Series: Whispers in the Dark – Part 5
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: PG
Warning: AU
Summary: The Elf awakens…
Notes: The Elvish words used in this part (and many parts to come) are by no means accurate. But the point I'm trying to put across is the obvious lack in the ability of the Men and Elf to communicate, hence the lack of translation of the Elvish language.
The Awakening
*The Elf had awakened*
A sense of terrible dread and apprehension coursed through their veins, burning like the very fire itself as the Men warily got to their feet, every inch of their bodies screaming with tension. Blue eyes watched them advance, its dazed expression swiftly clearing before shock and then white hot fury took over.
And so the Elf began to struggle.
He twisted and writhed against his bonds, seemingly oblivious to the ropes that cruelly cut into his fair flesh, chafing his skin raw. Aragorn approached the Elf slowly before coming to kneel before him, murmuring soft words of comfort as if he were calming a frightened horse. But the creature gave a howl of rage and attempted to kick him away with his feet.
"Uum tyaar amin! A'est cel!" he cried, struggling even harder, body arching and then snapping back like a tightly drawn bow and now trying to distance himself away from the Men as he crawled away futilely upon his belly.
"Lle a'est cel! Kel'amin!" the Elf cried again, anger making his voice sharp and eyes wild as he regarded with growing panic upon the strange faces that loomed before him. The Men tried various ways to soothe the clearly distressed Elf – Aragorn continued to speak in soft tones while Faramir hovered over the King's shoulder, looking on uneasily, bewilderment marring his face as he contemplated upon the bizarre situation that confronted them.
Finally, with patience wearing thin, Boromir gave an oath before he swiftly approached the Elf, grabbing him firmly by his shoulders.
"Cease!" he snapped, giving the Elf a firm shake, eyes flashing in anger as he noted the quick dart of the Elf's eyes towards the sword that Boromir wore by his side. The Elf renewed his efforts at escaping and fought hard, his body trashing about in an attempt to release himself from Boromir's grasp as he kept crying out in his strange language.
Over and over the Men tried to hold the creature down, but to no avail. Desperation had lent strength to the Elf's struggle and the Men quickly began to tire.
"This is no good, my lord. We cannot have him drawing attention to our camp!" Faramir said, panting hard as he strove to pin the Elf's legs down while the latter thrashed about violently.
"By the Gods! I have half a mind to use your sheathe again, my lord, and knock him down," Boromir grunted as the Elf's feet connected with his jaw, drawing blood.
Quickly, the King scanned their campsite in search of something that might aid them in their attempts at subduing the Elf. And then he found it – a little bottle that had gently tumbled out onto the ground from Faramir's possession during the struggle.
"The vial… the one containing the laudanum. Take it, Faramir! Put a few drops of it into the water skin!" the King cried over the din that the Elf was making.
Faramir did as he was told, anxiety making his fingers clumsy as he picked up the vial, undid the stopper with his teeth and then with shaking hands, attempted to pour some of the potion into one of their water bottles. One drop. Two drops. Three. And the potent liquid was swirled in the water, mixing thoroughly and with that, he handed it over to the King.
"Now Boromir, hold him! Do not let go! Faramir, take hold of his head," Aragorn said, stress making his voice harsh and brows furrow while he tried to dodge the blows that the Elf directed at him.
The Men followed their King's instruction as well as they could while the heat of the mid-morning sun seemed to dull their reflexes. Many a time the Elf could have successfully escaped their grasp, but it was thwarted by the ropes that had securely bound him, effectively diminishing any chances of fleeing.
"Gently now… gently," the King murmured as he lifted the mouth of the water skin to the Elf's lips.
Their captive's eyes widened, comprehension and dread manifesting itself upon his fair face and he tried to turn his head away. But the Elf was exhausted – its fierce resistance against the Men had finally taken its toll upon him and with relative ease, Aragorn was able to pour the liquid into the Elf's mouth.
"Pinch his nose, Faramir. Make sure he swallows it," the King said, his voice hushed as he cast a look of pity at the helpless Elf beneath them.
The Elf put up one last terrific fight, refusing to swallow the potion as he tried to spit out the water that was slowly poured into his mouth. But even an immortal must breathe and so the Elf had no choice but to swallow the potion in huge choking gulps, his eyes clenching shut as if in denial of the inevitable.
With a huge sigh of relief, the Men quickly let the Elf go and retreated to a safe distance as the Elf retched into the grass, trying but failing to dispel the potion from his system.
