I shall try, though I haven't looked at the next chapter yet to figure out how much work will need to be done on it, to have the next chapter out no later than next Saturday. It's terrible I can't remember what happens in my own chapters. Anyway, for all those who like pointless details, when I revised this chapter, it grew by nearly two thousand words and is now the longest chapter on file by six hundred words. Great, isn't it. Forgive me if it's bad, but I'm sure it's better than it was so I hope you'll forgive me.
Thank you so, so much for your reviews! I enjoyed each of them immensely. I'm sorry I made you miss me. *ducks head sheepishly* I was appalled at myself for taking so long, honest, but I can procrastinate when I want to, and when I'm distracted by reading, writing (or posting) isn't exactly high on my list of priorities. Anyway, with any luck, I won't be so distracted anytime soon. . . . Though actually finding Harry Potter stories that I like make me less inclined to actually write one. Strange, that.
Now, onto the fic. Responses are at the bottom. Must I still beg you to review? *looks up with huge puppy dog eyes* Please? Review?
Enjoy.
Chapter 9
Keen eyes and tense bodies faced off against the darkness, their backs to the river that had brought them here, a quiet backdrop that served to cover any slight noises that might have helped them identify the threat. Weapons were held at the ready, poised to strike at the first indication of need, the barest hint of movement, the slightest whisper of doom. . . .
They were ready, tense, yet no sound presented itself to their ears to warrant such preparation and no movement gave away the presence of anyone but themselves in the forsaken lands of long ago. The silence taunted their fear, daring them to maintain their vigilance in the absence of any cause lest the cause appear once their vigilance was gone to the doom of all. Sharp eyes ceaselessly scanned the veil of trees.
Aragorn shifted anxiously in his stance involuntarily. The air was cold and it swept past the cloak about his shoulders easily now that he could no longer hold it tight about his form. The fabric floated slightly in the soft press of air. He did his best to ignore the creeping chill and focus past himself into the woods before them that were covered in shadow. As a ranger, he had plenty of experience ignoring his own discomfort, but it was proving somewhat difficult with no threat before him, the adrenaline that had forced any such considerations from his mind slowly fading away while the pain from his unexpected bath reasserted itself.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to calm his bodies reactions, and his teeth chattered annoyingly on the exhale--human frailties. Legolas was a still pillar of strength beside him, unmoving and calm. He was solid proof how steadfast his race was in the face of danger, how unwavering, and the ranger drew upon his friend's reserve to maintain his own as his body grew cold. He knew lowering his defenses could prove fatal, if not for himself then for Legolas. That had been proven to him more than once, and he would not repeat it here.
So despite the fact that nothing moved, they stood. And stared. The fire burned and jumped between them, casting flighty shadows around the pair as the light shifted, as though anxious in its confinement. Light, usually a comfort in the dark, provided no such solace here, its strength not enough to do anything more than deepen the shadows that surrounded them, seemingly halted by the incredibly tall trees that stood before them as unmoving pillars, both comforting and menacing to the ranger who viewed them. He wished he could hear them.
The ranger licked his lips. He could not tell how long they had been standing ready, but he was nearly sure something should have happened by now. His eyes darted quickly to his friend "Do you hear anything, Legolas? See anything?"
"No," admitted the elf quietly, his brow furrowing with his own confusion at the inaction, the failure of whoever had disturbed them to move on their attack. "The trees whisper no danger, yet they do not speak of peace, either." That said, he returned to silent watchfulness, waiting. Yet the sound that had split the gloom was gone as if it had never been, nothing left to mark its presence except their insistence that it had been so.
"Mayhap we should cheek it out," Aragorn suggested hesitantly. He wondered if his hesitancy came through in voice but he knew that his own jumping nerves would not allow him any peace of mind until he and Legolas had checked their surroundings.
It could easily be nothing. Strange sounds were heard often in the wilderness of nature, but it could also be something. It was the something it could possibly be that worried both friends, for they had had their faire share of experiences with the darkness that wandered Middle-earth, orcs not being the only foul thing that walked and breathed upon the faltering lands.
Legolas nodded slowly. "Aye. We may as well have a look."
Aragorn did not have to guess why the elf was so hesitant. He had seen--quite by accident--the half look the first-born had cast his way, and knew the other had half a mind to demand he stay here while the elf went and had a look. That Legolas had not voiced that intention showed he knew his friend quite well. Aragorn was glad; he did not want to have to argue with his friend right now.
He knelt carefully, lowering himself to the ground beside the fire and quickly prepared a torch for their use. Legolas may be able to see quite well in the dark, but no matter how sharp his eyes were, he was still human and would never have the ease of sight that the first-born enjoyed. That done, he stood and the two friends exchanged meaningful glances before quietly entering the trees.
The quiet roar of fire consuming cloth was loud in his ears as the silence of the forest pressed at him, the insects still quiet, though there were few to begin with due to winter's approaching chill. His footsteps echoed loudly though they were dampened by the soft growth beneath his feet, and he resisted the urge to cringe, slowly sweeping the light back and forth as they searched the woods for any sign of a threat. It was hard not to remember that whoever their opponents were, they already knew where the elf and ranger were present, regardless of how quiet they walked. Legolas tread next to him, steps silent as the grave, seeming not to hear his companions loud steps.
