I Will Always Return
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CHAPTER FOUR
I Am Sending You a Message
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Legolas' head lulled to the side, his shorted blonde hair obscuring his bloodied face and his hands were limp above his head where they were secured to two spears pounded into the ground. His weight was supported almost entirely by his bonds and the circulation to his fingers had been severed some time ago. Convulsions wracked his sweaty, bloody body and he couldn't seem to make them stop. Legolas couldn't remember all that they had done to him, only that it had hurt a lot and that he wouldn't want it to happen again even though he knew that it was inevitable that it would. He had told them nothing, which had displeased Ceorl greatly.
But, to be honest, Legolas couldn't help it. He was about one hundred percent certain that the three Elves Ceorl had spoken of were the twins and Rothinzil, but that was only hearsay on his part and he knew assumptions were dangerous things to make. He couldn't be certain about the trio of Elves and even if he was, he wouldn't know whether or not Aragorn knew of them or even what they were doing. Smiling carefully so he wouldn't bust his broken lips open again, he realized he never knew what exactly they were up to even when he was around them for a full day. His gaze hardened. Even if he did know, it was none of Ceorl's business.
Blinking, Legolas lifted his head slightly at the sound of the men rousing in the cave, wincing when that small movement caused him so much pain. Ceorl could give Sarchel a good run for his money when it came to interrogation techniques that were 'clean' but surprisingly effective. Of course that could be because Sarchel had no 'clean' torture techniques. Legolas grimaced as he felt the bruises developing on his fair face where he had been struck repeatedly either by a hand or a riding crop, both of which had hurt enough. It was as though his face was swelling, which was halfway true.
The rest of him hurt as though it was on fire and he knew that at least three ribs were broken, perhaps separated from his sternum. Hissing gently, the prince drew in a rough breath that inflated his lungs and pressed against his injured bones so that he could feel at least one actually shift under his skin. Immediately, he gasped and stifled a sharp cry at the pure agony that exploded in his chest.
Hissing some more, the prince pulled his knees so that that they were directly beneath him and tried to support his reeling body, helping him get more breath. The Elf winced as one of his leggings ripped just above the knee and his skin scraped against the rocky bottom. Even though this additional wound was considerably less serious and smaller than the others he had obtained here, it was the one that was pestering him the most at the moment. The scrape smarted and bled slightly, collecting grime and creating a warm and dirty place to start a splendid little infection.
Lifting his head and staring at the mouth of the cave, Legolas was just in time to catch Ceorl strolling in with a strange human at his heels, looking angrier than a pike out of water. His glance fell upon Legolas and his eyes narrowed as he waded through his men, who quickly observed what was transpiring and parted for him to get through.
He was soon standing by the Elf and drew his knife, severing Legolas' bonds each with one swift 'snick' and allowing the Elf to collapse and tuck his arms around his ribs, hugging them. But that reprieve lasted less than five seconds and then he grabbed what was left of Legolas' tunic, yanking the Elf up so he was stretched to remain on his knees.
"Legolas," his voice was calm. "I am sick of playing games. It was never my intention to hurt you or that ranger friend of yours. As a matter of fact, I didn't even want to kill you, but you got in my way. I was going to make it painless for you and simply slit your throat, but things have gone far past that, haven't they?"
Legolas worked to suppress his fear as he tried to guess where this was going. He could endure some torture, but the allotted time span between his experiences in Harad and here was too scanty for sufficient healing to have taken place. His ribs were more fragile than he was willing to admit, as were other wounds, even if they weren't necessarily visible. If the torment he was convinced they were planning on putting him through lasted too long, he didn't know what would happen.
Since Legolas obviously was not going to speak, Ceorl continued. "Deor hasn't returned and he is far overdue. I am convinced your friends killed him. Deor was never the smartest person in the world, even if he was one of the most ambitious."
"What is it that you want to know?" Legolas asked, his voice bereft of emotion.
"Why are they here? Were they with you to begin with? Where do they come from? What are their intentions?"
Legolas sighed heavily, having expected these same questions once more. How in the name of Elbereth could they expect and answer out of him? "I can't say," he answered simply, not embellishing the response because he knew it to be futile and he wasn't in the mood to bandy words.
"Well you had better try," Ceorl advised darkly, throwing Legolas backwards so he landed on his back, arms spread out in a fruitless attempt to absorb his fall. The impact had jarred Legolas' ribs and his breath was stolen away for a moment.
Ceorl took this opportunity to deliberately rest his foot on the Elf's lean and injured forearm, tearing a cry from the prince as he ground the burned and cut limb agonizingly against the stony floor.
When the blonde man didn't relent, Legolas bit his lower lip in order to withhold more whimpers of pain. He couldn't help it. It seemed like a meagrely effective form of torture but it sincerely worked.
The men of the cave now crowded around, hoping to get some more entertainment out of the affair.
Ceorl was through going about this the easy way. He wanted Legolas to talk and he wanted it now. He was convinced that the prince knew something about those three damned Elves and by the Valar he was going to rip it out of the Elf if it was the last thing he did.
Motioning for one of the bigger men that were in their sad crew of traitors, he smiled a knowing smile. "Come, hold him in place." His command was stern and there was no amusement in his eyes this time. He was dead serious and Legolas panicked as the burley human moved behind him and yanked him into a sitting position.
