CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Masquerade
Erestor walked all alone in the Healing Ward's storage room, peering into boxes and jotting things down quickly on a piece of parchment. He looked over the top of one box and discovered it to be brimming with Athelas or Kingsfoil. Writing that down quickly he turned around and saw others walking, gathering supplies, and boiling water for teas. He was not alone, he only felt that way.
His dark-hair was somewhat tussled and he actually had dark rings beneath his eyes from lack of sleep or even the slightest bit of peace. As of late he had totally avoiding even seeing his reflection in the water, knowing that he looked the part of a vagrant. Frowning, the immortal adviser looked out a nearby window and watched as the sun began to rise, red as it had set. A shiver raced down his spine without warning, causing him to work not to shudder suddenly.
Picking up a towel as he began to walk in the direction of Hellinyetillë who was helping another Elf-maiden with a gash on her arm. Handing the towel to Rivendell's chief healer, he asked in a near whisper, "how many are hurt total?" His expression looked so sorrowful and tired that it made the healer stop what she was doing.
Looking him in the eyes she said, "most are still never better." Taking the towel from him, the maiden pressed it to the injured Elf's arm gently.
Erestor shook his head and said quickly, "I must go. I have a lot to do." Turning, he left quickly. The Healing Ward was making his stomach sick with guilt.
Grabbing a cloak from a hook on the wall, the counselor covered himself with the warm material and started out for the area where the landslide had taken place.
It was some time later when the adviser to Elrond found himself walking amid the rubble and mud that had smashed into one side of Rivendell, decimating many Elven flets and homes. He wondered if anyone were still alive, buried beneath the mass of debris. That would truly be horrible. Shuddering, the dark-haired Elf walked further, examining the destruction and wondering how some place that he had always thought would be safe forever was now falling into nothingness.
The wind snapped his cloak around, twisting it about the scholar's lean body and nearly causing him to stumble. Coming to stand still at the top of a large boulder, the Elf let the snow fall about him, cold and wet, sticking to his hair that flowed out from beneath the corners of his sage hood. The wind picked up a notch in speed and flipped his hood back, letting the dark hair blow around.
Looking around at the destruction below his feet, Erestor felt detached, like this was unreal. Everything suddenly appeared to be happening so slowly and things appeared to be much colder, even have an icy touch to them. He shivered and let his grey eyes come to rest on the Misty Mountains that he knew now were coming back to claim the land Rivendell had been built on.
An old fear flared up once more as he feared that the orcs would discover Rivendell and sack her. They had done it once in Eregoin, his old home, he didn't want to relive that horror again. He didn't want to see Elves die and witness Elves fleeing for their lives in a place that was theirs. If Sauron discovered where they were the refuge was as good as annihilated. They did not have the resources to battle with the servant of Morgoth.
The ground beneath his feet rocked slightly and he looked curiously at it. That was not normal, the ground did not just rock and shift under one's feet. Vilya was up to something once more and he doubted she was trying to rebuild what she had destroyed. Elrond was losing complete control of her and soon Sauron would detect the through the ring's works. Shuddering to think of the eye of that unnamable terror, he blinked in near shock that he had dared to think of Rivendell being discovered.
Feeling the vibrations strengthen, Erestor scanned the ground below for a good place to jump. A tree branch crossing over a reasonably good sized crevice looked hopeful considering one could walk across it half drunk without very much difficulty so wide was it and he readied himself to leap upon it and walk across to the meager safety of the piled rock on the other side. Just as he found himself falling through the air readying himself to land on the broken limb another tremor struck, shifting the branch and knocking it out of the reach of Erestor's feet.
For a moment his body seemed to stop moving and everything held still as he registered the danger he was in and what was about to happen. The counselor looked at the gapping ground opening beneath his feet that went at least ten feet down and then the full realization of what was about to transpire dawned on him with vivid clarity. He was falling into a deep crevice, most likely where none would find him. Chances were he would break a bone or two, maybe even his neck, the adviser concluded grimly as he was feet away from the bottom. But that was a very morbid conclusion to come to, his more optimistic side spoke wisely against the more pessimistic and yet realistic voice in his head.
Muscles tightening, preparing for the intensity of the fall, the Elf winced as he struck the ground feet first and his knees bent to absorb the impact. As he looked up at the sky swirling overhead he cursed the fact that he had been this stupid. Of course he should have possessed the sense to know that the rubble would hardly be stable enough for exploration. This was something Glorfindel or Elladan and Elrohir would do, he decided gloomily as he inwardly slapped himself repeatedly. He was the sane one, wasn't he?
Obviously he had just flattered himself with that statement. He was insane otherwise he would have never come here to do his brooding, which was unhealthy in and of itself. As he stared at a large and ominous boulder resting precariously over head he had the premonition that he might just become a side dish of Elf-jam with an extra large helping of destruction.
However his more optimistic side said calmly, 'someone will find you first! You are Elrond's head counselor and you will be greatly missed after dark!' In frustration with himself, Erestor shook his head and stood up shakily. He wasn't frightened…yet, but he was more than a bit disquieted and shaken by the entire experience and that included before he actually landed in the accursed chasm. He wished once again that Glorfindel were here, or even just Elladan and/or Elrohir.
Walking the perimeter of the hole, he scoured it for any hold he might find to pull himself out by or climb up by, but he could find nothing. The roots were sparse and when he did find one it was just out of his reach or far too thin for use. The last thing he wanted and definitely did not need was another fall that might very well break a bone or twist his ankle.
