CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Into the Fire
Erestor glared darkly at the snow surrounding him and still falling ominously from the sky. He wondered grimly where Glorfindel, Elrond, and the twins were. Most likely they were at least a third of the way to Mirkwood and Lorien by now. However, he wondered what Elrond's condition had done to slow them. He had now been in this hapless hole a grand total of three days. He was sure thathe was at least one size smaller in his clothes' size by now and he could feel them hanging much looser from his slightly withered frame.
His life could actually be qualified as being 'miserable', he decided, now looking up, out of the cursed hole, but he saw none above him. Standing up, the counselor decided that enough was enough and he was going to attempt a drastic escape from his prison. Such an escape attempt as Estel or even Legolas might conjure up, which was a startling thought that was altogetherdiscouraging.
His legs were irritatingly shaky and he flexed his muscles to try and stabilize them. Locking his knees, he stretched and sighed with annoyance and hopelessness when his body still shook like a leaf. Deciding that his legs weren't going to stop their quivering any time soon, he went ahead and began to pace around the abominable gap in the ground. He felt his spirits rise slightly as he began to walk. Why pacing lightened his heart he wasn't sure. Maybe it was the fact that he got his blood moving or his adrenaline alive and moving through his blood stream. He still didn't know and he really didn't care. All he knew and cared abot was that it worked.
Looking dryly up at the rim of the horrible pit, everything swirled in odd shapes and he felt dizzy. He had not tasted a drop of water for all of those three days. Now he looked down at his feet and realized that it was possible to eat the snow. Snow was no more than water, crystalized water. But itwas just so undignified a thing to do and not something that normally one even considered doing that he had not thought of it until now. Licking his dried and cracked lips, the raven-haired Elf found himself stooping over to pick up a handful of the pure snow. Perhaps this cold weather was a blessing in disguise, because if the precipitation had not frozen, then he would have not had a clean source of water. Driven by his thirst, the reluctant Elf took a small and careful nibble from the frozen crystals.
It tasted fine to 'eat' and he found himself 'eating' it rather quickly. He smiled as he though of how strange he must seem, chewing and swallowing snow. He hadn't done this since he was an Elfling, indeed, not since he had been bullied and forced to eat snow by other Elflings. Shaking his head, Erestor found himself, once again, grateful that Glorfindel was not around to see him now. The Gondolin Elf would probably die laughing watching the snow disappear into his mouth. Ah, in all truth, Erestor had never considered snow to be a delicacy until this moment. Licking his lips as his mouth felt freshly moistened, the Elf finally managed to stop himself from filling his stomach completely up on snow and making himself sick.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, the counselor stared up again longingly at the edge of the pit once more. It was roughly six to seven feet up to the top and normally that might not be extremely difficult to get up and out of for any Elf. It mighteven be considered entertaining.But this time that was not possible. The snow and rain had made the walls slippery and more than unfeasible to scale them.
Then his scrupulous eyes noticed something sticking out of the wet earth. A simple root twisted and forced its way out of the soil. Smiling grimly, Erestor walked over so that his toes were against the wall. Then, standing on their tips, he leaned his chest into the wall and stretched a hand upward to attempt and grasp the root so it would serve as a handle. His position slipped and he missed the underground plant growth by a few inches, his smile turning into a small frown of frustration. Regaining his position, the adviser stretched upwards again and managed to get a meager hold as he wrapped his fingers tightly about the root, so his knuckles turned white.
He knew now that he didn't want to stay down here a minute longer and he put all his strength into dragging himself a little ways up the wall. Using his boot toes, he stabbed them into the muddy surface, trying to create miniature steps with his feet. He didn't want to die here, alone and unknown. He actually felt his hands going clammy with fear. And they began to slip from their intense grip.
Suddenly Erestor lost his footing, discovering a weak spot too late to spare himself a four-foot fall. His feet sipped right out form beneath him and he couldn't hang completely onto the insubstantial and scant roots and mud. Losing all of his meager grips, the counselor landed hard on the ground, his right foot twisting sharply beneath him, causing him to give a small cry. Hissing in an attempt at silent pain and fearing to look at his ankle, which was painfully wrenched beneath him, the adviser to Elrond finally grit his teeth and pulled the injured limb from under himself.
Pain shot up his leg and he closed his eyes, allowing it to run its course and patiently waiting for it to stop pulsing through his body. Hoping to have merely twisted his ankle, Erestor began to try and slip of his boot to do an examination such as he was able to do, but found that it had already swelled far too much and the boot would have to be cut off. Rolling his eyes dramatically, he wondered if he was cursed just the same as the twins, Legolas or Aragorn.
Suddenly he stopped and heard a small jingle, like tinkling bells akin to the ones Glorfindel often placed on his horse's gear. Listening and sitting tall to better his already sharp hearing, he cocked his head to the side and nodded calmly in realization. Elves were nearby. "Help!" he called desperately out for their aid, knowing they should be able to hear them. "Please, help me!"
