". . . misread his expression." Legolas came awake, vaguely aware that voices were speaking nearby.
"He's certainly proud enough," Ethindal's voice said. Legolas remained still, his eyes closed. He might learn something of his captors if they thought him asleep.
"That means nothing," the lord replied, "all elves are proud." So they were talking about him. Legolas wondered what experience of elves the man had that he could make such a statement so confidently.
"Haven't you been told what he looks like?"
"Golden haired and infuriatingly good-looking," the lord said with a laugh, "but the same could be said about most Mirkwood elves." Legolas caught a breath in shock as he heard the name of his home spoken. They must be trying to decide who he was.
"What makes me think it most likely is the fact that he refuses to tell us who he is. But then again, it could just be elven pride. You'd think one of them could give us a name." Legolas puzzled at that comment. One of who?
"You could ask him," Ethindal suggested.
"If I'm wrong he'll almost certainly lie, and if I'm right he's still likely to lie. Mirkwood elves aren't known for their trust of humans."
"So what do we do?"
"Hope he tells us his name. Unless we learn otherwise, we should consider him an enemy."
***
The days passed slowly for Legolas, in a stream of dreary repetitiveness. He tried again to convince Eltha to free him, but she refused. The other children seemed to understand only the basics of the common tongue.
Legolas' days were spent bound in the wagon, his nights bound in the camp. The company travelled northwards, and he searched in vain for any way in which he might attempt an escape.
As they travelled, the terrain changed gradually. They passed small ponds, barely more than muddy puddles where the horses could drink, but eventually they grew larger, surrounded by grass and shrubs that spread further from their source of water than the last.
As water rations grew and the heat became less oppressive, it seemed that there was only one member of the company more depressed than their elven prisoner.
Damial seemed apart from the rest of the men. The duties his lord allocated him were always menial tasks. He was never allowed to do anything of significance.
It seemed to Legolas that it was the man's attitude more than anything else that separated him from the others. They tried to include him in their conversations or card games, but he brushed them aside. Legolas wondered what was going on in his mind, but decided that it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it could be used to his advantage.
One evening, as the company were busying about setting up camp, the lord sent Ethindal and two others to scout their surroundings. Damial asked if he could go as well, saying he wished to be of use.
"Use?" the lord responded, "You hope to be of use as a scout when a child can walk past you unhindered?"
"That was a mistake that won't be repeated," Damial pleaded, "please, give me another chance."
"Not on this journey." Damial didn't appear to notice the implication behind his lord's phrasing, that there would be another journey on which he could prove himself. Legolas didn't mind though. When the scouts departed and Damial brought him his food, Legolas spoke.
"Why do you stay when it's clear they don't want you?" he asked. He saw the hurt on the man's features, and knew that his words were being taken as confirmation of silent fears. "Neither of us wishes to be here," Legolas continued. "Release me, and we can leave together."
"I can't do that," Damial replied, "I am sworn into service."
"Why do you give loyalty to him when he does not return it?"
"If I were to free you, I would truly be failing my lord." Damial walked away. His words were firm, but his face was a mask of pain and sorrow. Legolas felt a little guilty that he had been part of the cause.
Before long, Ethindal and the other scouts returned. They held a discussion with their lord in low voices. Legolas strained his ears to listen, but could only hear a few fragmented words. Finally he gave up, and went back to testing his bonds, just in case they'd loosened since the last time he'd checked them.
He stirred several times during the night, hovering somewhere between sleep and waking. He thought he saw a shadow moving at one point, stealing across the camp on some hidden purpose.
He was woken in the predawn light by a guard's cry.
"Damial is gone!"
Legolas sat up, looking round as the men rose in confusion. He knew that his words had probably caused this. Damial had run because Legolas had convinced him he wasn't wanted here.
The men's lord was awake instantly, ordering his men to prepare for a search, weapons ready. A hint of fear showed through an otherwise emotionless mask.
"Half the group will remain here," he said, "under Ethindal's command to protect the wagons. The rest of you will come with me. We will follow Damial's tracks. He won't have had a chance to get much of a lead on us. Full weapons, everyone."