"It shouldn't be long now," Faramir whispered to himself, his grey eyes fixing intently upon the Elf. The creature was still murmuring in its own tongue; blue eyes tearing with the coughing fit that he was recovering from. Desperately he tried once again to escape, worming his way upon his belly to put as much distance as he could between him and his captives.
"Forgive me. I did not wish to hurt you," Aragorn murmured, reaching out to place a comforting hand upon the Elf's brow but stopped when the creature recoiled sharply from the King's touch.
Seconds bled into minutes and before long the Elf began to succumb to the drugging effect of the potion, his eyelids made heavy with drug-induced sleep. He yawned, putting up one last fight to keep his eyes open before they fell shut and the Elf slumped to the ground, motionless.
He was fast asleep.
Harmless once more… at least for the moment.
Relief flooded through the Men and they welcomed the glow as the earth would welcome the rain after long months of drought. Exhaustion seeped into their bones and the Men were forced to rest, Boromir leaning against his brother's back and the King leaning against a tree, wearing a troubled look upon his face.
There was a long, expected silence as the Men tried to catch their breath.
"I do no know, my lord. I do not know how we will be able to contain the Elf if we are to carry him all the way to Minas Tirith," Faramir murmured tiredly, running a hand over his face.
"The potion does well to keep him asleep, I think. If we are vigilant and give him enough of the drug, he will not be awake long enough to offer much resistance. Do you not agree, sire?" Boromir said, cracking open an eye to look in the direction of their King.
The King was silent for a moment, pausing to give a wry smile at the familiar manner at which the brothers always contradict each other before speaking his mind.
"Yes… yes. The Elf must be taken back to Minas Tirith. Gandalf must then speak to him. Hopefully, we will have answers to the many questions that we have," he murmured half to himself before he closed his eyes and allowed exhaustion to take him into a light sleep.
There were no other movements in the forest safe for the gentle stirring of the Men and Elf's as they lay in sleep and the occasional flutter of wings as the birds looked down from their branches curiously, seeming to be in anticipation of the events that will come about when they awoke in the next hour…
to be continued…
Attention: The story will definitely pick up its pace in the next chapter, so please be patient. Thanks so much for your reviews and your continued support!
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: PG
Warning: AU
Summary: The Elf awakens…
Notes: The Elvish words used in this part (and many parts to come) are by no means accurate. But the point I'm trying to put across is the obvious lack in the ability of the Men and Elf to communicate, hence the lack of translation of the Elvish language.
The Awakening
*The Elf had awakened*
A sense of terrible dread and apprehension coursed through their veins, burning like the very fire itself as the Men warily got to their feet, every inch of their bodies screaming with tension. Blue eyes watched them advance, its dazed expression swiftly clearing before shock and then white hot fury took over.
And so the Elf began to struggle.
He twisted and writhed against his bonds, seemingly oblivious to the ropes that cruelly cut into his fair flesh, chafing his skin raw. Aragorn approached the Elf slowly before coming to kneel before him, murmuring soft words of comfort as if he were calming a frightened horse. But the creature gave a howl of rage and attempted to kick him away with his feet.
"Uum tyaar amin! A'est cel!" he cried, struggling even harder, body arching and then snapping back like a tightly drawn bow and now trying to distance himself away from the Men as he crawled away futilely upon his belly.
"Lle a'est cel! Kel'amin!" the Elf cried again, anger making his voice sharp and eyes wild as he regarded with growing panic upon the strange faces that loomed before him. The Men tried various ways to soothe the clearly distressed Elf – Aragorn continued to speak in soft tones while Faramir hovered over the King's shoulder, looking on uneasily, bewilderment marring his face as he contemplated upon the bizarre situation that confronted them.
Finally, with patience wearing thin, Boromir gave an oath before he swiftly approached the Elf, grabbing him firmly by his shoulders.
"Cease!" he snapped, giving the Elf a firm shake, eyes flashing in anger as he noted the quick dart of the Elf's eyes towards the sword that Boromir wore by his side. The Elf renewed his efforts at escaping and fought hard, his body trashing about in an attempt to release himself from Boromir's grasp as he kept crying out in his strange language.
Over and over the Men tried to hold the creature down, but to no avail. Desperation had lent strength to the Elf's struggle and the Men quickly began to tire.
"This is no good, my lord. We cannot have him drawing attention to our camp!" Faramir said, panting hard as he strove to pin the Elf's legs down while the latter thrashed about violently.