Feeling himself pulled with his back braced against the man's chest and his arms pinned behind him and feeling the traitor's spongy breath fogging against his neck made Legolas swallow hard. He didn't even let Aragorn do this and he knew full well that the ranger had never meant him harm.
When the large man dragged him in closer Legolas struggled, surging against the man's fierce grip as his heart beat wildly in his chest. Helpless terror seized him as he realized that he was completely powerless now, and everything that had happened in Harad was coming back.
Ceorl didn't even look at him but went over to a blacksmith's leather bag disposed of in a darker corner. It had been brought along in case of some difficulties with the horses' hooves but in this case it was just perfect too. The content of the satchel was certainly not limited to merely items for hooves. Emptying it on the stone floor, causing a loud clatter that bounced eerily off the cave walls, he found what he sought. Running his fingers over the instruments, he selected a brand for no particular reason other than it was the one that he used to mark his horses with.
In a sense this Elf was his.
Legolas saw this and bile rose in his throat and it took him a couple seconds to swallow it back down. He watched with anxiety as the blonde commander went over to a newly stoked fire that wasn't overly large but hot enough and buried the metal design in the glowing embers.
Without turning around, Ceorl instructed gruffly. "Open up his tunic."
The men surrounded the prince like a swarm and forced the tunic layers open. The Elf jerked and withdrew under their ungentle touch as they exposed his lean abdomen down to his waist. There had not been much cloth to strip away. During his first interrogation, a lot of it had been shredded by the cutting strikes of a whip.
Some of the men became impatient with the Elf and batted at his face with their hands. Legolas tried to force himself not to flinch or withdraw as their rough hands struck his ears or hit him across his face creating additional bruises and welts.
Taking all the abuse in silence, Legolas was sure that Ceorl wasn't watching for a reason. He didn't care what happened as long as he didn't have to watch.
Presently, he spoke. "Legolas, since you won't be around long I think I shall confide in you."
The men all stepped away from the Elf as though on command and he was left with a clear line of vision to Ceorl so he could see his captor's face as the man spoke. Legolas remained quiet and allowed him to continue with his admissions, wondering if he might ascertain something that would be to his advantage.
"Do you want to know what we will do when those black horses are sold to Mordor?" he asked; a sneer completely evident in his voice as he turned around and cast Legolas a belligerent grin. "Well, do you?" he barked impatiently. The man holding Legolas twisted his arms tighter behind his back to encourage him to answer. Surprisingly, that small twist was bordering on unbearable as pain shot up the length of his arm.
"I might," Legolas responded evenly, glaring caustically at the man behind him until the human loosened his hold on his arms ever so slightly.
Ceorl seemed only partially satisfied. He was a little disappointed that Legolas had not appeared to have taken more interest. "We will join forces with one of Sauron's new helpers and wage an insurrectionary war on the Riders of the Mark. We will weaken Rohan so that it will fall. We have already made contact with Sharky."
Sharky? Legolas shifted uneasily. He had a feeling that he should know exactly who it was that they were referring to but he had no ideas at all and that left him feeling unsettled. Shifting uneasily, he forced down a lump in his throat that was continually trying to force its way up.
Finally, he ventured to ask, "Who is this Sharky?"
Ceorl glared in irritation, having thought he was going to be the only one to ask the questions here. "I have never met him myself. But that is none of your business and if the messages come back and they demand what I think they will, then you will get to meet him yourself." His retort was cold and forbidding.
"What of Thorongil?" Legolas asked quietly, feeling a ball of ice collecting in the centre of his stomach, freezing his insides.
"Sharky has no use for him. Why should he? After all, it's not everyday that one catches an Elf," Ceorl pointed out frankly. "And there are many uses for your kind, or have you forgotten how orcs were created?"
"But what will become of Thorongil?" Legolas persisted, feeling bile forcing its way up his throat and into the back of his mouth as a warm froth.
"He'll die," Ceorl answered flatly, pulling the brand out of the fire ever so slightly to test it out and see if it was prepared. Disappointed, he placed it back beneath the coals and turned back around, watching Legolas.
Legolas had suspected that already and now his worst fears were coming true. His friend's death was going to be his fault. Their friendship was going to kill the human and he was helpless to thwart it.
Ceorl seemed to read his thoughts and chuckled coldly and in sincere amusement. "Elf, don't worry. It worked both ways. If it weren't for your friendship with him, we would have never found you and managed to capture you. You know Elves typically avoid humans and because of him you practically walked into our hands."
Legolas outwardly ignored this remark but inside he knew it was true. All the same he would have never done anything else. If time was turned back and he was given one single chance to change things he couldn't think of anything he would want to change. As a matter of fact he was certain that he would do it all over again if he was given the chance.
"Why would Sharky want me?" Legolas asked, barely able to keep a tremble out of his voice. The hint about the creation of orcs was terrifying to say the least. He knew that he would never survive that sort of torment and he was terrified of having to go through it even once and terrified of being alone in it.
"Why indeed? Sharky wants to create a new race of orcs, more powerful and able to endure the sunlight. Morgoth messed up when he created orcs out of Elves. Sharky believes that he can fix that through breeding out the genes that make them shun light. For that he will need an Elf of light that shuns darkness." Ceorl checked the brand again as he had been periodically throughout their entire conversation. An emotionless smile crept across his face as he saw the familiar and perfect red glow of the metal. "We are just waiting for the word that he wants you," the man finished almost absentmindedly, drawing out the hot metal.