"Why such a precaution?" one of the men asked.
"There are orcs in these parts," the lord replied, "They would most likely avoid a company as large and well-armed as ours, but they will not hesitate to attack a lone man."
The men hurriedly set about their preparations, and the lord came over to where Legolas sat.
"Is your hatred of orcs enough to overcome your hatred of me?" he asked.
"I don't understand," Legolas replied.
"I will give you a weapon and let you come with me to find Damial, but I need to be sure you will not use the weapon against me."
"I would rather die at the hands of an orc than fight beside you," Legolas spat venomously. The lord stared at him for a moment, then turned away, his face not revealing what he felt, except for the glimmer of fear in his eyes that had nothing to do with Legolas.
As the sun rose over the horizon, preparing for another day of blistering heat, the men left the camp, heading off into the desert. The children were put into the wagon at Ethindal's order, so that they would be safer if an attack came. The news of orcs had filled all the men with a tense energy, waiting to be released.
After a short while, Ethindal cut the ropes around Legolas' legs and took him to the wagon. Legolas suspected it was as much for something to do as to protect him. Certainly, Ethindal kept glancing out in the direction the others had gone.
"I should have gone with them," he muttered, "I should be there to guard his back."
"You don't trust the rest of your company to do that?" Legolas asked.
"I trust them," Ethindal said, "but that's not the same as being there with him. I'm the one who should stand at his side. After all, I'm the one he came to when. . ." Ethindal stopped suddenly. There was a flash of pain across his face and then he turned away, leaving Legolas to wonder about the mysterious event he almost mentioned.
It was several hours into the morning when the men returned. One was limping and leaning on another for support. Another had a deep gash running down one arm, but other than that they seemed unhurt. Except for one.
The men's lord cradled in his arms a battered and bloody form. He set his burden down in the centre of the camp, the men standing round in sorrowful silence.
Damial lay still on the hard ground, his naked body a bloody mess. Dead or unconscious, Legolas couldn't tell.
***
Author's note: A slightly longer chapter, and a slightly better cliffhanger. Keep reviewing, please.
"He's certainly proud enough," Ethindal's voice said. Legolas remained still, his eyes closed. He might learn something of his captors if they thought him asleep.
"That means nothing," the lord replied, "all elves are proud." So they were talking about him. Legolas wondered what experience of elves the man had that he could make such a statement so confidently.
"Haven't you been told what he looks like?"
"Golden haired and infuriatingly good-looking," the lord said with a laugh, "but the same could be said about most Mirkwood elves." Legolas caught a breath in shock as he heard the name of his home spoken. They must be trying to decide who he was.
"What makes me think it most likely is the fact that he refuses to tell us who he is. But then again, it could just be elven pride. You'd think one of them could give us a name." Legolas puzzled at that comment. One of who?
"You could ask him," Ethindal suggested.
"If I'm wrong he'll almost certainly lie, and if I'm right he's still likely to lie. Mirkwood elves aren't known for their trust of humans."
"So what do we do?"
"Hope he tells us his name. Unless we learn otherwise, we should consider him an enemy."
***
The days passed slowly for Legolas, in a stream of dreary repetitiveness. He tried again to convince Eltha to free him, but she refused. The other children seemed to understand only the basics of the common tongue.
Legolas' days were spent bound in the wagon, his nights bound in the camp. The company travelled northwards, and he searched in vain for any way in which he might attempt an escape.
As they travelled, the terrain changed gradually. They passed small ponds, barely more than muddy puddles where the horses could drink, but eventually they grew larger, surrounded by grass and shrubs that spread further from their source of water than the last.
As water rations grew and the heat became less oppressive, it seemed that there was only one member of the company more depressed than their elven prisoner.
Damial seemed apart from the rest of the men. The duties his lord allocated him were always menial tasks. He was never allowed to do anything of significance.
It seemed to Legolas that it was the man's attitude more than anything else that separated him from the others. They tried to include him in their conversations or card games, but he brushed them aside. Legolas wondered what was going on in his mind, but decided that it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it could be used to his advantage.
