CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
This World Makes Me Weary
Legolas was surprised, not pleasantly, but just simply shocked. He winced as he nearly leaned back against the bars of the cage the poor excuses for men had managed to force him into so they could parade him around like he was some sort of animal. So far he had not leaned against it once, and he meant to keep it that way if he had nay say in the matter. Still surprised, the Elf shook his head with the understanding that the soldiers had kept their word and it was with in the hour and they had left. It wasn't often one encountered this moment and so he felt a slightly greater sense of importance.
But, looking at the not too wonderful aspects of his captivity. He was famished and in his opinion, was a shadow of what he had been. Not only that, some of his more nasty lacerations were refusing to heal, something that had him concerned and displeased all at once. There was nothing about this cage that made the weather any more pleasurable for him than it did for the soldiers who were marching. And the middle of the desert, he had decided some time ago, had a very harsh climate. It was too hot or too cold and sometimes far too wet. And at the point in the seasons everything was drenched and the earth was nothing but one big mud sink. They had already lost a cart that had actually delved beneath the surface of the muck to the point where it was beyond salvation and all the men on it.
Legolas didn't know if the fact that his had not sunk in and he hadn't been killed was a good thing or a bad thing. Time would tell, he supposed, yawning as his eyes began to drift shut. It had been cold, very cold, but now he didn't feel so cold anymore and actually felt strangely warm and just…numb. He had to admit, he didn't think it was a healthy symptom but it was comfortable and considering how long he had left to live anyway he really didn't care as long as he wasn't in pain.
To busy himself he turned his attention to how many men were escorting him. Well, a good percentage had been left at the town of Astroggen to look after things. The prince nearly burst into insulting laughter at that idea, but then continued with his assessing of the amount of men. All and all it looked like there was a grand total of about fifty and that was not counting the twelve lost with the wagon so it was a decently sized convoy, all things taken into consideration.
Legolas set his chin upon his knees, lowering his head lowly so he wouldn't find himself plagued by another throbbing headache as a result of his low blood sugar due to starvation and blood loss, the prince wondered if those twelve men being lost could actually be classified as a tragedy. Yes, they were men, but they were cruel men and would have loved to see him disemboweled or worse so to have them missing didn't appear to be any great loss to him. Though, his conscience told him that it still wasn't a nice way to die, drowning mud and he should pity them there. Which he did, but he also scorned them.
Looking to his right, he saw a large bit of lightning flash. 'Wonderful' his instincts complained. 'You shall be struck by lightning and fried like a rabbit on a spit!' Needless to say that the thought didn't strike Legolas as appealing or even distantly pleasant. Deciding he was thinking too much, the Elf wondered if there was anyway possible he could render himself unconscious. Not likely though, his hands were still chained behind his back and smashing his head against the bars was risking a lot more damage than he wanted.
Dreamily, he wondered where Aragorn was and if he was all right. Surely that stubborn human had managed to find a way to safety. But even if he had, Legolas had the sinking suspicion spreading in his stomach Aragorn was going to try and pull off some daring rescue that would only succeed in getting them both killed. And when that happened. Valar help the man when they got to the other side, because Legolas was going to choke him for his efforts.
Cortanyar glanced up at the Elf drearily, sitting calmly in the cage, seeming to have accepted his fate and not caring about much of anything. All fear had seemed to flee the fair-being and when the Elf, sensing eyes on him, turned and shot a scathing glare at the captain, the man knew that all respect was lost. Well that was fine, the Elf would die at noon the next day and there was absolutely no way that ranger or anyone could interfere. That ranger had no army and that ranger was going to be dead. The thought made Cortanyar smile and he chucked inwardly so that his men wouldn't think he was insane. Not that it matter in the end what they thought, but public image was important.
"So are we feeling a bit frightened yet, Elf?" he jeered snidely, poking his spear through the bars just enough for it to jab the captive in one of his cracked ribs.
Legolas glared down at him and answered calmly, "no. Are you?" he returned, a question for a question, wishing he could return an eye for an eye.
"Not at all, as a matter of fact, I am feeling a bit …excited about tomorrow," he smiled evilly. "And you?"
"I could care less," Legolas answered simply, closing his eyes.
