENJOY, PLZ R&R!!!
Chapter 2: ELVISH BLOOD HAS BEEN SHED TODAY
"Elvish blood has been shed today..."
The words still rang in Aragorn's ears, leaving a dreadful feeling. As he unsheathed his sword he heard his men follow his example immediately. Within a second the whole company, 30 soldiers all in all, was battle-ready, some holding swords, others bows with arrows nocked, ready to fell anything that dared to come within reach.
Gimli moved closer to Eldarion, his battle-axe firmly in both his hands.
The guards positioned themselves closer around the king and his heir, forming a protective circle. Everybody would fight until their last breath to hold this position.
Something was definitely wrong. It was not only the lack of sounds. Now that he thought of it, they were already well into Elvish territorry, and by now they should have encoutered a border patrol,usually led by Legolas himself.
Yes, it was the lack of Elvish presence that unnerved him at most.
The company rode on, warily eyeing the surrounding trees, attentive at any sound or shadow. But there was no trace of life at all.
As they arrived at a big clearing they saw it.
Aragorn had had his share of violent death, seeing more corpses in more conditions than he cared to remember. But most certainly he had never encountered anything like this. The mere sight made him violently sick. He could hear some of his men retching. Before him laid a whole Elvish border patrol, or the remains of it. From the condition of the bodies he could tell that they had met their death only a few hours ago.
And they had met it in the most gruesome fashion.
The Elvish warriors hadn't been merely killed, it looked more like they had been slaughtered. All over the clearing there were bodies whose limbs had been literally ripped off, chopped off heads, disemboweling remains, some bodies were split in half or simply reduced to torsos. The sickeningly sweet stench of blood was in the air, and the forest floor was all in that blackish red colour of clotted blood. Among the bodies Aragorn caught the gleams of blades and knifes.
This hadn't been killing, it had been a carnage. Whoever had done this had poured all his hatred on the bodies of the dead, intent to mutilate them and destroying the beauty of the fairest beings af Middle Earth.
Aragorn slid off his horse, steading himself on it as his knees threatened to give away under him. He clung on his reins, afraid of what he might find if he ventured further into the clearing.
"Ada..." [Dad] whimpering his son clung to the mane of his horse, his face pale and drawn in shock and pain. A sob broke, more followed until he was shacking with sobs and breathing raggedly.
Aragorn was completely frozen, unable to move, unable to comfort his son. In a distant part of his brain he was aware of his son's sobbing and the soothing sounds from Gimli who was craddling Eldarion and rocking him like a small child. In a distant part of his brain he was very grateful to his friend for that.
"What happened here, Aragorn?" Gimli whispered hoarsely.
Aragorn licked his lips. Gimli's words seemed to waken him from his trance. With an effort he tore his eyes from the massacre and turned towards him.
" I don't know."
Drawn as if by an invisible lead he ventured into the clearing, careful not to step on any parts of a body. With each step the ground made a sucking sound as it was soaking wet with blood.
*How many have died?* The bodies were strewn all over the clearing, it looked as if it had been dozens of elves. But Aragorn knew from experience that a border patrol usually consisted of eight to ten warriors, and the company to greet him about fifteen.
*If this is the patrol Legolas led to meet us..*.He didn't even want to finish this thought, utterly terrified of what it implied. Suddenly he found himself making up a hundred of reasons why Legolas had been kept from coming to meet him personally, as he had always done on the numerous occasions before, discarding each and every one at once, knowing all to well that nothing could have kept the Elf from doing so. Nothing short of death.
As he moved through the bodies a glimpse of white caught his eye. It was the ebony handle of a long knife. A very well-known knife. One that together with its twin had guarded his back uncountable times. Automatically he bent down to retrieve it. *How odd of Legolas to leave his knife lying around. He's so tidy..* The thought struck him hard, he felt his heart stop as he realized what he had been thinking. He stared hard at the kinfe in his hand unwilling to look at the filigrane engravings, to read the Elvish runes: Legolas Thranduilion, Caun o Eryn Lasgalen [Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of Greenwood]
A twig snapped, and Aragorn whirled around, swinging the knife, ready to thrust it into anybody lurking behind him.
Gimli stopped abruptly, instinctively bringing up his axe to block the swipe of the knife. Metall clattered against metall. The point of the knife was very few inches from his throat, steady, unwavering. But it didn't slide forward to meet him as it had been intended to. He swallowed and allowed his gaze to leave the knife and wander upwards, toward the King's face.
