A/N: Okay, okay, I know. I'm so late you've probably forgotten I even exist. (Readers give her weird look, wondering who the hell she is.) Not that I can blame you, I am kinda past when I said I'd update. (Readers suddenly remember her and start glaring threateningly, while brandishing all manner of nasty-looking weapons.) Well you can blame it on writer's block, homework (teachers just don't know when enough is enough), and the curse of RL. Fortunately I did keep my promise when I said I would have reviewer responses from the last chapter, and this chapter is pretty long and includes icy rivers, Legolas parading as a Southron, irate scorpions, Haradrim who think burning clothing is in fashion, and a spy mission that would make James Bond want to start hanging out with the elves (GRIN) So, (starts backing towards light switch), please turn the energy built for your plots of revenge against me for making you wait so long towards reading and enjoy. "Lights! Please."
AAN:For disclaimers and other associated info, please refer back to the prologue. Do I look like Tolkien? Didn't think so. Therefore, The Lord of the Rings and the name 'There and Back Again' are not mine.
Oh, and another note which I maybe should have mentioned earlier—I don't write Slash so don't expect to see it in this or any of my future stories. Sorry for those of you who happen to like that sort of genre, but I simply can't bring myself to see let alone write anyone from LOTR as actually being homosexual. I don't have anything against people liking those types of stories; I just don't have a preference for them. I have read a few in the past and have simply found that I get far more enjoyment out of stories where the word love means a closer than close friendship-I consider you a family member-you're more like a sibling than simply a great friend-type thing. So, in short, that's what my stories will be about. No m/m romance and such, just people whose friendship has developed to the point where it's more of a brotherhood than anything else. That having now been said I'm going to shut up and let you move on to reading the chapter. Who just muttered "it's about time" behind my back? Impatient people. (ducks barrage of stones and spare arrowheads)
Chapter 3: There and Back Again
One jump ahead of the slowpokes
One skip ahead of my doom
Next time gonna use a nom de plume
One jump ahead of the hitmen
One hit ahead of the flock
I think I'll take a stroll around the block
Brad Kane, "One Jump Ahead" Aladdin Soundtrack
The tent flap was lifted open and several dark-skinned men exited. A few talked amongst themselves as they walked away, others went off alone. By their garb they seemed to be officers. In moments only two remained. The manner in which they interacted suggested that they were probably the highest ranking in the camp; a commander and his second. The one seemingly in overall command exchanged a few words with the other, and the man strode off purposefully, perhaps carrying out some order.
The commander turned and called out to three younger-looking soldiers standing nearby. They walked over to him, and he began speaking to them, while they nodded from time to time. When he was finished they rapped their right fists against their chests, as if saluting him, and proceeded to take up positions around the tent. Two stood in front of the entrance, hands on weapons, while the other began pacing around the tent in a circle. The commander nodded, apparently satisfied. Unbeknownst to them, their every movement was being watched with great interest by the cloaked and hooded being crouched in the shadows between two nearby tents.
At the end of his interview with Mennel, Legolas had left Faramir and Beregond to seek out the sentries and learn from them everything they had observed about the Haradrim. After talking with them for a short while he began to realize that the only successful way to get into the camp would be as one of the southmen.
When asked, the sentries gave their aid willingly, and together they had come up with something of a plan. He had then left them to prepare for their part in the operation while he sought out Faramir to tell him of his plans. Well, some of them. The rest he had kept to himself, for Faramir would probably never have agreed to them, and would have insisted that someone go with him, which he couldn't have.
The plan was a bit sketchy in places, in need of details of which he would fill in as he went. But even as a sketchy outline he knew it would find little approval. In fact he could just about count on his fingers people he knew who would readily agree to such a thing. There weren't many. No human could pull it off, that much he knew, which confirmed that he had to go alone.
The elf prince wasn't the kind to lie; in fact he made a point to avoid such a thing if at all possible, a habit which he had employed, along with the famed elven ability to speak in riddles when speaking with Faramir. By leaving out much and sticking to a watered-down version of the details he did share, he was able to leave with a lot less arguing and I-think-this-is-crazy-please-don't-get-yourself-killed speeches than he had expected. With that out of the way he had gone to prepare himself and meet up again with the sentries to be sure all was prepared to get him behind enemy lines.
Getting out of the Gondorian camp unseen had been the first obstacle, and, like the rest of his mission, required much tedious, careful work. Work that required tremendous patience, complete and perfect control over ones body and movements, keen senses, and the ability to achieve and maintain a silence that could have rivaled the dead. Which he would likely become if he was seen, or worse, caught.
Wrapping himself in the elven cloak given to him by Galadriel, he kept low as he moved quickly across the fields towards the town. Once there he kept to the shadows. Out of concern for an attack by the Haradrim on the town, a curfew was being put into effect. All townspeople were to be in their homes no later than an hour after sundown. The only ones on the streets were the soldiers assigned to guard it. He avoided them without too much trouble. No need to send up an alarm and attract attention to himself. He continued on past the town a bit before turning towards the river.
In the late March the weather was only a bit cool by human standards, warm enough that a light cloak was only needed at night. The river, however, was another matter. Melting ice and snow from the mountains kept it almost as chilled as it had been in January, and the swelled waters moved fast and fierce.
Legolas checked the waterproof quiver and bow case lent to him by the sentry who had informed him that his best and only way of getting across the river was by swimming. Another had lent him a waterproof pack and sheaths for his knives. Once he was sure they were secure, he plunged in swiftly, not giving himself time to second-guess anything. Now was not the time for doubt, he only had a small window in which he was to get across and into place for the sentries to carry out their part of the plan. This he had been adamant about. They couldn't risk more than one southerner becoming suspicious; therefore he would give them no signal when he was in place. The sentries were to wait the allotted time he had given them, and then proceed. It was his job to be ready for them.
A committee of voices inside his head had been berating him since he had approached the riverbanks, telling him how foolish this was, and how he'd be hung by his own bowstring when his friends found out about this. Faramir would at the least when the elven prince returned soaking wet and wearing enemy garb. At least a hundred things could go wrong, and his success would be vital. Aragorn had said that it was believed the Haradrim would attack tonight. Aside from attempting to discover the reason for the southerners' journey this far into Gondor, Legolas was also to seek an indication of when they did plan to fight. By now they had to know, if on the odd chance they didn't before, that a fight was their only way out of their current position. It was imperative that he return at least partially successful, and preferably in one piece.
All of this became irrelevant as it was drowned out by the silent scream of pain that ripped through his whole being as the icy water swirled up around him, trying to stop his heart with its abrupt intensity. His skin felt as if it were being lanced and burned at the same time. He tried to keep his head his head mostly dry at least, but was forced to abandon this idea when a particularly strong undertow pulled him under for half a second. Elvish clothing may be lighter than the fabrics used by the other races, but it still gets heavier when wet. His quiver and added bow case were of no help either, and combined both clothing and weapons threatened to aid the current tugging at them to drag him down to the bottom and keep him there. Fighting determinedly, the elf worked his way back up to the surface.