He heard the bells stop and he also heard voices, soft and musical, like his own in normal circumstances. These indeed were Elves and anyway, whom else was there to expect in Rivendell? He shook his head before he called again, "please, help me! I am trapped!"
"I do believe that is Lord Erestor," said one of them in an alarmed tone. There was a small jingle, barely audible as the horse shifted.
"How is it that he is alive? Was he not crushed?" asked another from above in an incredulous tone.
Erestor sighed in annoyance. At last they had missed him but the fact that he had been given up for as dead disturbed him greatly. He frowned and listened to their conversation a little further, just to get an idea of what was going on.
"They say so, I do not believe it," argued the other with a snort of disbelieving laughter. "Lord Erestor may be many things but he isn't stupid enough get himself crushed."
Rolling his eyes, Erestor called out again. "Help me! I am Lord Erestor. I am trapped!" He couldn't believe he was saying this. It felt oddly like he was talking to himself. There was also the slight doubt that these were real Elves. For all he knew he could be desperate enough for rescue to be imagining them. Annoyance and indignity flared up inside as well. What ever they had meant by many things he was not entirely sure he wanted to know but he certainly felt obligated.
The Elves above looked at each other in shock and rode to the pit, peering over the edge of the pit. Erestor looked up at them from where he sat in disgust with himself. "My lord, how ever did you manage to get into this disreputable grotto?"
Sighing in aggravation and pushing down a stubborn stab of irritation, the counselor smiled tensely. "An earth shake. I leaped and the log suddenly wasn't there." His explanation was brief but everything that happened was on a need-to-know basis. He placed a hand subconsciously on his ankle.
"Is something wrong, my lord?" asked one of the young Elves with concern. He then flushed as Erestor gave him a long-suffering expression. "Other than being trapped in a hole for a few days," amended the warrior hastily.
"Actually yes," Erestor's response was quick and precise. "I appear to have twisted my ankle."
The young warriors looked at one another skeptically and then down at Erestor who was glaring up at them like a disgruntled owl except for the fact that owls didn't frown. So in that regard he actually looked more like a frustrated bass swimming angrily through the water. They caught themselves smiling at the older Elf's comical expression and quickly stowed their amusement before asking simultaneously, "how can we help to get you out?"
Erestor frowned and looked around, wondering exactly how to answer their question. How could they help him out? He found that he really didn't have the answer. "I don't really have the luxury of knowing, young ones." He hated giving this answer, but what other choice did he have?
The younger immortals exchanged glances once more. The fact that Erestor didn't even know had them rather puzzled themselves. One of them, the lighter haired one on the left, gave a small frown before saying, "I cold ride back and get a rope." He gestured at his companion with his head; "Mablung may stay here with you."
Erestor nodded in understanding. "A good plan, young one." The other Elf smiled as he turned his horse to return to the main center of Rivendell that was still miraculously in one piece, relatively speaking. Looking up at the remaining of the two companions, the counselor asked dryly, "how was it that you were out this way?"
The younger Elf frowned and then said momentarily. "Well, my lord, we were leaving." He looked very nearly ashamed and hung his head hopelessly as he felt Erestor's meticulous glare darken and fall upon him with an anger. "Things are falling to pieces, my lord. Vil- …the…thing…is destroying Rivendell as we know it." He looked slightly confused and more than a little torn.
Erestor scowled, "but if you leave who will help to put it back together? Surely some of you are staying." His meticulous glare turned into a grim and concerned expression of the gravest measures. Well this young and foolish Elf hadn't mentioned Vilya aloud for anyone to hear, which was a bonus.
"Everyone is preparing for the Havens, my Lord Erestor," answered the other slowly, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. From the look Erestor was presenting him with he seriously hoped the counselor had heard the saying, 'don't shoot the messenger' at least once in his life. "It is miserable here."
"I would have thought at least half would stay behind," Erestor muttered darkly and rather pessimistically.
"They would but they fear…that…unmentionable…thing," he finished lamely. "They fear she may kill them all. They say Rivendell is going to shambles." His eyes watched his superior carefully, wondering as to the counselor's mood now. He felt crestfallen to come to the understanding that Erestor wasn't angry but heart broken. And if you looked at it from the counselor's point of view it was more than a deplorable plight.
"Rivendell," Erestor ground out thickly. "Will be fine. However at the moment we do not have the luxury of aiding her in recovery. That is in the hands of Lord Elrond and what ever happens next."
"The hands of fate?" the other asked cautiously.
"Call it whatever you like, it won't change anything." He looked up at the younger warrior and said, "but the hands of fate is as good a description as any, providing that the Valar won't interfere." Erestor glared glumly at his sore and twisted ankle that was throbbing rhythmically. He felt horrible and unnaturally stupid. He should have never come out here to brood.