Sitting down to try and calm his nerves after about ten minutes of pacing didn't do the job, the raven-haired Elf wondered what Glorfindel would be doing if he could see him now. He might help him out of the crevice, after laughing himself sick, Erestor added gloomily. He had never thought he could miss a menace such as that golden-haired idiot as much or more than he did now. As much as he hated to confess it Glorfindel was his friend and had always been there, even if he had turned purple from laughter before hand. Thinking of the mountains and the heavy snows that had been falling, Erestor pulled his cloak closer about himself for comfort more than anything else he wondered if Glorfindel, Elrond and those insane brothers were even still alive or if the pass had killed them. The fact that Vilya was becoming worse lead Erestor to believe that Elrond could in fact be dead and if that was the case it was only a matter of time before they all were lost.
Pulling his knees up to his chin, Erestor rested his head on them and sighed. Rescue seemed to be so far off and he doubted he would live that long anyway. One more tremor and that boulder was going to mash him flatter than a piece of Lembas bread that had been stuck at the bottom of Elladan or Elrohir's pack. To say he would be crumbs would probably not be an understatement.
"What help are you to Rivendell or anyone else you fool?" He asked himself bitterly. "You obviously let your depression that wasn't even logically based do this and now you are paying for it, you idiot, you are paying for it." His hands clenched as his anger and frustration turned on himself and began to curse him about as much as an oppressive orc might have if it had happened to get its paws on him. He hadn't been this incredibly stupid since he was far younger and even then that was not entirely his fault. Hellinyetillë certainly deserved better than himself and he wouldn't blame her at all if she came and laughed to his face.
Tears pricked beneath his eyes and he forced himself to dispel them. What good would crying do anyway? But he had always thought than if everything fell to pieces and crumbled at his feet that Glorfindel would be right beside him. But then again, he thought wryly, the only thing Glorfindel might miss is the free time he had when he didn't have to file papers for over half the day. Glorfindel didn't hate paperwork, he despised it with an intense passion that was not to be matched by any one in Middle Earth or across the sea and thought those who enjoyed it were mad, hence why he and Erestor never truly saw eye to eye.
Erestor smiled grimly as his stomach growled, reminding him that he had yet to eat breakfast or anything for that matter. It was a sharp prompting to him as to what would happen if no one ever found him and he wasn't killed. Starvation was not something he had ever dreamed of dying by. Painful and horribly slow, he would much rather be smashed by a boulder. He had mostly thought that if he ever would die it would be because Glorfindel drove him to madness or because he died serving his lord. Obviously he didn't ever really think that he would die, being an Elf he would naturally live forever.
O0O0O0O0O0O0O
A breeze…a gentle breeze…fresh air…Legolas gently eased his eyes open and blinked as he realized with sigh that something bright was shinning in his face, blinding him. What was that stinging his eyes? He had heard once that it was called 'light' but he wasn't too sure. He winced as it entered his brain and made his head swim more than it was already. Everything was aching…especially his head and ribs but he had no recollection of why. Opening his eyes again he peered beyond the …light until he saw a woman's face with narrowed eyes glaring down at him. Startled, he tried to rise and realized he was far too weak and that his chest felt as though he could not get a breath of air in if his life depended on it, which it did.
"Do not move a muscle," the woman ground out between grit teeth. Legolas could not see her face; a handkerchief was about it. He didn't know why she made herself look so ridiculous, maybe it was part of their culture, he wasn't sure. But he didn't have much time to think about that before the woman gave him the most evil glare he had seen in a long time, well if you disregarded that bovine of a prince and the poor excuse for a Lieutenant, he amended quickly. "On your feet," she commanded.
Legolas gave her the most incredulous look possible before he felt the sharp points of something against the soft flesh beneath his chin. Well, he thought with dry amusement, she was completely serious. But he wondered if he indeed was captured again, what was going to become of him. He was certain Dorrag would not appreciate the wild goose chase he was absolutely certain they had led the Haradrim warriors on and he was also certain the 'reward' for it would be given in generous portions. What the 'reward' would be, that was the question…She snapped, "I don't want to kill you, so don't make me."
Legolas struggled to find his feet and found his body to be nearly too stiff and sore for the task. Suddenly he knew with a wrench of alarm that Strider was no where around. Panic rose in his throat as he wondered what had become of his friend. Aragorn had been right behind him. Ignoring the sharp points against his throat, the Elf spun on his heel and nearly lost his balance in his pain and weariness. "Strider!" he used his friend's hated nickname considering the fact that he knew not where they were or who was threatening them at the moment.
He suddenly saw shapes spinning in bright colors and his chest became tight. He collapsed to his knees again and looked up at the woman who he now noticed was holding a pitchfork. As if things could not get any stranger. He had passed out from some toxin or from weariness and was found on some steps that came out of nowhere only to be threatened with a pitchfork of all things. If he had not been in such a dire situation he might have laughed out loud, but as he was in rather hot water the Elf only smiled dryly to himself. Could this situation get anymore amusing?
Placing the prongs of the pitchfork against the Elf's throat, the woman pressed them in until they nearly pierced the skin. Legolas winced, but resisted the urge to look down at the garden tool. He felt extremely dizzy and her voice drummed in his ears as she spoke, "what are you doing in my cellar?"
"Does your cellar connect to a tunnel?" asked Legolas breathlessly, as he felt just as he had before he fainted or passed out. He stared into her dark eyes that flickered with anger and a hidden fear. She rolled her eyes as she glared threatening at him.