How long they looked, Aragorn could not say, but he had convinced himself they were not about to wander into any orcs. After all, no matter whose orders they followed, they would never be content to simply let their prey wander around or among them for so long without giving away their presence. For that, he was glad. He was even beginning to come to the conclusion that no one hid in the shadows waiting to ambush them, and knew Legolas was coming to the same resolution. But what had it been?
Eventually, they arrived before a fallen tree that blocked their path. It's roots had been partially pulled from the ground and dirt had been sprayed in various directions, its spattering misplaced among the blanket of leaves as it provided a break from the normal texture of the area. Green leaves not yet touched by the chill of winter decorated its branches, still healthy and not yet withered from lack of sustenance nor faded as from the approach of death. Slowly, Aragorn lowered his sword. Legolas' bow soon followed, the arrow he had knocked returned to his quiver with a quick movement.
The elf walked forward a few steps, searching around the area, looking for footsteps or signs that someone else had helped the aged tree fall. His eyes watched intently, and he stepped around several times, occasionally venturing away from it, but he did not redraw his weapon, and soon stopped before his friend, standing easily.
"It was a tree," the elf observed, his expression neutral and his voice bland.
As comically obvious as that sounded, Aragorn only nodded, his gaze slipping past his friend to the tree against his will. He stared at it in apparent fascination for several moments, so long, in fact, that Legolas frowned worriedly at him before glancing back at the tree. He shook himself. "So it seems," he said finally.
Legolas turned to look at him, his eyes glowing in the golden light. "Are you all right, Strider?" He inquired curiously.
Aragorn nodded and smiled slightly. "Of course." His friend did not believe him, that much was obvious, yet the elf did not press him. He was grateful, and wondered if he would have such restraint, if their positions were reversed. The ranger decided it was time to lighten the mood. So he teased, "We are far too jumpy, my friend."
"The result of one too many close calls," Legolas agreed calmly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I am glad this is not another one."
He nodded. "I guess we know the answer, then."
Legolas shot his a quick, perturbed frown, caught between amusement and confusion, only to relax to wary curiosity a moment later. One could not stay around the young ranger long without learning he had a habit of making inane comments. "What? To what question."
"How many people it takes to determine a tree has fallen."
"Who asked that?" The elf asked curiously, one eyebrow raised imperiously. He still looked wary, but he wanted to know the answer more than he cared to admit.
Aragorn sheathed his sword and shrugged. "No one," he replied carelessly, pulling the cloak tightly around him once more, for the first time since the tremendous crash taking note of his bare feet. He peered down at them and wiggled his toes, slightly surprised he could still feel them. "But now we know the answer is two: one ranger and an elf."
Legolas stared at him a moment, then snorted. "Let's return, human. Then you can finish your story, and I can laugh at how much trouble you managed to find, and then we can both rest and be refreshed for tomorrow."
The ranger glared at the fair-haired elf, not quite managing to banish the hint of a smile that hovered around his lips. He lifted his chin, doing a fair impression of haughty royalty himself, and sniffed "Very well, prissy elf. Let us go."
*~*~*~*~*
The wood was silent, still. One might even say nervous--if one was inclined to attribute such things to a forest. Any creatures that resided in this place had gone away, taking the normal sounds of nature with them, and the insects had fled before the cold. It could have been a painting, cast in shades of brown and gray, the lines of the trees cast in sharp relief even in the poor light. From this stillness, a shadow jumped.
A cloaked and hooded figure crouched easily in the shadow, having just jumped from a short rise that was bordered by a fallen tree, the roots visible where they had been yanked from the ground many months earlier.
For a moment, the figure was still, blending almost perfectly into the landscape when it should have continued on. Then pale, slender hands emerged from the gloom, moving up and slowly pushing back the dark hood. It fell back to reveal a fair face and bright blue eyes. Long brown hair continued beneath the edge of the cloak.
The girl looked around quickly, her eyes darting to the trees, searching out hidden forms in the maze and shadows before her before looking to the churned ground upon finding none. The soil was a pale, nearly sickly looking gray, lacking any hint of growth or life, and continued into the distance on her left, towards Mordor, and southwest towards her destination. Deep impressions gave it an uneven texture she would not have expected which could not be accounted for by inclement weather--which there had been none of recently. Her brow furrowed as she recognized the marks for what they were.
Footprints.
Worse, even, was that she knew them to be orc-made. The misshapen beasts tread heavy over the earth, their iron sod feet biting deeply into the soil and anything foolish enough to cross their path, destroying any life that dared encroach upon the hallowed ground. Large and deep, they were distinctive, especially to one who had long put up with their presence.
Her lips pressed together in irritation and she traced the tracks back from whence they came, following them until they faded form sight, erased by her proximity to the ground and the gloom, vanishing into the distance. Then she stood and looked still further. There was no way to be sure--not, at least, without following the trail to its completion--but she felt sure these had come from Mordor; and she had reasons for her belief.
Sauron had plans, plans she had not even brushed the surface of, plans that no one knew save him and his most trusted few, and most of those were not overt, clashing sword, in one's face battles. There were other things he had planned, and it did not require a genius to realize that he was not content to simply cower within his mountain fortress. No, recently he had begun hoarding his resources, drawing them ever closer, clinging almost jealously, even as he stretched out his hand to gain more. Few noticed his movements, and no one on the outside seemed to understand what they meant. Even she did not, and she had been part of those preparations.
Blue eyes stared off towards Mordor, dark and reflective without any hint of emotion, no longer tracing the path the orcs had tread. She stared, and wondered at the emotions that curled through her, rising inside her as the tide. They were tumultuous, alternately light and dark, longing and revulsion, hope and fear, glee and sorrow. They tumbled, but none of it reached her face.