Legolas came up gasping, trying to breathe and cough water out of his mouth and throat at the same time. He tried to shake the water out of his eyes. A few more moments and he'd reach the spot he was supposed to come ashore at; he'd have to be on that side of the river and ready. Sinuses in torment, chest and ribs aching from the cold, skin giving him the distinct impression it was now made of ice, he moved forward on a diagonal, making sure he didn't waste time and energy by fighting the current, but used it instead.
He was now within a few feet of the south banks, keen eyes seeking in the pitch black and foaming waters the spot he had been advised to come ashore at. He couldn't have missed it, could he? No, he mustn't think like that. It had to be coming up soon. Frantically he turned his head from side to side. If he stayed in the river too long it would take him almost right past one of the Haradrim guard posts. That he couldn't let happen. 'Where is it?'
Just as he was about to climb out and take his chances finding his way on the shore, a large outcropping materialized swiftly out of the darkness. 'That's it!' came his exuberant mental shout. Power stroking towards it, he reached out and managed to snag a handhold just before the river carried him past it. The water tugged at him, trying to pry him free, but he secured his hold with both hands and pulled himself up onto the partially dry rock.
Once he had something solid under him Legolas froze, crouched, scanning his surroundings slowly. Not seeing anyone in the immediate vicinity, he rose up a bit more. These rocks were the best cover along this part of the Erui, the last true cover he would have until he entered the camp and could hide amongst the tents. The area was covered in sparse patches of grass and rock.
Normally these would not offer much in the way of cover, certainly not if someone wanted to hide from others, but with the storm clouds blocking the moonlight the Haradrim sentries were taking full advantage of them. What the landscape couldn't cover the darkness would, hiding them from intruding men until they were within a few feet of the guards.
'At which point the southerners will simply surprise and capture them, or put a knife in their throats. Fortunately they have no idea that their campfires give me all the light I need to see them, or that they couldn't spot me now even if they looked right at me.'
Couldn't spot him unless of course he moved suddenly or made noise by being careless. But Legolas hadn't come though centuries of hunting the foul beings that had tried vainly to take over his father's realm without mastering the arts of ambush and attacking in pitch darkness. Once he determined where the soldiers closest at hand were, he slowly and carefully slid off of his perch. Ducking behind the rocks, he opened the waterproof pack. Reaching inside, he grabbed a hold of a familiar and much-loved garment. Pulling the elvish cloak free of the pack, he set it about his damp shoulders and pulled the hood up over his wet hair. The Haradrim were soon to meet someone who could play their game just as cunningly as they did.
As the warm fabric enveloped him, Legolas breathed a sigh of relief and appreciation. Elves are not prone to feelings of temperature as humans are. Normally the prince wouldn't have given the pre-spring air a second thought, but normally he didn't take swims in icy rivers at this time of year either. Elves were not immune to freezing to death given the right circumstances, and though he wasn't anywhere near freezing to death right now, Legolas' wet garments were definitely making him uncomfortable in the cool wind that was ghosting around. The cloak was a great shield from that, as well as from prying eyes. Made by Galadriel and her aids, the light fabric took on the color of its wearer's surroundings, concealing them from view. Legolas could literally slip right up to the camp without being seen, but should someone catch him by accident, he was an obvious intruder.
Once both cloak and hood were in place he pushed his pack behind him, placing it where it wouldn't get in his way. From the bow case he brought forth one of his white knives. Silver bladed, hafted with whitest ivory, and fitted to his hands by the wear of centuries, it was part of the ensemble of weapons he carried with him everywhere he went. With it went his bow, quiver, and other white knife, the identical twin of the first.
Drawing the cloak close, he crouched low on one knee into an ideal position, and waited.
As an immortal, time meant very little to the elven prince. He could have spent all night and day crouched as he was if he had to. But here time was of the essence. The Haradrim sentries guarded the camps in two-hour shifts that rotated throughout the night. From what he had been told this shift should be ending soon. The elf began to get impatient. For this to work he and the sentries had to spring their trap and clean up its results before the southern guards changed shifts. Otherwise there would be questions asked, and Legolas didn't know how he could explain to his enemies his reason for being late when he couldn't speak their native tongue.
Another ten minutes, and Legolas was just about ready to hunt down one of the Haradrim on his own. Time was far too short for him to keep waiting for a few humans when he could do without them, though with them the risk of discovery was less. A high-pitched whistle, too high for human ears to detect, rent the air as the prince was just rising from his hiding place. On instinct he ducked back down. A bark and an irritated shout followed the whistle. Both were very close to his rock shelter.
Pulling a white knife from its sheath he had only a second to prepare himself as the trap was sprung and the second part of his plan was put into motion.
A long, black shadow materialized, bounding towards him. Following none too slowly behind it was another figure, this one waving a scimitar and swearing heavily in the southern tongue. Legolas remained where he was, waiting for his quarry to come to him.
The dog raced passed him into the outcropping, stopping a few yards behind him and panting heavily. The Haradrim stopped running, and began walking cautiously closer to where he had thought the canine had hidden itself. This far from the camp the fires his comrades had lit did him little good and the storm clouds overhead deprived him of the aid that the moonlight might have given him. In these conditions he was as good as blind.
Legolas waited, unmoving and hardly breathing so he wouldn't give himself away by sound. His prey moved closer. Ten feet, then eight, then five… When the soldier was merely three feet away from him, the elf made his move. In one fluid, lightning fast motion, Legolas was on his feet and plunging his knife deep into the southerner's throat, holding his cloak around the wound so there would be no blood on the man's clothing. The sentry never had a chance to scream or make any form of sound. All he knew was the sensation of having cold; unforgiving elvish steel lodged in his throat and blood in his lungs, then a deeper darkness than the night engulfed him as his spirit fled to the Mandos' Halls.
Legolas caught the lifeless body as it ceased to support itself and began to crash to the ground. He laid the body down gently and removed his knife, wiping it clean with a rag he retrieved from his pack. As he began to strip the corpse, he grimaced in disgust. He hated killing. The only time he had ever taken any pleasure in death was when he defended his home or his people against the spiders and other foul creatures that for centuries had threatened them. Their deaths, the spiders in particular, he would not lament or regret. But to have to take the life of a human for so petty a reason as a border dispute… He shook his head. It was so senseless.
The scrape of blunted claws against his arm caused him to whirl around. Behind him sat the sheepdog that had led the soldier to him. It whined and nudged his hand. He held the requested hand out, and the dog placed in it a small leather pouch it had been carrying in its mouth. 'What's this?' he wondered.
Upon closer examination it proved to be holding a good-sized handful of small, smooth stones. Legolas remembered hearing from Aragorn once that gold, silver and other metals were considerably rare in the deserts. As a result the Southrons' monetary system consisted of precious or semi-precious stones, shells, and animals. Haradrim men also kept their personal wealth on their person at all times.