'Have you ever figured at looking at the glass as half full?" asked the warrior with a bit of irritation drifting into his tone.
"I have tired. But I have learned all it does is hide the facts that you wish to ignore, young one. It only prolongs the inevitable," Erestor's answer was flat and succinct.
"Can it not also provide hope?" inquired the younger immortal, brushing some silvery blonde hair aside form his face. The wind snapped it back into his eyes.
"If you look at the glass as half-full then why do you leave?" asked the older Elf tactfully. He was not Elrond's chief counselor for no reason. If he wanted to make a point he could make it in due time, no matter how disbelieving and stubborn the other was.
"It wasn't exactly my choice. But if there is nothing truly left, why should any of us stay?" The warrior pulled his cloak tighter as a bitter wind tore through the material. Suppressing a shiver, he said, "the mountains are closing in on us with their snow. Vil- the unmentionable thing," he amended without a spare breath, " is not protecting us anymore. She is allowing the outside world to destroy us."
"Lord Elrond will gain her control once more," said Erestor assuredly. "But until then we have to remain strong and try to keep our home, our lively hoods, alive. He must have something to return to." The younger Elf fell completely silent and looked remorseful and slightly disappointed in himself.
O0O0O0O0O0O
Legolas glared at the woman, as she demanded, "tell me exactly what I want to know, Elf. Do not spare on the details. Am I understood?" She hissed. She pulled the string back tauter and a man stepped in behind her. His glare fell upon Legolas and his face turned into one of disgust as he cast a malicious frown at the Elf. Legolas returned the glare briefly but was really far too preoccupied with the present situation to make an issue of trivial things such as facial expressions. This was fortunate for the Harad man, Aragorn knew.
Legolas kept his eyes on the new human, but asked the woman carefully, "what is it you want?"
He watched in growing alarm that had been maturing surely inside as the man who entered walked around the maiden and stood before him, glaring down. That was one thing Legolas noticed: everybody glared at him. The woman answered him thickly around a set of obviously grit teeth. "Elf, my brother tells me they are looking for two fugitives. Two special escapees from Prince Dorrag's prisons. One is an Elf the other a ranger." Legolas waited expectantly to hear more from her and to be bound, gagged and dragged back to those miserable cells. "Why does he want you so badly?" She asked in a low and threatening rumble.
The strange man, she had referred to as her brother spoke, "Dorrag is sending men to occupy our town, Elf. Why would he do that unless he truly values you both?" The man was unsatisfied when Legolas remained silent for seconds too long and he grabbed the prince's chin, squeezing it tightly. "What danger have you put us in?" Legolas was unsure about what needed to be said and what should be said so he remained quiet. "Speak now, Elf."
Legolas drew a heavy breath and his eyes iced over with a stubborn malice of his own. He was in no frame of mind to speak while this man had a grip on his face. He was appalled the human had dared to touch him to begin with. "I will speak, edain when you release your grip from my face." Fair was fair. However, Legolas had come to learn that the world was not fair and that often times prisoners and escapees received the short end of the deal.
The man smiled tensely and Legolas instinctually felt his anger and anxiety radiate from him. "Elf, you are lucky you are not dead at this moment. I wouldn't have to expend much effort to slay you both on this spot. So you had better start talking before my patience runs too low."
Legolas allowed a calm demeanor to wash over his features and he stared at the man through a pair of cool blue eyes that seemed nearly arrogant not to mention very haunting. This Haradrim man had a point and Legolas knew it was no use arguing anymore. If he wished to spare both of their lives he had better start telling all he was able. But he was going to have to be careful about the words chosen and the details given. "Human, exactly who is your lord? I must first know whom you serve and who you are before I start to tell you much of anything." Legolas didn't expect a decent or rational response, but for a rare moment he made a mistake of underestimating men.
The man found himself staring into the prince's calm eyes with annoyance that the Elf didn't seem the least bit concerned about the hand he had gripping his chin. It was slightly unsatisfying, but unlike a lot of people, he didn't take pleasure from other's pain or fears. "My sister, Mytra, took both you and your companion in, thus saving your lives. For Wipsomë is lethal to those who inhale too much of it, and sickening to those who inhale a little. And now you question our loyalties. You are wise though, Elf, to ask such a thing in these days. For not everyone is as they seem and there are many traps."
Legolas' face remained unchanged no matter what he was thinking and he said flatly, "speak plainly then, unless you have something to hide. You never truly answered my question." He felt the man's grip on his chin release and in animosity Legolas jerked his face away before leveling the warrior with a scathing glare. If he had a weapon of if he had been free, he would have shown this human what a true threat felt like, he thought with satisfaction.