Aragorn blinked. There was not a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he stared down at him. He shook his head as if to dispel something. Slowly, ever slowly Aragorn let his arm drop, still clutching the knife tightly.
Gimly allowed himself the breath out, only now realizing that he had been holding his breath. He had not intended to sneak up on Aragorn, certainly not here, not now. But the years spent traveling with the Elf and the former Ranger had made Gimly acquire a lot of stealth.
Suddenly his heart stopped beating. He could feel it bursting. Following Aragorn's slow relaxing movement Gimli's eyes fell on the knife.
Trembling he reached out to stroke the engravings only to flinch and withdraw his fingers as if being burnt.
"The coat of arms of the house of Oropher..." His voice broke.
"Legolas is here, Gimli."
Aragorn shuddered at those words. Suddenly it dawned him that it had been himself to utter them. He was completely stunned.
His eyes locked with Gimli's, it was like looking into a mirror. In Gimli's eyes he saw the same turmoil of emotions which threatened to drown him: confusion, disbelief, anger, pain and grief...Immense grief. He felt like someone was tearing his heart in two, slowly, cruelly, ruthlessly. An agony swept over him, washing away reality and sanity. *Maybe that's like to be mad...* he wondered idly. He certainly felt as if the rational part of his brain was standing beside him, interestedly observing and analyzing him. *Yes, you're mad.*
"Where?"
Yanked back to reality Aragorn looked around him. He had retrieved the knife from beneath two darkhaired Elves, so they certainly couldn't be him. They had to be Noldorian. From Imladris. He looked at them, but they were not reconisable. At least at first sight. And he didn't want to find out at the moment, either. He didn't have the strength to find more dead friends at any rate. Childhood friends, Elves who had been his companions and mentors. By sheer force of will he overstepped the bodies and let his gaze sweep over the site. As far as he could see all the elves wore the colours of Eryn Feredron, green and grey. It had been a clever compromise of Legolas, green being one of the coulours of the Silvan Elves, grey one of the colours both the Galadhrim and the Rinvendell Elves wore.
He walked through the site, discarding the darkhaired Noldorians, stooping over the fair-haired ones, always discarding them as Galadhrim as he saw them wearing armoury. Legolas was Silvan, they never wore armour, not even in war. Gimli and him had to literally beat Legolas into waering armour at Helm's Deep.
From time to time he would bend over a Silvan Elf, only to find that he was too short, too tall, didn't have the right frame. Each time tensing and then sighing relievedly, feeling guilty for doing so.
After a few minutes he came to the fringes of the battle-field. Another Silvan Elf. This time with the right height and the right frame. A look at his face send a wave of nausea washing over him. So far he had been able to stomach the sight of the mutilated bodies, but now... Were once there had been and undoubtedly handsome face now a bloody mass had taken its place, grey eyes looking accusingly at him. Aragorn's inside were in a turmoil, heaving and twisting, only to turn to ice as his eyes fell on the Elf's hand. He was clutching the twin of the knife Aragorn was holding at the moment. The same engravings. There was no doubt. Legolas.
Unable to stand any longer Aragorn dropped on his knees, using the knife to support himself.
"I'm sorry my friend. I'm sorry I'm too late. I failed you."
Gimli had followed Aragorn, each time holding his breath as he bend over the Elves and allowing himself to breath again when they were discarded. With every Elf discarded Gimli's apprehension grew, as well the hope that somehow his dearest friend was not to be found among the dead, that he might have escaped. Although he knew that the idea was ridiculous he clung at it desperately, for hope was the last thing to loose.
Suddenly Aragorn dropped to his knees.
This could only mean one thing.
"Legolas." He felt as if someone had dealt him a blow to his stomach. He doubled up. *No, this can't be. That Elf... He can't be dead. He won't dare to die without my permission. Oh, if this infuriating treecuddler is dead, I'll kill him myself. I'll have his hide dried and salted...* Not caring that his thoughts didn't make any sense he stepped forward. A cracking sound made him look down. He almost wished he hadn't, for he was standing on a bow. Legolas' bow.
Hastily he stepped down. The bow had been snapped in two, unable to bear the Dwarf's weight. Gimli picked it up gently, craddling it against his chest.
"Aragorn...I broke his bow...I... He'll have my hide for this...He..."
"He's dead. We came to late, Gimli."
Gimli looked at him. HIs vision was blurred. Blurred from the tears stinging in his eyes. From the tears rolling down his cheeks, leaving hot streaks on their way.