He smiled and gave the dog an affectionate scratch behind the ears. "Clever boy, no wonder he was so mad at you. You must have must have taken a lot of money from him."
The canine hung his tongue out of his mouth with pleasure and leaned into Legolas' hand as the elf's fingers rubbed against an especially itchy spot. "Thank you my friend," the prince grinned wider with amusement. He had to give the Gondorian sentries credit. Sending a sheepdog to bring the soldier to him was very cunning, and definitely not something the southerners would have suspected.
Once more the "silent" whistle pierced the silence of the night, causing both elf and dog to look up. This time the whistle sounded out several long and short blasts, apparently some sort of command. The dog got up, trotted over to the river's edge and jumped into the freezing water, swimming diagonally to the northern shore. Apparently that had been its signal to go home. Legolas watched it for a moment, then turned back to the task at hand. Once the body was stripped down to its smallclothes he hefted it up into his arms and carried it to the water, where he let the current take it. Hopefully the speed of the water would prevent it from being washed ashore too soon, if at all.
The elf then stripped himself of his own wet garb, and donned the southman's. Because he was of slighter build than the more muscle-bound person it had belonged to, they were somewhat baggy, but he hoped it wouldn't be too obvious considering that the desert garments were made to be that way to accommodate for the extreme heat of the region. Legolas bound his long wet hair up with a clasp to ensure it would stay put before wrapping his head with the dark material the southman had worn. Taking a piece of charcoal from his pack he crumbled it into a powder, and then rubbed it on the skin around his eyes, the only visible part of his face. Southrons were known to have dark skin, far darker than an elf's, and the charcoal dust if used right would help him to achieve that effect.
With his own clothing stowed in his pack and his own weapons hidden amongst his newly acquired weaponry he set off towards the post that now stood devoid of any guard since its assigned sentry had run off. Before he could settle down, however, a hand closed on his shoulder. He turned, hand placed on the hilt of the scimitar he had retrieved from where the sentry had dropped it. The soldier behind him placed his other hand over the elf's, staying it as he shook his head and muttered something in his native tongue. When the elf relaxed he walked towards the unoccupied guard post, calling something over his shoulder. Legolas didn't stop to wonder what had just happened, he just turned and walked towards the tents. He was a bit surprised that he had not been reprimanded or dragged off to face one of the commanders. The Southrons were a fierce people and sentries found away from their posts were not dealt with lightly. Apparently the man who had just relieved him was a friend of the man he had killed and mistook him for him. That would be a welcome thing, so long as he could avoid any others who might seem like the soldier's friends—or rivals even.
Once in the camp he didn't go sit by the fires as most of the other incoming sentries did. Instead he walked through the tents. Once he was sure no one was watching, he ducked into the shadows of two tents and pulled his cloak from his pack. Fastening it loosely around his shoulders he pulled the hood over his head. Sneaking about the camp would be more difficult than simply walking around, but Legolas didn't want to take the chance that someone would question him or try to start a conversation he couldn't take part in. Most Southron's know the common tongue from their dealings with the Easterlings and other northern folk, but amongst themselves they spoke in their own dialects.
Then next half hour of searching proved fruitless. Legolas didn't even know what he was supposed to find specifically. Faramir had simply told him to find any clue that would let them know what the Haradrims' plans in Gondor were, and when they'd be making any sort of move against the soldiers stationed across the river. From what Legolas could see they didn't look like they were going to attack anyone tonight, if any time soon, contrary to what the people in Gondor's camp believed. At the same time, however, he couldn't be sure. For all he saw they could start gearing up for an assault or try to leave tomorrow.
Approaching voices drove him into the shelter offered in the shadows in between the tents, and he watched with great interest as two men more elaborately dressed than the others in the camp walked by. They were met by other similarly dressed men outside a tent that was larger than the others around it. Automatically intrigued, the elf decided to stay where he was and see what came of the situation. By the way those men were dressed he guessed they were officers, and several officers coming together like that usually meant they were planning something. Perhaps his search for information was over.
An hour later he was sure of it as he watched the officers leaving and the guards taking their places. The prince watched the one guard pace around the tent for a few minutes, then, when he was sure he had it timed right, he raced away from his hiding place and ducked behind the tent nearest the one he sought entry to. No one saw him, so the next time the pacing guard moved away again he ran swiftly and silently across the few yards of open ground. Pressing himself lightly against the fabric, he waited while the man passed by him again. His cloak, having taken on the hue of the canvas, effectively hid him from view.
As soon as the guard moved out of sight again Legolas crouched down and used one of his knives to cut a slit about two feet up the side of the structure. Once finished he pulled it open and slipped silently inside. The canvas wasn't pulled too tight to begin with, so the guard, who was just passing by again, didn't notice anything. He did, however, stop and look around for a few moments, as if he had heard something. Legolas waited, motionless, until the man resumed his pacing.
Letting out a mental sigh of relief, the prince stood and turned, surveying the inside of the tent. The torch that had been used to light the space had been removed, but this mattered little as the light from the many torches scattered throughout the camp shone dimly through the though fabric walls, giving him all the light his night-sighted eyes really needed.
His cursory exam of the tent proved his theory that it had been set up as a convenient meeting place. Carpets littered the floor, and three wooden chests and a couple of leather satchels thrown haphazardly into a corner were all there was otherwise. Two of the chests were placed about a yard from where he stood, the other was only a few feet from the main entrance. Legolas decided to examine the chests closest to him first.
He took one step forward, and once again froze. The carpet underneath him crackled when he put weight on it. A quick examination showed that someone had littered piles of dry leaves and stones underneath the rugs. This confirmed that there was something important being kept in here. Why go through this much trouble if there wasn't? Fortunately for him, the Haradrim had counted on a mortal intruder, one who would alert the guards with the noise he made by moving around. They hadn't counted on an intruder who could walk so lightly that he barely left footprints on freshly fallen snow.
'These people almost never encounter elves, so why guard against us? Faramir should be very pleased. Even if I don't find anything here Gondor will have a great advantage against these renegades later on should the Haradrim decide to cause further trouble.'
Legolas crossed the carpets laughing quietly to himself as he walked right on top of the enemy's trap without it ever making a sound. Now his job was to get into the chests. After examining the locks for a few moments he pulled a thin blade out of the wide sash of his disguise and began twisting it around the mechanism's interior, hoping to hear the faint click that would tell him of his success.
Five minutes later he was almost ready to give up and try something else, when the sound he wanted to hear came to his ears, albeit a trifle loud for his liking. He froze, and listened to hear if the sentries had heard it-- nothing. Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth and waste time in contemplating why they might not have heard it, he dug his fingertips underneath the lid and lifted.