"Oh! Forgive me! It must have been the closed eyes and depressed look that had me fooled," Cortanyar taunted relentlessly.
"Actually, if you must know, a week or more of intense torture, escape, and hiding makes one very tired, as I am feeling now, Master Human," he spat back evenly, opening one eye to add emphases to his words. Apparently they had no effect on his captor in the least because the man was already ignoring him again and shouting orders to his men. 'I don't fear dogs, thank you very much,' Legolas thought as he dropped his head to rest on his knees again, and closed his eyes. He was so weary just about any position was comfortable.
A few hours later he had come to agree for the fourth time on the same conclusion he had thought up as he had sat in the cage, unable to sleep.
Cortanyar loved to hear himself speak. He could shout orders all day, which no one would dare to cough in protest about and never tire of his job. Legolas knew it was pointless to try and tell the man to shut his trap and allow him a few moments of peace so he could try and re-gather his sanity. He also supposed it would be just as pointless to attempt to convict any of these people to see reason and common logic. He was glad he didn't care enough to try because he might become more frustrated than he had in a long time he didn't want to add to injury.
To his surprise and nearly his enjoyment, Legolas saw the vastness of Sygul looming ominously on the horizon. Soon he would be at eternal peace, but he wondered what would come first. Shuddering to think, the prince decided that thinking that far into his near future was a definite mistake that he must not make again if he wished to keep a grip on some of the sanity he still had.
An insulting and rancorous amount of laughter broke out in his mind and asked bluntly, 'what sanity?'
O0O0O0O0O
Aragorn stumbled as he caught up with Darcíl, coming to kneel beside the other man in the muddy sand of the drenched desert. His breathing had accelerated to a potentially dangerous celerity and he had a thin sheen of cold sweat pooling on his brow and beading on his face in small droplets. Pain was shooting through his system and he was having an extremely hard time blinking back the black spots that persistently floated into his field of vision. With his injuries he knew that sooner or later he was probably going to go unconscious but he didn't have time for it now, so it would have to wait. Going unconscious always came at the most inconvenient times, he complained inwardly as Darcíl pointed tiredly towards the confines of a small set of huts with thick, long and spiny vines lacing about them.
Anyway attempt to try and get through those vines to escape would have been an extremely painful idea.
"That is where your soldiers are being kept. I doubt over half of them are alive, though," Darcíl added as an after thought, glancing sidelong at the ranger.
Aragorn said nothing, and his face went sorrowful, as he was lost in memory. Yes, these men had never truly liked his best friend and had often treated Legolas badly, shunning him and wishing he would get killed in a battle, but there had been good men too. Sirith had always made a point of being extremely kind to the Elf and tried to learn what he could from the prince, who he held in honor and awe. And in turn Legolas had always tried to look after the boy in battles and had always allowed the young soldier to accompany him (with Aragorn's permission) when he went star gazing. For all these men, good and bad alike, Aragorn felt responsible and it was then he made up his mind that he was not leaving this country without all of them that he could take and that could follow.
Noticing Darcíl watching him, the ranger asked softly, "where are the guards of this place?" He squinted his eyes but he wasn't able to see any of them.
Darcíl frowned and then his expression darkened as he scrutinized the ground surrounding the Prisoners of War Camp with a critical eye. He felt a feeling of dread slowly spreading in his stomach and causing bile to rise in his throat, which his quickly shoved back down. "There should be two on every side, with the exception of three in the front adding up to a grand total of nine. However, I don't see any of them."
Throat constricting and muscles tensing, Aragorn wondered if that was simply because there was no reason to guard the camp anymore. What if all of his soldiers were…dead? How could he go back and tell their families? How could he possibly save Legolas now? But as always, he couldn't simply accept letting his friend die here and he couldn't believe all his men were dead. Going into a complete state of denial wasn't always a good thing, but right now it was all that kept him going on. Aragorn asked, "are you sure?"
