He he! Yet another one – I'm doing so well... Anyway, back to the matter at
hand: the story!!
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Chapter Six - The Turning of Tables
There was a soft thud as Legolas dropped nimbly down into their prison. He stood tall and proud, like the Elven Prince that he was, the hood thrown back and fair hair resting skew-whiff about his shoulders. The moonlight showed plainly that he gave Aragorn a true smile, and it was by this light that Aragorn scrutinised his friend.
Legolas' face made him look perfectly healthy - it was not quite as thin as it had been when they had parted, and his eyes were bright, capturing the silver light in their depth.
His skin's condition could not be truly seen in the blue-white light, but if Legolas was fuller of face and bright of eye, Aragorn could only assume that his skin was back to rights - apart from the numerous grazes over his face, which one would associate with one whom had taken a drastic fall.
There was no vambrace on his right forearm - rather, it was on his left atop the other one, a hastily improvised kind of splint, Aragorn could see, and the belt was no longer at his waist but draped about his neck, serving as a sling in which his arm rested limply.
Aragorn could not restrain himself as the flood of joy and relief washed over him, and he embraced the Elf in a tight, one-armed hug. Tears streamed from his eyes for this one that he had deemed lost forever, this one that he was so close to it felt like Legolas was not just a friend, but a brother.
He pulled back finally, looking the Elf in the face.
'They said that they - that you were dead-'
'-He will be when I'm through with him!'
'Good evening to you too, Gimli.' The smile that played across Legolas' mouth could be heard in his voice, and he turned to face the Dwarf as he came forward from the shadow.
Gimli stopped in front of his tall companion, taking in all of the changes in the Elf, and then going off on a rant...
'Have you even the slightest idea what you've put us through? Aragorn is not as bad as you are, you pointy-eared miscreant!
'And then you turn up alive having cheated Death and Wild Men, and then, you foolhardy idiot, you jump down into this pit with us out of which there is no escape! I thought you Elves were wise! Clearly-'
His sentence was cut short as Legolas pulled him into a close embrace. He stopped rebuking his friend then, and, instead, threw his arms about the other.
'Bless you, laddie!' he said in a somewhat muffled voice, speaking into the other's stomach.
'They told us that they shot you. In the back. And that you fell down a cliff. Tell me how it is that you stand before us.' Aragorn could not help but press the matter, and his need for this information urged him to draw Legolas' attention from his reunion with Gimli.
Legolas pulled away from Gimli, and responded to Aragorn's query with a smile in the corner of his mouth.
'Yes, they shot me in the back,' he said levelly. 'What they did not do was aim properly-' he scowled heavily at this, and reached behind his shoulder to draw from his empty sheath a broken arrow. He rotated it round his fingers nimbly, chewing on his cheek. 'Not into flesh, but right into my quiver, and through that until it hit my knife. Frankly, I have seen Elflings with better aim than that.'
Aragorn chuckled at this. 'From your tone, mellon nin, I would say that you were disappointed with the archer as if you tutored him yourself!'
Legolas cocked a brow at this.
'As to the falling down the cliff part, they never actually checked to see whether or not I truly fell; I managed to grasp a sapling in the cliff-face before plummeting to my death. That is one time that I shall be eternally thankful for the arrogance of some of mankind.'
'And back to my question,' Gimli broke in, 'how do you expect to get out of here with no rope? I shall be eternally cursing Elven stupidity if you have no good plan. You are no less trapped than we are! '
'Correction, dear friend: Wormtongue was most inaccurate when he said that no Elf could jump out of this hole.'
Aragorn and Gimli starred at him, eyes wide at what they had just heard.
'I have tracked you for two days,' said the Elf, reading their thoughts. 'It took me nigh on six hours to find a good place to climb back up the rock face with my injury-' at this he cast dark look at his slung arm '-and when I was back on level ground I spent half an hour trying to strap up my arm.
'After that I set off reading the tracks that you left behind, and caught up with you in the early hours of this morning.'
'So,' said Gimli after a brief silence, 'what is the plan in your head?'
'That we stack ourselves, basically - I atop of Aragorn's shoulders, and you climb up us and out of the hole.'
'And then?'
'And then Aragorn stands on my shoulders and jumps out.'
'Just like that?'
Legolas bowed at Gimli's cynical question.
'Just like that.'
Both turned to Aragorn as he chuckled openly. The Man shook his head, looking at Legolas' confused face.