Inside were maps, and what looked to be a diagram for the layout of the camp, or a camp at least. This Legolas decided to take with him, for it might prove important later on. He skimmed the maps over, but they seemed only to be ordinary maps of Gondor, Rohan, and even a bit of Rhun. They were unmarked except for what the mapmaker had written, and so he decided to ignore them. Before he closed the chest he inspected it for possible hidden compartments, but found none. He replaced the maps as he had found them, and then relocked the lid. He repeated the same routine with the next chest, but found nothing in this one except blank parchment and other writing materials.
Now he turned his attention to the chest near the entranceway. This one would be more difficult to search. Its close proximity to the two stationary guards made it that much more likely that they would hear if he made even the smallest sound. Absolute silence was even more crucial now.
Once again Legolas crossed the carpets with silent ease. The chest seemed in all appearances to be identical to the other two, except he did notice that it was much bigger than the others. The locks on them had been fairly loud when forced open; he should expect the same with this one.
While he worked the tumblers, he kept a wad of his cloak pressed around his "lock pick", hoping it would help to muffle the sound. When it did open, he winced slightly. The noise had still been louder than he would have hoped, but pressing the cloak against it did help. No sound came from the guards outside, so apparently it had been enough and it was only his highly sensitive hearing that was making it seem so loud. He dug his fingertips underneath the lid and began to lift, only to be forced to stop once more as his ears detected what he identified to possibly be the beginnings of a dangerously loud creak. Not willing to take any chances, Legolas let go of the lid and reached around the back of the trunk. He ran his hands along the hinges, and his face took on a knowing grimace.
'Of course, if you want to make getting into the thing without someone nearby hearing-- don't maintain the hinges. Rusted and stiff hinges always make the most noise.' Legolas bit back a sigh of annoyance and began inspecting the outside of the chest, growling to himself as he tried to find an alternative way in. 'Stupid, smart feirin. They don't have a clue when it comes to elves, yet they still manage to make things difficult for us.'
After a few moments of inspection Legolas decided that cutting his way in would be best. Not necessarily the easiest method and it would mean one of his knives was going to be a bit dull for a while, but it was the quietest course of action he could think of. 'Oh, go ahead. It's not like you have only one blade.'
With this thought he once again brought out a white knife from its hiding place in his disguise, and began working it in between two boards on the right side. He cut a large section, taking out almost the whole end of the chest so it wouldn't be too obvious when he replaced it. As Legolas continued diligently to sever the cross bars on the inside he hoped it wouldn't be.
Elvish steel is sharper and holds edges better than most other blades, which allowed him to work faster and cut cleaner than if he had used a human-made blade. Still it was some time and stress on his hyper-alert senses before the cut-out was complete. With a triumphant smile he jammed his knife into the top left corner and began to pry it loose.
It came free and he was reaching out to grab it and hold it open while he worked the other corner free when something in him screamed, 'No!'
He pulled his hand back and picked up the smaller blade he'd used to pick the locks. Slipping it into the small opening he angled it around. The source of his feeling of extreme danger made itself known a moment later. A bulb with a wicked-looking curved barb at its end slammed viciously into the small knife with a tiny 'ping'. He swore softly, knowing exactly what it was, though he'd never met a real-life specimen before.
He'd read about them once, years ago, when he was much younger and his days were filled more with lessons in history and political science than council meetings and border patrols. Back then he'd also seen enough drawings to be able to recognize one if he ever did meet it, though he had never thought he would.
It was a scorpion. An insidious little arachnid commonly found in the desert, but almost never here in the north. He'd read that some of them weren't too dangerous; the poison would only make one ill. But there were others whose barbed tails could bring death faster than the victim could blink. Legolas removed both knives, using the white one's hilt to make sure the section was packed back in tightly. He didn't really care to find out what kind of scorpions these were, and in all likelihood there was more than one in there. Scorpions didn't do particularly well in colder areas, bringing more than one might ensure the Haradrim's supply of them wouldn't run out as fast.
Legolas got up and turned away from the chest, deciding he would just have to leave it. It was far too big to bring with him. If Faramir decided it was truly important to see what was inside then they could decide to capture the camp and deal with the chests dangerous occupants in broad daylight. That way would be safest. It wasn't so crucial that he get into the chest now, not when he had the diagram to get back.
Legolas walked towards his self-made exit. As he moved through the tent he scanned around, ensuring himself that he hadn't missed anything. His eyes lighted on the two satchels lying near the scorpion-occupied chest.
The elf paused, regarding them with narrowed eyes. Would the Haradrim really be so confident as to put important documents in an innocent-looking and unguarded place and hope it got overlooked by placing more elaborate and heavily guarded decoys nearby?
'Can't hurt to look.'
Crouching in front of the first pouch, he carefully unfastened the flap and looked inside. What he saw were several documents covered in writing. There were others, but they all carried seals. The second satchel held an equal amount of maps, all heavily notated in ways that suggested they weren't depicting old trade routes. A grin came unbidden to his face. Apparently the Haradrim were so confident. 'They would have been better off putting them in with the scorpions. Fatal mistake, not that I'm complaining.' Legolas shook his head, fighting to bring his excitement down to a minimum. 'Don't get cocky yet. You still have to get them out of the camp and back to Faramir and Mennel.'
For a moment he contemplated reopening the second chest and putting blank documents to replace the ones he was taking in the satchels. That way he could leave them behind and not have to worry about them being discovered when he snuck back out. In the end he decided against this, since he would be searched completely if he were caught anyway. Replacing the documents would take too long anyway. He couldn't risk staying in here any longer than he had to, and Legolas decided he'd been there too long already.
With both satchels stuffed into his pack he moved with a silence that would have impressed a wraith. Reaching the cut in the tent he pulled it open ever so slightly, peering out, looking for anyone who might catch him. Seeing no one, he slipped slowly through the opening, keeping as close as possible to the tent wall. Outside the camp was quiet, too quiet. Legolas could hear the men by the fires and in some of the closer tents, but other than that all was silent. The prince's eyes narrowed, senses reaching out to seek the guards that were supposed to be nearby, in particular the one that had been circling the tent. Again-- nothing. But something didn't feel right. He felt their presence near.
'Perhaps they finally tired and decided to ease their watch.' To that he gave a mental snort. 'Yea and you've seen enough to know that those who assume such usually end up caught.'
One thing the elf also knew was that the guards wouldn't give up their quarry if they were convinced it was there, so standing were he was and waiting for them to go away wouldn't work in ending this stalemate. At this point his smartest move would be simply to run.
Reaching up, Legolas unfastened his cloak. Holding the brooch with the third and fourth fingers of his left hand, he held the cape and hood around him with his right as he prepared himself for his first move. Mentally he went over what he would do once he was away from this tent and in a moment had a basic plan together. That done, he ceased his contemplation and burst into motion.
Breaking cover he ran as swiftly and silently as he could amongst the tents. Behind him he heard an eruption of enemy swearing and footsteps following him. As he ran he idly wondered how they had discovered him, and why they hadn't come after them before now. 'Does it matter?' his mind remarked. 'They know you're here, so focus on losing them. And this time, refrain from letting them find you again!'
