An Elven Tale

Disclaimer and warning: The most I own of LOTR is probably the DVDs, along with posters, folders etc… thus trust me when I say I own nothing, I wouldn't be here if I did.

Warning: AU, major slash!

First of all, a very very big thanks to silvertoekee and Shelly LeBlanc for beta-ing ^^ ~mwah

Oh, and check out this poster at: the poster I made for this story. =] … damn Aragorn and Legolas are so good.

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"…" – Speech

This – Thoughts

Chapter 4: Rescue of Hope

Set a few days after previous chapter

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Aragorn glowered at the gruesome, piteous creatures, his eyes reflected of the utmost loathing. If only he had been captured, he would've fought until the very end, but with him were his comrades.  And he could not lead them to their deaths, those who had sworn to his service until their very last breaths,

They were moving now, faster than the previous days, south towards Gondor where Saruman had led the city into shadow. He knew without a doubt that Rohan, city of the horse lords was in great peril – even though Saruman had overlooked the city, which was at the doorsteps of Isengard.  And had instead stretched his lengthy arms towards Gondor, he had definitely not forgotten the land. Théoden the Rohan king would not have been prepared had Saruman decided to invade, for he would've thought Saruman cared naught for their land, and lessened his guard instead of heighten it after the fall of Gondor.

"Faster!" A particularly nasty orc snarled, pushing Aragorn harshly from the back. Its near presence smelt of rotten flesh.

Aragorn bit his tongue from crying out; the arrow wound he received days ago had not healed. He doubted if it ever would, at least not under theses circumstances.

"Move faster!" Another prod at the back almost sent him stumbling to the ground, but he managed to remain dignified and upright, shooting another glare at his capturers.

They ran at an alarming pace, as though a whip was at their tail, lashing them had they slowed even a fraction. The earth groaned as the orcs' thundered with their ungraceful presence. Even the birds and trees seemed to be in fear and hatred of the creatures, for Aragorn missed the chirping that rang through the sky during the morn.

"The sun is rising. We will take a rest," a commanding voice growled from the front most of the group, and only then did Aragorn notice the very edges of the horizon dyed a light orange.

He felt yet another push from the back, this time sending him straight towards the ground. And his knees met the earth with a sickening scratch, sending yet another rush of stars to his eyes and rage washed over him as though it was water tipped over his head. He was used to pain, his years as a ranger accustomed him to many injuries both of poison and external-making. Thus he concluded it was the constant nag at the back of his mind of the thought that many rangers were dying in his stead, which caused him such fury as he never known before.

"I am hungry!" cried one orc; its yellow eyes stared pointedly at the men. "They will say nothing. They are of no use. Must we labour ourselves with mortals and bring them to Saruman when their end will be the same? They look tasty."

"Nay, take your eyes off them filth. We must bring them to Saruman and let nothing harm them."

"Can we not ask them ourselves? Surely their answers will not change." He charged at the man right of Aragorn before the other had replied, contorting its ugly face with a sneer as it asked, "Do you know Isildur's heir?"

"They do not know," another spoke in a lazy drawl, "I have questioned them but a few days ago. Their lips are bound. T's all is well. We hunt rangers, and we dine upon them when Saruman's done his needs. T's only time we waste, nothing else."

His words bit into Aragorn's heart as though a snake's venomous poison.

T's for me those rangers die.

Aragorn looked searchingly at his longest comrade and friend.  His eyes were windows to his heart and they spoke for him in silence.

What am I to do?

"Do not answer them." Came the swift reply in the softest of whispers.

"I have already led my people into ruins, I cannot let more die by my hand." Aragorn barely moved his lips in fear that the orcs would overhear. They seemed oblivious as they rested in packs under cool shades of the trees; the sun was rising fast from the eastern sky, casting life over Middle Earth.

"They die for the future of their city, they die as a hero! A warrior!" The voice raised a notch, attracting the attention of a nearby orc.

"You're not mute, then. What did you speak of?" At once the orc was at their necks, a smirking smile spread across his face.

"T's nothing of importance to you," Matthew* the comrade, shot back, eyes flaming of hatred.

