Chapter XI: Hit and Run

Aragorn smiled to himself at the elves' ability to maintain their sarcasm even under great stress. He reached a hand out to assist Celebdraug in mounting onto his horse, but she swatted his hand away and gracefully leaped the two meters up onto the back of the great steed. Mordae mirrored her maneuver and planted himself behind another Dunedain soldier.

Raising his fingers to his lips, Aragorn let out a shrill whistle, the 'follow me' signal, and whirled his horse toward a large clearing they had passed through on the way to save the elves. He felt Celebdraug fumbling around with the assorted weapons she was carrying, and he chanced a look over his shoulder.

She paused and raised her eyebrows as she felt his gaze on her.

"What?"

Aragorn looked at the double bladed knife she held in her hand.

"Don't poke me with anything."

She laughed slightly, then lightly jabbed him in his chain-mail armored side.

"You can walk, you know," he warned her.

Celebdraug reached over his shoulder with blinding speed and gave the reins a slight tug, pulling the horse around a tree it had been heading toward.

"Shut up and steer," she chided mockingly, returning to her work of rearranging the personal arsenal arrayed on her body.

Mordae leaned closer to the rider whose horse he rode on.

"Took you guys long enough to get here!" he hissed into the man's ear.

The rider, an elf named Glorfindel with whom Mordae had worked with several times in his life, and who had become the cousins' best friend, turned his hooded head and smiled, "We stopped for a snack. Then we had a nice chat with some Ents. And then we went shopping. And then we all had to watch Legolas prance around. And then..."

"Glorfindel."

"Yes?"

Mordae paused, "Nice to see you."

Glorfindel raised his blonde eyebrows, "Wow, that was..."

"Now shut up."

"There it is."

The two elves laughed mirthfully.

Aragorn looked across through the trees at the two and cut his hand across his throat in a slashing motion "Aww, come on, man," Mordae whined.

"We are within a mile of a huge army of Remnant forces," Aragorn replied in a hushed tone.

"And you are within a few meters of being a real Galadriel in a man's body," Celebdraug hissed at the Numenorian, who rolled his eyes and moved further away from Mordae and Glorfindel.

"What's your problem?" Celebdraug asked him as she finished attaching her final knife.

Aragorn sighed and shook his head a little, "Nothing."

"Oh, come on, you can tell me," Celebdraug said, doing her best to sound consoling.

"My dear," Aragorn said, turning slightly to look at her, "I have watched you kill men twice my size with one empty hand while you used the other to twist a dagger you have previously embedded in somebody else's chest. No tone of voice is going to make me think you're cute and harmless."

Celebdraug shrugged, then moved with lightning speed, drawing a knife from her belt and wrapping her arm around Aragorn's neck. He cried out in surprise and nearly ran them off the path they were following, but managed to maintain control.

"Tell me what's wrong, or I'll slit your throat," the Noldorian woman growled playfully.

Aragorn took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, then sighed again. "Arwen."

"My name is Celebdraug."

Aragorn snorted. "Funny," he admitted sarcastically. "I haven't seen her for nearly three months."

Now Celebdraug snorted and made the motion of a tear running down her cheek.

"Just because you've never been able to get a guy doesn't mean you have to be insensitive to the rest of us who have healthy relationships," Aragorn quipped in a mocking tone.

Celebdraug paused and looked up at the treetops, as if considering something, then reached behind herself and drew her flaming sword.

"I have a good relationship with this."

Aragorn shook his head, "You're pathetic."

"Do you really mean it?"

Before Aragorn could respond, the Dunedain were upon the clearing, and in a moment, all the horse and riders had assembled.

Aragorn hopped off, muttering, "Thank Illúvatar," under his breath as he hurried away from Celebdraug.

Glorfindel leaped from his horse as well, striding to meet his General.

"What's our plan of action, hobbit-kisser?" the elf asked Aragorn.

Ignoring the attempt to rile him up, Aragorn stroked his beard, which stood out in stark contrast against the clean faces of his elven elite troops with whom he rode.

"How long do you think we have until those dirt bags find us?" he asked.

Glorfindel shot a glance into the forest, then to Mordae and Celebdraug as they drew up alongside the two conferring generals and shrugged in their direction.

"Let's roll," Celebdraug hissed, fingering one of the long daggers she held in her hand.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows, "Sounds urgent."

Mordae cocked his head to the side; he held his bow in one hand, his other absently stroking the fletching of a nocked arrow.

He spoke quietly, "You don't hear them?"

Aragorn cocked his head, and then slowly nodded his head in confirmation. "No."

The elves sighed. Glorfindel held up a hand and listened closely.

"I believe I hear them. They sound far off, though," he said.

Mordae shook his head, "They're quite close. There are too many of them for us to fight right now, and if we don't leave soon, we're not going to make it."

"Always the voice of optimism, Mordae," Glorfindel sang, giving the other elf a mocking glance.

"Sorry. Well, it might be fun to have our guts ripped out by two hundred angry wolfmen, but I sorta had plans for Valarsday night," Mordae answered in a sarcastic, slightly angry-sounding voice.

"Oh, come now, where's your sense of adventure?" Celebdraug asked scornfully.

Mordae was about to reply when a lychen burst through the bushes and charged right toward the foursome, which scattered in different directions. The sound of a hundred elven bows loosing their arrows split the general silence, and the lychen was hurled into the air by the force of the projectiles. Even before the hole-ridden body could hit the dusty ground, Aragorn was calling out his order.

"Mount up! We ride for Anduin!! Ride!!"

The four generals bolted for the two horses they were sharing, and the army thundered north, toward the last remaining stronghold of light; Lorien.