Legolas swallowed hard, terrified almost beyond reason of the life of torment, darkness and death that lay ahead of him. He was immortal…this could literally last forever. He could only hope that this 'Sharky' was mortal. If he was not…the last resort was that he would have to relinquish his spirit to Mandos. Aragorn could not expect him to be strong and fight his way through this. The human could never appreciate the severity of these circumstances.
Legolas wouldn't allow this Sharky to corrupt his heart or mind, but he couldn't promise that he would remain within the circles of the world. He also wouldn't allow himself to be used to create a race of orcs that would only create a strong assault upon Middle Earth and make Aragorn's job even harder. If he had to die then he would like it to be because he had made Aragorn's hard road to Kingship a little easier.
Ceorl stood, brandishing his brand before him like a proud work of some kind and then began to make his way to where Legolas was restrained.
Legolas bucked wildly, even though he knew it was ultimately futile. The burly man behind him tightened his grip on his arms, pinning him in place while another sat on his bound legs. "If you need me for Sharky, why are you doing this?" he asked as the blonde man crouched by his side, choosing the brand's placement very carefully.
"You never answered my prior questions." His answer was very straightforward, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He looked to Legolas to see if the prince was about to spill everything out since it had come down to the wire.
"I can't answer them!" Legolas answered, hiding all the desperation that he felt freezing him inside, locking his muscles.
"Well then, here we go!" Ceorl announced, and he allowed the scorching metal to linger over the selected placement before he brought it down and held it.
Legolas' color drained and he jerked his head so that he lay back against the big man restraining him. His chin pointed up towards the cave ceiling as the prince stared at it and then clenched his eyes shut, biting his lower lip, causing it to bleed fiercely. He refused to scream for them but a whimper of pain pushed past his lips before he could stop it and the men clapped and hooted in response. Squeezing his eyes shut, Legolas gasped loudly as the hot metal that had seemed to linger there for millennia was withdrawn. He choked on another pain filled whimper, determined that the men should not hear it.
Ceorl asked almost cheerfully. "Do you feel like talking yet?"
Keeping his eyes closed against the pain, Legolas gulped down his agony before hissing. "I can't tell you what I don't know."
Feeling the brand as it was placed over another part of his defenceless abdomen, Legolas' eyes shot open and he stared in helpless horror as it came in contact with his skin. This man really didn't seem to understand that he couldn't tell what he didn't know and no amount of torture could change that fact.
Closing his eyes again, Legolas jerked back tighter into the arms of the man restraining him as the hot metal blistered his skin once more. His hands clenched behind his back until his fingernails bit into his palms.
"How are you feeling now?" Ceorl withdrew the brand and looked at Legolas expectantly, allowing Legolas a few seconds to think the circumstances over before replying.
Legolas' breathing was hitching from time to time now as he refused to cry out for them any more than he already had. His face was a pasty white except for the crimson trickles that ran down his chin from his lower lip where he had bitten it as an escape route from the agony. The secondary pain helped him bear the first a little better. "You cannot change facts with torture. I really don't know…"
Staring at the cave ceiling once more as though looking for solace from the mere rocks, the prince realized that he had completely forgotten that he was in a cave. His fear for Estel, which was far greater, had erased the notion from his mind.
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Aragorn knew that he was getting close and had been for the past few hours but their lair appeared to be too well hidden because he couldn't find the entrance. He had followed the signs of their horses but those had gradually dissolved, it seemed, swamped by the spongy grass and so he was left to discern direction without them.
He could feel Legolas' distress pulsing through his mind like a numbing shock from a Nazgul's sword and he could hear the Elf's inward cries of pain in his thoughts. They kept on echoing through his awareness like ghosts that couldn't be dispelled and he didn't know who was hurting more, Legolas or himself. Listening and feeling his best friend's pain without being able to see the Elf or provide any comfort was almost unbearable. Silently, he tried to will soft thoughts of consolation to the prince that he knew was being tortured.
/Hold on mellon nîn. I am coming, I promise./ Aragorn reached out with his conscience, trying to relay a message of hope to his friend's subconscience.
He was surprised when a surge of absolute panic mingled with terror ripped through his mind, surging through his thoughts. /No! Don't/ He could hear his clearly alarmed friend plead earnestly, as though the very thought gave him a nervous break down.
/I won't leave you alone, Legolas. You know that. So don't ask me to…/ Aragorn trailed his thoughts off as Legolas' response came back before he could finish.
/They'll kill you…/ Legolas message was interrupted by a shudder of pain that seemed to ripple through Aragorn as well and caused the ranger to stop his light jog in anger and alarm.
/You know that I would die for you…/ Aragorn sent the calm memorandum to Legolas' failing consciousness. He could feel their connection pulling asunder and he was desperate to keep it. It was something that they had learned in Harad, communicating telepathically to encourage and uphold one another through interrogation.
/I know… but please don't…/
/Legolas I am coming for you right now! Don't you give up/ Aragorn's tone changed to one of desperation and he tried urgently to keep their connection strong, but he couldn't uphold the Elf's end.
/N-n-no… Estel…/ Legolas' inner voice was becoming distant and Aragorn finally felt their connection completely sever.
Almost like a whiplash, as though a literal cord between them as a bond had been snapped, Aragorn felt a small pain and then he felt no more. He didn't know if Legolas was dead or alive, but he suspected that he was merely unconscious. "I'm coming," he whispered faintly as though Legolas was standing close enough to hear him with his Elven ears. "And neither of us will die."