With some difficulty, she turned her eyes away and looked towards the path she was to take. A memory flashed before her eyes, a time when she had treat this path before and looked upon the same trees with younger and different eyes, a memory sparked by dark thoughts. Then it was gone, and she stood alone among twisted trees, ruined by darkness. Her eyes darkened, becoming stormy with anger.
The Dead Camp, that was what it was called, had been called for as long as Sauron had claimed dominion in Middle-earth when those that had resided there had been driven away, forced to flee or perish by the coming dark. Nothing good ever happened there, cut off as it was. No Light long survived the Dark.
Wordlessly, emotionlessly, she stood. This was the crossroads; the last true chance she had of turning back; the point where she had to choose, had to affirm the choice she had already made or turn back. Whispers seemed to swirl around her, dark with promise. A hesitant breeze caressed her form briefly before fading away, and a weight settled on her shoulders. Yet even as the thoughts, the doubts, flitted through her mind, she knew they were a lie.
There was no turning back. There never was.
Her shoulders dropped as from a sigh but no answering exhalation stirred the air. Then, without a word or hesitation, she started off again, moving stealthily among the shadows as one born to them and seemed to fade from sight. Too far had she yet to travel with no notion of how long she had to accomplish her task before her efforts were in vain to dwell in shadows.
*~*~*~*~*
Legolas and Aragorn returned to the camp to find the large, anxious eyes of Ardevui shining at them in the fire light. Her whinny of relief upon seeing her master was clearly heard, and the elf walked over to soothe her while the human walked over to the fire, eager to relieve the creeping chill and block out the cold.
He wrapped the cloak tight about him, then stuck one brave hand out to stoke the fire, sitting as close as he dared to the restless flames. His torch he settled among the other branches to be consumed with the rest, the addition sparking the bright flames higher, and he stared into their depths, losing himself as his body warmed and his tensions eased. To be so startled by a tree!
It was with chagrin mixed with acceptance that the ranger admitted they had had cause for such concern and overreaction, that his and Legolas' track record when it came to danger did not lend themselves to offhandedly accepting out of place noises in abandoned places without reaping some kind of dubious reward for their complacency.
He sighed, exhaling his weary breath through his nose. No, with their luck, had they dismissed the incidence, they would have had a whole horde of orcs breathing down their necks before one could say "Elbereth." Then they would have yelled in fury for the sheer audacity of even daring to breath the word, much less to do so in their presence and attacked without a second thought. It was not the most encouraging existence to reside in, one that promised pain and death--or at the very least constant peril--if ever they dared let down their guard, only to find such vigilance unnecessary when they had it and lacking when they needed it.
The ranger shook his head slightly, denying the thoughts even as they popped into his mind, scattered as they were. Yet they was not true, not quite. No, such was their luck that they did not need to drop their guard for trouble to find them, though dropping it sure aided trouble in catching them. He snorted. Not that trouble needed any help there, either.
Silver eyes looked up as Legolas approached the fire and settled down near him. He smiled tiredly at the elf, his body reminding him it was not well, and most assuredly not happy.
Legolas sighed lightly. "I do believe no one shall ever be able to say our lives were dull," he announced cheerfully. Aragorn snorted. Blue eyes watched him closely, and he stared back attentively, attempting to convince the elf that he was fine and not tired before the other could question him. He did not think it worked, but the elf did not mention sleep. In fact, he seemed to have been quite serious about hearing the rest of his take upon their return. "Now, do continue, mellon nin. I simply must know what brilliant situation you fell into next."
The young man groaned, then shifted into a more comfortable position before looking up into the elf's blue eyes with a wince, smiling. "The tree wasn't enough?"
"No. You fell from that not into it"
Aragorn glared at him, scandalized. "And to think I proposed this story out of the goodness of my heart, and all you can do is tease me." He stared at the elf expectantly for a moment, but the elf just stared back. He rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right, then," he answered, turning to stare into the flames as his mind traveled back, once more, to that spring. "I managed to crawl to my feet and start off for the pool I had seen, reasonably sure I was not in dire peril and convinced I had escaped my fall without a scratch."
"There was a scratch?" the elf interrupted.
"No, not a scratch, but I did not leave so unscathed as I had thought, though nothing as permanent as my father would have feared had he known about the fall at the time. From my fall, I gained a concussion, mostly mild, and a bruised tailbone, and managed to fracture a couple of ribs--hairline things that likely would have healed on their own with me never the wiser had that fall been the worst of my troubles."
"But it wasn't."
Aragorn shot him a patient glared. "No," Aragorn affirmed with the air of one speaking to an overexcited child. "But you already knew this, unless you have not been listening to me. In any case, I walked, and I walked and walked. My eyesight, keen as it was for a human, had failed to appreciate how truly far away that watering hole was, and however tired I had been after my walk to gain the border's edge, it was still nothing compared to the exhaustion I felt by the time my goal came into view. . . ."
~*~
Estel's breath labored in his chest as he struggled to keep going, exhaustion like he had never known making his limbs feel as if they weighed a hundred pounds each and the effort to move them more than he felt the endeavor deserved, but he was not to be gainsaid, and he kept going. The youth was simultaneously glad and chagrined to feel the air temperature dropping about him, a chill that had not been present earlier nipping at his skin. He had felt overly warm before and had desired to cool down, but now sweet sheened his body, and the cool air was doing more than just providing a respite from the warmth of the day.
