The Ranger bent low, sniffing the hard stone like a wolf on the scent. "The Orc-stench is thick here," he murmured excitedly to what remained of the Company. "They passed this way, not long ago—we are gaining on them! They are two days, perhaps three, ahead of us—no more."

And like his namesake, Strider leapt up and ran, calling behind him as he went, "They travel southwest, making for Isengard. But we will catch them!"

ειδαсαг

Legolas managed to land one kick before the Orcs surrounded him. Merry went down in a crowd, though little hobbit fists occasionally came flailing through the living barrier. He even bit one on the nose. Pippin had commandeered his fellow's knife, and lopped off several hands and fingers by the time they caught him.

Both the hobbits fared better than the archer. The black arrow yet protruded from his shoulder, and the pain was so intense he had difficulty staying on his feet. Uruk-hai were all around him. All had daggers or whips, whereas he had nothing. Worse, the arrow had apparently been coated with some sort of paralyzing poison. He could feel it coursing through his veins; it was getting harder and harder to move.

But nothing had happened. The Orcs had done nothing. Gasping, Legolas looked up to see them all ringed round him. Inwardly he groaned: he knew what was coming. They wanted to have some fun with him before taking him prisoner again. What Orc could pass up the opportunity to torment a hated Elf?

One reached out and shoved him roughly. Through the drugged haze, the archer saw Kashgûl's leering face.

He also saw Kashgûl's dagger.

In one smooth motion, Legolas shot out an arm, tore the blade from its scabbard and slashed the Uruk across the face. Due to the poison hampering his movements, he did not score a direct hit; just a shallow line across the bridge of his adversary's nose. But the Orc fell back nonetheless, a bit shocked at the Elf's daring. He touched a claw to his face and drew it away black with Orc blood, and there was murder in his eyes when he looked at the archer.

"I will kill you for that," Kashgûl promised. His reclaimed dagger spun in practiced circles as he toyed with it.

Legolas spat in his face. "Degi en cunn, then, if he means so little to you," he snarled back, thinking the reminder of his rank might—however slightly—prevent Kashgûl killing him.

The Orc was in quite a predicament. If he killed the Elf, Saruman would have something to say about it. But if he did not, he would be letting an insult go unchallenged. Such things an Uruk-hai simply did not do. He must kill him…but he could not. He must…could not! Must, could not! Must!

Kashgûl lashed out just once with a roar of frustrated rage. He punched out with the crosspiece of his dagger, connecting cleanly across the archer's face, the blade razing a streak of blood on one high cheekbone.

"Remember—sha!—punishment is only put off!" With one last murderous glare, he whirled about and stomped away.

Behind him, Legolas slid slowly down the stone wall. A thin trail of blood followed, further wetting the rain-soaked stone. His vision was blurring. He felt as if he were receding down a narrow black tunnel. As the Uruks grabbed him, roughly rebinding his hands and feet, he lapsed into merciful unconsciousness.

ειδαсαг

Aragorn brushed the rock wall with one hand. His fingers came away stained brown with dried blood. He sniffed it once, and a grim look stole over his face.

"What news, Aragorn?" Gimli asked gruffly.

"This is Elven blood," the Ranger responded. Ai, Legolas, mellon nin. I will repay the one that did this to you.  "An Elf was wounded here last night."

"Legolas?" Frodo questioned, anxiety tingeing his tone. It was more of a statement than a question. "What of Merry and Pippin?" Of the three that had gone missing, those two were closest to him. He certainly liked Legolas, of course, but Merry and Pippin were his kin, if not by blood then by race. Long had they been his friends. He desperately wanted to find them—before they were hurt.

"They, too, stood here, along with a company of Orcs. They are not harmed—or were not when they paused here. These signs are not more than two days old. We are catching up to them."

But worry still lined the Ranger's face. Boromir saw it. "What ails you, Aragorn?"

"I do not know," he answered honestly. "There is something about this place that troubles me…I feel as if our purpose here is known. Something is lying in wait for us. It does not intend for us to continue our chase. And the Orcs will be at Isengard within a day."