"My name is Damrod, I was a warrior of Harad. But I left her service when things began get dark, chiefly after Dorrag took the throne in exchange for his father, who is out at war," Damrod told the Elf cautiously, circling around the blonde being and watching every move Legolas made. "I am loyal to myself and those in my family and service."
Legolas cast him an incredulous look with a raised brow and asked calmly, "and who is in your service? What is its purpose?"
Damrod was not amused by the look of his strange prisoner and he snapped, "I ask the questions, Elf. You give the answers. Is that clear enough directions or do I need to make them simpler?" He didn't know why, but this Elf grated on his nerves to the point where he already felt like wringing his little neck. He just wanted to grasp it tightly and squeeze…and squeeze…
From the look Legolas was casting him he was sure the Elf had about the same opinion of himself.
Legolas diverted his gaze at Aragorn who looked extremely agitated and the long suffering-look in his eyes normally would have seemed amusing to the Elf. However, this time it was a bit alarming and Legolas glared at the woman who held the bow aimed at his friend's neck. "I am not going to try and run. Where would I go to?" Mytra glared back darkly.
"Answer my brother, Elf. Or find out what it is like to have a bolt placed though your friend's throat," she threatened ominously and her eyes flickered dangerously just to place emphasis on her statement. Legolas noted uncomfortably that once again she was entirely serious and didn't seem to be easily manipulated into changing her opinions or positions.
Legolas shot her an indignant glare before turning his angered gaze fully upon Damrod. "We were captured in battle by your lunatic of a prince and dragged to his unaccommodating dungeons where we were nearly tortured to death. We managed to escape making use of a tunnel in the dungeon corridors."
Damrod's scowl didn't leave his face, rather it darkened. Legolas sighed inwardly with frustration and weariness. "Elf, why were you tortured at all? Why not simply slain or sent to a work camp?"
"Am I supposed to know that?" Legolas asked, righteously angry. He returned the dark scowlindentically before he upgraded his own to look slightly more malicious. Then he glanced at Aragorn in exasperation as much as for help. He was beginning to really get angry and was working hard to suppress his temper, which was trying with all it had to free itself. If he had been any younger and more reckless he was sure things would be a whole lot worse right now. Definitely.
Aragorn, wanting to relieve Legolas of some of his aggravation, answered, "he wanted my friend's name. Of course it is none of his business."
Damrod turned his piercing eyes from Legolas to Aragorn and then back onto the stubborn and incensed Elf. "What did he want with your name?" Legolas remained silent now, not knowing whether telling the absolute truth would be a good thing or not. Damrod frowned and then out of the blue he backhanded the prince angrily in growing frustration. "Answer me, or else I swear I will kill you."
Legolas felt the burning sensation in his cheek spread up to his eye and down along his jawbone. His eyes looked like molten sapphire and he growled spitefully, "if you want answers, you can be a little less aggressive about how you ask them of me." He felt more indignant than ever after that uncalled for slap.
Damrod had evidently had enough of this Elf's mouth and grabbing Legolas by his throat he shoved his back against the wall strongly and pressed with his thumb, cutting off the prince's airway. The spot he had chosen to shove the prisoner against was also uncomfortably close to the fire, a bonus if you were doing the interrogating. But if you were the prisoner it was far from comfortable and a great deal less than a gratuity.
Aragorn struggled to rise and go to his friend's side but he was forced to stay where he was when he felt the tickle of the arrowhead brushing under his chin. Instead he looked desperately at Prince Legolas, who looked just as dignified and calm as ever, except that he looked more than a little annoyed by the entire situation and a slight red was flushing his face as his body craved air that was being withheld. And he also could tell that Legolas' patience with these people was wearing dangerously thin. If they were smart they would start watching their behavior a little more closely.
"I can be your greatest advocate or your worst adversary depending on how you answer me. Which is it, Elf?" he asked, tightening his grip. Legolas worked not to squirm but his bare shoulder was getting uncomfortably hot by the flames to its side. He was certain that was the general idea of pinning him, but if not it was an unlooked for benefit for his interrogator at the moment.
Aragorn plead inside that his friend would not be stupid and too stubborn on the account of his pride. He had a feeling he and Legolas could be in good hands if only he would answer the accursed questions. But Legolas could be perfectly impossible some times, and now was one of them. He didn't take kindly to threats and certainly not to being slapped or pushed around. Which was understandable but sometimes he got a little too angry and mule-headed for his own good. "Just answer his questions, mellon nin," Aragorn called desperately to his friend in Elven.
Legolas rolled his eyes.
"I do not know exactly why he wanted my name, that I swear by Eärendil's light. I know he planned to have me executed publicly at some point though, but I know that he also had to know my name first," Legolas added at the end. "I promise, that is all I truly know." He nearly gagged when the hand was removed from his throat and he was allowed to move freely again, but he didn't want to give the man the satisfaction. Air rushed gratefully in to fully fill his lungs.