"No, of course not!" she said bitterly and watched with mounting frustration as her prisoner actually dared to smile.
"Well apparently it does now." Legolas was still wondering if this was simply an effect of the obviously noxious and toxic gas that he and Aragorn had discovered. People didn't just go around using pitchforks as weapons unless you considered hobbits in the jumble of races. Of all the things he thought would kill him he had never dreamed it would be a woman with a pitchfork. If Elladan and Elrohir were here they would laugh themselves senseless. He looked down and saw Aragorn unmoving at the bottom of the step and his eyes widened in horror and a mounting dread flooded what was left of his intellect.
"Strider-"
"Not one more word you…creature." She motioned roughly to the door behind her and glanced quickly around. "If you want your friend to live I suggest you pick him up and follow me. I could careless about you at the moment." With the dark look in her eyes Legolas could very easily believe that. She jabbed the pitchfork into his flesh one more time before using it to gesture at Aragorn, "Well?"
"I can hardly walk myself!" protested Legolas as she waited impatiently for him to pick up his fallen friend. She was obviously insane! Of course the fact that she went around threatening people with pitchforks should have tipped him off to begin with…
She rolled her eyes and said, "The air is a poisonous fume down here! You inhaled it once but when it comes forth again you will find your side effects to be worse (providing that you live)! Wipsomë is deadly so I am surprised you are even still breathing." She began up the stairs and then stopped and turned around to cast another cruel glare at the pair of friends as Legolas inched his way down the steps towards Aragorn's still form revealed in the flickering light of the torch. This explained why exactly she wore the handkerchief about her face, he made a mental note.
His own body trembled and he could barely move his muscles in timing with his brain's commands. Brushing some of Aragorn's hair aside he looked with despair at the pale face that looked whiter than death. Resisting the urge to collapse, the immortal did his best to gather Aragorn up into his arms. Anger was growing slowly but surely and he was certain he could feel it beginning to smolder in his eyes.
"Any day now would be nice," the maiden said from the top of the stairs with a sense of urgency masked by annoyance. Legolas cast a withering glare of his own as he felt his patience growing thin quicker than it had for a good while. He had possessed more patience with Sarchel than with this woman. That in itself was surprising enough to make Legolas chuckle dryly inside though he felt empty and engrossed in sadness.
'Well' he thought indignantly. 'I would go faster. I am sorry I was tortured within the exact few centimeters of my life and was poisoned! I should learn how to walk faster after loosing over a pint of blood!' Rolling his own eyes he made it up two steps with Aragorn before he collapsed to his knees for a humiliating second time. They were simply refusing to go any farther.
"I can't go up these stairs bearing him!" he protested angrily as he looked up at her with burning eyes.
She answered coldly. "Life is harsh and short, so deal with it. I don't have to be helping you!" She reminded him.
Helping me? So what is it like exactly to not be helped in this place? Haradrim were impossible not to mention completely insane. He hugged Aragorn close and decided even if he didn't feel like he could continue he would have to if for nothing more than Aragorn's sake and to show that bizarre woman that he was a bit more stubborn than she thought. He struggled up a few more steps and realized that this was impossible.
Through some sheer manage of will he reached the top step before he collapsed. His face hit the wood of the floor and he panted like a dog at her feet. His cheeks flushed in humiliation and anger that was finally deciding to present itself. The maiden was kind enough to drag them both in the rest of the way. But she rolled Legolas onto his back with her boot and placed the pitchfork prongs against his neck, forcing him to raise his chin before she kicked the door shut and dropped the bar across that locked it.
Legolas glared and then rolled his eyes in exasperation. "My friend is dying! You have to tend to him! Please! I will beg you if that is what you want!" He sighed and asked, "how is that you think I can hurt you that you are trying to kill me with a pitchfork?"
She eyed the Elf closely and pressed the garden tool closer into the prone prisoner's exposed neck. Her face flickered with cold amusement. "An Elf, a dirty little Elf." Her dark eyes crossed the lacerations on Legolas' front and the dried blood that still clung to some parts of his body that the water in the duct had not washed away. "You were tortured," it was a statement, not a question.
"What is it to you?" Legolas asked as he twisted his neck to try and avoid the sharp points that were biting in his flesh but not quite drawing any blood. "Do you always welcome those in need of aid with pitchforks at their throats?" he asked as he tried to squirm clear. This was more than a slightly uncomfortable position and it wasn't helping his opinion of her and her people anymore.
"That is none of your business, Elf," she said matter-of-factly. "What was it that you were so desperate to hide that they wiped the floor with you?" she asked curiously as she looked at the thinned frame of the blonde haired prisoner. "Who or what deserves your loyalty?"
"That is none of your business," retorted Legolas. He jerked as she probed his throat more with the pitchfork. This was more than degrading and he was almost not able to see straight he was so angry and frustrated.
"Do not tire me, Elf. I have no time for these games," she warned. "You will tell me an honest answer or I will simply kill you and your friend. There are many places to hide a body or two..." She trailed off as her prisoner seemed to realize that his defiant disposition was getting him no where.