"By the Gods! I have half a mind to use your sheathe again, my lord, and knock him down," Boromir grunted as the Elf's feet connected with his jaw, drawing blood.
Quickly, the King scanned their campsite in search of something that might aid them in their attempts at subduing the Elf. And then he found it – a little bottle that had gently tumbled out onto the ground from Faramir's possession during the struggle.
"The vial… the one containing the laudanum. Take it, Faramir! Put a few drops of it into the water skin!" the King cried over the din that the Elf was making.
Faramir did as he was told, anxiety making his fingers clumsy as he picked up the vial, undid the stopper with his teeth and then with shaking hands, attempted to pour some of the potion into one of their water bottles. One drop. Two drops. Three. And the potent liquid was swirled in the water, mixing thoroughly and with that, he handed it over to the King.
"Now Boromir, hold him! Do not let go! Faramir, take hold of his head," Aragorn said, stress making his voice harsh and brows furrow while he tried to dodge the blows that the Elf directed at him.
The Men followed their King's instruction as well as they could while the heat of the mid-morning sun seemed to dull their reflexes. Many a time the Elf could have successfully escaped their grasp, but it was thwarted by the ropes that had securely bound him, effectively diminishing any chances of fleeing.
"Gently now… gently," the King murmured as he lifted the mouth of the water skin to the Elf's lips.
Their captive's eyes widened, comprehension and dread manifesting itself upon his fair face and he tried to turn his head away. But the Elf was exhausted – its fierce resistance against the Men had finally taken its toll upon him and with relative ease, Aragorn was able to pour the liquid into the Elf's mouth.
"Pinch his nose, Faramir. Make sure he swallows it," the King said, his voice hushed as he cast a look of pity at the helpless Elf beneath them.
The Elf put up one last terrific fight, refusing to swallow the potion as he tried to spit out the water that was slowly poured into his mouth. But even an immortal must breathe and so the Elf had no choice but to swallow the potion in huge choking gulps, his eyes clenching shut as if in denial of the inevitable.
With a huge sigh of relief, the Men quickly let the Elf go and retreated to a safe distance as the Elf retched into the grass, trying but failing to dispel the potion from his system.
"It shouldn't be long now," Faramir whispered to himself, his grey eyes fixing intently upon the Elf. The creature was still murmuring in its own tongue; blue eyes tearing with the coughing fit that he was recovering from. Desperately he tried once again to escape, worming his way upon his belly to put as much distance as he could between him and his captives.
"Forgive me. I did not wish to hurt you," Aragorn murmured, reaching out to place a comforting hand upon the Elf's brow but stopped when the creature recoiled sharply from the King's touch.
Seconds bled into minutes and before long the Elf began to succumb to the drugging effect of the potion, his eyelids made heavy with drug-induced sleep. He yawned, putting up one last fight to keep his eyes open before they fell shut and the Elf slumped to the ground, motionless.
He was fast asleep.
Harmless once more… at least for the moment.
Relief flooded through the Men and they welcomed the glow as the earth would welcome the rain after long months of drought. Exhaustion seeped into their bones and the Men were forced to rest, Boromir leaning against his brother's back and the King leaning against a tree, wearing a troubled look upon his face.
There was a long, expected silence as the Men tried to catch their breath.
"I do no know, my lord. I do not know how we will be able to contain the Elf if we are to carry him all the way to Minas Tirith," Faramir murmured tiredly, running a hand over his face.
"The potion does well to keep him asleep, I think. If we are vigilant and give him enough of the drug, he will not be awake long enough to offer much resistance. Do you not agree, sire?" Boromir said, cracking open an eye to look in the direction of their King.
The King was silent for a moment, pausing to give a wry smile at the familiar manner at which the brothers always contradict each other before speaking his mind.
"Yes… yes. The Elf must be taken back to Minas Tirith. Gandalf must then speak to him. Hopefully, we will have answers to the many questions that we have," he murmured half to himself before he closed his eyes and allowed exhaustion to take him into a light sleep.
There were no other movements in the forest safe for the gentle stirring of the Men and Elf's as they lay in sleep and the occasional flutter of wings as the birds looked down from their branches curiously, seeming to be in anticipation of the events that will come about when they awoke in the next hour…
to be continued…
Attention: The story will definitely pick up its pace in the next chapter, so please be patient. Thanks so much for your reviews and your continued support!