The lad stumbled forward a few more steps, and dragged his eyes up from watching his feet, studying the next few steps across the endless ground he had to traverse, to see how much further he had to go in the long run. Expecting to see endless plain before him, broken by only the occasional tree (occassional as compared to the forest he had left to reach the place), he was surprised to note his destination finally near at hand. Closer than he had expected, but still far away. The glimmering of the blue water in the lessened rays of light looked like a blessing.
He was nearly there! New determination flooded him and he continued forward with more speed, forgetting that making the watering hole was only part of his problem, and not entirely sure how to go about solving the rest of it. At the moment, he wanted naught but a drink of water--to feel the cool, refreshing liquid splashing into his mouth and slipping down his dry and scratchy throat, easing the sticky closeness that had come upon him during his long walk.
The human stumbled forward, his steps not quite steady yet nearly silent. Finding the strength to go on was so hard, but he was not a son of Elrond for nothing, and surrender was not a word he was familiar with, the prolonged battles with the twins past all reasonable expectations of success proved that, and failure was a notion he would not accept. The boy wanted nothing more than to please the elven lord who had claimed him as his own and show his brothers that he was not worthless nor helpless.
They never claimed he was, never hinted that he was anything but a special person that was loved greatly. They were always supportive and patient when he did not get things as quickly as he thought he should, but that did not stop him from feeling disappointed in himself. That also did not stop him from hearing the remarks of others.
Oh, no one was so bold as to actually say any disparaging remarks to his face, but he saw their faces, saw the disgust in their eyes, the certainty that he was human, mortal, and could never be as good as them. He heard the whispers that persisted when his brothers and father were not around and they thought he could not hear. He heard their disdain for his kind, how little regard they held for men, and knew that he would have to prove himself to them, prove that he was different.
Estel dropped to his knees as he arrived at the water's edge, the clear water of the pool sparkling blue about him. He dipped his hand into the water, its coolness startling a hiss from him, and cupped his hand, raising the cool liquid to his mouth. It felt glorious going down his throat and eased the dry rasping that had plagued him, just as he knew it would. A little of the headache that had pounded away at his mind eased. He dipped his hand again and took another drink. Then another. When he had drunk his fill, he sat back on his heels and looked around.
No other creatures shared the space with him, and he was quite alone. Multitudes of prints gave testament to the fact that this was a widely used pool, popular with the animals that called these lands home. He nodded, satisfied. Every animal needed water to live and would come to wet its throat, and all he had to do was wait.
The youth pushed back, wincing slightly as his tailbone protested the brief pressure he put upon it, and moved away from the water. Finding a tree, he leaned against it, then hesitantly slid down to a sitting position against the trunk, moving slowly so as to cause himself as little pain as possible. Then he sat very still and waited.
These were two things he knew how to do very well. Elves were not easily startled, and were even more difficult to sneak up on. If one wanted to know what they sought to keep hidden, it was difficult to learn anything, unless they did not know you were there. While Estel had yet to manage the art of stalking, of moving silently enough across his surroundings as to surprise an elf, he had learned that one need not search out the objects of one's attentions, but wait for said object to come all its own. After all, elves walked and talked like all others, and while they were certainly quite observant, they did not always notice everything. If a boy sat quiet enough and did not speak, did not move, barely breathed, he could be simply overlooked. No one would notice him, and Estel had gotten quite good at not being noticed. Sometimes it paid to go unnoticed.
The sixteen-year-old figured this was one of those times. After all, how likely was it that a creature you planned to kill was going to simply walk up to you and say "please eat me?" Not likely at all, considering animals can not talk, but that was beside the point. What was important, was figuring out how he was going to kill the animal that was to become his meal. From there, how was he going to cook it?
The lad was beginning to seriously doubt the advisability of his plan, especially as he had no idea how one went about cooking something without any supplies. Killing it he was not so obtuse about, if only because the twins had not been able to shelter him as completely as they would have liked when they had journeyed into a village, small and untidy, a couple years back. He had seen those men fight, had seen the one strike the other, and know that man would never rise again. He did not like it, but he thought that if he needed to, he could do it. That worry, of course, presupposed he had an animal before him to even think about striking.
He sighed and leaned his head back against the tree trunk, pulling his legs up closer to him and resting his wrists atop his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. Maybe hunting was not such a good idea on this test, but what else did one eat? He had gone hunting with the twins before, but all their food had been prepared in the kitchens or cooked over open flame when they had snagged a hare or other such little creature. But there had to be other things to eat, did there not? He knew elves did not only eat meat, but where would he find the other stuff, the herbs and vegetables that comprised the meals he ate at home?
Estel frowned and looked around, freezing suddenly as his eyes alighted on a deer that warily approached the lake from the east side, roughly a quarter of the circle away from him. He stopped breathing as he watched the graceful animal, smooth muscles moving beneath shining fur. Intelligent, caring eyes, wide in a peaceful face scanned the area before he approached some more, cautious. The boy did not want to do anything that would scare the deer away, even if he did not catch him for dinner.
Watching deer move had always been fascinating to him. They were so graceful and noble-looking, even when they were surprised and he wished he could manage even a tenth of their grace. In some ways, deer reminded him of elves; he was not sure if that was something he wanted to admit to anyone or not. A small smile pulled at his lips.