His speed combined with his silent movements and the maze of tents allowed him to get out of his pursuers' line of sight long enough to cast off his cloak and stow it in his pack. Casually stepping out from the shadows he began to walk back towards the fires the sentries had all been relaxing around where he had entered the camp. Leaving from that point might be a bit trickier, but it did give him the quickest and surest way back to the spot he'd been advised to go to for his return trip across the river. Behind him he could hear the guards looking for him, two of them from the sound of it. The third had either stayed behind to ensure no one else got into the meeting tent, or had gone to get more help.
As he got closer to the fires Legolas made certain to approach them from a different direction than the swiftly heightening commotion he'd caused. A few of the soldiers sitting around the blaze hailed him. To his credit however, Legolas had heard and read enough about the Southrons to be able to pretend he was mute, and thus mask his inability to speak their language. Raising his hand and tapping his trachea with his fingertips, he made a rasping, almost choking sound, like he was trying to speak but couldn't.
One of the men gave him a funny look, as if he couldn't remember having ever seen a mute soldier in their midst before. Legolas tensed almost imperceptivity, ready to spring forward and race out of the camp right then should the soldier press the matter and discover his real identity. To his profound relief the soldier in a matter of moments simply gave up trying to figure out this strange newcomer and turned his attention back to the person sitting next to him, resuming the conversation they'd been having. The rest ignored him as well, though a few glanced at him every now and then.
Legolas sat and removed his pack, leaning against it and simply observing. His keen ears easily brought to him the sounds of the tent guards' search, which had now escalated to the point where the men around him were beginning to get wind of it. He ignored it, choosing instead to soak up the warmth the fire offered and gaze up into the sky. Unfortunately, the storm clouds obscured any view of the stars.
His vision did happen to catch a small dark shape wing its way toward the fires. He followed it as it dove down and lighted on a tent. He smiled underneath his head wrap. It was good to see birds returning to these lands at winter's end, though he was a bit surprised to see one flying at night. Especially since this bird looked like a sparrow, a species that doesn't normally fly at night.
Thinking of sparrows brought Legolas' mind back to the confusing and somewhat disturbing attack, as well as his argument with Faramir.
'What provoked that anyway?' Now that he had time to really think about it, he couldn't figure out what had brought on such a heated argument. Sure, they had both been upset and had disagreed about how to proceed in the wake of the Wargs' departure, but that still didn't account for the intensity of the dispute, or half of the things that had been said.
A loud shout and the sound of more people than before running around brought the fair-haired elf abruptly back to his surroundings. 'They must have gotten help. I've been here long enough, time to get out.' Legolas kept his posture relaxed and turned his head towards the sounds like everyone else, appearing to be interested. His real interest wasn't in the guards' search; it was on searching his peripheral vision for a way to leave the camp without arousing any suspicion. He pushed all thoughts of the earlier portion of the day to the back of his head, determining to speak with Faramir about it when he got back. For now he had to find a way out of here before the Haradrim stopped looking amongst the tents and turned their efforts to the outer portions of the camp.
He would need his departure to look legitimate, so no one would try and stop him. Once out he would still have to get across a full mile of open ground and then get across the river and back into friendly territory. Since he had been discovered far earlier than originally planned, the realization of what exactly it was that he took would come that much sooner as well.
The best thing for him would be to be well on his way back to his own camp by then. This, however, meant that stopping and taking the time to change back into his own clothes was out of the question. He would simply have to hope that he would be able to convey to Faramir that he wasn't one of the enemy before the man put an arrow or sword in him.
His first task, he decided, was to fabricate a justifiable reason for leaving the camp so as to not look suspicious, an added bonus being that he might create confusion so as not to be missed. As he pretended along with the rest of the men to pay attention to the increasing commotion, he searched his peripheral vision for anything that would give him an idea.
As he searched, one of the logs on the fire gave a loud crack and collapsed, sending up a shower of sparks. One of them landed on Legolas' exposed cheek bone and he quickly reached up to brush it off as it began to burn his skin, absent-mindedly wishing it had burned one of the Haradrim instead.
Legolas' eyes widened as the idea came to him. If he could somehow set one of the men's clothing on fire, he could run off as if to get water to put the flames out. The Southron's kept buckets of water around the fires so they could be put out easily, but if Legolas was to reach the nearest bucket first and then somehow manage to spill it he would be able to run off with the pretense of retrieving more.
One of the other soldiers would probably get another bucket and put out the flames rather quickly, but as long as it gave him enough time to get out of the firelight he could get down to the river while the rest were still focused on the fire victim. He'd still have to get past the sentries, but they wouldn't be expecting an attack from behind.
The fire had begun to die down a bit since most of its fuel had been consumed. Another soldier made as if to get up to add more wood, but Legolas stood and gestured to him to stay were he was. Picking up a few fagots from the pile near the fire-ring he placed them on top of the ashes and burned remains of wood and drew his scimitar. Thrusting it into the ashes he stirred the flames back to life. As he did so, he looked for a good sized ember. Not too big, but hot enough that it would stay burning long enough to light a man's clothing.
Selecting one, he gave his blade a skillful and subtle twist, which went completely unnoticed by those around him. The ember flew from the fire-ring to land at the thigh of one of the men who had been sitting a few feet from the spy. The man, not noticing it, shifted his legs into a more comfortable position directly on top of the ember. Legolas likewise returned to his previous place, settling down just enough to fool those around him into thinking he was relaxed. In truth he was prepared to spring towards that water pail when the soldier or one of his friends realized his clothes were on fire.
It didn't take long. A minute later another man gave a startled shout, followed by a panicked scream as the elf's victim jerked to his feet, twisting and slapping at his burning pants leg. Legolas pretended to look frightened like the rest of them, but only hesitated a split second before leaping to his feet and lunging towards the water-filled bucket sitting a couple of yards behind him.
Bending down he grabbed the handle, and was straightening up when a heavy, writhing mass slammed into him, throwing him to the ground and upsetting the bucket, spilling the contents all over the prince's face. He was further smothered as the form on top of him continued to roll back and forth, forcing his face into the ground and barely giving him enough room or chance to breathe.
He tried to force his way up, only to be knocked back down again by a wildly swinging arm that connected with the side of his head. The carved bone sewn into the man's bracers cut into the corner of his eye, and he gritted his teeth in pain as sand and mud was forced into the wound.
A shower of cold water drenched the elf's legs and brought with it the blessed relief of the body on top of him stilling its panicked thrashing as it shakily rolled off of him, collapsing into a quaking heap. Legolas pushed himself up onto his elbows, trying to wipe the embedded bits of sand and blood out of his eyes as painlessly as possible. His efforts met with little success as he quickly found, and so he simply bore it.
