Author: Mirrordance

Title: Escape

Summary: Aragorn is lost during a tour with the Rangers, and Legolas later finds him in Bree, without his memories & happily relieved of all his noble burdens, making the elf hesitate to bring him back to who he truly was.

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PART TEN

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      Legolas, Damien and Estel ran north-east of the house before taking a sharp turn to the west, taking the way around the route of the orcs.  Though Legolas was always more partial to frontal attacks, the greater numbers of the orcs demanded a defense that was stealthier.  Slightly behind him, Estel and the old man kept a respectable pace.

      They ceased when he raised his hand at a signal.  Estel stopped right beside him, hardly winded.

      "We are behind them," Estel guessed, looking down upon the ground where heavy orc-feet obviously trod. 

      "They've slowed down," Legolas whispered, listening to the sounds of the night, "I think they have their prey."

      "At least they will not reach the house," said Damien.

      "But we cannot leave whatever it was that they caught to their notoriously unmerciful mercies," said Estel, "Come.  We move."

      They pressed forward quietly, footsteps soundless, scurrying amidst the trees.

      When at last they sighted their prey, they hung back, and were aghast at what they found.

      The orcs cursed at the pair of human corpses on the ground, and the way their eyes stared unblinking, and their clothes were blackened by their blood, there was no doubting they were dead, and the party arrived much too late.

      One of the corpses was a middle-aged man, the other, a woman.  Between them their clutched arms wound protectively around their child, even in death.  The child was wide-eyed and alive, bloodied and terrified.  A young boy of about six, staring at the murderers of his family.  He was shakily holding his father's rusted dagger before him.

      "Brave child," Damien murmured.

      "We must not let him down," Estel said, eyes now cold as steel and looking as if he was once again completely in possession of himself.  Or perhaps that distinct thirst for justice was unquenched and unfulfilled even by his change of identity, "Where are the others?"

      "They hang back," replied Legolas quietly, "The child is too deeply entrenched in the line of fire.  They can easily ransom him for our surrender.  It will not be very wise to act too rashly."     

      Estel pursed his lips in thought.  "You are from Mirkwood, aren't you, master elf?"

      "What of it?" Legolas asked, seeing a familiar and manic and dangerous gleam n the clever adan's eye.

      "How are you at climbing trees?"

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      ~Oh for the love of all that is good,~ Haldir muttered, his keen eyes sighting Legolas' party from across the way.  About thirty orcs spanned the distance between them, but he clearly saw the Mirkwood elf begin to climb a tree, followed closely by his human counterpart.

      ~The adan is too heavy,~ Sari muttered, just as dismayed, ~They will kill themselves.  Break their necks before they get to where they are going.~

      "Are you talking about a plan? I don't understand what you're saying," whispered Biggles, "Have you forgotten I am here?"

      "We are all trying to and desperately failing," retorted Haldir, "Lower your voice, sir, you will give us away."

      The three fell silent.  Apparently, Legolas and Estel planned to move from tree to tree and surprise their captors from above, falling right into the middle of everything in order to keep the child safe.  Haldir deigned from beginning the battle the moment he arrived, finding the parents dead and the sole survivor-- a child, in the midst of everything.  He hadn't thought of a solution.  And he most certainly would not have thought of climbing the trees.  As a matter of fact, he was rather proud not to have thought of it because it assured him he still held some sanity. 

      He sighed, feeling overburdened.  Damien, at least, kept a safe distance behind; probably not very clever with trees-- but ready to provide a solid back-up.  It was one less person to worry about.

      Sari watched with his breath held when a particularly scrawny branch shook over the orcs' heads with the weight of the two mad fools who occupied it.

      The orcs were suddenly alerted, and looked up.

      Beside Sari, Haldir let loose an arrow and sent it wide and flying.  It hit no orc, nor was it meant to.  It thunked resoundingly against a tree east of them, and all the orcs instinctively turned toward the sound.

      It was the moment of distraction that Legolas and Estel needed.  They jumped from the trees with weapons raised, hitting the ground at a crouch and swaying their swords in a coordinated dance, backs against each other.  Estel may not remember Legolas, but his body did, and the lethal dance was graceful and almost easy.

      The orcs converged around them, and Damien and the others took this as an opportunity to enter the battle.  The old man held his own, and even Biggles hacked away at the orcs with surprising luck, if not skill.  Haldir let his bow rest and unleashed his knives, and Sari beside him fought with equal fervor.

      "The child, Biggles!" Sari said to the young man breathlessly.

      Biggles nodded, and stumbled toward the child who was staring at the battle, confused and afraid.

      "You are safe now, boy," Biggles told him, "I know I look right scary with all this orc mess on me, but I promise I will not hurt you."

      The young man slipped the butcher's knife along his belt, and yelped when he accidentally cut at his skin. 

      "Oh you see?" he said, offering the boy a smile, "An orc would not be so stupid, eh? Come now, come with Biggles.  I will take you away from here."

      But the child would not move.  He would not even put down his dagger, unsure of one threat from another.  Behind Biggles, he could hear the battle raging, and the swords of his companions singing.  His exposed back was making him dreadfully nervous, and the possibility of getting skewered made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

      "I'm just as scared as you," he admitted to the boy, "What say you take me away from here?"

      The boy's grip on his dagger wavered, until it fell beside him.  He opened his arms to the portly Biggles, who embraced him and lifted him up.

      "Aren't you supposed to be the one carrying me?" Biggles teased him, turning to face the battle, which was miraculously all but over.

      "Don't you lads work fast," he commented, impressed.

      Haldir glanced at the child, and then at the corpses of his parents.  "Is it hurt?"