"Absolutely. But if that is the case, it could be a good sign. It could mean that Dorrag is so desperate for soldiers he is willing to leave the prisoners -your men, unguarded." However, though he said these things out loud, Darcíl was really rather disbelieving about the entire thing. The prisoners had to be guarded, Dorrag would expect something like this unless he had become more arrogant than usual, or his thoughts were concentrating completely on capturing and putting the death, that dratted Elf. He should have killed the cursed being when he had the chance, the Haradrim man decided negatively. But a lot of good wistful thinking was doing him now.
Aragorn continued to stare hard at the Prison Camp, as though by staring alone he could unlock all the answers they needed. However, all his staring actually managed to pay off when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Putting all his attention on the said movement, he realized it had been a warrior or guard near the entrance to the barracks of his men, the prisoners. Narrowing his eyes, squinting to make sure he wasn't seeing things, Aragorn came to the conclusion that there were most definitely at least two guards there.
Looking over to where Darcíl was, he noticed that the Haradrim man had seen them too. "Two guards," he commented dryly. "Nothing we can't take of." Aragorn nodded slowly, his thoughts drifting back to when Legolas had gotten captured to try and save him. If Legolas hadn't tried to save him the Elf would be free, still be unhurt and unscarred. But, Legolas had put everything on the line to save him and had lost. Well, Aragorn decided for what had to be near the billionth time, I owe him that same devotion.
"I have no weapon," Aragorn suddenly realized. He had been so used to having one that he hadn't thought to look to see if he still had his sword. Now that it was gone he felt naked and exposed. His hand went to his left side and clutched thin air where the hilt would have been, causing his stomach to momentarily clench in sudden anxiety.
Darcíl looked at him without blinking. "That's what dead men are for. I will kill the first one and you can have his weapon."
Aragorn knew by the time he got the first guard's weapon both of the Haradrim warriors would be dead at Darcíl's hand. But the weapon would come in handy later, he decided resourcefully. Aragorn knew that Darcíl's logic was legitimate and was also aware of the fact that he had done it before, but it pained him to take a weapon of a fallen warrior, enemy or foe. It made him have a feeling he felt would be akin to one a thief would have. But there was nothing for it. He must take the weapon or die.
Looking over his shoulder, Aragorn scanned the horizon for signs of the convoy that was escorting Legolas into Sygul and to the scaffolding. Fortunately he didn't see them yet, which meant he still had time. But he knew it was quickly going by and soon everything he had would be tested at mostly his friend's expense. If he failed, Legolas died, if he succeeded, then he could free Legolas. Feeling a strong sense of responsibility, Aragorn suddenly felt even more uncomfortable about the situation.
Suddenly Darcíl rushed forward, drawing out his sword and vaulting over the small knoll to rush straight at the two astounded guards who had virtually no time to react in the least. Their mouths formed two near perfect 'O's before the ex-Haradrim Captain was upon them with a speed and accuracy they had never been up against. Aragorn watched with pleased astonishment as Darcíl felled them both with two broad and strong swipes of his sword.
Rushing forward to do his part, Aragorn unceremoniously seized one of the scimitars and then slowed abruptly, admittedly afraid of what he might find left his men. He didn't want to see all that they had suffered, knowing half of it already thanks to Dorrag and his goons. Darcíl stopped altogether and let Aragorn go first, having the good sense to know that it might be better to let the ranger come to terms with everything first. But he had better come to terms quickly because they certainly didn't have the time to grieve or have a nervous break down.
Aragorn strode decidedly towards one of the huts and taking a deep breath, slammed the door open with a powerful kick to its center. It gave immediately and what he saw on the inside appalled him. There were ten of his men, not looking as horrible as they could have been. They weren't skin and bones yet, but they were a sickly pale color that made his stomach turn. In all truth some of their faces had a green tinge. He would never forget their eyes, still afire with defiance but set further back in their lean faces surrounded by dark circles of weariness and sorrow. "Captain Thorongil!" Their response to the presence of their leader was simultaneous.
"Help me free the others! Quickly!" Aragorn commanded, looking over his shoulder to see Darcíl, whom the men were shooting completely wicked glares at. To them and to Aragorn he was a tormenter. But the difference was, to Aragorn he was so much more because without his help, Legolas was going to die. "Its alright, he's an ally," assured the ranger quickly. "He's here to help."