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Legolas went limp in the burly man's grip as his head fell forward onto his battered chest and his face became obscured by his shortened blonde hair. He had taken too much abuse on his newly healed body and his recent habits of barely eating had not helped either. His telepathic conversation with Aragorn had actually helped drain his energy about five times as fast, causing him to be unable to remain conscious.
Ceorl motioned numbly for the man holding the Elf to simply drop him and was instantly obeyed and the man relinquished his hold on Legolas' arms, watching in disdain as the prince slipped to the floor. Legolas splayed out on the floor and his muscles relaxed against the welcomingly cold surface. His breathing was shallow and his face white as his body attempted to recover from the interrogation and trauma.
Ceorl looked at him in contempt and then decided there was nothing he could do. Crumpling the piece of paper he held, the man wondered idly for a moment if the Elf had been telling the truth, after all he couldn't imagine anyone lying under the sorts of conditions the prince had just endured.
He had given up trying to find out information about the three Elves. He wasn't overly concerned about them anyway. He had about a hundred men here in this camp and its immediate area and three hostile Elves would present little threat. In the end, they just die like anyone else.
Besides, he had a new interest now, he reminded himself dryly and looked down at the crumpled piece of paper he held in his clenched fist. Opening his fingers, he carefully began to flatten the parchment again and angrily glanced over it, feeling his blood rushing to his face once more. A stab of hot frustration surged through him and he was halfway tempted to rip the blasted paper apart.
It was written in Elvish and had been discovered inside the leg of Legolas' suede boot when Legolas had kicked at him during a part of their conversation. The paper had peeked over the top of the boot and Ceorl had immediately snatched it, but when he had attempted to read it, he had found it incomprehensible.
When he asked Legolas about it, or more accurately, threatened him about it, Legolas had responded angrily that it was only a letter to his father and that it was nothing important and that even if it was important, it was none of his business. The man chuckled to himself, "right. You're a strong one, Legolas. But I know you are lying."
Just then a commotion at the mouth of their lair caught his attention and he set aside thoughts of the letter and Legolas to see what the disturbance was all about. Ah, the messenger had arrived early. Standing up and dusting his breeches off with his hands while he stuffed the letter into a convenient pocket, Ceorl walked over to greet their guest.
The man was attired almost entirely out of dark material and he was a lot taller than Ceorl had seen most men. After a few rough words with the sentinels at the cave's entrance, the mysterious messenger strode forward almost casually and yet completely businesslike, to converse with Ceorl.
Ceorl asked a bit hoarsely, "What is Sharky's response?"
A small laugh escaped the other man's mouth from the inside of his hood. "I must first see this Elf you have managed to capture." He had orders from his master and he meant to follow them, no matter of trivial they seemed.
Ceorl opened his mouth to protest but seemed to have second thoughts and shut it with a snap. Turning more hospitable if only for the sake of diplomacy, the man asked as he gestured the hooded man towards Legolas, "And how was your journey?"
The other man vaguely answered, "There was nothing worth speaking of."
Seeing Legolas' pale form outstretched on the ground, he crouched beside him and took his wrist in one hand, carefully checking for a pulse. It was weak and sporadic as was the Elf's breathing. Brushing hair away form Legolas' face, he noted the bruises and his face darkened into a scowl. "Was he so hard to capture?" The man asked emotionlessly, casting a questioning glower up at Ceorl.
Ceorl frowned. "No, actually the orcs handled that and he came right to them for the most part."
The hooded messenger shook his head indifferently and his fingers traced the receding welt on Legolas face that raced jaggedly across his right cheek bone. "Then what is this?"
"Ask the orcs," Ceorl spat impatiently, wishing that this man would just give him a response and have it over with.
"It appears that he was tortured," speculated the other man darkly, looking at the suggesting brand marks, bruises and lacerations that appeared to be quite fresh. There was dried blood that stood out darkly on Legolas' pasty face, running from his nose and mouth. The unnaturally shorter hair was also not lost on the human.
"It was his fault. He knows something and," Ceorl mentioned before he could think better of it, "he has this." Reluctantly the Rohirric man pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to the messenger, who eagerly accepted it. "He claims it was a letter to his father."
Unfolding the crinkled letter and smoothing out the creases, the other man stood up and glanced over it dispassionately. "It is a letter to his father," he confirmed quietly and nonchalantly.
Ceorl narrowed his eyes irritably and feeling humiliated, he growled demandingly, "How can you be so sure? Can you read Elvish?"
"I can. Would you like me to translate the entire thing or just a passage?"
Ceorl would have liked nothing more than to choke this man but he felt that wouldn't prove to be very diplomatic, so he restrained himself. However much he didn't want to be proven wrong, he couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue and he knew that he was going to feel dissatisfied until he saw this for himself. "The entire thing," he answered almost coolly, crossing his arms and waiting patiently for the other man start.
The other human sighed heavily from inside his cloak and seemed to shrug even though Ceorl couldn't be too certain of that. It was no skin off his nose. He had been doing this since he could remember. Esgaroth had been his prior home before he felt that trading with the Wood Elves for what supplies they were willing to offer was less than a life and had departed to find something better. He still wasn't sure if he liked his job now but it definitely beat Lake Town.
My beloved father and King,
You cannot know the nights I lay awake wrestling with myself. It was never my intention to hurt you but I fear I have done so. It is my greatest fear. I never meant to leave on those terms and I wish I could take them back.
