Shouts resounded through the Orc camp. The voice of Kashgûl could be heard roaring, "Gimbul, gimbul—skai! Gimbul!" Legolas jerked out of his doze just in time to see two small figures running hither and thither through the still-pouring rain. He could hear snatches of an argument between them, said in high little hobbit-voices:
"No, Pippin—he's over this way!"
"Quiet, Merry, or the Uruks will hear us—"
"But I'm telling you, he's over here—"
"Call for him, then—"
"Call? And you were only just now complaining about making too much noise!"
"All right, I'll do it; they'll have already heard you by now—Legolas! Legolas!"
The Elf had to fight the urge to laugh. The pair reminded him of something Mithrandir had once said: "Hobbits. One can learn all there is to know about their ways in a month, but after a hundred years, they can still surprise you." How right he had been!
Suddenly Kashgûl's bellow cut through his thoughts. "There they are! Get them!"
Merry and Pippin apparently heard as well. They dashed towards the archer, responding to his cries of "Here, here!" Merry carried an ugly jagged knife, and when the hobbits reached Legolas he quickly put it to work sawing at the Elf's bonds. Though the blade was notched, its edge was keen, and the rope strands quickly parted. Legolas leapt to his feet and dashed off to what he believed was the edge of the camp. It was very rocky terrain, and the hobbits followed as best they could. The trio made good progress for a few minutes—but Legolas's keen eyes could see blurry shapes flanking them to the side. The Uruks were running a parallel course. The Elf put on an extra spurt of speed, hoping to outrun them. Soon, however, he had to slow. Merry and Pippin were unable to keep up with the long, graceful strides of the archer, and he would not—could not— leave them behind.
A rock wall loomed ahead. Legolas spun left, then right. More cliffs, slick and glistening wet from the rain, met his desperately searching eyes. There was nowhere to go. The shouts of the Uruks were not far behind.
They were trapped.
ειδαсαг
Legolas whirled, seeking something, anything, that would allow them to escape. He supposed they could always try to go straight up the cliff face, dangerous though it might be. One look at Merry and Pippin told him this would not work. They were exhausted from their flight, first from wherever they had been held captive, then to Legolas, and then to here. And they were, well, tiny. They could not possibly scale the sheer rock.
They had no alternative but to fight.
All of this went through the Elf's head in less than a minute. The Uruks were closing fast. The archer turned to the hobbits. He had barely opened his mouth to speak when a barbed, black-shafted arrow whistled past to clack on the stone. More followed, a veritable hailstorm of death. Fortunately, either the Orcs had terrible aim or the rain was clouding their vision—or perhaps both, for none of the arrows struck the trio. Until—
The Elf whipped about and saw it as if it were moving through water: a single shaft speeding towards their little band, black and evil like all the rest. It was strange, but to his Elven eyes it seemed to hold some sort of flame at its tip. The fire, too, was black, and radiated evil. The bolt looked like a rapidly swelling dot, which meant it was hurtling directly at its target:
Pippin!
In the heightened senses of the Elf, the arrow moved in slow motion. The archer dove at the unsuspecting hobbit, arms outstretched, pushing him out of harm's way—but inadvertently placing himself in that same dangerous position.
The black-burning arrow cracked straight into Legolas' shoulder.
At the moment of impact, a thousand evil things whipped through his mind. All were laughing, mocking, jeering, tormenting. Their voices were screams and whispers, their bodies shapeless and wraithlike. Evil emanated from them in a foul, pervading cloud. The Elf felt as if he were going mad. And all the while, bright white agony laced with black chaos lanced through his body.
But just as soon as they had begun, the voices and the madness stopped, and Legolas found himself lying curled up on the cold ground, clutching his shoulder and gritting his teeth against the pain. An involuntary cry escaped his lips—with the return to reality, the agony had grown even more intense, if that were possible. He had been shot before, and it had never hurt this badly. It must be because of the black fire. Merry and Pippin stood worriedly over him, watching in surprised and helpless horror as a rivulet of blood trickled from between the Elf's clenched fingers.
And the Uruks were almost upon them.
ειδαсαг
ok, i sort of fixed this chapter. merry and pippin still aren't in character, legolas isn't either, but at least it's longer. Flames of Udûn, you were right, my chapters are way too short. but eenyhoo, translations:
1) 'find them, find them—skai! find them!' skai being an orkish expression of contempt.
*as to reviewers (new best friends)*
MoroTheWolfGod—glad you like it. hope it doesn't disappoint you!
aelfgifu—well, it wasn't entirely bigmouth merry's fault…he was technically in no way responsible for legolas' pain, tho I plan to make him think so…*evil grin*
Lena—let me know if it starts paralleling some other story too closely. i want it to be aoap: as original as possible!
Amia—gaaaah, don't cry! pls! i'm trying to hurry!
xx embyr—So, you like capture stories. then you don't mind torture fics, do you?
White Wolf—glad you like it. and thanx so much for reading it in the first place!
Ecri— that gives me an idea…*bwa ha ha ha haaaaa!*
Lúthien Tinúviel—i'm mean??!!! whyever would you think that? just cuz i torture/capture/kill my characters? hm—wellll, yeah, s'pose i am. but i do so enjoy it. death to saruman!!!
Flames of Udûn—well, all right, i admit it, you're right. my chapters are way too short. forgive the mistakes of a novice writer; i'll try to fix em, promise. any more suggestions?