"I am not scared of you or death. However, if you must know I will tell you for time's sake. We were captured in battle. Your bovine of a prince and his insane excuses for goons tortured me for information and my friend as well. We were…we escaped and found this tunnel and found our way into your cellar. It was totally unintentional, considering it was pitch dark," finished the prince angrily, not wanting to specify how exactly they escaped. Why she needed to know this he wasn't sure. There was nothing wrong with being cautious but really he was almost certain this was not necessary…
"I am satisfied now, for time's sake," she answered slowly and then stood a minute longer. It was comical to see a high and mighty Elf groveling on the floor and she smiled tensely. Looking at the ranger that lay with a white face and shallow breaths she as not sure what to make of him. Why an Elf and a ranger were tortured and dying here on her doorstep she had no idea and it disquieted her deeply.
"Then can you remove the pitchfork please?" Legolas asked crossly, working not to curse out loud. He wanted nothing more than to tell this woman exactly what he thought of her but that was probably not going to help matters at this given moment. He shifted to see her better and said thickly, "my friend is dying. That may not mean anything to you, but it means everything to me. Please. All I ask is to tend to him."
"One more thing," she asked in a tight voice. "Were you followed by anyone?"
"None," Legolas answered promptly. She didn't remove the pitchfork and Legolas reassured testily, "we escaped completely unnoticed for now."
"But you will be hunted?" she asked quickly, removing the pitchfork and allowing Legolas to breathe easier. Her eyes never left his prone figure and that of the ranger, as though they might suddenly try and murder her. The maiden's face remained grey with a fear and she licked her drying lips nervously.
"Obviously," the Elf asserted as he sat up groggily. He felt like he was going to faint once more and he forced himself to remain conscious. "Considering that poor justification for a human being never collected the information that he desired."
Not daring to stand, the prince simply shook his head to try and clear his senses. His dirty blonde hair fell around his bruised face and he winced as the potency of his headache dared to increase. His ribs and every part of him all began to scream at once, causing a considerable amount of agony to course through what seemed to be his very blood. He began to scoot near Aragorn and felt the man's forehead; it was icy to the touch. The man's temperature was dropping. "I am sorry for the interrogation, but do you realize the danger you have put myself and our entire village in?" she asked neurotically over her shoulder as she began to walk away down a long hall.
"It isn't like I wanted to come here!" Legolas said mordantly under his breath as he watched her leave. Narrowing his eyes he felt his lips pull into a small and discreet frown. Turning his worried blue eyes back upon Aragorn he cursed himself angrily. Elbereth, you idiot! If you had only never come with him you wouldn't be here now and he wouldn't have been tortured because of you! Licking his dry lips, the Elf gathered Aragorn into his arms and tried to gather up the strength to stand up with the burden of his sick companion.
To his astonishment the next moment he looked down at Aragorn's face he found himself staring into a pair of familiar and incredulous grey eyes that were still slightly glazed over. The ill ranger smiled tensely, however, it was genuine. Legolas nearly jumped and then he shook his head. "I should kill you right here, right now."
"Why would you want to do that?" croaked the ranger wearily as he yawned. He obviously didn't seem to realize that they were out of the accursed tunnel yet. But after what he had been through that was to be expected…
"You gave me a scare human, a true scare," Legolas answered as he laughed lightly. "I thought it was a dead or dying ranger I held," Legolas added. He couldn't believe he had just laughed. His friend had nearly died and he had laughed. If it was nervous reaction it was a pathetic and insane one. And even more irritating was that he found himself grinning like an idiot or some deranged warg that was constantly smiling.
"Sorry, I had very little control over it," Aragorn apologized tiredly. "But I wonder if you were more scared of having to drag me back to father than the prospect I could be dead." Closing his eyes he let Legolas' arms serve as pillows and shut his eyes without even thinking about it.
Legolas frowned and decided that if Aragorn had not been injured as badly as he was he would have cuffed him on the head. "Did you ever consider that I actually worry for you, filthy human?" he asked tersely. A dangerous and offended sort of glimmer flashed in his eyes.
"I didn't mean anything, Legolas." Opening his eyes the ranger looked around and then sat up abruptly. "Elbereth! Where are we?" he asked quickly, pushing away form the Elf and trying to stand. These walls were like nothing he had seen before and looking above he found a thatched roof. "We made it!"
"Well I wouldn't exactly call being taken prisoner by an insane woman with a pitchfork 'making it' but we are alive," Legolas mused morbidly.
Aragorn looked at the Elf with a raised brow, clearly questioning Legolas' sanity. "An 'insane woman with a pitchfork'? Did you eat something strange?"
"I am an Elf, Estel. We don't go around eating anything and everything like a hobbit!" Legolas snorted softly and shook his head. "We were taken in by some crazy maiden with a pitchfork! I tell you the truth!" If he hadn't seen it happen with his own eyes he wouldn't have believed it either.
"I think whatever we inhaled in that tunnel has fuddled your brain or what is left of it anyway…" Aragorn trailed off as he swirled his grey eyes over to see a huge wolfish looking hound in the corner of the room, watching them, Legolas in particular. If he wasn't mistaken it had a sort of hungry look in his eyes. This was perfect…
"Estel," Legolas argued, apparently not noticing the dog. "How exactly did we get here if I am lying?" Seeing Aragorn's eyes staring off seemingly into space, Legolas followed them and instantly noticed the hound in the corner. "Blessed Manwë! What ever is that?"
"It appears to be a dog," Aragorn deducted with a cheeky grin.
"Typical," Legolas said around his dropping jaw, referring to the man's sarcastic demeanor. Looking down at the human he stated cynically, "I think you just might be right. Unless that lunatic Dorrag took the form of an animal."