'Why do you laugh?' the Elven prince asked quietly.
'Because I see now the Elf that once got us into trouble on numerous occasions sorting out escapes in exactly the same way that he used to,' the Ranger said simply. 'He has not shown his face for many a year, and now he stands here with us offering impossible ideas that are bound to work, just as he always used to. Welcome back.'
A crooked smile touched the Elf's lips. 'I never left – you grew up, and my attitude had to do so with you.'
Gimli watched this exchange with fascination; he had seen right from the outset that there was a long history between Aragorn and Legolas; this had been unmistakably clear at the Council of Elrond when he had defended the Ranger against Boromir's chiding words. But now he wondered what they had actually done together – he had heard brief snippets of stories, and when they had been in the Fellowship, either Aragorn or Legolas had accounted to the others some wild event which lay in their past; though that had been Aragorn more often than not, as Legolas had tended to stay very quiet during the original journey.
He had heard them consorting between themselves during that time in Elvish – trying, in vain, to figure out what they spoke of, what inspired them to laugh as they sometimes had done. An unbreakable bond clearly lay between them, a bridge between two souls that neither war, distance and he did not doubt even death could shatter.
Man and Elf began to position themselves at the wall of the cell, Aragorn with his feet firmly planted, hands pressed against the earth to make himself more steadfast. Legolas gave a brief countdown before he used his good arm resting on Aragorn's shoulder to act as a pivot, kicking off of the ground and swinging his legs up in one action so that his feet were on his friends' arms. This made Gimli wonder briefly as the Elf stood upright, perfectly balanced and walked over to the Man's shoulders as though he stepped on a road – but then, Legolas had been the one whilst they had traversed Caradhras that trod on fresh snow and not leaving so much as a footprint.
Legolas looked down to the Dwarf from his lofty position, and gave him a flick of his head as an indication that he was to start climbing, to which the Dwarf gave a rather worried glance.
'Don't worry about it, Gimli,' Legolas assured him. 'It is only a few feet.'
'It is not that that bothers me,' came the reply. 'What if I hurt one of you – you are after all, Legolas, in a very delicate condition.'
Aragorn grinned as he looked upwards at his Elven friends' face, seeing the scowl that he knew would be there. Legolas loathed that kind of wording when used against himself – though he was perfectly happy to use it on someone else, and Aragorn was forcefully reminded of his comment when he had arrived at Helm's Deep - admittedly rather dishevelled – to hear his friend's light mockery.
'Just climb, will you?'
Gimli did as he was bid, though it was a somewhat more awkward affair than when Legolas had done it. He hauled himself up via grabbing Aragorn's clothing and a great deal of heaving. Eventually he reached Aragorn's shoulders, and placed his feet where Legolas' were not, causing the Ranger to pass small grunts of discomfort as Gimli's heavy boots jostled for a position. But it was when he got to Legolas that he began to encounter the real problems. Even though the Elf masked it – and rather well – he was still injured in two places, and so treating him like a tree was going to be hugely difficult. He was also fretting about the Elf's balance: surely with Legolas being as light as he clearly was, he would never be able to support the Dwarf without toppling.
Legolas had noticed this pause, and looked down at his friend with slight impatience. This was not a very comfortable position to be in, and he hardly thought that poor Aragorn beneath the two of them was having a good time.
'What is it now?'
'How can I get up on your shoulders? You'll over-balance or something-'
'-Just allow me to bother about that – you get up there. Now.'
There was a brief silence before: 'I can't. Not without hurting you.'
Legolas sighed heavily, chewing his cheek. He suddenly lowered himself, sitting on his haunches, his hand against the dirt wall to hold himself steady. 'Get on my back,' he instructed. 'Do not argue with me,' he added before Gimli had the chance to utter a word of protestance.
He did, placing his arms about Legolas' neck and allowing himself to hang, not daring to wrap his legs about the Elf's midriff lest he caused him pain.
'Stay very still,' the Elf bid him from between clenched teeth. Gimli may have been shorter and stockier than he was, but that certainly did not mean that he was even slightly light.
The hand left the dirt very slowly. Gimli felt the muscle beneath his hands and in the back under his weight tense tremendously, heard the breath stop ... and felt himself rising with deliberate slowness towards the top of the pit. The Elf had his good arm stretched out to the side to act as a balance as he carefully straightened his knees, emitting the occasional grunt of effort as he forced his muscles to act out this highly arduous task.
