Hey everyone. Sorry, this took so long to get out, but a lot of things have been going on, including my first semester in college. Here is chapter 6 of this story, and thank you to all the people who reviewed to chapter 5. I'll be more specific in my thanks at the end of the chapter.
[A/N 1] I was reading the story to get myself back into the groove and remind myself of what exactly was going on, and I noticed, to my dismay, that in chapter 5 I had named one of the traitorous guards Beregond, which just happens to be the name of Aragorn's captain. That was not intentional, at all. So, let us just say that he isn't the same person as Beregond III.
[A/N 2] Elvish translations are at the end of the chapter.
CHAPTER SIX"Estel," Arwen pleaded, grasping the sleeve of her husband's shirt. "Melethnín, saes togtiriths." Her urgent request in her native tongue brought Aragorn's attention away from the leather ties on the front of his tunic. "Im gosta…"
"Shhh," Aragorn tried to soothe her. "I cannot bring more guards, as we need to travel quickly and possibly in secrecy," he explained, replying in Westron to also benefit Éowyn as she fretted over Faramir's safety. "Gimli, Faramir, and I are all experienced warriors, you know this. Eldarion and Legolas need us to hurry."
"You can do them no help if you do not reach them," Éowyn snapped, tears glistening in her eyes from both fear and anger.
"It takes precious time to prepare an escort," Aragorn answered as he fastened the broach of his cloak and strapped his sword to his side. "Arwen," he glanced at his wife, "if it lessens your worries, prepare an escort and have them follow us, but we must leave now. You are in charge while I'm gone."
"I will send an escort," Arwen replied, finally seeming to acquiesce to Aragorn's departure. Her face was still weary with a frown and sad eyes, but she didn't protest any further. When Aragorn and his two companions were ready to part, Arwen leaned up and kissed her husband quickly on the lips. "Be safe."
"I will," he assured her. He looked over to where Faramir was experiencing a similar parting from Éowyn. Gimli stood just off to the side, looking rather impatient. "Come, Faramir, Gimli. We must make haste. Already an hour closes upon the time you last saw Eldarion or Legolas." Faramir pressed a chaste kiss to Éowyn's lips and then pulled away, moving towards the door. Aragorn and Gimli followed suit. As the thick doors closed behind the three males, Arwen and Éowyn turned to each other with twin looks of distress. Arwen once again felt tears welling up in her eyes.
"My son," she whispered hoarsely. Éowyn heard her small cry and moved to draw her into a hug, wishing she could remove some of her friend's pain. It must be horrible to have your child missing, unsure of how the child fared, or even if the child still lived.
*
Mhrenel was faced with a tough decision. Narndil had only told him to hide in Fangorn until word was sent that King Elessar had abdicated and left the country. Mhrenel had no problem with remaining in the dense trees for an extended period of time, even though most people thought the woods were cursed. Stupid people, he sneered to himself. So easy to trick, to lie to, to control…
No, the problem that Mhrenel had with waiting in Fangorn was how to get there. Narndil, the mastermind behind the plan, had failed to advise his best man on how to get to the dark trees. The most direct route would take them still at least four days, and take them nearer to Edoras than Mhrenel ever wanted to go. The close alliance between Rohan and Gondor would serve to be a great obstacle should the group of kidnappers be stopped by any of the Rohirrim, and King Éomer would not be very forthcoming with mercy once it was discovered they had the Gondorian prince. Not only that, but Rohan was a large, dry plain that offered little in the idea of shelter and disguise. They would be spotted from far off.
On the other hand, to stay along the lightly wooded banks of the Anduin would add another day and a half to their flight, leaving them out in the open for even longer, yet less likely to be seen. They had enough provisions to last them, and they could always hunt once they reached the woods, but more rest would be required for the horses. Mhrenel also feared that it would easier for the following guard to track them in the wooded areas, as there were more plants and softer dirt to disturb. He did not want to aide the King of Gondor in any way. Weighing the consequences of both routes, Mhrenel finally decided to reach the woods as soon as possible. They would ride through Rohan.