Once his vision was sufficiently cleared, he opened his eyes, accepting with exasperated annoyance that his plan had been foiled, and he would simply have to brush himself off and try another tactic. His resigned calm was shattered then, as two sets of strong arms latched onto his and dragged him roughly to his feet. As soon as he was up both arms were twisted so that his hands rested together against his upper back, then he felt himself cruelly lifted up until he stood on the tips of his toes.
His shoulders screamed in protest as they were forced to support his body weight at an angle nature never intended them to. Reflexively he arched his back to try to alleviate some of the pain, but to no avail. He clenched his teeth together and refused to cry out as he glared at the Southron lieutenant standing in front of him.
The man returned his glare. Behind him Legolas could see the man he'd set on fire rock back and forth on the ground. He was moaning and holding his leg in obvious agony. Another soldier was doing his best to hold his burned friend down until help arrived. Legolas' gaze was abruptly brought back to the extremely irate person in front of him when the lieutenant pulled back his fist and slammed it into the elf's already hurting shoulder joint.
'Remind me never to let Aragorn do that again, even if it's only in jest,' Legolas thought absently as he gave the soldier the most irritated gaze he could despite the increase in pain. "We do not take kindly to spies, northerner."
Legolas might not have been able to speak the Haradrim tongue, but the Haradrim were all taught Westron from a young age so they could trade and do business with the men from the north. Thus the human was able to speak to the elf in a way he thought the other would understand.
When the prince didn't answer right away the man reached forward and ripped the head wrap from his head. When the burned Haradrim had tackled Legolas he had knocked loose both the turban and some of the clips holding his hair back. It was the sight of the few wispy bits of blond hair that had tipped the lieutenant off to the fact that his camp had been infiltrated.
The Southron's eyes narrowed as he took in his prisoner's incandescent skin, long hair flowing over his shoulders like a pale gold river, and his stormy blue-grey eyes which seemed to almost flash with a light of their own amongst the wet charcoal dust dripping down his face. For a moment he was able to keep his eyes locked on those of the elf, but was then forced to look away.
He tried to cover it up by turning and calling others to him, but Legolas knew with grim satisfaction that the man had been shaken. "So you are one of those ancient creatures we have heard legends of. Elves, I believe they are called? You are reported to be nigh impossible to catch, and yet here you are at the mercy of me and my men," he said with an amused sneer when finally he had dredged up enough courage to meet the immortal's gaze again.
"You should thank your unfortunate friend there," Legolas gestured to the burn victim, who was finally being treated by the camp healer and prepared to be put on a stretcher. "If not for him seeking to used my body to soften his dive onto the ground you never would have known I was here."
"This may be true, but it does not excuse the fact that you are a spy," the lieutenant nodded. "What were you looking for?"
Legolas didn't care to speak with this fellow about what he had been doing while he was in the camp, so he merely pursed his lips and refused to answer. As he expected, his silent response was met with more violence.
The lieutenant lashed out, wrist bent so that the bone tip of his bracer stuck out. Swiping it in a sharp arch, he dug it into the outside corner of Legolas' left eye, lengthening and deepening the cut the other soldier's bracer had given him by accident. Legolas winced and tried to pull away, eyes tightly shut as he gasped almost imperceptively in fear.
It wasn't the pain or the cut itself that was so horrible, though it did sting and burn, and he did feel the bracer scrape bone as his eyes welled up with tears in an attempt to further protect themselves. What was most terrible was the thought that if the lieutenant had but struck a half an inch to the right, he could have destroyed the elf's eye altogether, forever robbing him of half his sight. What was even worse was that the man was perfectly capable of still doing so, and not just to one, but to both of his eyes.
The lieutenant saw the fear in his captive's face and smirked. He had thought so. Permanent loss of eyesight was something even the most stoic of humans feared. Apparently it was also true with elves, perhaps enough that he could use it to get the elf to finally talk. He had his orders, and this spy was a liability, one he couldn't afford to keep around. According to what he'd been told by his commander, they had to be ready to move as soon as they received their orders.
If they met with resistance from the northerners, they were to engage, but their main priority was to deliver the two satchels full of important documents they had been entrusted with. These had to be delivered at all costs, and anyone or thing that could jeopardize this disposed of. Either the elf talked freely or they would simply search him, which they would do anyway, and then kill him. They couldn't afford prisoners at this time.
Looking at the determined and ire-filled gaze of the elf, the soldier could tell instantly that he wouldn't talk easily. Any fool that looked into his eyes could see that. Making up his mind swiftly, he motioned for one of the men standing next to him to search the elf and to relieve him of his weapons. The underling complied, and in a few moments there was a small mound of weapons, both elven and Haradrim, lying on the ground. On top of them lay the two satchels.
The lieutenant narrowed his eyes at the sight of them, and he bent down swiftly and snatched them up. Opening them, he brought out one of the papers, scanned it briefly, and then turned his glare on the fair-haired spy in front of him.
"It seems my question has been answered then, though how Gondor found out about these I have no idea," he growled as he replaced the paper and slung the bags over his shoulder. He turned and began to walk amongst the tents, signaling for the men to follow. Their grip and the angle they forced his shoulders into didn't change, and Legolas found himself imagining that every bit of cartilage, muscle and tendon in them was being torn apart inch by slow inch.
He stopped paying attention to where they were taking them, focusing instead on finding some way to take the pressure off his arms. When they finally stopped their winding trek, the lieutenant disappeared inside one of the tents. A repeated crunching sound reached Legolas' ears, and he stopped paying attention to his shoulders for a moment as he gazed in the tent in front of him.
It was the same tent he had infiltrated earlier, except now it was once again lit from within, and he could hear people talking and moving around inside. 'Why did they bring me back here?' he wondered as he listened to the lieutenant say something in the desert tongue, and heard a deeper voice angrily reply. Further contemplation was halted for a moment however, when the flap was thrown open again and Legolas was hustled inside.
Standing in the middle of the tent was the commander he had seen earlier. The man regarded him coldly, holding in his hand the pouches the elf had tried to smuggle out of the camp. Legolas returned the look with an icy glare of his own as he was forced to kneel in front of the man. Another man came in holding a length of rope, which he bound the elf's wrists and arms with, ensuring that his arms remained twisted behind him, though he was given a bit of relief as the pressure was taken off his shoulders once they were in place. The man made sure to pull the ropes tight so they would not only be uncomfortable, but painful as well.
When the soldier was finished with his work the commander spoke, his deep voice booming in the enclosed space, "You have infiltrated our camp, trespassed on our territory, stolen from us and severely burned one of our soldiers. In addition you have also murdered one of our sentries, for there is no other way you could have gotten into our camp, and one such person has been reported missing. What have you to say for yourself?"
Legolas said nothing; they would either torture and then slay him, or simply slay him outright. There were no other ways this situation could end. He'd seen their camp; they had no way of keeping prisoners. As much as he hated to admit it, the soldier had known what he was doing when he'd tied these knots. There was no way the elf could free himself in his current position, and if he had to die it wasn't going to be with the knowledge that he'd betrayed any information to the enemy.