His legs were straight, and they complained to him ... but not nearly as much as his side did. The strain had done his injury no favours at all, and it hurt considerably. He made a mental note not to tell Aragorn about this – all he would get from the human would be a lecture, and he was in no mind for that.
He remained perfectly still for a moment, arm still extended. He thought about his balance, taking into account where his feet were, how the arches of them were situated on Aragorn's shoulders. He was some two feet from the wall.
'Hold on, Gimli: when I tell you, you are to make your way up to my shoulders. I do not care how you do it, I just want you to get there ... bearing in mind, of course, that you will be some twelve feet taller than you originally were.'
'Thank you for that,' came a sarcastic reply.
'That is quite alright.'
Legolas allowed his body to topple into the wall, his arm back before him – he felt Gimli's grip intensify with the action, but paid no heed to it as he made contact with the mud. He thanked the Gods that the Dwarf did not argue with his instruction as he became aware of Gimli's feet scrambling up his back, and he did not utter a sound when Gimli actually stood upright, even though his had a sizable quantity of his fair hair trapped under the soul of his boots. He knew how fretting Gimli was about hurting him, and the last thing he wanted was to alarm the Dwarf into moving to take his foot off: that could cause a topple, and though Legolas knew that he would be able to land without harm, he seriously doubted that his companion would be capable of doing the same.
Gimli could see the grass now – his eyes were level with it, and he breathed in its sweet scent gratefully.
'Gimli! Stop smelling the grass! Are there any guards?'
Of course – he had forgotten about the other two, and, by the sound of Legolas' voice, they were not too comfortable under his weight. So he made a quick yet thorough scan of the surrounding area.
'No,' he reported. 'No guards: there's none about.'
He felt himself lower again. Surely they were not going back down after all of the hassle it had taken to get this high, were they?
'What are you doing?' he hissed.
'Tossing you,' came the answer, and Gimli could have sworn that he heard a mischievous undertone in the Elf's voice. But before he could react, he was propelled upwards, and was forced to throw his hands out to catch himself as he landed on the grass.
Legolas leapt up, pushing Gimli to the surface and throwing his weight off of his shoulders before he leapt nimbly down, flexing his back and hearing it click in numerous places when his feet were back on the earth. Aragorn turned to him, likewise flexing.
'Thank the Gods that we have one so lithe as you with us, Legolas.'
The Elf merely grinned at this.
'I have my uses.'
'And now?'
'You get up on my shoulders.'
Aragorn shook his head slowly at this. He surely was not serious? Gimli, he was sure, had been bad enough for Legolas' side. His own weight was far greater than the Dwarf's.
'Aragorn.'
The Ranger turned his eyes to those of his friend. They held a quiet command in them as they looked at him.
'Please.'
Aragorn sighed and shook his head again. He knew what he was required to do when he got up there, and was none too happy about that, either. But he commenced with the climb all the same, trying as hard as he could to avoid Legolas' left side, and, as he stood finally on the sturdy shoulders, he was horribly aware of the discomfort this was causing his friend. It had been hardly noticeable when the Elf had been on his own shoulders – but Elves were naturally light, no matter how tall and strong they were. Aragorn, however, was not, and he knew this only too well.
'You are sure about this, mellon nin?'
Legolas looked up at this question, fighting to keep the discomfort from his face.
'How else are we going to get the King of Gondor out if not via this method?'
Aragorn passed his friend a brief, apprehensive smile before he bent his knees, feeling himself sink lower as the Elf did the same. And they both made their leaps at the same time, an act of perfect synchronicity that got Aragorn high enough to grab the lip of the pit and cling to it – but Legolas' scream had nearly made him drop. He knew it. He knew that all of this was set to be too much for him to take. But he also knew that Legolas would never forgive him if he did lower himself back in there again – so, with the help of the Dwarf, he hauled himself out, the cries of alarmed men reaching their ears. It was all going wrong.
Legolas had not so much landed back down as crumpled in a mess, his eyes temporarily showing him little through the pain that had shot through the wound in his side. He swore to the Gods there and then that if it had reopened he was just going to kill himself now and have done. He felt horribly weakened, and, more potent than that, he felt furious with himself for being in such a condition.
Was that a scream? Gríma sat bolt upright. He had not slept, thus it was no dream – something was happening. If that rabble of filth were scrapping he swore there would be blood to pay.
