Now, please enjoy while I lock myself outside and scream. Good day.
Chapter 19
Again We Meet
Legolas gasped in surprise as he suddenly felt himself falling, the world rotating around him. Pain sparked up his legs, followed by a hard, unyielding clap on the back that knocked the air out of his lungs. Fire crawled up his back as he slid, then started tumbling, the incline he landed on doing nothing to halt his momentum, and he rolled down and down, his surroundings spinning nauseatingly around him. He flailed through the pain to try and stop his unpleasant trip.
Moments or an eternity later, he did not care, but when he finally stopped, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees and looked around. The world turned idly around him before settling back down into its accustomed space, and he blinked his eyes a couple times to clear his vision.
The elf prince found himself in a depression, with the hill continuing down for several more feet, little grass growing around him and the trees leaning towards the ground, away from the mountain. A harsh wind made them sway dangerously and a bold flash of lightning split the sky just above the mountain followed quickly by a deafening crack of thunder. Wide blue eyes scanned the ground for Aragorn, searching frantically for his friend.
Just as he was about to panic (a voice laughed maniacally inside his head at that admission), he spotted the young man at the base of a tree, even filthier than he had been (if that were possible) and his clothing so far past irredeemable that it was conceivable that the articles of clothing could see the days when they had been new.
Painfully, he crawled to his friend's side, and slowly rolled him onto his back so he could get a better look at the young man. "Aragorn," he breathed. A trembling hand rested on his chest as worried eyes scanned his face. "Aragorn, wake up." The chest beneath him rose and fell, but the silence was too familiar, too terrifyingly familiar, and panic once again assailed him. He shook his friend, rocking him back and forth. And cried urgently, "Aragorn!"
The human groaned, his eyes fluttering weakly. Legolas sighed in relief, and the human's head turned toward the sound, though his eyes remained shut. A wavery smile split the elf's lips. "Strider. Open your eyes, you stubborn Dúnadan."
Slowly, bleary silver eyes opened and gazed at the elf, or rather, in his general direction. "Let's not do that again," he wheezed weakly, then started coughing, the sound dry and feeble even as it jerked the human's body painfully.
Legolas soothed his friend the best he could, rubbing his chest soothingly until the fit ceased. "Sh," he quieted. "Don't speak. There is much we need to catch up on, but not just yet."
Aragorn nodded, and did his best to look around while lying down with a tree obscuring part of his view. "We need to move," he breathed, the words more an impression of sound than anything else, but Legolas heard him just the same.
"Aye. But I cannot carry you. Were you injured?" Legolas nearly laughed at his own question after what he said sank in and was surprised when Aragorn did not, thinking it an inane thing to say after what had just happened.
To his disbelief, Aragorn shook his head. "No."
"No?!" he cried. "How 'no'?"
Aragorn smiled, and might have laughed save that he wisely suspected it would turn into another coughing fit. Talking was task enough, and even then he could feel the coughs building in his throat. He croaked, "Fewer injuries. Don't care how."
Legolas blinked, then chuckled. "Right. What was I thinking."
Cautiously, Aragorn rolled over and began the painstaking process of sitting, wincing when he pushed with his hands, which registered their disapproval of his continued abuse by shooting agony up his arms. When the world remained as it was, he sank back onto his behind and looked at Legolas, then motioned to his legs, an eyebrow raised.
The elf pursed his lips, irritation flashing across his blue eyes. "Fine."
The other eyebrow shot up to join it's companion, and Legolas just knew what his friend was thinking. Fine? You couldn't walk, and you expect me to believe they're fine?
"Better, now," he continued, refusing to change his story.
The eyebrows rose higher, then lowered, the human assuming a glare that he had obviously learned from Elrond whenever the elf lord desired to get information from someone, and the truth at that, without having to repeat himself.
Legolas shifted uncomfortably under the stare, but refused to give in. "Shall we get moving?" he asked instead.
Without a word, Aragorn rocked forward, crouching on his feet before pushing into a standing position, his hands never touching the ground as he shifted positions. He drew in a sharp breath when pain lanced up his side, quickly followed by a coughing fit.
Legolas pushed himself to his feet hurriedly, using the trunk of the tree as a brace while steadfastly ignoring the pain, and caught his friend as he stumbled. "We are a sorry sight, my friend," he told Aragorn when the man could breath again. The human looked up at him. "We look terrible for not quite being on death's door."