The freed men lead by Aragorn and Darcíl began towards one of the other huts as quickly as they were able. "Where's that Elf?" asked one of the men almost in a sneer, speaking the word 'Elf' as though it were a curse and tasted bitter in his mouth.
Aragorn glared at the man and snapped angrily, "that Elf just saved your lives! Now it is our turn to save his! You will cooperate or I swear by the Stars I will have you court marshaled!" Everyone present knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Aragorn was not making idle threats, they had known him long enough to know they could trust him on everything. All the same, they glared in quiet protest before hurrying with Aragorn and Darcíl to break into the other huts and prisoner barracks.
When all was done, there were only about thirty of the fifty men there. Sirith, to Aragorn's relief, had been found though he was much weaker than he had been and was terribly thin, even for a teenage boy. A flare of anger flashed through the ranger as he looked over the treatment of his men, his brothers. It was obvious some had been tortured and beaten for what reasons Aragorn could not fully understand. Sirith had a black eye and there was dried blood from a broken lip caked in the right corner of his mouth.
Knowing he could waste no time with formalities and greetings, Aragorn decided to keep things simple. Telling his men to form ranks, Aragorn stood before them, Darcíl standing stiffly at his side, looking at the men as though he expected them to lynch him. Which, in fact he halfway did, and he couldn't really blame them. As Aragorn watched the ranks being 'filled' it came to his mind how truly empty they were and his heart was stabbed with grief. There were twenty men dead, twenty empty spaces, and twenty places to fill again.
"The Elf that came with me is in dire danger," Aragorn explained in a stiff voice. "He is going to be publicly executed at noon. He is one of our brothers and he has shed his blood for you as much as for me. The simple fact is that I am not going home without him and therefore, neither are you. We aren't leaving a living man or Elf behind." He gave his men a calculating stare and Darcíl looked at the dirt and his boots as though they were suddenly the most interesting things he had seen in a long while.
"How can we save him? We will be killed and then no one will be able to return home," one of the men voiced.
Sirith glared at his comrade and said angrily, "he needs our help! He has fought by us and watched our backs as we forded streams, shooting men down who would have shot us! How can you abandon him so easily? Is that the sort of men you are?" His seething surprised a good deal of the men, who stared at their feet uncomfortably, feeling the barb painfully well.
Aragorn darkened his glare considerably for emphases and then he spoke. "There is only one way to get him back. And here is what we have to do." Lowering his voice to hushed tones, the ranger, quietly imparted to his men his entire plan, to the minutest details. It was amazing that all of this took less than five minutes and even more amazing that the reaction to follow was not outright negative.
"But can we not simply intercept the convoy taking him to that…town you named, Captain Thorongil?" Sirith asked respectively, not remembering the name of Sygul at all not really caring either. He only wanted to save Legolas, his friend.
Darcíl shook his head. "It is far too well armed. I would expect that the execution, however, will only be armed about half as much. Dorrag has other places he needs soldiers after all, we are in a war."
Aragorn nodded in agreement. He then went on to suggest, "and perhaps we can eliminate Dorrag while we are there?" He looked too Darcíl for a Response, but Darcíl looked more than a bit dubious. Indeed, he looked completely incredulous.
"We can dream. And you must leave quickly. Leave Dorrag to me, we have a…score to settle. Believe me, it would be my pleasure to go ahead and 'eliminate' him," finished the Harad warrior bluntly.
Aragorn frowned, obviously not liking the idea. He didn't think Darcíl would inform Dorrag of their plans, but he couldn't be too sure, after all. And he was entirely certain that Darcíl had no compassion for them what so ever and if he could kill them without destroying his country he would do it, with a smile on his face. But he couldn't very easily stop Darcíl and killing him simply didn't seem a just return for all the aid he had given them. So, unfortunately, that left trust as the only option. Feeling uncomfortable with the situation already and this only adding to his anxiety, Aragorn reluctantly agreed.
Frowning, the ranger wished he could find the heart not to agree or to kill Darcíl because he certainly didn't want his mission –and his friend's life –compromised because Darcíl went and spilled out their plans. But what other choice did he have but to trust him? Regrettably, none, he told himself sharply in his mind.