He robed quickly, throwing open the tent flaps, ready to deal out the appropriate punishments – when he saw something that caused his heart to leap to his mouth. The Ranger and the Dwarf, both out of their hovel, and not a guard in sight! His own scream sheered through the night air, and men poured out from their tents, a mass of ants with a quest as he bellowed in his fits of pure rage.
He could hear the shouts of Men – one in particular that he recognised as Wormtongue – and the anguished cries of Aragorn and Gimli as they leaned over the precipice. He turned his blue eyes up at them. They were both, he was pleased to see, wielding swords – not their own, but weapons were weapons.
It was his turn to command.
'Go.'
'No! We cannot abandon you,' Aragorn took on his usual stubborn hardness, refusing to be pushed away.
'Sí!'
'NO!'
'Then as the crown Prince of Mirkwood, I order you as your superior to leave and raise the alarm in Edoras!'
There was something that neither Dwarf nor Man had ever thought they would hear from Legolas' mouth – he never used his rank against anyone; well, clearly until now. And the worst thing was that Aragorn knew that he could not disobey it. He was not Gondor's king yet.
And so it was with heavy hearts and against their greater judgement that they ran to the other edge of the clearing, slaying the few ill-prepared men who tried to stop them as they reached the horses and cut their tethers, both taking the beast they were best accustomed to riding.
Legolas heard the pound of the hooves as his companions loosed the stolen horses and galloped to freedom themselves. Just as long as they got back safely all would be well for them. They were going to be fine, and he could find comfort in that. What was going to happen to himself was a completely different matter, and he somewhat doubted that they were going to be lenient with him for setting their prisoners free.
He remembered that he was still on the ground in the dirt, and righted his position as quickly as he could, though his side complained quite loudly to his senses about this – no matter what the physical pain was, he refused to allow his pride to be hurt.
It was a few minutes before he heard: 'HOW IN THE NAME OF ILÚVATAR'S EARS DID THEY GET OUT?' That had been said by Wormtongue, he knew, and he could not help but chuckle softly to himself – the chuckle progressed to a full laugh, and he found it even more amusing when the whole camp went silent at the noise.
Several heads popped into his view, Gríma Wormtongue's own there with horror written all over it. However, at the sight of Legolas, all of the Wild Men emitted shrieks of fear, and he heard several mentionings of 'ghosts' and 'back from the dead'. Only Wormtongue stayed, staring with a confused expression at the Elf below him, who had now stopped laughing, and was surveying the Man's face in return, his face now placid though slightly red form his mirth.
'I am intrigued,' Gríma began in a steady voice, 'as to how you come to be here. Alive.'
'Well,' Legolas replied in an equally calm yet mocking voice, leaning against the wall of his new prison, 'it's a long story, involving myself, your men, and an incompetent archer under your command.'
'Why are you still alive? Why can't you just die?'
'While you are here to annoy? No!'
'I see. My orders were to bring back all of you alive, but, seeing as you have somewhat soiled that plan, I think we shall just be taking you on your own. You can die alone.'
'I apologise,' Legolas said, an eyebrow raised, not at all bothered by the promise of his own miserable death, 'for "soiling" the plans of your puppet- master, but, as I saw it three nights ago, you had absolutely no intention of taking any of us back alive.'
'That is of no concern of yours,' Gríma hissed, stung by the reminder of that failure which was still so very poignant in his mind. 'But all the same you shall pay dearly for what you have done.'
'Perhaps,' said the Elf quietly, still evidently not willing to sway under the threat of the obvious pain that he had been promised and set to endure for however long his captor – seemingly Saruman – deemed appropriate. That was in the future, not at that moment in time, so Legolas viewed it from the perspective of, if it was not happening now, then he need not worry about it until it happened. He did not doubt for a second that it would occur, but there was just no point in fretting about it right now – he had enough to mull over without that.
'And I am intrigued, Master of Deceit, about what is to happen now.'
'Again, that is none of your concern,' Gríma replied, his mouth in a flat line. 'What will happen will happen, and you will go along with it, whether you choose to or no.'
'So I can assume that I shall be meeting with the former White Wizard, can I?'
Gríma was bored of this now, and moved away from the pit edge: he had no wish to exchange pointless banter with the Elf any longer – he had things to arrange.