Aragorn chuckled at that, doing his best not to breath while still drawing breath. He did not want to start coughing again, and his chest ached terribly. It was a task to breath, and a different one, though just as difficult, to remain standing. The world around him kept fuzing together. He could not imagine what could possibly go wrong next.
A loud, unconscionable BOOM shattered the silence, trailing like the crack of a whip. The friends jumped, eyes darting around for the source of the sound. Then the sky opened up and rain poured down on their heads, soaking them both in moments. Aragorn tilted his head back, letting the rain drip into his mouth and soothe his throat. He coughed a couple of times, choking, before his throat finally stopped hurting enough that he could contemplate speaking.
He exchanged a rueful glance with Legolas, realizing that this was how it could get worse. Then, each leaning on the other, they slowly, carefully, made their way down the slick and treacherous slope, every misstep threatening to send both to the ground while pain rolled through them ruthlessly, more than the rain and mud conspiring to send them down the hill a lot quicker than was feasible to avoid injury to the already injured.
Rain dripped into their eyes, streaming over their faces, but neither dared remove their gaze from the ground with each hesitant step threatening to send them sliding the rest of the way down the slope. They were so absorbed, they never noticed when they were surrounded. Again.
Aragorn stopped suddenly when an object was abruptly shoved before his face, and looked up. Legolas stumbled, but also looked around, his countenance darkening once he saw who it was. The pouring rain made it difficult to see, but he had no difficulty recognizing these men for who they were.
"You!" one of them cried in surprise. "How did you get out here?"
"We escaped," Legolas snapped. "No thanks to you."
Color drained from nearly a dozen faces. "You shouldn't have done that. She will not be pleased."
"We could take them back," another spoke up, his voice trembling. The elf thought he recognized him as Briit. "Maybe she would be forgiving."
"She is never forgiving," another retorted. "Our blood flows according to her whims." His tone was bitter. Both friends looked at the shabby group before them, taking in the lean forms through their soaked clothing.
"Quiet!" yet another hissed. "She might hear you."
"I doubt she is hearing much of anything," Legolas challenged, shaking his head even as he clung to Aragorn to remain standing. "The mountain collapsed. It's unlikely anything within it yet lives." His expression darkened at that, and Aragorn glanced at him questioningly.
Silence hung, broken only by the splatter of rain that was a steady roar around the group. Then one of the men, with greenish-brown eyes stepped forward and ended the argument. "Enough. Her ire is gained. A few hours more or less will not change it. Torl, Scree, bring them. There is much that needs be discussed, yet they need rest, food, and aid, and we can give them that."
Two men stepped forward and braced the companions, then they continued down to the village. They were led into the same hut they had quartered in before and left. Shortly thereafter, a troupe of women entered, bearing food, linen bandages, herbs, water, wood, and many other things, besides. Anything and everything the two friends could possibly wish for. The man and elf watched passively until the parade was finished, then Aragorn stood and moved over to the food that had been placed on the edge of the bed. He pushed it closer to Legolas, who moved to the other side of it carefully.
They stared at the food before them as if they had never seen anything like it before. Despite their hunger, neither made a move to eat, the memory of their last meal here, and the consequences too vivid in their minds to allow their bodies to slack it's hunger with materials provided by their former-turned-present hosts.
"I think it was the wine," Aragorn offered after a moment. Legolas nodded. He was rocking back and forth slowly, keen gaze staring through the tray before him. Aragorn's stomach grumbled, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between the friends.
A laugh worked free of Legolas' lips, and he smiled at the human before him. "You're right," he said, a mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes. "No need to waste perfectly good food. Especially since Kaialian can trouble us no more." He reached for a piece of fruit.
Aragorn did, as well, though he frowned at the fair being before him, pausing as his appearance registered for the first time. A smirk twitched at the corners of his lips as he studied the water-logged, filthy appearance of his best friend.
"What?" the elf prince inquired.
Heroically, the young man struggled against his laughter. "You look terrible," he managed without laughing, though his voice was thick with surpressed laughter.
The elf blinked, then studied his friend closely. "So do you," he stated with much dignity, his expression aloof. "And you're dripping on the linens," he added.
Aragorn's battle was lost.
His whole body shook as laughter poured out of him, and he buried his head in his hands. Legolas tried to ignore him, tried not to join in his friend's hilarity, but the tension was too much, his relief too great, and the human's amusement too contagious. He, too, lost his battle. Laughter mingled with the patter of rain for many minutes, unheard by the members of the village.