"You must control your tongue…men," a slight scowl distorted the face even more, if it was possible. "Or you may find yourself rid of your voice for good."

"Is that a challenge?" Matthew raised his eyebrows.

"If you call it that." The orc reached for his sword, and its surface gave a soft flicker of light.

"Then take my voice. For I know something you wish, and only I know it. Cut my tongue and you will never find the king of Gondor, Isildur's heir," Matthew muttered with an air of smugness, his tone equally deadly.

"Isildur's heir, you say?"

"The one and only."

"You know of his dwelling?" Aragorn noted unmistakable interest in the voice.

"Aye," Matthew confirmed much to Aragorn's confusion. "He stands now inches from you."

"Then we have stepped on treasure," the orc eyed all the men with great attention. "Who do you speak of?"

"I am the king of Gondor. T's I who you need. Now leave the others and take me to Saruman."

"Nay!" Aragorn cried at once, what he wanted to say burst forth before he was able to stop himself. He could not let his friend be taken to the evils in his place. Despite the warnings he cried his spiteful words.  Who cared if they were to kill him and slaughter him?  He could not live with the thought that too many people were slain because of him.

 "I am -"

Before he was able to finish his sentence, the orc widened his eyes in pure surprise. There was a pause in which Aragorn left his mouth open, half a mind on continuing with his claim.  And then, as though in slow motions, the orc fell forward into a heap onto the ground, an arrow embedded into its back.

Momentarily startled, Aragorn remained unaware of the rest of the orcs' calls. He caught the elvish markings upon the arrow, and his heart lifted.

"The elves," he whispered. His eyes strayed towards deeper into the forest, where battle raged, and there he caught glimpses of raven and gold… of silver and mithril.  

"Indeed." He felt the ropes around his wrist come lose and he whirled around to face his half-elven brother.

"Elrohir." Sparing time for but a hasty brush of hand on each other's shoulder, Elrohir handed Aragorn a prepared sword, and together they freed the rest of the captured men.

Baring the elvish sword tight in his hands, Aragorn raged into battle, his vigour of those above any other. He brought his sword down as he neared an orc, catching it off guard. The Orc's head rolled onto the ground before he could make any defences. He ran his sword through another, and it stained of muddy blood as he pulled it from the Orc's torso.

For some strange reason, a sudden panic arose in his heart, mixed with dread. He turned fast, only indistinctively hearing someone calling, "Careful!"

It must've being instinct, for behind him he found the creature who seemed the commander of orcs was standing tall behind him, the sword raised high in one hand and ready to strike. Taken by horror, Aragorn dashed aside, managing to dodge the blade yet he did not see another coming at him from his right.

A sharp pain at his side informed him that he had another opponent upon the battlefield and that he was injured. He quickly rolled onto his side and stabbed his sword into the orc beside him, avenging himself, and stood. The pain was agonizing, already he felt light-headed and dizzy. His hands automatically reached to his side, feeling the liquid pouring onto his hands.

Nay

Blurrily, he felt himself falling onto his knees and his weapon falling from his hands.

I must stay focused, He willed himself. But even as he thought it, his mind began to slip.

He saw an orc above him, its blade aimed at his chest, and he knew he had no chance of defending himself. Thus when he fell into darkness, he believed he would never open his eyes again.

~

Legolas surveyed the field with a sense of satisfaction upon his face. Far from being unaccustomed to battle; he had slain more orcs than he'd bargained. His keen hearing and sight picked his opponents far before they were ready and his fast motions when it came to his bow and arrow minimised any chance of survival of his enemy. He held his twin blades in his hands, having finished his arrows too soon for his liking.

He saw the twins, both of whom were finishing off the last of their enemy that were upon them.

.

.

.

He saw the dwarf, whose axe was raised in defence against his opponent. The dwarf was indeed a great warrior, and Legolas had to respect him for that, no matter how much they disapproved of each other.

.

.

.

He saw the two men, with who he had become better friends during the pursuit since the past few days, and they too, were battling hard against the orcs.

.