"Men!" he called, turning his horse to face the waiting riders. The four others turned to look at him, their dirty faces impatient. "We ride Northwest, and enter Fangorn from the most direct route."
"Mhrenel!" the man who held Eldarion shouted to their leader. "The prince begins to wake."
"Keep his mouth shut. Should we be stopped by the Rohirrim, do not let it be discovered that he is Gondor's prince," Mhrenel instructed. "Make him obey you." His last words were harsh, and the dark man, called Talmere, understood the order to punish the youth for any hamper he tried to put on their plans. He knew that whether the King abdicated or not they were going to kill the boy, and Eldarion didn't have to be able to walk for them to do it.
"Why're we riskin' tha Rohirrim?" another man, Binthin asked. His black eyes narrowed at their leader.
"It is the quickest route, and unless you know of another way to reach Fangorn in less than four days, feel free to tell me, because I don't," Mhrenel snapped angrily.
"I do not, but still…"
"I shall not have anyone questioning my judgment," Mhrenel yelled, moving his horse closer to Binthin's. "The next man to not follow my orders exactly as given will immediately be run through with a sword. Understood?"
"Yes," the four men chorused nervously. Mhrenel was not someone they wanted to anger.
"Good," he said, sitting back slightly in his saddle. He acted as through he was going to return to the front of the group, but suddenly he drew his sword and lunged it forward. Before the other three men could comprehend what was happening, Binthin's lifeless body was hitting the hard ground, blood flowing freely from the hole in his chest. "Do not forget," Mhrenel glowered, wiping his bloody sword on the saddle pad of Binthin's nervous horse, and then he did ride ahead.
"I sho' won't," Talmere muttered under his breath. Mhrenel looked back at the man.
"Talmere," he barked. For a second the dark man feared that Mhrenel had heard his comment and was going to end him the same way as Binthin. "Tie the boy to the horse securely," he ordered. Talmere let out a relieved breath and moved quickly to do what Mhrenel said. The prince was already murmuring illegible things and starting to move, and Talmere was glad to be rid of his burden. He slid off of his horse and walked over to Binthin's. Eldarion was placed over the saddle, laying on his stomach, so Talmere could tie his wrists to one side of the saddle and his ankles to the other. The boy could not slid off the horse, nor move much at all. With the task finished, Talmere took the dead man's horse's reins and remounted his own horse, ready to travel.
"Let us ride," Mhrenel said. "We have wasted enough time here." He kicked his horse and the beast surged forward. The other four horses followed the leader, who set a quick pace. The body of Binthin was left behind for the wargs and maggots.
*
Legolas used his appropriated sword to knock one man off his horse while dodging a blow from another. Allowing himself to become immersed in the battle, Legolas was able to sense his opponents moves before they even started them, so he successfully danced through their swords, striking back and never taking a hit himself. The men were worthy opponents, but Legolas had nearly three thousand years on them, and the whole experience with the Fellowship to aid him. Methodically, he unhorsed the remaining men, trying not to kill them, but not compromising himself to their blades, either.
Near the end of the fight one man managed to pick himself up from his fall to the ground and retrieved his sword. He lunged towards the elf, swinging the curved blade at the level of Legolas' shoulders. Legolas barely ducked, and, feeling the movement of air behind the blade, turned to thrust his own sword through the man's bowels. The man, mad with bloodlust and blinded by adrenaline, would not be defeated so easily. With one bloody, sweaty hand, he caught the handle of the sword, preventing Legolas from withdrawing it and using it to defend himself further.
In a brief moment of confusion, Legolas locked gazes with the dying man, whose dark eyes seemed to laugh at the immortal even as they clouded over with death. That single moment almost cost him the battle, but Legolas caught the reflection of another man raising his sword behind him in the glassy eyes of the dying man. Legolas, bemoaned at the loss of his best weapon, released it, dropped into a sideways roll, and dodged the incoming blow. Mid-roll, he pulled the dagger from his boot and used the momentum from his roll to lift up and stab the man in the chest. Blood spurted from his mouth and caught Legolas on the front of his tunic. The elf allowed himself one truly horrified look of disgust before he was side-stepping another blow, spinning, stabbing, and then standing in the middle of a circle of fallen men. Only one man remained standing, or rather sitting on his horse's back, for he had not joined in the battle readily. Legolas, with his chest heaving from exertion, eyed the man warily. The man glared back, tightening his hold on the beast's reins.
