A/N: I thought I could finish it all in one chapter, but I realized it will take another after this. I do think, however, that my writing has grown a bit more descriptive than previous chapters. I also acknowledge that this is a perfectly unrealistic and badly written story which was just a learning experience for me. Apologies for the slight change of style. I hope it's for the best. Anyway, on with the chapter!
Chapter V- The Rescue Attempt
At dusk, the sun descended slowly from the pinnacle of the sky, releasing rays of vibrant rose and a pale orange into the dense valleys of tall green trees as a last show of strength before it was swallowed up. The gloom strove with it, proliferating, first in the East, but then spreading across the sky, eagerly creeping over the lands and covering all in a veil of shadow, while the light retreated further and further back to safer lands.
Legolas let out a heavy sigh and instinctively brushed a stray hair out of his eyes as they went. A bead of sweat formed on his anxious brow, but he scarcely noticed. The dark and cold crept in like a pale ghost. Stars appeared one by one, but were soon obscured by an unpredicted cloud cover, while crickets' chirping and the various calls of night birds were perceived here and there along the way. A brook or two rippled cheerily in the distance, all the while mirroring the faint light of a sliver moon clad with haze in their broad, shallow expanses. An eerie mist traveled along the ground at the Elves' feet, but did not hinder their passage in any way.
At length, Anarato halted and spoke in a soft voice that could only scarcely be heard even by elf ears.
"We are nearly there," he said. "By your lives, I bid you do only as I tell you. One mishap and our surprise, our plan, Haldir and Orophin's lives- perhaps even our own lives- will be in deadly peril. And, as was told you before, this is a fight to the death. If our plan fails, no one will flee. We will stand and fight, until each elf, before he falls dead, has killed thrice his equals, and has died with honor, or else avenged Haldir and Orophin's blood with a noble victory. That is understood, I presume?"
Everyone nodded solemnly. Legolas had found an equal number of elite Elves from Lorien and Mirkwood to do the task that was set before them. They were determined in their minds, and feared not the death they were certain to go to…only to complete the mission was their priority. The prince had chosen well.
"Very good," said Anarato. "Now, on we go, and continue in complete silence."
The Elves stole on hands and knees now, crouching low to the ground like lions stalking their prey. They had entered the clearing with caution, hiding behind whatever was available: the stump of a felled tree, a boulder, a slight rise in the soft, grassy turf. Legolas' breath was coming in short, noiseless gasps, not from weariness, but from concern for the captives held within the fort. He and Anarato slowly risked a glance over the top of their hiding place and took in the situation. They found the absence of light greatly in their favor. Not a thing could be seen from the edge of the clearing to the fort, which was perceived only by a small lantern atop the wall. The concealing gloom had consumed everything. The darkness was so complete that even though Elves had considerably better eye-sight than most other races in the dark, Legolas could scarcely make out the outline of two sentinels flanking the door, one on either side. They were the only visible enemy. After evaluating the scene for a few moments, Anarato motioned for each elf to approach while he told them what was to be done. He knew the fort well, an excellent advantage that he might otherwise not have had if he had been from Loth-lorien. Relating his strategy in soft whispers, he made certain each person heard him correctly.
"The first task I trust only myself and Legolas to. Wait for our signal, and then you know what to do. This entire operation is extremely perilous, if not utterly foolhardy. We shall see how the events play out." After a brief moment of preparation, he and Legolas set out slowly and surely to carry out the first leg of the plan.
Legolas sprinted noiselessly in a wide circle around the left edge of the glade until he came to that same side of the wall which was contiguously joined to the front, near the gate. His heart was pounding in his throat and he found himself involuntarily holding his breath. He knew that the lives of two individuals depended on him...and he wasn't about to let them down. Slowly, cautiously, he hugged the side, inching around the surface of the rough stone wall. Very guardedly, he slipped around the corner and edged along the wall like a silent ghost. Then, he halted, trembling in anxiety. This had to work. It must. He noted Anarato creeping along the wall on the other side. The unwary sentinels, still standing at each side of the gate, were completely oblivious to their presence. One shifted his weight and yawned, resting his curved scimitar on his shoulder. Both Elves were barely a few paces from them at this point. Legolas watched Anarato vigilantly. Soon, he held up his left hand and then let it drop sharply. That was the signal. Legolas pounced. Within a half-second, his man was dead with a slit throat. With a guttural sigh, the southron pitched forward headlong to the sod. Looking up once more, Legolas noted that Anarato had finished with his man, as well. So far so good. Anarato waved his arms hugely in signal. Legolas noted the other Elves, who looked like little more than faint shadows, springing to life on the far side of the clearing. When they reached the fort, the next element of the plan took shape silently and efficiently. Once everyone else was hidden safely along the side of the other wall in case of detection, one elf went to the corner, studied it a moment, and then adeptly tossed the grappling rope he had carried with him up to a salient in the tall wall. The hook caught fairly noisily, everyone thought, but in reality, the dull ringing sound had not been painfully noticeable. The elf waited a moment, listening. Once satisfied, he began to skillfully climb. The company held their breaths in silent waiting. About a minute later, he slid back down and approached Anarato.
"There was no one atop the wall but three men, all fast asleep," he whispered. "The languor of the night is working in our favor."
"Very well," replied Anarato, "Ondollo and Úvitéru, hasten to your tasks!" The two Elves he had indicated strode to the rope and climbed it in a matter of a few seconds. A short time later, they returned.
"All well?" asked Anarato. Ondollo nodded.
"There are three Southrons up there who will never wake again," he said with a soft chuckle.
"Excellent," said Anarato. "Is everything clear? What of the south door? Any guards you can see?"