.

.

He saw the white wizard, whose powering aura was ever so present and forboding to the evil.

.

.

.

He saw a few men, whom they had set out to rescue. And they had done their job; the mere thought brought a smile to his face. Somewhere among them would be the king of Gondor…

And his eyes came to another. The man was upon the earth, unconscious as it seemed. His sword was inches from him, and even if he had the chance he could not defend himself from any evils. An Orc was proceeding towards him, ready to kill.

And unknown panic rose within his chest, Legolas ran furiously to where the man lay. He grabbed an arrow along the way, which was embedded deep in a fallen Orc's flesh. Faster than the blink of an eye, he had positioned the arrow and sent it flying towards the standing Orc's neck.

It hit where it was meant, yet the orc did not fall.

Legolas mumbled a light curse. He swiftly deposited his arrow and bow where Faramir fought, dashing past as a twinkle of gold. And even before he reached where the orc stood, whose blade a mere inches away from the man's chest, he jumped past the many bodies in his way and kicked the orc from where it stood. The Orc caught by complete surprise, flung the blade towards Legolas and fell thundering upon the earth.

Legolas tried in vain to keep on his feet, but the sharp edges of the blade pierced his shoulder with surprising accuracy. He grabbed the hilt of the sword with his hand of the uninjured arm and brought it towards the orc but a few feet away.

The Orc fell heavily onto the ground.

Contented, he turned to where the man lay still and motionless.

He crawled towards the man and even as he did so he was graceful. Even when he had one injured arm ailing him as he inched towards his friend upon the ground, he remained graceful.

He placed his ear on the man's chest, listening intently for the rhythm of life – a heartbeat. It was there, faint but stable.

He let out a breath that he didn't even know he was holding.

And then his eyes caught something glimmering in the sun.

His hands reached for it, his hands clasped around something cold as steel. "The Ring of Barahir." He whispered, many times had he heard stories of such ring, of the immortal and mortal binding between Beren and Luthien the fair. There was interest in his bright sapphire eyes as he next looked at the man unconscious, "Why, but you're Isildur's heir!"

This was but the first time when he unknowingly saved Aragorn.

And unbeknownst to himself, this marked the beginning of the rest of his tale.

~*

TBC

* - I know Matthew is too modern a name, but I'm too dumb to think of anything else =/ Sorry.

Replies:

Emme1: Thanks! LoL, the council was actually just a random idea though I'm really glad you liked it. =]

Lyn: Thanks for the suggestions. I went through my chapter this time just to check if I left any, though I don't think I was particularly patient with it =P so if there's more please excuse it. Thanks again~!!!

Luthien Galathil: No way! You don't write crap! I believe I've read your stories and they're damn good. Ah I'm not exactly good with action, I stick with romance =] now I'm just waiting for the romance parts to come to pass… ^_^ Thanks~!

Tol Morwen: LoL. Very true, that was a very stupid question. Yup, the doom is indeed falling in love which leads to a greater sacrifice – however I must agree with you, falling in love with Legolas is definitely no doom for me either. It will be a dream come true! =] Thanks!

Silvertoekee: lol! The fellowship of Aragorn, yack I never thought of that name: interesting. Oh I have a thing for Faramir, maybe it's because Orlando wanted to play him, or simply of his role in Return of the King but I absolutely adore him. Pity twins didn't appear in the movie at all. Thanks for everything ^^

Jadesaber: LoL. Well yes, I suppose of course he'll have to say yes. I have to say you're great at foretelling what's to come: though the doom would not be heart-broken death for Legolas once Aragorn dies of mortal age. And no, I don't intent to make them bind together – that would be too happy for my sadist mind =P. Thanks heaps~!

Shelly LeBlanc: very much, thank you! And thanks for the tips, I'll remember them. ~mwah.

Eithne: Arh, new readers are always welcomed with a big, big hug. ~hug. Lol. Thanks dearest!

And of course, Legolas19: Thanks heaps girl, for the e-mail. ~mwah~. And I betcha anything you can write great. =]

Thanks again, all, your reviews made my day – literally!