Damrod's grip loosened considerably. "Are you sure that is all you know, Elf? Perhaps if you give me your name-"
Legolas quickly interrupted, not caring much for manners at the point. "Never. If I were to impart to you my name, you would find yourself in even worse terrible danger anyway." He added softly and assuredly, "it really wouldn't be very beneficial." Aragorn gave Legolas a dubious glance and rolled his eyes in exasperation with his friend, though he did understand Legolas' reasoning.
"I highly doubt it Elf. And since you are going to staying with us for quite some time, I think it would be nice to being able to call you something other than 'Elf'. Wouldn't you agree?"
Legolas did have to admit that he did agree it would be nice. However it wasn't going to help the situation any. Mytra glanced up at her brother and then back at Legolas before she removed the crossbow from its position facing Aragorn's defenseless neck. Legolas truly found himself nearly all the way relaxed and he felt his muscles loosen. He smiled tiredly before saying without a second thought, "my name is Lindir."
Aragorn hid his amusement well, but it was definitely a struggle. Lindir…Legolas had taken the name of a bard of Rivendell, an annoying and insufferable bard of Rivendell. What the singer would think of Legolas taking his name Aragorn didn't dare to guess. However, he supposed the reaction wouldn't be a good one, unless the strangulation of a Sindar Prince was a virtuous thing. 'Shrewd move, mellon nin,' he thought wryly. 'Until one of us slips up and it is found out we are lying.' He was going to guess the consequences of lying were not going to be pleasant, particularly for Legolas.
Damrod gave the Elf-prince a slightly incredulous look before he decided to go along with everything. Apparently he didn't think it was worth arguing about just yet... perhaps never. He frowned and then Mytra got up quickly and left, shutting the door behind her, Aragorn noticed impassively. Legolas stood up slowly and rather stiffly, not like the graceful Elf he was. Closing the space between himself and Aragorn, he sat down at the ranger's side and his hands went subconsciously to his throat. He was sure that another bruise would form there sooner or later. Not that it would make much of a difference anyway…but that wasn't exactly the point.
Damrod went over and leaned casually against the hearth, his arms crossed. Frowning he looked at the Elf and ranger and then looked away. He needed to keep them from getting recaptured at all costs, well, not all costs, but there were few that were not worth it.
Legolas looked at him and blinked before he asked with narrowed eyes, "you mention earlier, 'those in your service', who might they be?" He wasn't sure that the truly wanted to know. Wincing as some old wounds that had been stressed during the brief interrogation pained him, the prince gave a small frown and looked up at Damrod wearily. He didn't expect much of an answer, so he was surprised when the man told him that and more besides. Aragorn stiffened near at Legolas' side when he could have sworn he felt Legolas jump slightly in shock. Damn Elf gave him a start…
"Lindir, I will not try and hide the fact from you that I am one of the coordinators of a …" he waved his hand as he searched for the right word. "A…resistance movement."
Pleasantly surprised, Legolas glanced sidelong at Aragorn and both exchanged glances. Legolas then frowned suddenly and unexpectedly. They still might not be in the safest of hands. If they were valuable to one side they were to the other. It was like a scale and Legolas and Aragorn were the weight that tipped it. He had a feeling…sinking feeling….both sides would do anything for possession of he or Aragorn and he had an even worse feeling in his gut that Aragorn was expendable to these people. This meant, for one thing, that he and Aragorn were not going to be allowed to heal and waltz out of this place so easily.
He dimly became aware of Aragorn speaking to Damrod. "You don't say."
"Oh, but I do ranger. And if you are valuable to Dorrag you are to me as well." Here he shook his head dejectedly. "Dorrag may be evil and he may be insane but he is not stupid. Tell me, who helped to free you both? For certainly you could never escape on your own."
Somehow Legolas had know this was coming…he was just aggravated that he hadn't chosen to believe it. Looking at Aragorn he sighed and then said, "If you feel you have to know, his name was Darcíl. He was one of Dorrag's cursed captains who…" Legolas' voice trailed off slowly as he saw the color seem to drain a little from the human's face. He couldn't possibly imagine what he had said to make the other this…upset but apparently not all was well.
Damrod shook his head as though to clear it of a painful memory or of shock. He said quietly, " Darcíl helped you to escape? Did he tell you anything at all? It may not mean anything to you, but it might to me."
"He said nothing, but what is it to you?" questioned Legolas forthrightly. He gave Damrod a questioning look as the man stepped into the firelight all the way. For the first time Legolas saw his features clearly, or well, nearly so. Jaw dropping in shock Legolas began to stammer, "you are-"
"His twin," finished Aragorn abashed. His jaw dropped and he closed it with an audible snap as soon as he discovered it open.
"I am... I was under his command at one time. Then I left when Dorrag began to show some of his more prominent and sinister qualities. I think Darcíl would have joined me a long time ago, but he could not because of -"
"His family," consummated the Elf in understanding.