Eventually, they calmed enough to eat, and Aragorn finally managed to broach the subject that had been bothering him since he woke. "Legolas? What happened?"
Blue eyes studied him warily. "What do you mean?"
"After . . . after I. . . . " The ranger frowned. He did not know exactly what to call his . . . trip, for it had certainly not been a dream. "How did we escape?"
"It is a long story," the elf hedged, then changed the subject. "But let me see to your wounds." He quickly scooted forward, easily pushing the tray out of the way, discarding the piece of bread he had been picking at halfheartedly.
Aragorn just as quickly scooted back, nearly scooting off the back of the cot in the process. "I am fine," he stated, shaking his head. His head did not like that much, and showed it's disapproval by sending the world on a small spin around his head. He wavered, spinning the same way his surroundings were in an attempt not to fall, then felt a hand grab his arm.
"You are not fine."
"I will be." He irritably brushed his friend's hand off and glared at him.
Legolas sighed, casting back in his mind for a way to get the stubborn ranger to cooperate. Humans always become so unbearable when they are injured. His mind, still nimble despite his own injuries, lighted upon something he had used with the young ones when he had been forced to deal with them: find something they want and exchange it for what you want. He glared back. "I suppose you don't want to know how we escaped, then."
Aragorn's glare, if anything, intensified, but the young man's curiosity one out, and he slumped slightly. "Oh, fine. But you had best tell me everything."
"Of course," the elf replied, moving forward and quickly examining his friend's injuries, talking the entire time, describing the events as accurately as possible until the time when he had stumbled, the narrative coming easier with something to occupy him other than the memories. Then he paused. "That is all there is to tell, but I would hear what happened with you, for you were gone a long time and came back with our--" The elf suddenly cut off, registering what he was saying. He half stood, but Aragorn beat him to it.
"Our weapons!" the ranger cried, finishing his thought and shooting to his fee faster than the elf would have thought possible in his condition or otherwise. "I completely forgot." He reached towards his belt and found where it had been torn free.
A slender hand on his arm stopped him when he might have charged back into the storm, capable or no. "I do not remember seeing them where we were, but they will keep a few more hours, or not. Either way, they can be remade." The words were painful for the wood-elf, and a grimace momentarily flitted across his face as he advocated leaving his precious bow out in the rain, but it was gone quickly and he could not keep his human friend in place if he decided to chase after his weapons. Sacrifices were made for friendship, and this was one he was willing to make, considering the alternatives. "I, however, would not have a sick human on my hands who is unbearably grumpy." Not that you aren't already, but. . . .
Aragorn shoved him, then grimaced and looked down at his hands. "I hope they will heal," he murmured, looking down at the dirty bandages. "I cannot stand not being able to use my hands."
"I'm sure they will. Now tell me what happened and how you found our weapons."
A small smile graced his lips, amused by his friend's persistence. "What makes you think something happened? Certainly, finding lost weapons in a collapsing series of caves and freeing a friend with them before rushing from certain death is not an interesting tale."
"Certainly," replied Legolas, almost managing not to smile, "but I would heave you tell it anyway. And with no missing nor glossed details."
Aragorn chuckled, shifting, then glanced at his still bandaged hands and sobered. He looked at Legolas, guilt once again shadowing his eyes. "I should tend you but I have not enough use of my hands to even pour water."
"You're stalling," objected Legolas, hoping to divert his friend's attention. "Besides, they are not so bad. And now that we are not going anywhere, such things can wait. They do not hurt."
The ranger hesitated, looking far from convinced, but nodded slowly. "All right. I will tell you." And he spoke of his trip through the dark, of the lavish room, of the journal he had found, of his finding their weapons, and then he paused, continuing on more slowly. "It was most curious to me to find them, for I cannot imagine what she would do with them." The ranger frowned, gazing distantly out the window, the rain lulling him.
"And then?" Legolas prompted after a moment.
Aragorn jerked. "And then," he picked up, "I decided to head back. I worried it was already too late, that I had dawdled too long and that the shakes had already killed you. But when I turned to leave, I discovered I was not so alone as I thought. A figure stood before me. Or I think it stood. It was misshapen and came about to my waist, dressed in a long cloak which obscured it completely from my sight.