The commander took in his prisoner, his eyes the set of his mouth and jaw, and the way he held himself. He'd interrogated a lot of prisoners in his career, enough to be able to read their body language. He could tell with each one just how easy or hard it would be to break them; in fact it was something commanders were taught as they were promoted and moved higher up the ranks. The quicker and easier you could break a person, the better, and this elf would take a long time to break even with all of his weaknesses exploited, something the commander didn't have time for.
"Well then," he shrugged, "I guess there's no reason to keep you alive then."
He turned to the lieutenant, feeling the prisoner's wrathful glare on him as he spoke. "Put him in with the scorpions. If he's still alive in an hour, I'll question him again. I'll leave the antidote in here in case one of you or he needs it. Otherwise you are not to touch it, understand?"
The lieutenant nodded. The commander walked out of the tent, giving his prisoner an all-knowing and evil smile as he left. You'll beg me to kill you before the end, it said, to which Legolas returned with an amused smile and gracefully raised eyebrow. Don't bet on it.
Once his leader was out of the room, the lieutenant gestured for the men to bring the elf forward. As they complied he took a key from a pouch at his belt and inserted it into the lock. He turned it and it snapped open. The men holding Legolas picked him bodily off the ground as he struggled and kicked. Finally they got fed up and one of them gave his leg a cruel twist as another slammed his fists down on the prince's hip as hard as he could.
Legolas felt an odd and painful sensation as he suddenly found that his leg was getting numb and he could hardly move it. The Haradrim, taking advantage of his momentary immobility, yanked open the chest as the rest almost simultaneously thrust him inside the tight space. The moment he was in they slammed the lid shut again. Faintly he heard it being locked, but this only heightened his panic as he hear something with eight clacking legs scurry across the walls and onto his leg. A moment later he felt a sharp pain as something pointed and unpleasant slammed into his thigh.
If there was one type of environment the elf hated it was one that was very dark and very small. Caves were the worst, no matter what their size. However he had to admit that even the Mines of Moria were beginning to look pretty good compared to this coffin he found himself in now. Out of sheer fear of having to die in here without the wind and the sky and the trees and the stars he began to struggle, fighting against his bonds and twisting around.
Unfortunately all this got him was about three more stings, one on his right arm, one on his chest which frightened him more than anything else, and the last one on the lower left side of his ribs. Forcing himself to stay still he thought about ways that he could possibly get out of there. A moment later he found himself ready to scream with frustration as his mind came up empty. There was no way for him to get out. Even if he decided to wait the hour for the soldiers to come back they'd probably only throw him back in here again, and this time make it permanent. No matter what the cost he would tell them nothing.
This left him only the option of death. He hated it worse than the sound of the Black Speech, to be slain by a distant cousin of the spiders he had so fervently hunted, but there was nothing left for it. He already had a substantial amount of venom in him, and since he was still alive it must not be so deadly, at least not to elves. If writhing about made them agitated enough to sting him, then that's what he would do. Let no one have the satisfaction of torturing him further later on.
He kicked out, and heard the creature on his leg clack its pincers with displeasure, but the elf no longer paid the arachnids any attention. He pushed his feet hard against the end of the chest again, and started praising the Valar in every tongue he knew, a huge smile on his face as he did so. Perhaps they didn't hate him so much after all.
He had completely forgotten about the cut-out he'd made in the end of the chest when he'd tried to break into it earlier. Now his goal became not aggravating the scorpions, but kicking out the section without provoking them any more than he had to. Fortunately, it didn't take more than a few calculated strikes to knock it out. He stopped and listened for anyone who might have heard it, but then again they expected him to be struggling already, so it probably mattered not what they heard.
Actually getting out of the hole was even worse than he'd thought, and he ended up with still two more bites on his chest and just above his right elbow before he managed to twist, turn, and writhe his way out. When he finally pulled his head out and sat with his legs tucked under him he was feeling sick and hot, but at least he was free. Well, almost. There was still the small matter of him being in an enemy camp and his arms were still tied, but he was out of the chest, and for the moment that was enough.
As he sat regaining his strength he looked around. To his great surprise and pleasure someone had put his knives and quiver back on his pack where they were supposed to be. His bow was also there. 'They probably wanted it all kept together so they could send it back with my dead body to Faramir, or because good knives and bows are of high value to them and the commander decided to keep them for that reason.'
On the floor in front of the chest was a bottle of some sort of reddish liquid. Apparently that was the anti-venom the commander had spoken of. Reaching over he grabbed the bottle with his teeth and shoved it inside his pack. Most likely one of the soldiers had left it open when they'd rifled through it. Strapping it closed took some patience, and he felt very bad for anyone who'd ever lost one or both of their arms by the time he was done.
At first he'd contemplated trying to cut his bonds, but realized that they were so tight and had his hands and arms in such an awkward position he'd probably only hurt himself. He'd just have to suffer through getting out with them on. He realized that it decreased his chances at survival considerably, but now that he had at least a taste of freedom he wasn't going to give up again so easily.
With a bit more patience and inventive maneuvering he managed to get the straps of his pack onto his shoulders. There was no way he would leave his beloved weapons when they were right in front of him.
He knew there would be someone at the tent flap, guarding against the remote possibility that their prisoner escaped. This mattered little to him since he had already made his own entrance and exit. He walked silently over to the slit he'd cut, and poked his head out. No one was there, so he slipped out, ducking low as he walked on his knees to make sure his bow didn't get caught. Once out he simply ran.
This time he didn't go near the fires, he went almost directly to the edge of the camp. He had to make a slight detour when he saw someone walking towards him, and fortunately he did not have to rely on his arms to move silently. Once there, he plunged into the welcoming darkness the plains offered. While he went he kept a close watch for the sentries, keeping crouched low to the ground and letting the sound of the river lead him to it.
The venom of the scorpions was well working its foul magic by now, and the prince was feeling every bit of it, though he could tell the worst was yet to come. The stings themselves were sore and itchy, he felt feverish and weak, yet shivered at the cold. He needed to get back to Faramir, one of the men he brought was well versed in healing illnesses and other ailments associated with the south as well as wounds. He would be able to help him, especially since the elf carried the anti-venom with him.
Legolas managed to keep himself from falling down the embankment and into the water, but his decent was anything but graceful. As he gazed across the river to see how close he was to the camp he saw the dark outline of the town directly across, which meant he'd meandered a bit too far northwest. That at least explained the lack of sentries he'd encountered.
The swirling waters looked no better than they had when he'd last crossed them, they looked far worse. Now he not only had to swim without using his arms, he also had to worry about the sudden fatigue brought on by the venom running through his veins. For a moment he considered letting the poisons take him, but that thought was silenced by the sounds of nature riding around him on the back of the wind.