"Must you insult my dog so, Elf?" asked the maiden as she came in holding old cloth torn into strips. The creature growled defensively at the sitting prince, who couldn't look more annoyed and abashed. The Haradrim woman scratched the animal behind the ears lovingly. Then directing her attention back to the pair of friends watching skeptically from the floor she asserted, "I would imagine you would want help with those wounds and some food as well." Looking pointedly at how Legolas and Aragorn's ribs were both a bit more evident, she quirked an eyebrow. "Now which one of you wants to go first?"
Legolas looked sidelong at Aragorn before asking softly in Elvish, "How do you ever think she guessed that?"
Aragorn smiled and said brazenly, "perhaps she has some of that infinite wisdom you had spoken of earlier." The indignant expression on Legolas' face was priceless.
"She threatened to kill me with a pitchfork, ranger!" he hissed back adamantly in the Grey Tongue. Aragorn simply smiled vapidly and closed his eyes, falling asleep in the Elf's arms almost immediately. Legolas shook him gently to try and wake him but the man would not open his eyes and remained limp in Legolas' grip leaving the prince go get his wounds addressed first. "I kill you for this, human. For this I will kill you."
O0O0O0O0O0O0O
Strapping his scimitar at his side and slinging a short bow over his shoulder, Darcíl sighed as he counted the arrows in his decorated quiver before he slung that onto his back as well. Twenty arrows…a decent enough supply of them, he told himself without the slightest bit of emotion. He didn't intend to use no-one of them anyway. Frowning, he straightened his tunic out and then picked up his black cloak that was lying on the tabletop of his room in the gigantic palace of his lord, where he was graciously allowed to stay while on duty as part of his payment.
Once he was shrouded in his black cloak he could fairly imagine himself as looking like something completely wicked. Smiling indifferently, the captain picked up a small dagger and slid it quickly into the sheath on the inside of his boot along the inside portion of his ankle. It may serve him well later if Cortanyar's earlier crimes were any guide. He would not hesitate to kill that miserable brute if he were attacked first.
Walking down the lengthy corridor that lead to yet another which lead directly to Dorrag's throne room, Darcíl kept his pace decisively even and calm looking even though inside he felt anything but serene. 'Irritated' and 'uneasy' would be two excellent choices of words to describe his mood thanks to the constant fear that his deed of freeing the most valuable prisoners in Haradrim history would be found out and his family would pay the prince. So perhaps the adjective 'dwelling' would be accurate to say of him as well. All the words save one could even be placed in a single phrase: 'dwelling uneasily on the inevitable'. But that sounded a bit too dark for his comfort.
Turning into the main passage, the Haradrim Captain slowed his pace considerably, wondering what his entrance into the throne room would bring. He also was in no hurry to meet Cortanyar again. After all, he had this entire escapade to spend with the maniacal being and didn't think he wanted a minute over that. The man's face got on his nerves and his actions were even less calming.
Stopping fully before the huge brass doors, Darcíl fought an inner struggle not to open them and to turn around and flee. It was so strong he felt his legs tensing to comply with his wishes. But he knew then that if he ran his family would suffer from that as much as they would if he were found out. Placing a hand on the door he was about to open it when he opened all by itself!
On the other side Sarchel was coming out and he looked Darcíl respectfully but with a bit more ice and steel than before. Darcíl resisted the urge to shudder. He simply had never gotten fully used to having Sarchel around him being Sarchel. If he ever did end up getting used to the lunatic of a lieutenant then he would have to put into question his own sanity. Darcíl didn't know Cortanyar too well but he hoped with all sincerity that he would never have to get used him either.
Saluting before he walked past Darcíl, Sarchel gave his superior a dark glare. "That had better be a glare from your reflection on the situation we are in or I will see to it that your eyes are dismembered, lieutenant!" Darcíl warned sharply, not liking the look of the junior officer that was beneath him and had no right to glare at him thus.
Sarchel smiled tensely, "you shall see, Captain." He began to walk away without another word. More like saunter away…
"Lieutenant! Don't turn your back on me!" commanded Darcíl as he shouted after the other officer.
"No, you shouldn't turn your back on me!" retorted Sarchel over his shoulder. His voice was eerily calm and he didn't seem to fear any reprimand from his superior officer. Darcíl felt anger and indignation spike up to add to his list of nebulous emotions.
"Let the fool go, Captain Darcíl," Dorrag's voice carried through the air. Darcíl looked over and saw his lord waiting for him to enter the throne room so they could begin whatever dark business they had to. The Haradrim Captain felt a strange tug of reluctance to go anywhere near his prince. "He will get what is coming to him soon enough, Darcíl," assured Dorrag contemptuously.
"Yes, your Majesty," Darcíl's immediate response came softly. He finally turned his full attention on Dorrag. "You wanted to see me before we left. I thought it wise that I should follow your request."
"Ah, indeed I did." Dorrag shook his head. "You cannot depart yet. The troupes I had ordered to come with you were…delayed. Therefore your search is also delayed."
"With all due respect, but that will greatly lessen the chances of recapturing those two…"
"Captain, it will, but not by much. With the extensive wounds they have sustained how do you expect them to travel far within one more day?" reasoned Dorrag as he walked over to sit on his golden throne. Tapping his fingers on the armrest of his right side, the man continued. "You will not depart until tomorrow."