"Then it hissed, and I would swear it was not human, but that I fear it was. It advanced into the room, and I knew not what to do. Drawing my sword, or rather, attempting to, would have been useless, so I simply stood, and waited for it to advance, staring at where I thought it's eyes would be.
"Then. . . ." he trailed off and gestured helplessly. "It left, fading into the shadows as if it had never been." He was silent a moment, frowning, and Legolas perceived there was more his friend wished to say and waited patiently, this time not prompting. "When it was gone, and I was reasonably sure it was not coming back, I made my way into the hall. I turned to return, and heard a ghostly voice echo down the hall.
"'You will face your doom,' it said. 'The end is near at hand'." Aragorn looked to Legolas, curious to see what the wood-elf made of this.
Slowly, Legolas shook his head. "Ai, it is more interesting than I had thought, but I can see no more than you concerning what it may mean. Mayhap is means nothing."
Aragorn shook his head. "With out luck, Legolas, it means everything."
Whatever the elf would have said to that, no one would know, for a man with a fierce scowl on his face burst into the room. "Your presence is requested in the meeting hall," he growled, leaving no doubt that this was not a request.
Legolas sighed, and Aragorn turned to the man, his expression hard and brooking no argument. "My companion was injured. He shall go nowhere until he has been tended, and I am unable."
"My lords--"
"Can join us here if their counsel is so urgent," Aragorn stated firmly. Silver eyes bore into darkest brown, relentless with his passion, and the other looked away.
"I will inform them," he murmured and left without a backwards glance.
Legolas gave the human a sideways glance, surpressed amusement flashing in his eyes. "You know, Strider," he began, tone wry. "We could do without angering out hosts."
Aragorn returned the look. "We could," he agreed. "But do you have any idea what my father would say--nay, what he would do, if I let you injure yourself needlessly when it could have been prevented? And what of your father? What would he say? What would he do?
The elf's mouth worked a moment in silence, his mouth forming the words but his voice failing to voice them. Apparently, the elf prince could not come up with a response his conscience would allow him to voice, but finally, he came up with something he could live with. "Forget I ever suggested we do anything to enhance our survival that we might actually arrive at that point."
The ranger stared at him a moment before venturing, "If I did not know it would hurt abominably, I would hit you."
Legolas, son of Thranduil, prince of Mirkwood, reserved, dignified to a fault, broke down in hysterical laughter. It was many minutes before he calmed enough to speak, and by that time, they had been joined by others once more.
The healers had arrived.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
An hour later, clean, fed, tended, and slightly annoyed, Aragorn and Legolas were carried into the meeting hall, possibly the largest building in the village, though that did not say much as none of the buildings were what most would consider large. It easily accommodated all the men that had come in, some sitting, some standing.. The friends were placed among the former, and it was difficult to tell who was more disgruntled with this development: the ranger or the elf.
Before them, someone cleared their throat, and it was the same man who had ordered them brought here. "I am Niriss, elected leader of these people." He took a deep breath, as if summoning courage, and likely he was. The combined stare of the two he addressed was not something easily taken when both were agitated. "I realize you have little reason nor desire to be here, but if you would hear us out and answer our questions, mayhap we can reach an agreement."
"An agreement?" Legolas demanded, icily, but Aragorn overrode him. "What would you know?" The man's voice was even, his expression fathomless.
"How did you escape?"
Legolas told them, and aside form shifting and a couple whispered comments every now and then, no one interrupted. He concluded the story for the second time and waited warily for the villagers' reactions.
Niriss responded first, looking at them intently. "Where is Jans, now?"
"I know not," said the prince. "Last I saw, he stood over her. Either he escaped or he met his end in the tunnels, but we know not which."
"Then he's still alive," a redhead in the back of the room proclaimed. "Never was nothin' could kill Jans out there in them woods."
Niriss did not look so optimistic. "It was not the woods that tried to kill him, Zan. But we may hope."
"He'd be happy enough dead," an older man sitting across from the ranger spoke up, his voice slow and careful, a certain gravity in his tone that only came with experience. "'Twas what he wanted, and if she truly is gone, then he accomplished what he set out to do."
"Either way, it matters not," Niriss interrupted. "If Jans lives we will see him again. If not. . . . What must be decided is the fate of our guests." He looked around at those present, even as they glanced around amongst themselves. Even Legolas could not make out their quiet whispers. Ire rose inside of him. Had they not already done enough?