"No," replied Ondollo, "we saw none but those three. They must be as overly confident of their fort as to neglect to post alert sentinels. They have little more sense than Orcs."
"True enough," said Anarato, lowering his voice a good deal, "but still, we must be cautious. We do not know how many are inside. The most difficult part of our task is still to come. Let us see to it." He made around the wall to the rope and climbed rather effortlessly to the top. The rest followed. The fortress, though far less than massive, was still strong; fit to shelter at least 300 soldiers. But, who was to say how many were there at present? Legolas knew they had been strangely fortunate so far. There might have been a score of Southrons atop the wall awaiting them, but there were not. Everything was going very well thus far.
Once they were up, Anarato strode to the right, past some stone steps descending steeply into the base of the outpost, and to another set of steps. These he went down, carefully, until he came to a sturdy wooden door. He was heading for the dungeons. All other Elves took their elegantly decorated bows from their shoulders and each fit a graceful white feathered arrow to the string. Then, they bent their bows to the ready. Anarato tried the door, his curved blade glimmering white in his skillful hand. The door creaked open noisily, much to everyone's chagrin.
"Wait-!" whispered Ondollo suddenly, stopping Anarato. "Mightn't one of us dress as a Southron- taking the armor from these dead ones- and scout out the area first?"
"That may prove helpful," commented Anarato in a slight whisper. "You, Legolas, shall have the task. I trust this to you. You mustn't fail."
Less than half a score of minutes later, Legolas was nearly ready. He tucked his identifying golden hair in and donned the helmet.
"Act informal," advised Anarato, handing the elf a southron sword. "If anyone passes you, look the other way. Your elvish features will reveal you if you do not, for no Southrons are as fair of face as you. Gather as much information as you may, and return. And may the Valar be with you."
"And also with you, Anarato."
Legolas stepped to the door and entered, not looking behind him. He plunged into the darkness of the steep stone stairwell, sword in front of him. When he came to the bottom, he saw a few lit torches on the wall. This helped him distinguish where he was, but it also worried him. Might there be adversaries down here? His fear began to grow. He wasn't afraid for himself, no. He was simply fearful that something he did would give himself away, destroying everything that the others were counting on. But he decided to push these thoughts to the back of his mind. It wouldn't do to have a nervous breakdown. Summoning leonine courage, he pressed on, around the corner, up another set of steps, and to the dungeon door. There was no one in sight. The small cramped corridors flickered with eerie torchlight, but not a soul was to be seen. Legolas stepped back and stared at the door observantly. He noted that it had a heavy bolt-lock on the outside, but strangely, it wasn't locked. Then, he noticed that a slight beam of light was shining through from underneath the door. There was someone in there! Legolas pressed himself against the side of the door, listening intently. What he heard made him feel ill. Shuddering, he staggered back against the wall. He had to help, but there wasn't any promising manner of doing this alone. He knew he had to go back and summon the others. He couldn't win a fight unaided, nor would that be a prudent thing to do. Forcibly, he turned and was just readying himself for a sprint back to Anarato, when he heard a loud creaking behind him. Before he could do much, the door, groaning on its hinges, swung open, and three brawny Southrons filed out, laughing sadistically. Legolas had quickly leaned against the wall again, turning his face away and pretending to doze. They took little notice of him, but, after they had locked the door once more, simply passed on, heading the opposite way that he had come. When their backs were to him, he noted what they carried in their hands. One had a torch, another a club, and the other, a bloody whip. Legolas shut his eyes and breathed a silent prayer. He feared the worst.
Once they were out of sight, he quickly stole over to the door and unlocked it. Snatching a torch off the corridor wall, he stepped hurriedly inside, shutting the door behind him. The light illuminated a ghastly sight. Legolas felt silent tears well up in his eyes, but blinked them away. He knelt beside the blood-spattered body sprawled on the floor, golden hair matted and covered in dried blood. It was Orophin.
"The Southrons shall pay for THIS!" Legolas snarled vehemently, rising to his feet. The hatred dripped from his voice in such a way that it startled him. His eyes blazed in a wild fury. If he hadn't been a sensible sort of person, he certainly would have rushed out and foolishly expended his wrath, ruining any surprise they might have had left. But he restrained himself.
"What to do now?" he said out loud, a venomous quality joining his intonation. "One elf dead, another absent! Our plan is completely reduced to nothing!" He paced the cell for a short time, thinking as well as allowing his rage to cool a bit. After coming to no decisions or answers, he considered simply staying with the plan. But he could not leave Orophin lying dead in a pool of his own blood in the darkness! After a bit more thought, however, he saw that he had no choice. Regretfully, he turned to the door.
"Legolas…?" The voice was weak and raspy, so delicate as to easily be missed…if one was not listening closely. Legolas whirled in shock, the torch flaring, and knelt once again beside Orophin.
"You're still alive? But…how?"
"Not…for long," whispered Orophin, trying to turn, but finding himself too weak. Dropping the torch on the stone floor, Legolas gingerly grasped each of his arms and struggled to pick the elf up.
"I will…help…you," he said with great effort. "I cannot leave you." Gripping Orophin tightly, Legolas opened the door and supported him out, closing the door and bolt-locking it behind him. He was anxious that someone might come before they made it back to the others, and so he endeavored to hurry as best he could without exacerbating Orophin's condition.
"What do you think is taking so long?" whispered Ondollo, pacing methodically to and fro at the steps.
"I'm concerned about Legolas, as well," said Anarato, "but I will give him a bit longer. Then, we must go look for him. I- wait…" His face grew pale, but showed no other sign of emotion.