"I do not agree with your decision, my lord. They have surprised us already, my heart forebodes it will be done again," Darcíl argued more to give the impression he wanted them captured than that he really did. But that the troupes should be delayed did not bode well. There was no apparent reason for them to be delayed, but he feared to ask too much of his lord. However he tried to push down his suspicions, he could not, and he suddenly found himself speaking. "For what cause are they delayed, my lord?"
"They had to take a small deviation for trivial reasons, but I am sure you will know more later," Dorrag assured testily. He frowned and said, "but this day is yours to do as you will. I would suggest making cure that you prepared to leave, but that is only a suggestion, captain."
Darcíl starred at his lord curiously but then bowed curtly. "Then I shall take my leave, my lord."
Sitting at his desk back in his quarters, Darcíl re-read the letter he had just written his wife and children. It made loneliness feel all the more prominent to know that he wouldn't be seeing them in person for quite some time. He missed them dearly and all her truly wanted was to be with them for the rest of his days.
Smiling as he thought of his home, Darcíl shook his head sadly. He was torn completely between the life he was leading and where he stood on everything.
A banging noise behind him made him reach for his sword and spin around out of well served instinct. He glared coldly as he saw Sarchel coming towards him with a drawn sword. An insane light was in other's dark glittering eyes. 'He finally has gone completely maniacal!' mused Darcíl as he held his sword in a fighting position before him. "What have you come for, Sarchel?" he asked suspiciously.
"Your life," snarled the lieutenant rabidly. He raised the sword and stabbed at Darcíl in a good attempt to run him through. Fortunately for the Haradrim captain, his own sword deflected the blow. "I warned you not to turn your back on me!" He struck out at his captain once more.
"I will have you executed for this, Sarchel!" threatened Darcíl angrily as he successfully parried the simple blow from his attacker. Frowning, he wondered what was happening. As if that day could not get any stranger and off schedule…
"Executions have to be approved by Prince Dorrag! Anyway, it is because of him I am here!" retorted Sarchel as he held his sword out to keep Darcíl from killing him at that moment. His eyes locked with his victim's. "You've outlived your purpose, captain! Or should I say ex-captain?"
"I will kill you, Sarchel! You know it. Now drop the sword," Darcíl tried to reason with the man, He didn't know why he was doing so, for he was certainly wasting his time. Anyway, he had wanted to kill this man for so long and now that he was able he was trying to save Sarchel's worthless life? He must being going insane.
"Do you know why the troupes are delayed, Darcíl?" taunted Sarchel unwisely as he sidestepped a blow and struck out for his captain's legs, trying to wound the other so he would have an easier task. Darcíl was proving to be a better fighter than he had thought.
Darcíl remained silent to Sarchel's annoying gibes that were probably groundless.
"They made a detour…to your family's village," Sarchel watched with relish as Darcíl's eyes widened in disbelief and shock. "That's right. Your family is going to be dead this time tomorrow!"
"You lie," Darcíl said as he lowered his sword in shock and felt a strong sense of apathy and anti-realism numb and blind his senses. This wasn't happening, not after all he had done to try and protect them. Looking at Sarchel he saw the blade of the lieutenant coming to stab him and he realized suddenly that he didn't care. His family was gone and there was nothing he could do so he might as well die with them.
Sarchel's sword suddenly flipped aside and cut into the flesh on his arm rather than running him through immediately. A look of displeasure came across the assassin's face as he said, "you won't even put up a decent fight? You know, your family isn't dead yet…" Honestly, Sarchel had looked forward to fighting his captain and winning.
"I would have thought you would have wanted your job to be safe and easy?" Darcíl said, without raising his sword. He wasn't sure why this coward didn't just kill him out right and it made him wonder whether he should actually fight this idiot. Maybe he still had a chance to save his family…
"No, it removes the fun from the entire process," Sarchel grinned icily. He struck out again, aiming his sword for Darcíl's side, leaning forward considerably in the process. But the Haradrim captain made up his mind to live at that very moment and sidestepped the weapon before using his own to strike at Sarchel's exposed side, driving his blade between the ribs swiftly despite the pain from his own arm wound. A fire was rekindled in his eyes and it burned with a vengeful and perfectly explainable fury.
He watched suddenly as Sarchel stumbled to the side and clutched at his wound before Darcíl yanked his sword free with a sickening pop. Fumbling backwards onto the balcony of Darcíl's room, the wounded junior officer leaned heavily upon the railing. He breathing was coming in shallow gasps as the full pain and devastation of the wound registered. Blood and vital fluids dripped on the ground. He glared at Darcíl with evil gathering into his eyes, giving him a nearly possessed look. "You won't kill me," he said as Darcíl took him by the throat, constricting it and boring him with his hard eyes.
"I think I will," Darcíl said bitterly as he placed his sword over the man's heart. "And I will make a puddle of your blood before I tread in it." He was about to stab when Sarchel knocked him aside in an unexpected motion, breaking free and having one last attempt to slay his captain that failed miserably. Darcíl watched in abashed amazement as the crazed Lieutenant cast himself over the edge of the railing, gliding to his death on the stony ground below. It as obvious that was not the intent of Sarchel by the way he stumbled and gave a curt and shriveled cry, but all the same, it was all over now.
He looked over the edge shakily and saw the distorted and disfigured form of his would-be assassin lying in the dirt. Blood ran form the man's mouth and nose, a sign of a fractured neck followed by internal bleeding and other various fractures sustained from the fall. Snorting softly in disdain, Darcíl muttered darkly, "you lived and fool and died a fool. And good riddance."