Only the old man did not, and he was the first one to speak once the whispers died down. "It's a shame when one man decides the fate of another. Jans was always saying it, and we know it. You should be ashamed of yourself, Niriss, bringing them in here just to tell others to choose their fate. No, what I say--and we all know Jans would agree--is we let them decide where they would go. We decided their fate once and they came out against all odds. I say it's their choice." A murmur of agreement crept hesitantly across the room, though not everyone agreed.
"I say we wait and find if they speak true," spoke another. "If she is not gone, she may want them back and we had best have them if she does." This also met with agreement.
"She may be the very least of your troubles," Legolas spoke up quietly, his voice hard underneath the pretense of calm. "We yet live, so you may escape, but should we perish by your hands, the wrath both of King Thranduil of Mirkwood and Lord Elrond Halfelven of Rivendell would be your reward. Aid they might render at our request, but destruction is swift upon our death."
Niriss found this declaration vaguely amusing, for a smile hovered about his lips. "Not if none knew of your fate."
"The Lord of Rivendell knows many things. Finding the fate of one dear to him would not be so hard a task. And King Thranduil is hardly patient concerning the fate of his subjects. Immediate death might not be yours, but your fate would be sealed. It is not wise to anger the Elves, Master Human."
Niriss opened his mouth to speak, but Aragorn beat him to it, his voice soft and level though it grabbed the attention of all in the room. "I have wondered, Master Niriss, why you stay here when you could go elsewhere and live free from fear in some other land."
Niriss shook his head. "This is our home."
"You could make it your home," the ranger persisted.
"Nowhere else would truly be home."
"Yet you give into her," observed Aragorn. "Why do you let her terrify you? She is but one, and you many. Why do you let her destroy your lives?"
Many looked around at each other, some in apprehension, too used to being overpowered to desire such lordship, others with question, but all at a loss for words. Fighting had not occurred to any of them. Kaialian had been there for as long as they could remember. Surely there was a reason she was feared, a reason no one opposed her power. But what was it? None knew, the reason lost long ago in the mists of time. The people stared back at the ranger blankly, unsure how to react or what to feel.
The ranger continued, hoping to ignite something inside them. "Why don't you fight for your children? You would, but somewhere along the way you became convinced you cannot. No one should rule you through fear. So long as you bow to her, you will ever fear her, ever lose your loved ones to her hate. You will, but you do not have to."
The men, rag-tag as they were, stared at the ranger as if he had just announced he was a new breed of bird, (and likely they would have believed him if he had). The old man started laughing, an empty pipe clenched between his teeth. Everyone turned to look at him instead.
"You're all right, lad," the old man chuckled. "You're all right."
A small smile softened Aragorn's features as he looked at the man. "What's your name, good sir?"
He held the pipe in his hand. "Barald," he said, and stared hard at the ranger before him. "I knew Jans his whole life. Believed it was wrong, that we should do something about it, when he was young. Lost that. All who stay here lose the will to fight." He sucked on the pipe a moment, and his gaze flickered to Legolas. "Odd days when a Man and Elf travel together."
The friends glanced at each other, slightly amused to be back at this old topic. Aragorn answered, "Times change."
"Indeed," Barald murmured. "Many generations have come through here, but few live to see old age. There's something about you, boy." He waved his pipe at the ranger. "Something strange about you. Like you're higher than us."
"I am but a Man, same as you," denied Aragorn.
Barald smiled grimly, as if something he thought had been confirmed. "Jans was right about you boys, you know," he said. "You take care of each other, now."
"We will," Legolas answered, his voice soft yet sure.
"Whatcha gonna do, Niriss? Stars know, no one listens to the old man."
Niriss looked like he had been backed into a corner and knocked over the head before being punched in the gut. His face was pale and his eyes unfocused. Aragorn eyed him warily, trying to determine if the man was going to pass out. Slowly, Niriss's eyes turned to Barald. Fluffy white eyebrows arched into the man's hairline. Then the greenish-brown eyes looked towards Aragorn.
"Are you well?" Aragorn asked hesitantly. Niriss nodded slowly, and opened his mouth.
Suddenly, the sound of pounding feet interrupted the silence that had fallen, cutting off the village leader before he had even begun, and two young girls burst into the room, out of breath and wide-eyed. "Riders! the eldest cried. "Riders from the North! Mama says--she thinks--they're Elves!"
Silence engulfed the room.