TRANSLATIONS
Sí! – Now! Mellon nin – My friend
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Chapter Six - The Turning of Tables
There was a soft thud as Legolas dropped nimbly down into their prison. He stood tall and proud, like the Elven Prince that he was, the hood thrown back and fair hair resting skew-whiff about his shoulders. The moonlight showed plainly that he gave Aragorn a true smile, and it was by this light that Aragorn scrutinised his friend.
Legolas' face made him look perfectly healthy - it was not quite as thin as it had been when they had parted, and his eyes were bright, capturing the silver light in their depth.
His skin's condition could not be truly seen in the blue-white light, but if Legolas was fuller of face and bright of eye, Aragorn could only assume that his skin was back to rights - apart from the numerous grazes over his face, which one would associate with one whom had taken a drastic fall.
There was no vambrace on his right forearm - rather, it was on his left atop the other one, a hastily improvised kind of splint, Aragorn could see, and the belt was no longer at his waist but draped about his neck, serving as a sling in which his arm rested limply.
Aragorn could not restrain himself as the flood of joy and relief washed over him, and he embraced the Elf in a tight, one-armed hug. Tears streamed from his eyes for this one that he had deemed lost forever, this one that he was so close to it felt like Legolas was not just a friend, but a brother.
He pulled back finally, looking the Elf in the face.
'They said that they - that you were dead-'
'-He will be when I'm through with him!'
'Good evening to you too, Gimli.' The smile that played across Legolas' mouth could be heard in his voice, and he turned to face the Dwarf as he came forward from the shadow.
Gimli stopped in front of his tall companion, taking in all of the changes in the Elf, and then going off on a rant...
'Have you even the slightest idea what you've put us through? Aragorn is not as bad as you are, you pointy-eared miscreant!
'And then you turn up alive having cheated Death and Wild Men, and then, you foolhardy idiot, you jump down into this pit with us out of which there is no escape! I thought you Elves were wise! Clearly-'
His sentence was cut short as Legolas pulled him into a close embrace. He stopped rebuking his friend then, and, instead, threw his arms about the other.
'Bless you, laddie!' he said in a somewhat muffled voice, speaking into the other's stomach.
'They told us that they shot you. In the back. And that you fell down a cliff. Tell me how it is that you stand before us.' Aragorn could not help but press the matter, and his need for this information urged him to draw Legolas' attention from his reunion with Gimli.
Legolas pulled away from Gimli, and responded to Aragorn's query with a smile in the corner of his mouth.
'Yes, they shot me in the back,' he said levelly. 'What they did not do was aim properly-' he scowled heavily at this, and reached behind his shoulder to draw from his empty sheath a broken arrow. He rotated it round his fingers nimbly, chewing on his cheek. 'Not into flesh, but right into my quiver, and through that until it hit my knife. Frankly, I have seen Elflings with better aim than that.'
Aragorn chuckled at this. 'From your tone, mellon nin, I would say that you were disappointed with the archer as if you tutored him yourself!'
Legolas cocked a brow at this.
'As to the falling down the cliff part, they never actually checked to see whether or not I truly fell; I managed to grasp a sapling in the cliff-face before plummeting to my death. That is one time that I shall be eternally thankful for the arrogance of some of mankind.'
'And back to my question,' Gimli broke in, 'how do you expect to get out of here with no rope? I shall be eternally cursing Elven stupidity if you have no good plan. You are no less trapped than we are! '
'Correction, dear friend: Wormtongue was most inaccurate when he said that no Elf could jump out of this hole.'
Aragorn and Gimli starred at him, eyes wide at what they had just heard.
'I have tracked you for two days,' said the Elf, reading their thoughts. 'It took me nigh on six hours to find a good place to climb back up the rock face with my injury-' at this he cast dark look at his slung arm '-and when I was back on level ground I spent half an hour trying to strap up my arm.
'After that I set off reading the tracks that you left behind, and caught up with you in the early hours of this morning.'
'So,' said Gimli after a brief silence, 'what is the plan in your head?'
'That we stack ourselves, basically - I atop of Aragorn's shoulders, and you climb up us and out of the hole.'
'And then?'
'And then Aragorn stands on my shoulders and jumps out.'
'Just like that?'
Legolas bowed at Gimli's cynical question.
'Just like that.'
Both turned to Aragorn as he chuckled openly. The Man shook his head, looking at Legolas' confused face.