Taking Sarchel's sword that had slipped from his grip as he leapt the balcony due to the blood on his hands, Darcíl gripped the hilt. Taking careful aim, he suddenly threw it down, and watched with a surprisingly calming sense of gratification as it pierced through Sarchel's spine and blood seeped out from around it. A dark puddle began to form, leaking from under Sarchel's lifeless and pale face as rich life fluid drained from his mouth.
Now the chase was on of course. This deed would not go unnoticed before the day was over. If he wished to save his wife and children he had much ground to cover.
O0O0O0O0O0O
Glorfindel starred morosely at the flames that flickered in the small campfire that they had managed to build despite the disreputable weather that seemed to be following them everywhere, dogging every step they took with more troubles. His face was emotionless in thought and his blue eyes were half closed. The Elf's hood was down and his golden hair spilled about his shoulders.
Glaring darkly then at the three dark-haired Elves sitting across the fire from him, he then diverted his eyes back to the fire. Elrond was sitting with his cloak drawn tightly about himself and his face was hardly visible thanks to the hood that covered his features. On either side he was flanked by one of his identical sons. Elladan glared back across the fire at Glorfindel and asked teasingly, "we only just managed to get this fire lit. You wouldn't be cruel enough to put it out again with your icy stare of death, would you?"
Glorfindel was quiet for a moment and then he returned the glare identically. "I wouldn't dream of it," he muttered nebulously. Not in the mood for teasing or jesting, he simply picked up a stick and began to poke dully at the flames. When this didn't suffice to reduce his amount of boredom, the golden-haired Elf proceeded to catch the tip of the stick on fire by sticking it into the crux of the small flames. Once that was accomplished he swished it through the air drearily and watched as it turned into a smoldering orange ember at the tip before going deceptively black. Finally being unable to contain his worries no longer, the Balrog-Slayer moaned, "Elbereth, I think I should return home." He shook his head in a vain attempt to relieve his anxieties. His stomach seemed to be sinking past his knees and into his toes and he wouldn't be surprised if it eventually sank lower than that. To be completely frank, he wouldn't be surprised if it sank lower than that right then and there.
Elladan looked sidelong at Elrohir and the younger twin looked at Glorfindel with a small frown. Then looking across his father to Elladan, he said, "I think he misses Lord Erestor." A small and mischievous grin spread slowly across Elrohir's face as he looked at Elladan and saw his older brother shaking his head.
"My dear brother, I do believe you are right," Elladan said as he eyed Glorfindel carefully, waiting for the golden-haired warrior to attack him with purpose driven rage. He was more than a little disquieted when the Gondolin Elf did not leap up with his hands extending towards his throat to choke the life out of him. The fact that Elrond was there really didn't serve to change any of Glorfindel's less appealing behaviors. Glorfindel was and would always be pure and simple Glorfindel.
Elrond split a grim look between his sons that plainly read, 'there is no need to be infuriating Glorfindel at this time. Watch yourselves.' He knew that his look was more than entirely wasted but at least when he tried to explain to a livid Glorfindel that he had attempted to keep him from being mortally teased he would not be telling a false hood in any form. Really he thought Glorfindel would serve himself well to loosen up a little. But that was like the pot calling the kettle black.
Glorfindel cast a black look at all three Elves opposite himself and stood up whilst stretching. He frowned once more and then said, "since you all are in such a mood as to jest when I am completely serious I think the company of purely the stars would be better for me at the moment." Beginning to walk away he could just imagine Elladan and Elrohir sniggering like little Elflings behind his back. If he had turned around he might have known that he was mistaken.
Elladan sighed heavily and looked grimly at his boot toes before looking across Elrond to his brother. "Elrohir, I think we really might have messed up," he whispered sadly. He certainly hadn't been to offend Glorfindel. Well, actually, that was not entirely true…he just hadn't meant to offend him that much.
"Indeed, brother, indeed." In truth Elrohir couldn't remember a time when he had felt so wretched and that included when he had first found out that Elladan had been blinded. No, he thought slowly. He wasn't only wretched; he was miserable (which sort of went along with wretched). He really had not known that Glorfindel was that worried though when the Balrog-Slayer had started playing with fire that should have tipped him off immediately.
Elrond sighed and said momentarily, "I suppose I had better go and talk with him unless we want him to be hardly the friendly traveling companion tomorrow." It was at least four minutes before anyone said anything and before anyone moved a muscle. Talking with Glorfindel when the golden-haired Elf was displeased about something was not pleasant to do under any circumstances and these circumstances were less than thrilling anyway...
Elrond walked quietly out into the dark, leaving behind his sons, who insisted on giving him a nervous glare as he left. Not forgetting their mother's fate they hadn't put it beyond their father to find the same sort of trouble. Moreover the fact that he was with Glorfindel of all people was not encouraging either. Then there was the genetics to consider…if what everyone said was true, then the apples didn't fall too far form the tree this time…well if they discounted Arwen.
Glorfindel drew a deep breath in through his nose, smelling the clean night air mingled with the rustic though delightful odor of wood-smoke. This felt slightly better but he still had a sinking suspicion that Erestor had managed to discover some sort of mischief. He was that naive.
"Lord Glorfindel?" came a voice he knew to belong to Lord Elrond. "Ah! I found you, my friend."
"Yes, you have, mellon nin. Why do I have the honor of your company?" asked the Balrog-Slayer, deciding to go ahead with the formalities since he wasn't really in the mood to talk with anyone.
Elrond was not of the same mind.