O0O0O0O0O
'Well,' Elladan thought as he spurred his horse out of the water and onto the bank of the Old Ford, 'at least it isn't as bad as it could be. Rothinzil could have fallen out of the tree by now and been killed on impact or skewered by one of those brutes called 'orcs'.'
Sword drawn he readily stabbed it through the thick mail of an orc that came straight at him, obviously intending to drag him from his mount and disembowel him. That was something he imagined he couldn't like too much. Another orc sneaking up behind him caught his immediate attention and he jerked around to stab over his horse's haunches, nearly causing the animal to throw him. It was then he decided that being on a horse in a battle had its advantages and its definite disadvantages. However, he quickly ruled that the advantages out weighed the disadvantages by far and so he should stay up on the horse if he wished to survive.
Looking over at his brother, he realized that Elrohir must have had the same idea and watched as Elrohir's blade disappeared into an orc's face to come out stained black as the creature stood their for a moment and then collapsed to the ground, convulsing. Deciding he didn't want to see anymore of that sort, the Noldo Elf turned his attention solely to his adversaries, where gathering around his horse, probably in an attempt to get a captive out of the ordeal. This was something, Elladan decided instantly, that was not going to happen and would interfere most badly with his schedule.
Riding so that he was now on the edge of the woods, the eldest of the Sons of Elrond, spun his horse around to look back for his brother and father. Ah, there they were, fighting orcs and making their way towards him. Looking up, he saw the familiar figure of a dark-haired Elf shoot arrows in rapid succession and trying to remain balanced at the same time. Smiling, Elladan called up, "Rothinzil! Are you having any fun?"
Rothinzil looked down with a dreary expression and answered crossly and rather sarcastically. "Yes, indeed, Lord Elladan loads of it. As a matter of fact, this is one of the more amusing experiences of my life!" He rolled his eyes as he ducked an arrow and glared, just to make his point.
"I can see your point," Elladan answered quickly. He smiled slightly as Elrohir rode up beside him followed by their father. Elrohir had a smug expression on his face and he chuckled quietly and nearly sinisterly.
"They are retreating. If we had more time, I would say we should finish them off," he suggested, looking at their father with a half-grin.
"If we had more time, Ion-nin," Elrond said, retreating back into the forest on his horse so that the bushes hid him. Elladan cast a longing look at the fleeing orcs and then decidedly followed his father and Elrohir.
Rothinzil began to fall back, having must have gotten the signal from Celebalda to fall back.
Once all of the Elves from the battle had fallen back and they were safely hid in the woods, Celebalda stepped forward, nodding in respect when he saw Lord Elrond. "Lord Elrond, what brings you and your sons to Mirkwood?"
"Captain, we seek Prince Legolas and his father, desiring to find information about Estel, who has disappeared for two years," Elrond informed politely and rather diplomatically, even though he really was on a first name basis with all these Elves. A cold feeling spread through his stomach as he realized that there was a sad feeling in the air. Feeling his insides freeze in anticipation of the coming bad news, the elder Elf frowned thoughtfully.
"Prince Legolas has been lost for nigh on two years as well and we have heard no news from him in just as long," answered Rothinzil for his distraught captain, who seemed speechless. "We have no idea where he went, or if or when he is coming home."
Elladan gave Elrohir a sorrowful glance and then crinkled his nose in thought before he suggested quietly, "maybe they are together then." The suggestion was taken in with a long and sad silence that made the stomachs of every Elf present twist in pain as they realized what his could mean. The death of their prince and the death of the human that had come to love as a brother.
"So they both could be dead?" Caranfea asked quietly, coming to stand by his father, Celebalda, who looked suddenly very pale and older. The short redheaded Elf shook his head sorrowfully and looked over next to Rothinzil, who looked actually frightened. Legolas was more than a prince, more than a friend, Legolas was like a brother. Maybe he wasn't his blood brother, but he was his sworn brother and to have him lost…forever….that hurt a lot.
Suddenly the short Elf felt a hit on the back of his head and gave Roth the hardest stare he had given anyone in a very long time. "Don't talk like that!" Rothinzil explained anxiously. "Because is isn't helping me any and I am sure that everyone here would agree." He gave Elrond a respectful and disbelieving look before sharing it with the twins and everyone else present. "You now Legolas, he always bounces back and so does Estel," he added, seeing Elladan and Elrohir's identical and anxious faces.