But you have to understand me; I always meant to come back to you, father. I never meant to leave you alone. I know there is no way to make up what I have done, but I will be here and beg you to forgive me and take me back.
With Love,
Legolas Greenleaf
Ceorl had grown a smile since the heading of the letter had been read and now it had broadened into a wicked grin of anticipation. "So he is a prince, eh?" He couldn't help but sound a bit incredulous, after all the chances of this were very slim.
"He is the prince of Mirkwood, it would seem," the hooded messenger responded coolly, handing the letter back to Ceorl with little more than a twist of his hand. Inclining his head, he looked down almost pityingly at Legolas. "He is just what Sharky has been looking for and if anything, the finding of his lineage makes things even better."
Ceorl looked a bit uneasy and reluctant. Frowning, he stepped unnoticeably between Legolas and the messenger from Sharky. "Are you taking him then?" He wasn't sure that now that he had possession of a Firstborn that he was willing to give him up right here and now. Admittedly, he was very possessive of what was his.
To his astonishment and near relief, Sharky's messenger replied, "No, you and a few men will bring him to Isengard yourselves. It had better be accomplished in a few weeks as well or we will both answer for it."
Ceorl snorted importantly, feeling compelled to ask about what exactly he was going to get out of this little venture. After all, he was running a fair amount of risk and naturally wanted to get something for his all his troubles. "And what exactly is in this for me?"
The messenger cocked his head to the side and silently observed Ceorl for a moment, and then he nodded grimly as though to himself. "You will get your pay in gold," he assured the other man. "But, he had better be in good condition. No more torture. He will receive payment for anything he does when he is brought to us."
Ceorl seemed to smile in grim approval but glanced down reproachfully at the Elf. He was a handful, even for many men, and without anything to hold over his head, like torment, they would have no chance of ever getting him anywhere. However, there was something in this messenger's eyes that made him uneasy and seemed forbidding, as though he could be turned into ashes on the spot and so Ceorl reluctantly yielded to the terms although it was obvious that they were to his disliking.
"Good." The other man read Ceorl's mind. "I will wait to escort you onto the premises partway there."
"But-"
"And you had better be on time. Don't make me wait. You won't like the consequences," the messenger called the warning over his shoulder as he started for the cave exit, leaving behind a frowning Ceorl. All of the men in the cave parted to make a clear path way for the distinctive stranger that had such control over their leader.
Ceorl was beginning to get the idea that this messenger was more than what he had appeared to be and that any objections he made to these arrangements would ultimately lead to his death. He had to be careful here, because somehow he had the impression that this mysterious stranger knew that he was playing both sides and he desperately hoped that Sauron had not come to the same conclusion.
Regaining control of things, he looked demandingly at a strawberry blonde fifteen-year old, still a boy. "Clean him up and when he wakes up, I want him fed the same as the rest of us."
The boy seemed puzzled but shuffled forward reluctantly and almost fearfully to do Ceorl's bidding. "With what shall I clean him?" he asked in a soft voice that was almost gentle –anything but argumentative. His soft grey eyes implored the older man. "Father?"
"There are some rags and a bucket for watering the horses in the corner," Ceorl barked almost irritably, gesturing towards them with a vague wave of his hand. The boy asked no more questions and started to shuffle towards where the bucket and rags were, used to help cooling off the horses and watering them. His right leg dragged slightly behind him, slightly askew to his left one, leaving him obviously crippled. He had been that way from birth.
Collecting the bucket of water and rags with some difficulty, he slowly made his way over to Legolas, hobbling to the Elf's side. Gently, he straightened Legolas out on the cold stone and smoothed his shortened hair away from his face with a tender caress, scared of and for the Elf.
Remembering the letter as he cleansed Legolas' numerous wounds and cared for him the best he could, he whispered to the unconscious Elf, "Who was it that you left behind? Your father? Your brother? What made you leave to come here?" He was old enough to know that things in his country were quickly declining and if this kept up there was going to be serious trouble. "What drove you away from that which you loved? Or did you follow what needed you more?"
Suddenly he jerked back in alarm as Legolas' bleary blue eyes slowly fluttered open and the Elf's long, pale hand grabbed his wrist that held the cloth to his forehead. "Estel?" he asked deliriously, and continued to mumble in broken Elvish of which the boy understood nothing.
"Of whom do you speak? I cannot be he, but I am here to help," assured the boy as consolingly as possible without his father hearing, seeing Legolas' fright and pain buried deep in his eyes as they swirled around, taking in everything there was to see in the place.
Legolas licked his dried and cracked lips as his senses crept back and then, tasting the dried and hardened blood, he winced noticeably. "Who are you?" he asked softly, realizing the boy was cleansing his wounds gently with a wet cloth that wasn't soaked, merely damp.
It felt refreshing against his bruised and hot skin and he couldn't help but relax under the kind touch even though the thought of another human who was not Aragorn seeing him this vulnerable did make him want to pull away. He saw no threat in the boy's eyes and so he simply concentrated on keeping his breathing level while his wounds smarted from the attention they were receiving.
"I am son to Ceorl," the boy answered calmly, looking at Legolas in reverence and pity. Looking into the water bucket before he dipped the cloth in it and seeing it stained red already with Legolas' blood, he sighed and stood upon his good leg to empty it and replenish the supply. There was a spring nearby that he could use and the distance wasn't too great.