Instead he found himself brainstorming ways he could get across without drowning. There wasn't any ford; the parts of the river that were shallow enough to serve such a purpose were flooded. He couldn't pole vault across, and even a horse wouldn't be able to jump it. Legolas stopped. Maybe a horse couldn't jump the entire thing, but it still could jump part of the way and swim the rest.
Legolas looked at the width of the river, judging approximately how wide it was. Then he studied the river bank on his side. Ten feet from where he stood the bank jutted out rather than sloping down; a perfect place to jump from. It even jutted out about a foot over the water. Legolas smiled to himself. He may not be a horse, but elves could jump pretty far, and as long as he managed to cover as much distance as he could before hitting the water it was okay with him.
Backing up half a dozen yards he took a few deep breaths to calm himself and collect what was left of his waning strength. He felt ready to collapse, but pushed that and his fevered shivering aside as he took off.
Racing as faced as he could he timed his strides so he could get the maximum use out of the outcropping. He didn't want to end up jumping from the midway point of ledge; he wanted to jump from the edge. In the end he had no worries as he managed to not only take off from the edge, but also cover almost two thirds of the distance.
The shock of the cold water brought him out of his fatigue for the time being, and for a moment his concern was that he would lose his pack and weapons. They stayed some how, maybe another gesture that the Valar were being at least a little nice to him, and his focus became swimming as best as he could towards the opposite side. That proved to be a task he would have wished only on his direst enemies.
More than once he was dragged under, only to spend that much more energy fighting back to the surface, sometimes even using the bottom of the river to "walk" himself closer to his goal. Legolas was one very bedraggled and half-drowned elf prince when he finally dragged himself onto the shore.
As he looked around he could see that the water had washed him a ways past the town, but that he was also still closer to it than to the camp. His strength almost gone he knew he at least had to get somewhere warm as fast as possible so he could dry off. The cold air and water were aiding his body in fighting his fever, but the fatigue and cold combined could still bring him down. Perhaps in the town he could also borrow a horse, which would aid him greatly.
That being decided he forced his aching legs to carry him once more. His left leg was so stiff and painful he could barely stand, let alone walk, which aided him in staying on his feet. Once he collapsed he knew for a fact he wasn't going to be able to get back up again.
'Right, left, right, left…' Legolas kept repeating this to himself as he trudged towards the town. After a while he no longer knew how close or far away he was from the town. All he knew was walking. One foot, then the other, then the first one again. It was all there was and nothing else existed except the vague and foreign word poking at the back of his mind: town.
A startled shout brought him out of his the silent and dark tunnel his eyes and mind had dwindled down to.
"It's one of those desert-men! I'll bring 'im down."
"No, wait. Something's not right."
"Of course it's not; he's on our side of the river!"
"Gesan, wait!"
"I won't kill 'im, I'll just wound 'im so he can't get away."
"No!"
Legolas had been wondering what those voices where talking about and where exactly they had been coming from when he felt something sharp and hard slam into his leg. For a moment he felt nothing, and then pain engulfed him as his body decided it had had enough. He never even knew he had fallen as sweet oblivion took him.
(Wipes tears from her eyes as she grins maniacally) My first cliff-hanger. (sniff) Oh, I'm so pleased with myself. (readers start launching all manner of nasty-looking objects at her) Come on people, you know you love them. (more nasty sharp, blunt, and just plain grotesque objects are thrown) Okay, we'll just say they're the kind of chapter endings we all love to hate because they frustrate the heck out of us yet we can't do without them because in the long run they give the story so much more appeal and they keep us interested. Does that work for you? Good, because they also force us to either exercise out use of patience, or in some cases impatience while we wait for the author to update and allow us to get our hearts out of our throats and back where they belong. (ducks barrage of spiked shoes) Unless of course they make the next chapter a cliffy as well or even worse, (glares at LAXgirl)makes then ending of the story a cliffy. Not to worry, though, I won't leave you in the dark like I did Legolas and be very long in getting the next post out. (readers their eyes at her, not believing a word she's said) No, seriously! Leaving this chapter as a cliffy has me far more agitated than I anticipated, and I have to take a road trip to see a college today so I'll have ample time to write. So look for chapter four, known by you as chapter five, in say….a week and a half/two weeks?
Okay, I said I'd put the reviews I didn't have time for in the last post, which was all of them, in this one. So here they are along with all the ones from chapter 3. Wait a sec though. Someone said in their review that they weren't wild about 'Sindarin Fox' as a title. I thought it fit the story pretty well, but if anyone feels the same and has any ideas for a different title, feel free to e-mail them to me, or sent them in your reviews. My e-mail address can be found on my bio-page.
Deana: Kudos to you girl, you're the first one to review more than one chapter! (hugs Deana) I'm glad to hear you like it so much. You want to hear something weird but cool. I actually read two of your Mummy fanfics on another website, I can't remember it's name but it was about a year ago. Anyway, I thought they were great! One Thing After Another had me both cracking up and crying for Ardeth and Rick the entire time. It has got to be one of the most perfect blends of angst and humor ever written. I've actually read it more than once. The Euphrates Stone was also good. I loved reading about Ardeth seeing snow for the first time. It was soo cute! It's awesome hearing you're on ffnet, now I can read the rest of your fics. Sorry it took me so long to update.
Lindahoyland I'm so flattered to hear I'm on someone's alerts list. (grins and screams like a little kid) Wow, I'm glad you like it so much. I try to put suspense and mystery into it but with both my betas currently awol, it's hard to know if I've got it right or not. Thanks!
MJEmery Thanks, it's nice to hear that people like how I write. Writing is kind of an extension of how a person views the world around them. It's very difficult to change. Here's more for you to read, hope the wait didn't discourage you.
Setrinan Wow, I'm absolutely floored. Your review actually had me crying for a moment, until I started dripping tears on the keyboard. Every time I read it I'm still stunned. As one of the newer and greener authors on ffnet, compliments really help, yours especially. Very rarely have I ever seen a review from you on any of the stories I've read or am still reading, so I take it to heart when you say you don't review much, and I value it even more. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Itsuki Tachibana: Thanks. Glad you like the long chapters, so do I. So, yes, I will keep it up.
Star-Stallion: Glad to hear from you and I'm glad you like it. Sorry to keep you and everyone else waiting, but school's been hell and I needed decent grades for my college transcript. The next chapter as I said should be hear sooner.
Moonyasha Amazing how one word can have so much power and effect on someone. Lol I take it you're enjoying the story then? That means a lot to me, I spend so much time and effort writing it's nice to know people enjoy it, so thanks.
Alright, after all the grief and stuff I put our beloved elf prince through and then left you all with one-of-those-endings- that-shall-not-be-named, you have to have something to say. So click on the little box that says review and say it! What you liked, what you didn't like, what you think needs improvement…. as long as it's constructive and not a flame, send it over. Feedback makes me write faster and chapters get out sooner. In the meantime I have to post this and finish getting ready for school. You know I pulled an all-nighter to get this done? Oh well. Writing's better than sleep anyway.