Then the deer's head came up and his posture stilled, alert. From where they boy sat, he could see the deer's tail had come up, and he watched the creature look around. The human recognized that look: danger. His skin prickled and he could not decide if he should move or stay still. A part of his mind said he could just stay still and he would go unnoticed while another screamed that he needed to move.
A growl sounded from his left and the human tensed, closing his eyes briefly before looking to the side without moving his head. Across from him, the deer bounded away, disappearing from view in the blink of an eye. To be a deer, Estel thought. Then I could bound away from trouble, too.
Another growl, low and menacing, closer, made his blood freeze and his heart pound double-time in his chest. His right fingers, clenched in the ground by his side, ached for a sword, a bow, even a dagger just so long as he had something more than just himself. With painful slowness, he risked turning his head a couple inches to the left, hoping to catch sight of what threatened him.
His heart sank when he saw the wolf, likely an alpha-male if his size was anything to go by. The beast was huge. His mouth looked like it could swallow his head with no problem and his fangs were at least as long as his fingers. His paws dwarfed the human boy, and slitted yellow eyes stared straight at wide silver. Estel swallowed hard. This was not good.
Moving would likely be a good idea now. Being anywhere but here was likely a good idea. He knew it was too late, but he dearly wished he had just waited inside the borders instead of venturing past them. Wolves were not what he had had in mind when he decided he wanted to find an animal to eat. A nice little bunny rabbit or something equally small, but not a great, big, hulking wolf!
The human slid as much as he dared, desperate to look around him for somewhere to go, to find a place to hide and get away from the great brute, but he dared not tear his eyes from the yellow ones that watched him, teeth bared. Did wolves smell fear? He thought he remembered hearing something like that. If it were true, Estel was sure he reeked.
Gathering his courage--trying to--the boy began cautiously pushing himself to his feet, shifting his feet back so he remained with his back pinned to the tree. He stopped, though, when the wolf crouched lower and the rumbling growl became more menacing. The huge paws inched forward, resettling, and the sharp claws flashed in the pale light. Thick saliva gathered on his fangs and dripped to the ground.
Estel licked his lips nervously and decided he had nothing to lose by moving. If he stayed where he was, the wolf would eventually attack him. If he moved, maybe he could get away. Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside him at that thought. Get away from that! Not likely! Hesitantly, he edged backwards.
Rumbles behind him, growls, made him freeze. Valar! This isn't fair! he thought petulantly, then risked a glance behind him. Three more wolves stood crouched, teeth bared behind him. Between them, the water, and the tree, he had nowhere to go. He glanced above him. Could he get up in the tree? He did not think so.
But then the wolf jumped and he had no time for thought, no time for anything, and with nowhere else to go, he jumped. His hands stretched for the branch that he had just barely glimpsed above his head and he prayed that he could reach it, that he could pull himself up into its safety and escape the sharp teeth that lunged at him with fierce abandon. He felt rough bark scrape his fingers, felt his fingers curl around the limb and clutch tightly at the saving grace it presented, safe. Then he screamed.
Fire tore through his leg, hot and blinding, burning away any reason that remained to ground his mind, and tears sprung to his eyes. Weight pulled down on him and he momentarily pulled back, stubborn rebellion sparking in his mind for a brief moment before the pain washed it all away, fanned higher as nerves shrieked in agony, and he let go. The bark scraped his palms as he was pulled down. A solid form appeared behind him, and he collapsed backwards across the furry hide of the wolf, his leg still held firmly in its mouth. His leg sharply protested the harsh treatment it was getting as he shifted, muscle ripped and shredded by sharp teeth, only to be drowned out when his head hit the ground and white lights flashed before his eyes, blanking out everything, followed quickly by black and the briefest moments of blissful silence.
Then he was staring up at the tree, the green leaves and safety of its branches so far away as to be a different land and he was screaming, renewed fire biting at his land. He wanted it to stop! It had to stop! He kicked, mindless of the pain that sent sparking through his being, and twisted, desperate to leave. His foot found and struck something solid, and he did it again. A whimper was his reward and satisfaction flowed through his veins--erased a moment later when gray flashed between his eyes and the green poised above him.
Sharp claws dug into his chest and he squirmed but had nowhere to go as the beast's weight pressed him firmly to the ground. He kicked again, but no resisting force met his foot. Another scream rent his throat, surprise forgoing any thought as the fire jumped from one leg to the other. His back arched, his hands flung out, catching something sharp and wet and he lashed out with anything and everything he had. Cloth ripped, barely heard, and he twisted. More fire flowed down his back and across his shoulders, and he rolled and kicked, screaming bloody murder as it was the only thing he could think to do.
Then he was up--sort of up--and staggering without any thought of what he was staggering to. Blood dripped into his face and down his back, down his legs, and they did not want to support his weight, did not want to let him move, but he did anyway, only to lose his breath and his momentum in the next moment as a heavy body slammed into him and bore him to the ground. Something in his chest gave, and he thought some kind of pain might have shimmered through his form, but his mind was too far away to register it, and he rolled, some instinct he did not know how to ignore telling him he could not stay still, that he had to move.
He did, and he pushed himself to his feet, moving on adrenaline and whatever determination fueled him--fear, desperation, he could not say, but he lurched forward. His feet did not hold him and he dove head first, cold water surprising him enough that he gasped, water gushing into his mouth before engulfing his body. He came up, sputtering and shivering from more than just cold, and was met with a splash. Matted fur followed him and he backed up, swimming desperately to place space between him and his attackers, lashing out once more with his legs, his mind callously ignoring the pain he was inflicting with the movement. More whimpers, high and sharp, met his ears, just audible over the loud splashes he was causing, then an unnatural kind of silence spread over the lands apart from the raucous he was causing and the lad gradually realized that he was no longer being attacked.