Legolas noticed how his leg dragged and the boy's walk was no more than a hobble at best. The child certainly didn't resemble his strong, proud and cruel father. As a matter of fact, Legolas would make a bet that he was his mother's child and with a hidden strength. He didn't know much about humans, Legolas admitted to himself, but he knew that a limp like that was not the norm for any boy of around fifteen. It was obvious why his father treated the boy like a servant. He was not the child of the ambitious father's dreams. To Ceorl, this boy was a lost cause, nothing more.
Legolas had known many forms of hurt, but never one where he was despised by his own father and unwanted. Or at least, he didn't think so and memories of their last meeting broke the surface of his pool of thoughts, causing him to wince outwardly. He didn't know if his father still loved him but he suspected that he still did. He hoped that he still did. He couldn't go on if his father hated him. He would die.
The Elf narrowed his eyes as he watched the boy finally manage to shuffle through the cave entrance and over the uneven and dangerous ground. He turned right and from there was lost to Legolas' vision so the Elf relaxed and looked heavenwards only to realize that he was still trapped inside the same dark cave. Closing his eyes, he willed himself away from this horrible place for as long as possible.
He suddenly remembered his connection with Aragorn and jolted out of his consoling reverie. The human was going to die and there was precious little that Legolas could do about it except find a way to kill Ceorl first or escape. Neither of these left him with very encouraging odds to take consolation in. As a matter of fact, the odds alone made him feel sick.
His sharp hearing picked up the sound of the boy's shuffling limp as he returned, bearing the large and heavy bucket of water all by himself. It had to be quite a burden with his crippled leg useless the way it was but he said nothing and was holding his own with it quite well. What he lacked in physical strength he stalwartly made up for in determination. It was a hard life that he had learned to live and it made Legolas' heart burn for him. He knew from talking to Aragorn what it was like not to have a father and the ranger and he both knew what it was like to not have a mother. It had to be worse to have a father who hated who you were and what you were to become.
When the child knelt by him again, Legolas caught his hand as he dipped into the bucket with the washing cloth. The weakened Elf's grip was still strong and the boy could not free himself as Legolas adamantly held on. "Child, why do you receive no help?"
The boy looked away and a red flush of shame flushed into his cheeks, making them burn. He mumbled quietly, as though it was something Legolas should not have to ask, it should be written on his face; in his eyes as it was carved in his future. "This is my curse. Our family… our nation is one of warriors. I am not. Therefore it is my burden to bear alone and should not weigh others down."
For a moment Legolas could not speak. He was stunned at the answer even though he had halfway expected it. Scowling and shaking his head as he attempted to sit up, the Elf ignored the pain it caused and spat aggressively, "That's a lie." His anger could not be mistaken and the boy stepped back in fear, misunderstanding the Elf.
Realizing the boy's mistake and his own error at being so abrupt, Legolas softened his face as well as his approach at the same time that the boy reproached, "But it's the honest truth, Master Elf!"
Smiling gently, Legolas shook his head some more and responded evenly, "I am sorry. I meant, w-what he told you is a lie. You were meant for so much more than this." Legolas hissed as the boy timidly touched the cloth to his brand wounds to cleanse them. The cold water and soft cloth felt good and yet horrible and his abdominal muscles shuddered helplessly as it soothed his deep burns.
"Are you sure?" the boy asked sceptically, watching Legolas' face intently to see if it had been a cruel form of a joke or not. He was used to being taunted and he wouldn't be overly surprised if it was.
Legolas opened one eye cautiously and spoke around his pain, understanding that the boy was doing his best to relieve it and not wanting to make the human feel any more useless than he probably already did. "I promise."
There was a long silence during which both Elf and teenage boy appeared to be thinking things through and wondering if perhaps it was better to remain silent. They didn't have to get to know each other after all.
Legolas broke the silence in a quiet and reluctant whisper, "What is your name?"
At this the human boy seemed to flinch again and Legolas sensed him drawing back into himself, locking the Elf out. It was obvious that whoever the human was, he was afraid. He had been on his own too long. Trust must be something he had only heard stories about and to him they must seem like distant fairytales.
Patiently and in as kindly a voice as possible, Legolas repeated, "What is your name?"
The boy hesitated, obviously wrestling with himself and trying to shove down his growing trust of the Elf that he had never met before in his life. He sensed Legolas' kindness and love and he wanted to be on the receiving end of it. He wanted a friend so badly he could taste it but every time before when he had tried to bond with anyone the relationship had slipped through his fingers like smoke. "I have no name…my father never named me. He said I wasn't worthy of bearing a name of Rohan."
Legolas blinked in astonishment and winced as the cloth was dipped in water again and it started the process of cleansing his burns and lacerations once more. It was odd; he would have never allowed Aragorn to do this so easily even though he trusted the ranger better than he did his own father at times. "How can it be that you have had no name? What then does he call you by?" Legolas' voice sounded unnaturally stressed as he worked to keep his breathing in check and not create a scene in front of these men.
"He doesn't call for me," the boy answered somewhat tartly, obviously angry. "He commands me. He just looks at me and I know…" His voice trailed off, wondering why he was telling this to a complete stranger. It was strange feeling to be able to confide in anyone…especially an Elf.
Legolas was silent for a minute and then he asked encouragingly, "Would you like a name?"
The boy paused his work and looked about nervously and fear was evident in his eyes –fear of his father's reaction if ever he found out. Besides, he had been nameless long enough that he had grown accustomed to it. "No, thank you. I am used to this."