"You seem somewhat familiar with how tyrants work, Lindir," mused Damrod, verbally prodding the blonde being who was shooting him a dark look or warning.
"I actually am a quick learner, Master Damrod," the prince informed flatly.
"Indeed," the Harad man shook his head. He had heard Elves were quick and wise but he hadn't really given it much thought until now. He scowled and split his scrupulous look between the two companions sitting on the floor before him. "How did you end up escaping?"
"Well there was a tunnel," Aragorn began, watching Legolas' face. "We went through it until one portion collapsed due to the torrential rains. There was a place carved out by the water and we followed it, ending up in your cellar-"
"And captured by your very hospitable sister with a pitchfork to my throat," Legolas finished satirically and rather cynically. Aragorn scowled at his companion but said nothing.
Damrod chuckled and said with a smile, "she can be rather eccentric." His smile brightened when there was a noise at the door and she came in carrying a tray with five bowls while a small child tottered behind her followed by the wolf-ish looking dog. Aragorn felt Legolas stiffen noticeably and he smiled inwardly. He had to admit, that dog did look a little bloodthirsty at times.
Damrod paid no attention as his sister passed out the bowls to the guests first and then to himself. "He wanted you to end up in the village of Mysol, just west of here." The man shook his head and said, " you might have been safe there."
Legolas looked curiously at his soup in his bowl and the meat floating around in it before he asked with interest, "and so where are we now?"
"You are in the village of Astroggen." Damrod shook his head and said, "you both must have a run of bad luck between you. There is no worse place to be if you are fugitives." He downed a spoonful of the hearty soup.
Aragorn looked at Legolas pointedly and said under his breath, "you have no idea." The prince shot a withering glare at his companion before he took a cautious sip of his soup from the wooden spoon he had been provided with. It didn't taste half-bad, he told himself inwardly. He could get used to it at any rate.
"Why is it the worst place to be?" Legolas inquired dryly as he shifted closer to Aragorn and further from the 'dog', Gundol.
"You don't miss a thing, do you?" retorted Damrod with a tense smile. "Well, Astroggen is known for its…rebellions. Suspicion will fall here first. In Mysol it would have taken longer for Prince Dorrag to send an army or detachment for your recapture and so you could have escaped from there. Astroggen is also only a day's march from the main city where the palace stands."
Aragorn swallowed his spoonful of soup before asking, "and what is the name of the main city?"
Damrod was quiet for a moment. These were not Haradrim. They had been captured by an enemy army. He didn't care if they died except for the fact that Dorrag wanted them dead. But the name of their main city certainly couldn't hurt…"It is called Sygul in our tongue. I don't know what that is in yours." He finished his soup and set the bowl aside before saying further, "Do you even know why Darcíl aided your escape? Well, I guess the correct question is, do you know why Dorrag wants you publicly executed?" He shook his head before either Legolas or Aragorn could answer, "he doesn't care about you. He would kill you on the spot except for one small thing."
"I can easily believe that, Master Damrod," Legolas muttered, much to Aragorn's annoyance. He was finding Legolas to be insufferable today. But was that really an abnormal assurance? 'Not really,' he told himself with a heavy internal sigh.
Damrod didn't even seem to notice the comment. "The reason Dorrag wants your public execution like a dog longs for a juicy bone, is because it will...enhance his hold over the Haradrim people. They will fear him, Lindir, as well they should. Dorrag is the kind of person who believes that the means justify the ends. And also, though they fear him the will exult him. We do not love Elves or rangers, as I am sure you already know. If he were to publicly put one cruelly to death, he would gain their respect along with their fear. Both are a good combination to garner."
"What does that have to do with my name? I am sure the people could care less about it," Legolas brushed the inhabitance off.
Damrod glared. "Well if he has your name and where you are from, then he can send messengers to your land and hopefully get an envoy sent for your release. But he would then most likely capture that envoy and have them all put to death save one. That one he would torture and then send back with your head, most likely, to show your lord. Thus not only does Dorrag kill a few more Elves but frightens them out of the wars."
Legolas nearly laughed at the stupidity of the prince of these Haradrim people. But it really wasn't a laughing matter and outwardly his expression was dark and grim, even a little cold. "My people," he ground out. "Would not be frightened. They would seek terrible retribution on your prince and all who aided him." His eyes turned into ice cold wells of suppressed anger.
Damrod nodded, "that maybe be so. But I feel that I must keep you alive. The last thing I want is for Dorrag's power to grow." He glared at the pair calculatingly. " Darcíl will be needing me, I expect. Dorrag will seek a harsh retribution on him and any that are his relation. At the moment I am thought to be dead."
"Dead?" Aragorn asked more than a little skeptically. He gave the man a questioning look. Legolas just lifted his brows in slight amusement and inquiry.