The members of the Fellowship drew closer together. Aragorn gathered Frodo to him, and Boromir, Sam. Gimli brought his axe down from his shoulder and slapped it against his palm. "Let them come," he growled. "They will get more than they bargain for!"

The Company looked all about them, straining their eyes and ears for some hint, some clue. But there was nothing.

Only the sighing of the breeze.

ειδαсαг

Through the black haze that yet permeated his vision, Legolas could see his destination on the horizon: Orthanc. Mount Fang, the Cunning Mind. The black tower gleamed redly in the last rays of a dying Anar.

He would be there by nightfall tomorrow, to face whatever tortures Saruman had planned for him.

"Legolas?" A voice filtered through his thoughts. It was Pippin. "Legolas, are you all right? You look troubled."

The Elf turned to face the hobbit and winced. The black arrow yet pierced his shoulder, for the Orcs had not deigned to remove it, and any movement was painful. His torn flesh still seeped blood, even after hours: a bad sign. Infection was starting in. He wished he had his hands free to pull the arrow out. Instead, he was still on his knees, still bound to a post like he had originally been. Merry and Pippin were in the same position, though with considerably less discomfort, for their bonds were of rope, while his were of wire twine. The Orcs were taking more precautions with him. The edges had long ago begun cutting into his wrists.

He sighed. "Aye, Pippin. I am all right."

"You may fool the stupid Orcs with that, but not me," Merry interrupted.

The archer had to smile at that. "It is nothing. I was only remembering my home," he lied.

"Will you tell us about it?" Pippin requested eagerly, exhaustion melting away at the opportunity to hear more of the Elves. Though he had not Sam's love or admiration for them, he did have a Hobbit's curiosity.

Legolas laughed again and agreed. It would be better by far than sitting in silence, hearing nothing but his thoughts. "It is most beautiful by night, when the stars cast their twinkling light across the trees. The moon can always be seen, full and round like a pearl from Eär. Well do I recall wandering the woods on such nights, singing…leaves whispering in the trees…with silver lights gleaming amidst the branches…" He glanced at Pippin. The hobbit was nearly asleep, drowsiness having overcome him with the aid of the Elf's musical voice. Merry still sat upright, but kept nodding. The archer could not help but smile once more. The hobbit stirred, coming awake just long enough to murmur sleepily, "What else?"

The stars were just beginning to shine in the sky, bringing to mind a song he had heard in Rivendell, a song to Elbereth:

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,

Silivren penna míriel

O menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel

O galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathin

Nef aear, sí nef aearon!

The Elf's silver voice mingled freely with the stars' silver light. A hint of a smile touching his face, Merry too finally dropped off to sleep.

Legolas fell silent, remembering his time under the eaves of Taur-en-Daedelos. Memory became dream, and he slipped away into the open-eyed sleep of the Elves.

Twinkling silently, the stars shone down.

ειδαсαг

Saruman grinned, a hungry, rapacious grin that sent shivers down the backs of his Orkish lieutenants. The Istar ignored them.

For his prey would be here soon.

As for their followers, those insignificant would-be rescuers, perhaps it was time to send a message to them…

ειδαсαг

there's chapter four. merry and pippin still aren't in character, but i've decided i kind of like them that way. so that's how they'll be.

translations:

1) 'Slay the Prince'

2) 'sha' is just another orkish expression of contempt.

3) 'my friend'

4) 'Elbereth Star-Kindler,

White glittering slants down sparkling like jewels

From the firmament the glory of the star-host!

To-remote distance far-having gazed

From the tree-tangled middle-lands,

Fanuilos, to thee I will chant

On this side of the ocean, here on this side of the Great Ocean!'

so. howzat? i haven't gotten any new reviews…*sniff sniff*. dunno when I'll have chapter five up, i'm awfully busy. my teachers have begun to take delight in tormenting their poor overworked students with even more homework, if such is possible. it might take me a while to write the next section. but if nobody reads it anyway, then it shouldn't matter! until then…namárië!