Having successfully washed the wounds on Legolas' abdomen, he moved to tend to the prince's face, which had its fair share of bruises. Blood ran from his nose and a split lip.
Legolas pulled away slightly, reluctant to allow his face to be touched but seeing the pleading look on the human's face, allowed it after a minute or two. The way the boy was so sympathetic and cleansed his wounds so tenderly and with such attention to detail made the prince wonder if he had gotten on his father's bad side one too many times as well. Hot anger flared through the Elf for a moment but he managed to keep it in check and let it flow through him.
His face took less time than his abdomen had and soon it was finished. Legolas sat up gingerly, almost inch by inch to try spare himself any pain that he could. However, he refused to lean back against the wall where those dreaded shackles were and instead drew his knees up to his chin and rested his head on them. His eyes followed the boy's every move with curiosity and sympathy as he shuffled off and emptied the bucket just outside of the cavern before going to see what there was for Legolas to eat.
Sighing, Legolas wanted to sleep but he was afraid to shut his eyes. The distractions were ebbing away and now the fact that he was in a cave and surrounded by men who were blood-thirsty, faithless traitors was becoming more frightening than it had seemed at first. He would find no rest here, ever.
Suddenly, Legolas realized his hands weren't bound and the cords on his feet were severed and gone. He could escape. But what effect would that have on those whose charge he was placed in? The boy would pay the price and Legolas knew it. He could not let that happen, not if it was preventable. Aragorn would not and neither would he. Although, he desperately wanted to return home and sleep in his own bed and eat dinner with his father…it had been so long…
The boy returned shortly, a small, encouraging smile pulling at his face ever so slightly. Funny, Legolas thought to himself as the human child approached, I don't think he knows quite how to smile…or at least he doesn't remember. Whenever the boy tried to smile his face took on a stiff expression.
"I have some broth and a bit of bread," he offered the bowl the Elf who didn't move to accept. The meagre excuse for a smile automatically dropped from the boy's face and he lowered the proffered bowl in obvious disappointment. Shaking his head, he persisted, "Are you not hungry?"
After the ordeal Legolas had been through with the boy' father it was understandable that he may not be in the mood to eat but the fifteen year-old was still astonished that he didn't want to even attempt it. He had to get his strength back somehow and starving himself wasn't going to be the answer.
Legolas just shook his head lightly. Forcing a smile at the boy, who was only trying to be helpful, the Elf answered kindly, "I don't think I want any thing in me right now." Then he added as a token of goodwill, "If you want it, you can have it. I really want nothing to do with it."
The boy said nothing for a moment, stared blankly and then set the bowl down at the Elf's feet in a way that suggested a secret reverence towards the prisoner. Taking the bread, he dropped it lightly down beside the filled wooden dish. Backing away, he said in explanation, "In case you change your mind."
Legolas didn't answer verbally but nodded slightly and then resumed to resting his chin wearily on his knees. He noticed with a twinge of suspicion that the boy wasn't leaving and he looked up at him expectantly, but his expression softened the he saw the human's uneasiness.
Standing anxiously on his good leg alone, the strawberry blonde child clumsily ventured to explain, "I –er I am sorry. But I –you have to be bound again." His eyes fell apologetically on the prince's bloodied and aching wrists, where the manacles had bitten into his soft flesh and left bruises and scrapes in their wake. He saw the naked alarm flood into Legolas' eyes and the more disguised feeling of helplessness but there was nothing he could do about it and so he merely looked at the floor in frustration. "I am sorry," he repeated gently.
Legolas sighed, knowing that if he challenged this he would be putting the child in a worse position than he was already in and in addition to that he would be punished for resisting. It simply was not worth it but he dreaded the feeling of the icy metal wrapping around his wrists once more. They already ached so much.
The only thing that he did find interesting was that they seemed to trust this crippled boy to be able to control him if he tried to escape. Either that or they knew that for the boy's sake he would not. Resenting having to do this, Legolas stiffly sidled his back up with the wall and placed his hands above his head. "If you have to," he whispered tiredly.
The boy reluctantly hobbled over and gingerly took one of Legolas' hands, hissing in empathy as he sensed the pain it caused the prince. "Would that I had some ointment, I would help you here." Pressing the back of Legolas' hand against the cold stone, he set the wrist gently into the manacle and winced with the Elf as it set with a cold snap, locking tightly about Legolas' wrist. Going through the same process with Legolas' other hand, he seemed relieved when the business was over.
Looking about and not seeing his father anywhere, the boy sat at Legolas' feet in a silent gesture that stated that he meant to keep the Elf company. Legolas smiled around his pain and aggravation. It was sweet that the boy wanted to sit with him and he welcomed the companionship. It would help to make the cave more bearable.
:0Ї0:
Aragorn had a feeling that he would have never liked the mysterious hooded messenger had he actually met him but right now he could kiss the man's hand or maybe even his feet. He hadn't been looking for him, but the man had passed through to deliver his message at just the right time.
It hadn't taken Aragorn overly much skill to follow him unnoticed. The ranger had been granted enough practice playing around with Legolas, and no matter what the Elf swore he knew that at least twice he had caught his friend unawares in the past. This messenger was either deaf or completely absorbed in his errand so that he had shut out the rest of the world and had taken no notice of an anxious ranger trailing his every step. Aragorn knew he had been breathing so loud an Elf could have shot him the dark.