Damrod smiled coldly. "A gift form my dear brother." Legolas didn't question him further but Aragorn did.
"How is it that Darcíl helps everyone else's escape, but can't escape himself?"
At this moment Mytra spoke, taking her small son into her lap. "His family will be killed if he dares to do anything against Dorrag. If what he did for you was found out chances are he is dead and his family in the East-Town will be very soon. Not only will Dorrag burn their home," she stroked her son's dark hair lovingly as she spoke, "he will raze the village."
"That's what will happen to Astroggen if he finds you here, or even if he doesn't and his men are finished occupying it." He got up and began to walk towards the door. "That is the danger you have placed us and everyone here in." He looked at his sister dejectedly.
"I am afraid this means I cannot stay here and rest as I had hoped. I must go and see what is transpiring about us. But I won't be going alone." His eyes fell upon Aragorn clearly. "You will come with me. Lindir will stay behind."
Aragorn felt a twinge of alarm and fear for his friend race through his mind. He looked at Legolas who looked less than happy about the entire idea either. As a matter of fact, he could not remember when he had seen Legolas looking so alarmed and unhappy, save for the times when his friend had been tortured. The blonde being spoke up quickly. "You cannot do that! What if something happens?"
"What if it does? We are all taking chances, Elf. If you want a chance at survival, you must take chances," Damrod answered sagely. "Things should go smoothly, save for outposts we may have to encounter and for detachments scouring the land for your whereabouts. But I think we can elude both."
Legolas closed his mouth with an audible snap before he opened it again and plead desperately, "at least let me accompany you if you wish to be insane about this." He stood up and leveled Damrod and his sister both with a withering and yet nervous grimace.
Damrod shook his head and stated regretfully, "I am afraid that is not an option. I do not want you both in the same place at the same time. If you are together then there is more of a chance at Dorrag's plan succeeding if you are captured. However, if he only captures one then things won't work so well."
Legolas narrowed his eyes lethally before he spoke again, "I will not stay here while my friend is taken into dangers unknown. He just got over torture for Eru's sake!"
"But you shall, Elf…Lindir, and you will keep your mouth shut and won't cause any trouble," Damrod commanded. "Remember, I can kill you both. I am choosing to be merciful. Don't wear my patience too thin." He drew his sword out and placed the tip of it against Legolas' throat, letting it slightly bite softly and smoothly into the pale and soft skin as a warning. Legolas ' look of long-suffering and annoyance deepened and Aragorn looked worriedly at his friend. The Elf stared blankly at the metal blade that could very easily slit his throat. He then realized detachedly that it was coming close to slitting his throat. Blinking, he looked to Aragorn, whose face had drained some of its color, which it had only recently regained.
Gapping like a fish out of water, Legolas closed his mouth slowly as realization dawned on him. He was still in trouble even if these people were moderately kind, which really that weren't even that. But at the moment he was too weary and thoroughly confused to be 'splitting hairs' as the expression went.
"I know you won't give me any trouble, Elf."
Looking thoroughly and unalterably indignant, Legolas replied curtly, "don't be so sure." He winced as he felt blade tug slightly under his chin, just where blades always seemed to find there way. 'Congratulations,' he told himself, 'that has to be at least the fifteenth one!' He smiled thinly at Aragorn, who was watching anxiously, hoping he wasn't going to witness his friend's throat being slashed.
'Damn it all Legolas!' he fumed at the Elf mentally. 'Just go with them. You know I'll be fine.' But no, Legolas was too stubborn and overly protective to do that, wasn't he? Of course he was, just as he always had been. Though Aragorn couldn't really blame him entirely for it.
"Now, Lindir, Don't make a scene in front of the boy," Damrod said incisively as he gestured towards his nephew. Legolas looked a bit shakily at the small child and cast a smile at him, causing the boy to giggle. Mytra scooped up her son and quickly exited the room at a nod from her brother. Then Damrod commanded of Legolas, "turn around and walk down the hall. I will dictate the rest to you when we get that far." Legolas rolled his eyes but obediently turned to the door and began to walk out of it.
He really and truly couldn't believe he was doing this just because someone had stuck a knife to his throat. Torture was worse than death and yet by torturing him people really couldn't get him to do anything. It was an odd thing, he decided disjointedly as he walked down the dark and small corridor. It was so small he could literally take his arms and have them halfway extended while scraping the walls with his fingertips. It was also dark and sort of ominous.
Not to mention short, he realized when he all but walked into the end, nearly banging his nose on the wall.
"Now, Lindir, open the door to your right and step in. Behave now and I won't have to hurt you," Damrod instructed all too calmly.
Legolas rolled his eyes and begrudgingly opened up the door by use of the nearly inadequate knob. Stepping in he slowly turned around and realized what he had known to be the intentions all along as the door began to swing towards his face. It shut with a dull thud leaving him on the wrong side and Legolas immediately banged his fists on it. "You can't do this! No! Strider! No! No! Stop!" he protested with all the fierceness he could muster that was belied by his desperation.