'Why do you laugh?' the Elven prince asked quietly.
'Because I see now the Elf that once got us into trouble on numerous occasions sorting out escapes in exactly the same way that he used to,' the Ranger said simply. 'He has not shown his face for many a year, and now he stands here with us offering impossible ideas that are bound to work, just as he always used to. Welcome back.'
A crooked smile touched the Elf's lips. 'I never left – you grew up, and my attitude had to do so with you.'
Gimli watched this exchange with fascination; he had seen right from the outset that there was a long history between Aragorn and Legolas; this had been unmistakably clear at the Council of Elrond when he had defended the Ranger against Boromir's chiding words. But now he wondered what they had actually done together – he had heard brief snippets of stories, and when they had been in the Fellowship, either Aragorn or Legolas had accounted to the others some wild event which lay in their past; though that had been Aragorn more often than not, as Legolas had tended to stay very quiet during the original journey.
He had heard them consorting between themselves during that time in Elvish – trying, in vain, to figure out what they spoke of, what inspired them to laugh as they sometimes had done. An unbreakable bond clearly lay between them, a bridge between two souls that neither war, distance and he did not doubt even death could shatter.
Man and Elf began to position themselves at the wall of the cell, Aragorn with his feet firmly planted, hands pressed against the earth to make himself more steadfast. Legolas gave a brief countdown before he used his good arm resting on Aragorn's shoulder to act as a pivot, kicking off of the ground and swinging his legs up in one action so that his feet were on his friends' arms. This made Gimli wonder briefly as the Elf stood upright, perfectly balanced and walked over to the Man's shoulders as though he stepped on a road – but then, Legolas had been the one whilst they had traversed Caradhras that trod on fresh snow and not leaving so much as a footprint.
Legolas looked down to the Dwarf from his lofty position, and gave him a flick of his head as an indication that he was to start climbing, to which the Dwarf gave a rather worried glance.
'Don't worry about it, Gimli,' Legolas assured him. 'It is only a few feet.'
'It is not that that bothers me,' came the reply. 'What if I hurt one of you – you are after all, Legolas, in a very delicate condition.'
Aragorn grinned as he looked upwards at his Elven friends' face, seeing the scowl that he knew would be there. Legolas loathed that kind of wording when used against himself – though he was perfectly happy to use it on someone else, and Aragorn was forcefully reminded of his comment when he had arrived at Helm's Deep - admittedly rather dishevelled – to hear his friend's light mockery.
'Just climb, will you?'
Gimli did as he was bid, though it was a somewhat more awkward affair than when Legolas had done it. He hauled himself up via grabbing Aragorn's clothing and a great deal of heaving. Eventually he reached Aragorn's shoulders, and placed his feet where Legolas' were not, causing the Ranger to pass small grunts of discomfort as Gimli's heavy boots jostled for a position. But it was when he got to Legolas that he began to encounter the real problems. Even though the Elf masked it – and rather well – he was still injured in two places, and so treating him like a tree was going to be hugely difficult. He was also fretting about the Elf's balance: surely with Legolas being as light as he clearly was, he would never be able to support the Dwarf without toppling.
Legolas had noticed this pause, and looked down at his friend with slight impatience. This was not a very comfortable position to be in, and he hardly thought that poor Aragorn beneath the two of them was having a good time.
'What is it now?'
'How can I get up on your shoulders? You'll over-balance or something-'
'-Just allow me to bother about that – you get up there. Now.'
There was a brief silence before: 'I can't. Not without hurting you.'
Legolas sighed heavily, chewing his cheek. He suddenly lowered himself, sitting on his haunches, his hand against the dirt wall to hold himself steady. 'Get on my back,' he instructed. 'Do not argue with me,' he added before Gimli had the chance to utter a word of protestance.
He did, placing his arms about Legolas' neck and allowing himself to hang, not daring to wrap his legs about the Elf's midriff lest he caused him pain.
'Stay very still,' the Elf bid him from between clenched teeth. Gimli may have been shorter and stockier than he was, but that certainly did not mean that he was even slightly light.
The hand left the dirt very slowly. Gimli felt the muscle beneath his hands and in the back under his weight tense tremendously, heard the breath stop ... and felt himself rising with deliberate slowness towards the top of the pit. The Elf had his good arm stretched out to the side to act as a balance as he carefully straightened his knees, emitting the occasional grunt of effort as he forced his muscles to act out this highly arduous task.