"You fight well, my immortal brethren," the man spoke, his voice raspy.
"Do not waste your breath trying to plead your case, foul schemer," Legolas answered. "You shall need it shortly."
"I sit here upon a horse, refreshed, and you stand before me, exhausted from battle. For what should I save my breath?"
"All men speak pretty when they know they cannot prove themselves with skill," Legolas shot back. "You overestimate while you underestimate."
"I shall show you skill!" the man bellowed, irritated that the elf did not blanche under his supremacy. He yanked hard on the horse's reins, forcing the stallion to rear up on its hind legs. When the horses' forelegs touched the ground again, it was galloping towards the elf, armed with only a dagger.
Legolas eyed the approaching horse carefully, trying to judge the angle, the speed, and the force that the attack would come with. Leaning back slightly, Legolas prepared himself for the strike that should fell his attacker. Duck as the man charged by, then rise, turn, and implant the dagger in his back. The timing had to be just right.
At the last second, the rider jerked the reins of the horse, sending it almost on top of the elf. Legolas reacted instantly, but the move was unexpected and his dagger caught the stallion across the chest. Enraged, the powerful horse skidded to a stop and began bucking, his hind legs aiming for the one who had cut him.
"Daro! Sîdh roch mellon!" Legolas tried to appease the horse, but the stallion had faced many years of torment by its cruel masters, and cared not for the worried voice of the elf. Legolas tried to evade the kicking hindquarters, but the horse caught his left shoulder with a shoed hoof.
Legolas could not hold back the cry of pain as fire erupted in his shoulder, and he felt as if his arm had been ripped from his body. The off-center strike sent him tumbling in a circle to land on his knees, clutching his injured shoulder painfully. As soon as the fire from the initial attack faded, Legolas discovered a new pain just below his neck, and realized with dismay that the blow had probably broken his collarbone as well. Dizziness welled up behind his eyes and Legolas shook his head to try to clear it. Hectic thought were scattered across his mind, but he did remember to look for the man who had been riding the horse. The man was lying a few yards away, having been thrown from the horse while it bucked, neck most likely snapped during the fall. The abused stallion was leaving a trail of dust in its wake as it galloped across the plain, but Legolas knew it would not survive long with its injury.
I must get away from this mess, and to the trees where I can move, unseen, Legolas thought. I have lost sight and sound of Eldarion, but the trail should not be hard to follow. He stood slowly, biting down a groan at the ache in his left side. He needed to make a sling for his arm so as not to upset the broken collarbone, but the only material he had on him was his blood-spattered tunic and undershirt. He could not even rip a piece off with one hand, and his left was unusable. Sighing, Legolas opened the top of his tunic as much as he could and rested his left wrist in the V that the neckline provided, hoping that it would be enough to support the arm until he could get help.
Legolas knew he wanted to follow Eldarion, but reason made him pause. He was injured, weaponless, and alone. Should he be attacked again, he doubted he would come out the victor. However, to turn back to Gondor would admit defeat, and possibly the loss of Gondor's only prince. I shall keep going, Legolas decided. He had faith that his elvish healing abilities would aid him in recovering quickly. He would not catch up with the riders today, but at least he could walk in the same direction they were headed.
tbc…
Translations: (All Elvish is Sindarin)
saes togtiriths : please bring guards
Im gosta: I am afraid [lit. I have dread]
Sîdh roch mellon: Peace horse friend
Thanks Reviewers:
Niani: Sorry my definition of soon seems to be as vague as Gimli would accuse the elves' of being! Here it is though, and I don't think this is a cliffhanger. J
Faer: Nope, not this time, but I don't even know what's happening in chapter 7, let alone later. J
Gemstone: Good idea. I'll keep it in mind. J
Cantora Eldhwen: Thanks for the encouragement and the suggestions. I went back through this chapter looking specifically for bad Middle-Earth language. J