Damrod turned the lock into place with a small click and pushed the banging of the Elf's fists upon the door's wooden surface out of his mind. They soon stopped anyway.
He looked to the room they had just been in and saw Aragorn hanging against the doorpost with a hand and looking at where Legolas had been standing. A sickly sort of green tint had come into Aragorn's face and he looked more than anxious for the immortal now imprisoned in a spare room. "Lindir…" he murmured, knowing better than to use Legolas' real name.
Legolas slumped against the door in despair and inward anger. Then he smiled wickedly at himself with more than a little amusement at what he had said a few moments ago. 'Stop'…he had demanded them to stop just like that. What an idiot he had been. It wasn't as though they would stop just because he said so, so why did he bother to say anything at all? For a moment he saw red as he felt a slight stab of betrayal mingle with his already evil temper. His friend was on the other side of this door, walking headlong into danger and he was not permitted to go with him.
A devious not to mention perilous and perfectly sinister light came into the Mirkwood Elf's eyes as he pressed his forehead up against the door in frustration, ignoring the headache that began to throb though his senses. He would find a way out of here, by Eärendil's Light, he would, or he would die trying.
O0O0O0O0O0O0O
Darcíl lay in the mud, unable to truly move. He wondered if he had broken his spine but the fact that everything hurt far too much disproved that fear. Rolling his eyes upward as the rain began to pelt his face, he knew he had to get up, he had to get to his family. Struggling wit himself he forced his feet to move and his arms. He was more than a little annoyed that he could not simply seem to find a way to move faster. No, that was an understatement…he was incised that he could go no faster when his family needed him desperately, right now! Why is it when you want to go fastest is when you are hampered worst?
Finally getting his limbs to reasonably cooperate, the man forced himself to sand on a pair of shaking limbs but the world seemed to spinning. It was spinning right? Well, was it supposed to do that? Probably not, he concluded after a moment of watching strange images merging and twisting. He couldn't keep the stars out of his vision and blood ran down his face from a fresh laceration on his forehead.
Looking and seeing his dead horse, the man quickly began to run or rather run/stagger, towards the burning village. He could see the smoke, black in billowing masses, but he couldn't smell it at all. It was now blowing around him so thick he could hardly see as the wind pushed it around. But he didn't feel or sense anything. He was completely numb and everything was going so slow he that was sure he was traveling through invisible molasses.
His head felt like it wasn't even remotely a part of his body but rather something floating above him. He blinked as he wondered if he were alive. Maybe he was a ghost or having an out of body experience. A searing blast from the heat of the burning of a home just beyond the town nearly blistered his face and he realized that unfortunately this was all too real and painful. Wincing against the heat he closed his eyes and walked further.
As he closed his eyes his other senses sharpened incomparably and he noticed things he hadn't before. There were many footsteps, in order, marching…that was what it was. The troupes were moving out, but why didn't they see him and shoot him or capture him? Why didn't they do anything? Perhaps it was orders to go straight to the palace that kept them from killing him, but he had a feeling that it was because they would not see him through the thick and surging smoke.
Having to stop so he could try and breathe properly, Darcíl nearly collapsed with the inhalation of all the poisonous fumes. His throat felt dry and constricted coupled with the uncomfortable fact that his mouth felt mortally parched. It was like his mouth was filled with ash, which it was quite possible that it literally was. He knew he wouldn't be surprised if he coughed and choked on a cloud of ash. Shaking his head, once again trying to regain his senses, the man of Harad staggered another few meager steps before he became overwhelmed by the smoke and slumped to the ground.
His hands clawed the ground desperately as he used all of his nearly depleted strength to try and drag himself towards where he knew his family was dying, burning and screaming. If this fire was this hot and lethal outside of the village, wiping out the crops and obliterating farms and people he didn't like to think about what it had to be like within the boundaries of Dygon, the village that lived forever in shadow of Sygul, their capital. The sickening smell of burning flesh, human and animal, made his stomach lurch and he heard the screams of geese racing and flapping around as the fumes finally suffocated them. He knew the people of this farm were already dead.
Forcing himself to travel another irrelevant and meager few inches, Darcíl finally had to submit himself to his body's weakness and collapse. He was not able to get enough air into his starving lungs and the more he tried toe worse it got. Perhaps he should die, right here, right now. That would be a whole lot better, wouldn't it? He would get to see his family once more, whom he had missed dearly these past few months.
He felt the ash and fire come close to his face but he didn't care. Thinking he was dying, Darcíl allowed himself to blackout completely and his body stilled as the fire and smoke curled around him.
TBC…..OUCH, yeah, poor Legolas being locked in a room while Aragorn is being taken off into mortal danger…. But life is good. At least for us.
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