      "Tired, more like," Biggles replied, "I'll take him to the house.  We have some water left.  I will give him a bath, give him some food."

      "I will walk with you," Sari offered, "We need to ensure none of the orcs have strayed toward the house.  A few of them escaped, running off.  I suspect they went further north, but just to be sure."

      Damien looked at the corpses mournfully.  "No child should have this happen to them," he growled, "And yet we have a houseful of all who have faced the same, dire fate.  What a wretched life this is."

      Estel stood beside him, then lowered himself to the ground and took the dagger the child had dropped earlier.

      "Not always," he said quietly, looking at the rusted weapon with respect, "He will want to be reminded of his strength and bravery when he grows older.  A rusted blade against a great foe.  It sounds like a legend."

      Legolas' head shot up.  Of course it does, Estel, he thought, it is your own legend.  Isildur's broken blade and the rusted dagger of this orphan child.  More and more, it seemed, traces of the man's past were returning to him.

      Estel handed the dagger to Damien, who held it in reverence. 

      "You are tired, my friend," Estel said to him, "Return to the house as well, and make sure they are all safe.  We will take care of the dead."

      Damien hesitated, before nodding and following the direction Sari and Biggles were taking.  The battlefield was a mess, as most went.

      "The stench will reach the house," muttered Legolas, "The corpses must be burned lest we are willing to suffer the stench of their death as much as we have to suffer the stench of their living."

      "There is a clearing not too far away," said Estel, "We can burn them there.  But such a pyre the parents of the boy most certainly will not share."

      "Naturally," said Legolas.

      "The humans first," said Haldir, "Their bodies must not be further desecrated by traces of the orcs.  Traces which we will have to the cracks between our teeth by the time we are done here."

      The three went to work, quickly and quietly.  The boys' parents were buried, and Elvish prayers murmured for them by the pair of elvish warriors.  Estel did not know why, but he felt he understood what they were saying.

      He set this aside as they plunged into working to clear the field of battle, piling the dead orcs in the nearby clearing and setting them aflame.  Though the three were weary and the fire was invitingly warm, they left quickly, and wordlessly all filed towards a nearby river, eager to be rid of the filth of the orcs.

      Haldir sat along the banks of the river and peeled off his bloodied armor and outer tunics.  It is at this time that Legolas noticed there was blood there that did not belong to the orcs.  A jagged wound made its way across the length of the Lothlorien elf's arm.

      "I did not know you were hurt," Legolas said to him, walking towards the river and dipping his bloodied hands into the water, before he stepped towards Haldir with every intention of studying the wound.  Beside him, Estel stood hesitantly, unsure of what to do with himself.  Legolas glanced at him, wondering how much of the healing arts he remembered.  Estel met his fiery gaze and said nothing.

      Legolas sighed, and supposed he himself knew enough for now.  It was just strange not having an Estel whose hands healed and comforted.  It was hardly a niche he felt he could appropriately fill, so cautious with his feelings and with other people had he so long been.

      "You look so apologetic one could almost believe it was you who struck me," Haldir said wryly, allowing himself to be looked over.

      "You should not have worked too much after," Legolas scolded him, "You should have said you were injured.  You could have further aggravated it."

      He winced.  He sounded like Estel.

      "It was hardly a hindrance," Haldir assured him, "And you are one to scold me of foolhardiness.  Why, that incident with the tree was pure idiocy.  But you pulled it off with such aplomb I could not doubt you are used to doing such things."

      Estel laughed, irreverent.  "I think we've just been told in so many words that we are habitually idiotic, Legolas!"

      "They teach their elves the most intricate, elaborate forms of barbs in Lothlorien," Legolas said wryly, "And do not laugh so hard at me, my friend, for I remember very clearly that it was your idea and not mine."

      "But who is the fool?" retorted Estel, "The fool or the fool who follows the fool?"

      "You sure sound like one," laughed Legolas. 

      The three fell to a companionable silence, and took it as a cue to strip down to the lightest of their clothes and head towards the river to wash away the traces of their battle.

      It is at this time that Estel waded away towards a shrub he has seen lining the edge of the water.  He raised up a yellow bloom triumphantly and showed it to his companions, "Teresa taught me to use this to wash clothes.  It smells wonderful, and it handles any and all stains.  Believe me, I've had laundry duty in a house full of children.  This will wash anything away."

      They washed their clothes with the delightful bloom that Estel seemed to regard as a minor miracle.  The orc-blood did come off easily, and the clothes smelled delightfully fresh.  When they were done, the skies over their heads were beginning to light, and they knew the sun would rise in just a few hours.

      In that near-morning light, Estel's eyes drifted to a scar that held a curious place in the middle of Legolas' back.  He reached for it hesitantly, making the elf flinch and instinctively move away.

      "I thought elves healed quickly," he said, "and this doesn't look altogether new to me."

      Legolas looked at the water wistfully, unsure of how to reply. 

      Haldir glanced at the wound, and knew by its fineness that it was not at all one from the blade of some orc.  An elvish blade did that.  And that is also why it must refuse to heal, for it goes beyond skin and flesh, it stains to the soul.  Elves were resilient when it came to physical harm, yes.  But the heart was a fragile thing.  And once again Haldir found himself wondering about the Mirkwood mystery.

      "Some wounds we cannot forget," Legolas said after awhile.

      Estel's hand, as it oft did when he seemed to be remembering things, drifted back up towards the healing scar on his temple.  "It's curious, isn't it? How you have wounds you cannot forget, and I have those I cannot remember."

      Legolas took a deep breath, and smiled at him reassuringly.  "We must get back to the house.  Haldir's wound needs proper tending.  And they might be worried about us."

TO BE CONTINUED…