One evening, as the company were busying about setting up camp, the lord sent Ethindal and two others to scout their surroundings. Damial asked if he could go as well, saying he wished to be of use.
"Use?" the lord responded, "You hope to be of use as a scout when a child can walk past you unhindered?"
"That was a mistake that won't be repeated," Damial pleaded, "please, give me another chance."
"Not on this journey." Damial didn't appear to notice the implication behind his lord's phrasing, that there would be another journey on which he could prove himself. Legolas didn't mind though. When the scouts departed and Damial brought him his food, Legolas spoke.
"Why do you stay when it's clear they don't want you?" he asked. He saw the hurt on the man's features, and knew that his words were being taken as confirmation of silent fears. "Neither of us wishes to be here," Legolas continued. "Release me, and we can leave together."
"I can't do that," Damial replied, "I am sworn into service."
"Why do you give loyalty to him when he does not return it?"
"If I were to free you, I would truly be failing my lord." Damial walked away. His words were firm, but his face was a mask of pain and sorrow. Legolas felt a little guilty that he had been part of the cause.
Before long, Ethindal and the other scouts returned. They held a discussion with their lord in low voices. Legolas strained his ears to listen, but could only hear a few fragmented words. Finally he gave up, and went back to testing his bonds, just in case they'd loosened since the last time he'd checked them.
He stirred several times during the night, hovering somewhere between sleep and waking. He thought he saw a shadow moving at one point, stealing across the camp on some hidden purpose.
He was woken in the predawn light by a guard's cry.
"Damial is gone!"
Legolas sat up, looking round as the men rose in confusion. He knew that his words had probably caused this. Damial had run because Legolas had convinced him he wasn't wanted here.
The men's lord was awake instantly, ordering his men to prepare for a search, weapons ready. A hint of fear showed through an otherwise emotionless mask.
"Half the group will remain here," he said, "under Ethindal's command to protect the wagons. The rest of you will come with me. We will follow Damial's tracks. He won't have had a chance to get much of a lead on us. Full weapons, everyone."
"Why such a precaution?" one of the men asked.
"There are orcs in these parts," the lord replied, "They would most likely avoid a company as large and well-armed as ours, but they will not hesitate to attack a lone man."
The men hurriedly set about their preparations, and the lord came over to where Legolas sat.
"Is your hatred of orcs enough to overcome your hatred of me?" he asked.
"I don't understand," Legolas replied.
"I will give you a weapon and let you come with me to find Damial, but I need to be sure you will not use the weapon against me."
"I would rather die at the hands of an orc than fight beside you," Legolas spat venomously. The lord stared at him for a moment, then turned away, his face not revealing what he felt, except for the glimmer of fear in his eyes that had nothing to do with Legolas.
As the sun rose over the horizon, preparing for another day of blistering heat, the men left the camp, heading off into the desert. The children were put into the wagon at Ethindal's order, so that they would be safer if an attack came. The news of orcs had filled all the men with a tense energy, waiting to be released.
After a short while, Ethindal cut the ropes around Legolas' legs and took him to the wagon. Legolas suspected it was as much for something to do as to protect him. Certainly, Ethindal kept glancing out in the direction the others had gone.
"I should have gone with them," he muttered, "I should be there to guard his back."
"You don't trust the rest of your company to do that?" Legolas asked.
"I trust them," Ethindal said, "but that's not the same as being there with him. I'm the one who should stand at his side. After all, I'm the one he came to when. . ." Ethindal stopped suddenly. There was a flash of pain across his face and then he turned away, leaving Legolas to wonder about the mysterious event he almost mentioned.
It was several hours into the morning when the men returned. One was limping and leaning on another for support. Another had a deep gash running down one arm, but other than that they seemed unhurt. Except for one.
The men's lord cradled in his arms a battered and bloody form. He set his burden down in the centre of the camp, the men standing round in sorrowful silence.
Damial lay still on the hard ground, his naked body a bloody mess. Dead or unconscious, Legolas couldn't tell.
***
Author's note: A slightly longer chapter, and a slightly better cliffhanger. Keep reviewing, please.