"You and I both know. Glorfindel, Erestor will be fine. At the worst he shall have Rivendell so labeled and reorganized that he shall hardly know it when we get back." Elrond crinkled his brow and said, "I do fear for my desk."
"Elrond, he may be an organizer but when it comes to trouble he lacks the experience…" Glorfindel trailed off as he remembered past events before amending, "or really the common sense to deal with it." Shaking his head he said, "he is an esteemed idiot. Nothing more, nothing less."
Elrond quirked an eyebrow, not very much amused and voiced, "For hating each other you both spend an awful amount of time fretting over one another…"
"Don't make me laugh," Glorfindel snorted as he let a single chuckle rush past his lips. That as about the craziest statement he had heard in this past age…the past few ages actually. He looked at Elrond with amused blue eyes until he realized Elrond was being completely serious.
"Erestor paces when you are away, Glorfindel," Elrond allowed to the golden-haired Elf who had narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "You may not believe it but when you come back Lord Erestor is slightly less over bearing and…tense…"
"Because he is busy driving me to distraction…" Glorfindel interrupted, not wanting to hear the opposite.
"Erestor can grieve for friends too, even though he seems to be emotionless at times…"
"Elrond, if we are going to talk about grief, let us talk of yours and not mine," Glorfindel made an attempt to change the attention off himself and to Elrond's own trouble. Elrond was why Rivendell was in decay. Well, not Elrond exactly but his overflowing emotion and that cursed and yet beloved ring on his finger. The ring, which Celebrimbor was willing to be tortured and put to death to protect, the ring, that created and held Imladris and the ring that would be the destroyer. That ring!
"What of it?" Elrond said all too calmly. He watched Glorfindel nervously, fearing the conversation that would follow.
"You are allowing it to destroy you," stated the Balrog-Slayer flatly. "And don't you even start about how this is more than you can bear, we have both been through worse."
"Glorfindel, listen to me-" Elrond tried to talk with the nearly livid Elf before him but he didn't have a chance.
"No! You listen to me, O Elrond the Mighty!" snapped Glorfindel. "I am about as tired of seeing you with your shoulders slumped and your head hung as I am of winter after one month." He was about to be quiet and let Elrond speak when he remember Rivendell's condition. "And speaking of winter-"
"Glorfindel-" Elrond tried to break into his friend's tirade. Sighing when Glorfindel continued, Elrond leaned back on his heels and watched Glorfindel with dry amusement.
"Do you have any idea what that…that thing you possess is doing to Rivendell? To our home? Do you know what you are letting it do?" Glorfindel asked, beginning to pace. "I know you miss Estel, I miss him too but that fact remains that what has happened has happened. We can't change the past-"
Glorfindel blinked suddenly and looked at Elrond with wide eyes. His ears were ringing slightly. They weren't supposed to be doing that…Full reality struck him like an open hand across his faceand he glared indignantly at his dark-haired friend. Speaking of open hands across faces..."You hit me!" He accused darkly.
"I did indeed," Elrond confessed, not caring to deny it even if he could. "You were chattering on like an Elf-maiden. I know I have been depressed lately. But I really cannot help it. You must understand what you cannot. I can feel my heart…bleeding…I raised him as one of my own, Glorfindel." Elrond shook his head sorrowfully.
Glorfindel was still glaring darkly and his eyes were narrowed distinctly coupled with his knitted brows. "I cannot believe you actually-" he stopped speaking for a moment as Elrond's words registered…"you..w-what..I..but…you…I do understand!" he argued adamantly.
"Not truly. And so when I slump my shoulders and my head hangs low you must forgive me, it is because I am very tired," Elrond avowed wearily and his eyes blinked vapidly as he resisted the urge to yawn coincidentally. Interesting he should feel even more exhausted than he had in the whole trip thus far right at this moment as he spoke those words… "And I am sorry to have hit you, but I have to admit, it felt rather good."
"Peredhil, you are insane. But I love you as a brother, Elrond. And I suppose I can never fully understand. I am now not entirely sure that I should go to Lorien and leave you with those menaces you insist upon calling 'sons' though I would call them 'trouble spawn.'" Glorfindel placed a comforting hand on Elrond's shoulder and said, "come back and sit down so that you can rest."
Elrond smiled tiredly. "Glorfindel, you must go to Lorien. Meet us back in Mirkwood as soon as you are able. But go to Lorien first. I shall be fine. Rest assured."
Glorfindel crinkled his nose as they began their way back to the campfire, weaving through the bushes and brambles of the thicket they had chosen for a camping spot. "It is not entirely for you that I worry but more those who are in your charge, seen and unseen alike."
As they neared the campfire they could hear the voices of Elladan and Elrohir singing in the night air and playing a little game all at once. "Knowing our luck they sneaked a bottle or two..." Glorfindel muttered in a light jest under his breath, though it came out as sort of an emotionless dead comment.
"I spy with my little eye…" Elrohir's voice hung the clear air jovially. Obviously this intense darkness did not weigh too heavy upon their hearts. Glorfindel smiled tediously as he realized that Elladan and Elrohir both probably didn't realize that he and Lord Elrond were anywhere near earshot. Unless they wanted to sound like a pair of lunatics before their father. But then again they really didn't have much to hide since the overwhelming majority of Rivendell knew they were crazed to some degree.
TBC...Te-he...pitchforks...hehehehehe...and there is sort of an evil clffy. And Elrond hit Glorfindel...:o)
Review? Please? yes? Thank you lots!