Slowly, he halted his movements, water dripping into his eyes as he looked around, frantic, nearly wild silver eyes scanning his surroundings. He trembled, his violent shaking not quite accountable to the cold water he tread laboriously, and red spun lazily around him in the water, churned by his movements. Was it over? Nothing moved around him, the land as quiet as ever, the silence broken by the insects that always resided in the land, carrying on as they always did.
It was that bit of normalcy, that familiar noise, that finally broke through his stunned thoughts to convince him it was over; the little critters never made their presence known when there was danger, and he began to painfully pull himself back to shore, the agony of the motion making him question how he had made it out in the first place. Yet stubborn pride availed him again and the boy made it back to shore, pulling himself onto the blood splattered land more than walking, and collapsed shortly thereafter, his breathing harsh and heavy.
Never, ever, ever again. Ever. He would never listen to his brother's again. They had the absolutely worst ideas in the entire history of Arda, and he would be so lucky as to survive this one and tell them no the next time they came to him with some brilliant scheme or some-such that sounded enchanting and dangerous and was sure to be more the latter than the former. Yes, he would learn from this and never listen to them again, if he survived to do so.
The wind blew, more warm than cool, but it still sent shivers up his spine as the air was definitely colder than he was, and he dragged himself back into the real world and away from his thoughts to look for his cloak, sure it had to be somewhere nearby as he had not managed to get very far. The world wavered in front of his eyes, spinning and tipping, and he swayed to keep from falling as it did so though it would have been just as easy to lay down; the catch there was that if he laid down, he would never get back up. Then he started crawling, pulling himself along, and the trained healer in him, the part his father had worked so hard to cultivate by teaching him all manner of herbs, remedies, and poultices had a fit about how much dirt he was grinding into his open wounds, lamenting infections and the like, but he simply could not care, more concerned with procuring his cloak.
When he reached it, he blinked blearily at the cloth and reached out a hand to lift it, staring blankly as parts of it fell off and the larger part proved useless for his purposes--namely keeping him warm. Blood matted it, and dirt was smeared across it, slashed by eager claws, and decorated with fur. He blinked again, then dropped the cloth and followed it with his head, which landed painfully on his arm.
He was doomed. Not only was he bleeding, which would attract the foul beasts to him regardless that he had scared them off once, he was tired and sore, and far from home, ill-provisioned (non-provisioned, a sadistic part of his mind laughed), and bereft of the one thing he had been allowed to take with him. His father would surely kill him, if he did not manage it himself, that was. He frowned slightly as he tried to puzzle out in his muddled mind why he was trying to kill himself, or how he planned going about doing it when he did not have a sword, then gave it up. His lack of a sword--or any sharp object for that matter--was the cause of his problems, there was no reason to think he would be able to use a sword to solve them.
Estel sighed and did not move. When he heard coarse voices and loud footsteps, felt evil permeate the air around him and dread settle in the pit of his stomach, he was too far gone to do more than groan. And that he did.
Why me? Why oh why? He did not have long to wonder, and some blessed soul in charge of protecting the youth (who did a very bad job) decided he had been awake long enough and shut his eyes.
~*~
"I don't believe it," a voice said near him, and Aragorn dragged his eyes up from the flames to look into the wide-eyed face of a horrified Legolas.
He smiled sleepily and eased down until he was laying on the ground, his head propped up by his hand and his elbow resting on the ground. "Oh, yes. Orcs." He yawned and waved a hand before him. "Thankfully, I remember almost none of it."
The orcs were not the only thing he did not believe, and not really what he had been referring to, but they worked as well as anything else. After hearing about his friend's tangle with wolves so many years ago, he felt more than just a little bit sick and tried desperately not to picture what Aragorn would have looked like after his tango with those creatures. But the orcs. . . .
"How did you get out of it?" Legolas asked, his brow furrowed, his mind sliding back to provide all manner of ill imaginings, some of them fueled by actually events (he had to forcefully pull himself away from those memories that wanted to push him back into dark thoughts) and more than a few ludicrous escapes. The man beside him did not answer and he turned to look at him, only to find Aragorn asleep, more or less, his eyes closed and his breathing slow. "Aragorn?"
"Hm?" bleary silver eyes blinked open, and before the elf could repeat his question, spoke, "How did I get out?" proving he had heard more than the elf thought. "Well, I didn't. At least, I didn't do anything to help. A hunting party--more along the lines of Elladan and Elrohir's revenge motivated hunting parties, mind--stumbled upon the Orc camp quite by accident. Seems the Orcs became rather upset that their little play thing was not up to screaming for them." His eyes drifted shut as his voice trailed off slightly, sleep trying to steal him away. Then he shook himself partly out of it and looked at Legolas. "They were quite surprised to find the Orcs fighting amongst themselves with a human boy unconscious and bloody in their midst. Or rather, surprised at finding that human boy to be the foster son of Lord Elrond Peredhil."
"I imagine so," agreed the elf softly, watching as the ranger's eyes drifted shut again of their own accord and his hand slipped from under his head so that he drifted toward the ground, arm stretched out like he was reaching for something that was too high for him. A smile stretched across Legolas' face.