His legs were straight, and they complained to him ... but not nearly as much as his side did. The strain had done his injury no favours at all, and it hurt considerably. He made a mental note not to tell Aragorn about this – all he would get from the human would be a lecture, and he was in no mind for that.
He remained perfectly still for a moment, arm still extended. He thought about his balance, taking into account where his feet were, how the arches of them were situated on Aragorn's shoulders. He was some two feet from the wall.
'Hold on, Gimli: when I tell you, you are to make your way up to my shoulders. I do not care how you do it, I just want you to get there ... bearing in mind, of course, that you will be some twelve feet taller than you originally were.'
'Thank you for that,' came a sarcastic reply.
'That is quite alright.'
Legolas allowed his body to topple into the wall, his arm back before him – he felt Gimli's grip intensify with the action, but paid no heed to it as he made contact with the mud. He thanked the Gods that the Dwarf did not argue with his instruction as he became aware of Gimli's feet scrambling up his back, and he did not utter a sound when Gimli actually stood upright, even though his had a sizable quantity of his fair hair trapped under the soul of his boots. He knew how fretting Gimli was about hurting him, and the last thing he wanted was to alarm the Dwarf into moving to take his foot off: that could cause a topple, and though Legolas knew that he would be able to land without harm, he seriously doubted that his companion would be capable of doing the same.
Gimli could see the grass now – his eyes were level with it, and he breathed in its sweet scent gratefully.
'Gimli! Stop smelling the grass! Are there any guards?'
Of course – he had forgotten about the other two, and, by the sound of Legolas' voice, they were not too comfortable under his weight. So he made a quick yet thorough scan of the surrounding area.
'No,' he reported. 'No guards: there's none about.'
He felt himself lower again. Surely they were not going back down after all of the hassle it had taken to get this high, were they?
'What are you doing?' he hissed.
'Tossing you,' came the answer, and Gimli could have sworn that he heard a mischievous undertone in the Elf's voice. But before he could react, he was propelled upwards, and was forced to throw his hands out to catch himself as he landed on the grass.
Legolas leapt up, pushing Gimli to the surface and throwing his weight off of his shoulders before he leapt nimbly down, flexing his back and hearing it click in numerous places when his feet were back on the earth. Aragorn turned to him, likewise flexing.
'Thank the Gods that we have one so lithe as you with us, Legolas.'
The Elf merely grinned at this.
'I have my uses.'
'And now?'
'You get up on my shoulders.'
Aragorn shook his head slowly at this. He surely was not serious? Gimli, he was sure, had been bad enough for Legolas' side. His own weight was far greater than the Dwarf's.
'Aragorn.'
The Ranger turned his eyes to those of his friend. They held a quiet command in them as they looked at him.
'Please.'
Aragorn sighed and shook his head again. He knew what he was required to do when he got up there, and was none too happy about that, either. But he commenced with the climb all the same, trying as hard as he could to avoid Legolas' left side, and, as he stood finally on the sturdy shoulders, he was horribly aware of the discomfort this was causing his friend. It had been hardly noticeable when the Elf had been on his own shoulders – but Elves were naturally light, no matter how tall and strong they were. Aragorn, however, was not, and he knew this only too well.
'You are sure about this, mellon nin?'
Legolas looked up at this question, fighting to keep the discomfort from his face.
'How else are we going to get the King of Gondor out if not via this method?'
Aragorn passed his friend a brief, apprehensive smile before he bent his knees, feeling himself sink lower as the Elf did the same. And they both made their leaps at the same time, an act of perfect synchronicity that got Aragorn high enough to grab the lip of the pit and cling to it – but Legolas' scream had nearly made him drop. He knew it. He knew that all of this was set to be too much for him to take. But he also knew that Legolas would never forgive him if he did lower himself back in there again – so, with the help of the Dwarf, he hauled himself out, the cries of alarmed men reaching their ears. It was all going wrong.
Legolas had not so much landed back down as crumpled in a mess, his eyes temporarily showing him little through the pain that had shot through the wound in his side. He swore to the Gods there and then that if it had reopened he was just going to kill himself now and have done. He felt horribly weakened, and, more potent than that, he felt furious with himself for being in such a condition.
Was that a scream? Gríma sat bolt upright. He had not slept, thus it was no dream – something was happening. If that rabble of filth were scrapping he swore there would be blood to pay.