An anger like never before seized the King. With a quick movement he straightened, unsheathing Anduril, the sword that had been broken and reforged, he held it high above his head, pointing at the sky.
"Im, Aragorn Arathornion, Aran Elessar Telcontar o Gondor, i Edhelharn, gweston, ah sereg nîn, annathan i-acharn Legolas! Gurth an chorth! Gurth an chorth Edhil o Eryn Feredron!"
[I, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar of the House of Telcontar of Gondor, the Elfstone, I swear by my blood, I will avenge you! Death to the enemy, Death to the enemy of the Elves of Eryn Feredron!]
He stood there, tall, proud. A King terrible to behold. Terrible in his wrath.
"Aye. Gurth an chorth i Edhil! [Death to the foes of the elves.]"
At the words Aragorn turned around. There stood Eldarion, his son. His face flushed from the tears, and extremely pale under the red spots. His eyes were wide, but it weren't the wide frightened eyes of a child. His silvery eyes were smouldering, burning with hatred. The hatred was so intense it sent shivers crawling down Aragon's spine. For a moment he understood what it meant to have the wrath of the elves descend upon you. *Oh my son. I wish I could trade my life to make you forget this.* Aragorn shuddered. No child should see this, it was horrible enough to break a warrior, more so a child. But looking into his son's eyes he knew that it would not break his son. But he didn't find his son in these eyes either. He only found hatred. Shivering he reached out at his son, embracing him tightly, feeling immensely relieved as his embrace was returned as tightly.
"Ion nîn... I'm sorry." [my son]
How long both were standing there, embracing each other, he didn't know. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. He did not know nor did he care. It just felt good to hold his son.
Footsteps approaching made him turn round. It was time for Strider to retreat and King Elessar to take his place.
"Your majesty...My King..." Yardil, his Captain, stopped hesitantly, not knowing if he was intruding.
"Report." Aragorn spoke curtly, not trusting his voice to form longer words.
Yardil swallowed hard. "We've counted sixteen bodies so far. At least we think there are sixteen. Some are... in a condition..." he cleared his throat, waiting his King to bid him to continue. Aragorn nodded again. "Three Elves are outside the clearing, they obviously tried to escape. They didn't get far. We haven't found any trace of the attackers, no blood, no bodies, no... no footprints. Nothing at all. It's like them vanishing into thin air. This is clearly not the work of Orcs."
"No, not Orcs. If it had been Orcs the clearing would been strewn with thrice the number of dead Orc bodies. *And Legolas wouldn't let himself be killed by Orcs* Even... Even them wouldn't have committed such a carnage. Besides they wouldn't leave the bodies. They wouldn't let food lying around." Gimli cut in.
"Whatever did this took them completely unaware. I think black magic is involved. Otherwise this..."
Aragorn nodded again, acquiescing the information. Whatever had done this had been able to defeat some of the finest warriors of Middle Earth. It reeked of black magic and Mordor.
"Lasser. Kelbil. Finled. Ride to Eryn Feredron, give notice to the Elves of this. Inform the border patrols you encounter and send them to meet us, we may need their help. Go!" The three men nodded and jumped on their horses, leaving the clearing at breakneck speed, as if pursued by Sauron himself.
Addressing the rest of his men he began barking orders.
"Find sticks to make stretchers. Use the bedrolls. Gather the bodies, wrap them in the blankets."
Soon the whole company was bustling, busy with the jobs, relieved to have something to do to take their minds from the gruesome surroundings, an oppurtinity to escape.
Gimli brought his blanket, gently wrapping his friend's body in it. Aragorn took one of the banners off his standards, and wrapped it aound him, too. He lifted the bundle and placed it on his horse. When he had mounted it he put his arms in front of him, craddling him, like the many times he had done when Legolas had been injured and Aragorn had to take him either to Imladris or to Mirkwood. Only this time not even the healing abilities of Lord Elrond would help him.
Quickly the stretchers had been made and the bundles laid on them, the weapons collected. As some of the bodies were unrecognisable, maybe the weapons could give some comfort to the realtives. Maybe.
"Everything`s ready? Well, then, let's go. Company, MARCH!"
And the company set in motion.
TBC...
Yes, I know, I'm evil, destroying all these pretty Elves like this, but... I'm sure I have orcish ancestors somewhere...mwahahahaha...
You see this beautiful button down here? It's a nice button. IT'S YOUR FRIEND. It needs your affection. So, please, press the button ;-)