It was still oddly endearing to the elf to see the boy in the man, to stand witness to the fact that despite everything that had happened, Aragorn was still not quite the world-hardened man he appeared to anyone who did not know him, that he was more than just a mysterious ranger who held himself at arm's length and hid from the prying Eye of Sauron a heritage he did not desire. Somehow, it was, and the elf glanced up at the stars before rising and moving over to make his friend more comfortable and ensure he would be warm for the night, tucking the cloaks more firmly about the strong form.
He brushed a bit of hair from Aragorn's face and smiled down at the peaceful face before him. "You can tell me the rest in the morning." Then he pressed a friendly kiss against the man's temple and moved away to stand watch. Just because nothing had been amiss earlier did not mean he would risk losing his friend to under-vigilance.
The long hours of the night passed slowly in silence.
*~*~*~*~*
It was dark, the sun long past set but not quite ready to rise, the lands still and peaceful-- perfect in those first moments before the new day could truly begin. It was in these wee hours of the morning that Abyl labored, scrubbing tables with relentless ease, the task mind-numbingly boring and menial but required nonetheless. His father had kicked everyone out but a few hours ago and to him had fallen the task of washing the dishes, wiping the counter, scrubbing the tables, and cleaning the floor; a woman's work, but his mother was no longer with them, and this was the least he could do to aid his father and let him get a few hours sleep. Besides, he did not really mind the work.
If nothing else, it gave him plenty of time to think, to consider any number of possibilities and wander in his own personal daydreams--or night-dreams, however one wished to view it--without interruption, and he did. It was strange to him to watch so many people live in a place they did not like and do things they did not enjoy doing only to wander into one of two pubs in the small town to attempt to drink their concerns away before crashing into bed late at night to continue in the same task the next day. It was confusing. What was the point? But these men, to his mind, had long passed beyond the bounds of rational thought, the possibility driven from their minds by harsh work and inhospitable weather, to be compounded by evil creatures that tore what lives they had apart at the slightest and most incomprehensible whim. At least, that was the story of the men who gathered to drink their woes away.
Abyl knew their lot was not so terrible as that. It was the story of men who had not enough to occupy their minds and more than enough time to bemoan their fates. Few had chosen to reside here, but strangely none would choose to leave, almost as if they drew pleasure from complaining about a lot they could change if they had a mind to. It was maddening.
Insane it was, and so Abyl did not mind working when none were present, free to disappear when everyone would be back and escape to the empty plains that surrounded their small town on every side, broken only by the river that flowed past nearly a hundred miles west of them, too far to do much good. Every so often, though, he craved human companionship enough to return to hear the moans and groans of a life too hard, and spent a few hours in the company of people he loosely considered his friends, and who knew him well enough to know that if they ever really needed his help that he would lend it, and that he would listen if they did not need aid, but merely fancied they did. They were loyal, and less prone to nonsense than the rest of the villagers, and so he sought out their company from time to time, and them his.
His dark brown hair swung forward into his eyes, and he paused in his work to brush it back before returning to his grimy cloth, only to halt again when the door burst open. He turned, of half a mind to grab the sword that rested just behind the counter, and froze. Surprised. Then he frowned and went back to work.
"Jermy, what are you thinking? We're closed, you'll not get no ale from me."
The light-haired young man that entered shook his head, red-blonde hair swinging into his eyes. "Naw, Abyl. I ain't looking for that," Jermy denied, looking put-out. "I've just heard word from some of Siirl's boys--"
"Siirl's boys? What are you doing talking to them? I've told you they're no good," the dark-haired man asked with a frown, continuing stubbornly in his work.
"--that they're planning on killing two men."
Abyl's head snapped up. Killing two men did he say? Siirl was harsh, but the lad had not thought the man cruel. "Why's he planning on killing anybody?"
Jermy shrugged helpless, his expression saying he did not understand either. "Dunno rightly, but word has it another group is trying to catch them or something and he's doing it to spite them."
Abyl frowned. There were times when he missed his childhood home in Gondor, and this was swiftly becoming one of them. "Who are these men? The one's who are to be killed?"
Again, the boy shrugged. "No one knows." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Well, someone does, I'm sure, but no one 'round here knows. All's told is they're traveling from the west. Troublemakers, 'parently."
"And who says that?" asked the dark-haired boy doubtfully. Again the other one shrugged. "Well, never you mind. And stay out of it! Easiest way to end up dead is to get in the middle of another man's fight."
"But, Abyl--"
"No, Jermy. Siirl's not usually one to be so drastic, but if that's changed, the last thing you or I want to do is get in the middle of it." Eyes as dark as his hair stared into green ones. "You hear? Strangers are dangerous. Let other's deal with them."
"But what if they aren't bad?"
"What if they aren't," Abyl agreed, finishing with that table before moving to another. "But what if they are? And what if by getting in the middle, you wind up dead?"
Green eyes shone brightly in a suddenly pale face, the red in the boy's hair caught by the torch light that dimly illuminated the bar, and Jermy suddenly looked much younger than he was. Then he walked forward and leaned against the back of one of the chairs. "But Abe? What about their friends? Their family?"
Abyl directed a scorching glare in his friend's direction, irrationally angered by the lad's insistence in pursuing this. "What about them? Trouble-making strangers don't have family. And even if they did, you'd never have cause to meet them so it doesn't matter. Now go to sleep."