"But this could be one time too many! Two years!" Elladan exclaimed darkly, his face turning more distraught by the minute. "Estel would have found some way to write to us or give us news! This isn't like him!" He was having a very difficult time believing that his younger brother could be dead, and who could blame him? "Plus," he supplied further. "Legolas wouldn't be away form home this long unless he couldn't get back, no Elf would."
He and Elrohir were never abroad this long, even with the rangers. It was just too difficult.
Elrond remained silent standing by the equally silent Celebalda, who was chewing his lower lip nervously. Caranfea leaned on Rothinzil, whom he had become close friends with over the past twenty years, feeling the pain of knowing his prince and friend was quite possibly lost forever. Roth put a comforting arm about the little redhead's shoulder and looked down at him somberly. Their lives, all of them, appeared to be desolated by the loss of the friends, brothers and sons.
O0O0O0O0O
Glorfindel walked silently through the thick trees that were laid in a fine mist that drifted about his ankles, dampening his boots ever so slightly. He was grateful Haldir had gone off to perform his other duties and leave him alone to be about his business after a strict word from the Lady. Now that he thought about it, the rapidly paling face of the March Warden, coupled with his stammering 'yes, My Lady' was something that was more than laughable. There was no real word, he reasoned, to describe how humorous he had truly found it. Pity.
Having already spoken with Galadriel some time ago about the increasing number of orcs and the decreasing number of Elves, Glorfindel had contented himself to walk around the forest part of her city in the Nath of Lorien. He remembered that he hadn't been too happy when she had suggested, seemingly knowing how he had Haldir got along too, that they spend more time on the borders together and keep better contact. What had been crossing her mind at the time she suggested this he couldn't rightly imagine.
Seeing the tall mirror she was renowned for possessing, the golden-haired Elf stepped slowly up to it, wondering if he should dare to look into it. He was truly beginning to worry for Erestor and for Rivendell, but, scary as it might sound, he was genuinely worried just for Erestor. They had been friends since he had first returned to Middle Earth though they did fight like goblins and Uruks, but he couldn't rest or thinking while he didn't know if Erestor was alive or injured or dead…. Sighing, he drew closer to the mirror that had a bit of steam curling from the top, dissipating quickly when it rose into the air.
Galadriel was rather…touchy about who messed with her mirror. Hesitating, Glorfindel finally dared to look into it. At first all he saw was his reflection, staring anxiously back up at him and he shook his head, blowing air upwards and was about to leave when the water began to steam and ripples started. It was working! Narrowing his eyes, Glorfindel watched with impatience as an image of Rivendell surfaced.
Broken rock was everywhere and Elves were helping each other through the rubble, calling out for loved and lost ones that might not have survived this….event. Glorfindel was numb struck. He couldn't believe this was happening! Well, it might not be since the mirror showed, 'many things' as Galadriel herself said often, not all of which had come to pass and some that never would unless people went out of their way to prevent them. But the anguish on the fair faces and the shock in their eyes was tearing away at Glorfindel's heart.
However, he couldn't see Erestor and that was the most alarming thing of all. Was Erestor….dead or lost? He saw to Elves suddenly appear, they seemed to be looking frantically for someone but Glorfindel couldn't hear who they were calling for! Lip reading was not one of his talents and so he prayed they were not looking for Erestor.
A sudden fit of rage swept over him, radiating into the air and making the temperature rise about him for a brief moment. Elrond was letting Vilya for this! She was destroying his home and his people! Suddenly a pale face swirled into view and as the blurred image became clearer, he saw to his horror that it was Erestor, lying in the tall grass by a dead tree. His lips moved as he said something and he seemed perfectly calm but he was so ghastly pale. His grey eyes were wide and filming over as he spoke and his lips were turning grey-ish blue as he slowed his talking.
Erestor had just died! Or at least, in the mirror. Glorfindel heard someone screaming and then realized it was himself. He was screaming because he had just seen his best friend die.
TBC...MUAHAHAHAHAHA! Isn't that sad? (sniff)
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