He robed quickly, throwing open the tent flaps, ready to deal out the appropriate punishments – when he saw something that caused his heart to leap to his mouth. The Ranger and the Dwarf, both out of their hovel, and not a guard in sight! His own scream sheered through the night air, and men poured out from their tents, a mass of ants with a quest as he bellowed in his fits of pure rage.
He could hear the shouts of Men – one in particular that he recognised as Wormtongue – and the anguished cries of Aragorn and Gimli as they leaned over the precipice. He turned his blue eyes up at them. They were both, he was pleased to see, wielding swords – not their own, but weapons were weapons.
It was his turn to command.
'Go.'
'No! We cannot abandon you,' Aragorn took on his usual stubborn hardness, refusing to be pushed away.
'Sí!'
'NO!'
'Then as the crown Prince of Mirkwood, I order you as your superior to leave and raise the alarm in Edoras!'
There was something that neither Dwarf nor Man had ever thought they would hear from Legolas' mouth – he never used his rank against anyone; well, clearly until now. And the worst thing was that Aragorn knew that he could not disobey it. He was not Gondor's king yet.
And so it was with heavy hearts and against their greater judgement that they ran to the other edge of the clearing, slaying the few ill-prepared men who tried to stop them as they reached the horses and cut their tethers, both taking the beast they were best accustomed to riding.
Legolas heard the pound of the hooves as his companions loosed the stolen horses and galloped to freedom themselves. Just as long as they got back safely all would be well for them. They were going to be fine, and he could find comfort in that. What was going to happen to himself was a completely different matter, and he somewhat doubted that they were going to be lenient with him for setting their prisoners free.
He remembered that he was still on the ground in the dirt, and righted his position as quickly as he could, though his side complained quite loudly to his senses about this – no matter what the physical pain was, he refused to allow his pride to be hurt.
It was a few minutes before he heard: 'HOW IN THE NAME OF ILÚVATAR'S EARS DID THEY GET OUT?' That had been said by Wormtongue, he knew, and he could not help but chuckle softly to himself – the chuckle progressed to a full laugh, and he found it even more amusing when the whole camp went silent at the noise.
Several heads popped into his view, Gríma Wormtongue's own there with horror written all over it. However, at the sight of Legolas, all of the Wild Men emitted shrieks of fear, and he heard several mentionings of 'ghosts' and 'back from the dead'. Only Wormtongue stayed, staring with a confused expression at the Elf below him, who had now stopped laughing, and was surveying the Man's face in return, his face now placid though slightly red form his mirth.
'I am intrigued,' Gríma began in a steady voice, 'as to how you come to be here. Alive.'
'Well,' Legolas replied in an equally calm yet mocking voice, leaning against the wall of his new prison, 'it's a long story, involving myself, your men, and an incompetent archer under your command.'
'Why are you still alive? Why can't you just die?'
'While you are here to annoy? No!'
'I see. My orders were to bring back all of you alive, but, seeing as you have somewhat soiled that plan, I think we shall just be taking you on your own. You can die alone.'
'I apologise,' Legolas said, an eyebrow raised, not at all bothered by the promise of his own miserable death, 'for "soiling" the plans of your puppet- master, but, as I saw it three nights ago, you had absolutely no intention of taking any of us back alive.'
'That is of no concern of yours,' Gríma hissed, stung by the reminder of that failure which was still so very poignant in his mind. 'But all the same you shall pay dearly for what you have done.'
'Perhaps,' said the Elf quietly, still evidently not willing to sway under the threat of the obvious pain that he had been promised and set to endure for however long his captor – seemingly Saruman – deemed appropriate. That was in the future, not at that moment in time, so Legolas viewed it from the perspective of, if it was not happening now, then he need not worry about it until it happened. He did not doubt for a second that it would occur, but there was just no point in fretting about it right now – he had enough to mull over without that.
'And I am intrigued, Master of Deceit, about what is to happen now.'
'Again, that is none of your concern,' Gríma replied, his mouth in a flat line. 'What will happen will happen, and you will go along with it, whether you choose to or no.'
'So I can assume that I shall be meeting with the former White Wizard, can I?'
Gríma was bored of this now, and moved away from the pit edge: he had no wish to exchange pointless banter with the Elf any longer – he had things to arrange.
TRANSLATIONS
Sí! – Now! Mellon nin – My friend