Jermy stepped back, shocked by his friend's harsh words. He stared at the fiery brown eyes a moment, wondering what he had said, wondering why Abyl was so angry, but too scared by this strange twist to even consider opening his mouth and voicing the thoughts, unnerved by the fire that seemed to leap and jump at him from a face he considered friendly. Abyl had never hit him before, but he was not keen on making it start now. Mumbling a quick assent and good-night mixed in one, Jermy turned. He was gone as quickly as he had come.
Abyl sighed. Idly, he flipped the cloth beneath his hand, refolding it as he rubbed at his face. Strangers were coming and the town was worked up by it. Just perfect. Not enough went wrong in this forsaken town as it was, huh. Well, two strangers more or less in a world of danger was hardly a concern of his. It was not like their lives were in any way twined with his. He would never even know they were gone when they died.
With a thunderous scowl, he continued his work, doing his best to forget the words of his friend, all the while cursing Jermy and his curiosity and his inability to keep his mouth shut. Some things were just better off not known.
*~*~*~*~*
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Review Responses:
Red Tigress: If it wasn't bad, does that make it good? *g* I've come to the conclusion that filler chapters aren't so bad if they add something to the characters that are being dealt with, maybe something emotion or grant some deeper insight into the character. I don't know that I did that (it certainly wasn't on my mind when I was writing, nor rewriting) but I should hope I accomplished something along those lines, even if it was minuscule. And posting schedules are for my own mental health. I like and loathe routines forcibly, but absolutely can't abide changes I didn't know about without growling a lot and griping even more. Lol. Ooh, the woods. Hehe. You like? *raises eyebrows expectantly*
Grumpy: lol. Prodding only works if I'm in a mood to be prodded. I had been looking for that prod for days and was just too tired to provide it on my own. *rolls eyes at self* Sometimes I'm hopelessly pathetic. Anyway, whatever I do with Harry Potter, I can guarantee I won't drop this story. It will be finished. *glares fiercely at the stubbornly silent muses* I can't get the ending to write, can't pick up in the middle of the fight scene where I unintentinally stopped, but I will finish it. I'll likely be out of school by the time it happens, but I will do it. Can't do anything 'bout the cliffies, sorry. Lol. Check! Tell me what you find! Lol.
Rangergirl: Don't worry about not reviewing *forcefully pushes away the little twinge that says otherwise* Lord knows I don't always review like I'm supposed to. In fact, I think I'm three chapters behind Nili's--um, can't remember the title, but I'm likely behind by three chapters now. Never mind reviewing them, I haven't even read them. It seems I'm doomed not to get perfect reviewership anytime soon. *g* I understand the time thing, no matter how much the childish part of my mind wants to deny it! Aragorn worry, Legolas comfort? Truly? I switched it? *sigh* Why do I not notice these things? *looks disgruntled for a moment* Ah, well: strory served. Hehe. *grins gleefully*
Sarah: *looks positively terrified* Don't say that! Don't breathe another word about me going on a hiatus! The horrors it would do! *gasps* I might actually do it, and then you wouldn't get the story at all! No, don't offer me a way out. I couldn't bear it. *stares with wide eyes, then slowly relaxes into a smile* But thanks for understanding and taking the time to offer a solution. Don't think I haven't considered it, I just know myself too well. If I stop now, this story will never get fnished. End of story. Thanks, again, though.
Iawen Londea: *smiles* I always know the new ones because I have to check how to spell the names three times to make sure I get them write. Lol. I'm glad you like it! And I'm glad you decided to let me know. Nothing's better than knowing my work is enjoyed. Nothing. Not even chocolate. *g* Enjoy.
Nerfenherder: Thank you! It's good to be back. *g* Hehe. Ah, well, not really hanging, per se. I'm just sadistic enough to not want to let you know everything all at once and to create as many incentives to keep reading as possible. The mark of a goodstoryteller, I'm told. Something to do with suspense. *grins brightly, ruining the cluless look* lol. Your prod has been answered. *bows out*
Tychen: lol. Oh, yes, very appealing. Especially if--*cuts off abruptly* Never mind. *g* I'm not sure how good Legolas is as a deterent against trouble. He finds his fair share of it, after all, but it's definitely better with him there. The twins...well, I'll not go into the twins just yet. Wouldn't want to accidentally spill any secrets. *g* hehe.
NaughtyNat: There's a Lion King 3? *blinks stupidly* I was only aware of LK one and a half. Hm, well, there are a few that get a good number of reviews. 2 thousand something was the most I've seen, and that doesn't happen often--but I never write the stories for the reviews. I post them for the reviews. Important difference. *g* lol. No deviation at all? Wow. Among seven reviewers, that's an accomplishment. The probablity of that actually happening is slim. . . . *g* lol. Ah, Siri and Remmie and Jamie if I can manage it. It's not cooperating, though, and I haven't pursued it. I have this awful habit of getting nothing done when I have a lot to get done. Highly discouraging. Lol. *claps* You noticed. Yay! It took me a minute and three rereadings to figure out what you noticed, but you noticed. I'd forgotten. *grins sheepishly* It's that not able to remember my own chapters thing. Honest. Hm, he was rather dense, wasn't he? I think I'd look, too. Just to make sure the person telling me there was a pink elephant was crazy. *g* lol. Lmao. Oh, my. *makes a face and retreats from the dog, pulling hands up out of reach* Ew. Doggie slobber. Yuck. I'll post. I'll post. *g* Sheesh. No need to send the dog. Lol.