The man had left the cave about an hour or so ago and Aragorn had been hiding for about that long on the confines of their camp, scrutinizing the situation with trained eyes. He had spent most of his time staring at the accursed cave as though he could melt it with his gaze alone. Legolas despised caves and under these conditions it was most likely unbearable.
What he saw was mostly the routine of a typical army camp, with men coming and going to relieve themselves and men whittling knives out of boredom. Aragorn didn't know whether he should be even more afraid for Legolas or not. After all there was only one reason the men were bored and that was because Legolas was not providing the entertainment this night. The ranger didn't know if it was because the Elf was dead or because they were merely giving him a reprieve because they had gone too far in their fun and games.
There was only one thing that Aragorn had noticed that was not normal and he had immediately taken interest. A boy had come out, shuffling with a crippled leg and he was different than the others. His face was kind.
However, Aragorn had noticed that he was being forced to carry a large bucket and that if he wasn't mistaken the bucket was filled with a crimson liquid. Whenever the boy's feet faltered and he stumbled, some of the reddish stuff would spill out over the top and splash to the ground. The real truth of the matter had been revealed when the child had dumped the bucket, allowing the crimson liquid to rush across the trampled ground in many different rivers branching across the soil and trodden grass.
His heart had ceased in his chest when he had seen the liquid as it rolled out around the boy's feet. It resembled blood but he doubted anyone had that much blood in their entire body. Shuddering, he was suddenly sure why the Elf had broken their connection and slipped into unconsciousness earlier.
He had watched as the boy replenished the bucket at a spring and hobbled back into the cave. Were they mopping up what was left of his friend? Eru, whatever had they done to Legolas? Breathing through his nose, he remembered having smelled something strong that had made his stomach lurch violently. Burned flesh. There was no doubt in his mind as to what kind of torture Legolas had been forced to endure and it made his skin crawl.
Looking back on all of this, Aragorn finally gathered enough courage to try and reach out to his friend's consciousness, praying for an answer. He couldn't sit here, waiting for complete darkness, never knowing whether he waited to steal Legolas' cold body or free the Elf. Somehow he knew in his heart Legolas wasn't dead, but the communication between them would be good for them both at the present since there was nothing else they could do. He knew that Legolas needed him.
/Leoglas, mellon nin? What has happened to you? What is going on/ Aragorn willed his silent pleas to the prince, waiting impatiently for any sign that they had reached his friend and were being understood. Looking at the heavens as though he expected the answer to be written in the sky, Aragorn saw that it was turning dark with the night, but a large storm out of Mordor rode on the dusk.
Suddenly a response came back, soft and barely there, as though Legolas was struggling with retaining consciousness. /You took long enough, Estel. I was beginning to grow bored…/
/Legolas! How are you? Why was there so much blood/ Aragorn demanded, relieved at hearing his friend's voice in his head but disturbed by the way Legolas was brushing this off. Something was seriously wrong. He knew his friend could not possibly have been bored.
There was no answer from the Elf for what seemed millennia and then there came a soft, serious, aching response that seemed to shred Aragorn's heart. /Estel…I am afraid./
Swallowing hard, Aragorn tried to hold himself together and fought down the helplessness that tried to consume him alive. Legolas had gone through too much in Harad. It simply wasn't fair that he should have to face this when he had gone so far on the road to recovery. /I know. But I am right outside the camp. I will come for you tonight./
Legolas did not answer even though the ranger could tell that the connection was not severed but merely out of service. Everything suddenly seemed so silent that it was painfully loud. Aragorn looked up at the dark storm clouds advancing towards them with lightning flickering on their crests, striking the earth. Thunder rumbled low and ominous. The sky flashed a cloudy ruddiness under the influence of a large bolt of lightning, reminding Aragorn of the bucket of crimson liquid that he had watched spread across the ground.
Why had there been so much blood? Or was it all even blood?
His thoughts were changed as he suddenly realized that his brothers were out exposed in this storm. From the way the clouds were swirling, massing and lighting up, it was going to be a tempest to remember. A wounded Elf didn't stand a chance if he were exposed to elements of this strength and capability for a long period of time. His brothers and Rothinzil had no choice but to try and weather it.
He would give a hand to have them by his side right now, lending him their experience and consolations…their support. The thunder rumbled again and Aragorn remembered when they used to coddle him during storms as a small child, whispering that they wouldn't let it hurt him and that everything would be alright. He remembered being held tightly between them and their arms around him, keeping him close and shielding him from the flashes of lightning. He remembered the smells of their nightshirts and their long hair tickling his little pudgy face.
His shoulders shook in a suppressed sob as he realized he was completely on his own this time. Legolas lived or died depending on how he carried out this rescue. It wasn't the first time, of course, but after seeing his brothers again he had banked on having them with him for the remainder of this calamity. He wondered what they were doing right at this very moment…if they were even alive.
A few raindrops, only a small precursor to what was to break in a few more minutes, splattered against Aragorn's face, mingling with a few silent tears that were already trailing his face. Taking the sleeve of his weather-stained overcoat, the man drew it across his face and wiped away both water and tears at once. Pulling the hood of his worn cloak, he accepted what meagre protection it could offer him against the coming onslaught of rain.
:0Ї0:
Elrohir sat cross-legged on the spongy grass, watching Elladan and chewing his already bleeding lip. Rothinzil sat across from him, flanking the other side of the prone older twin and nursing his stiff and sore shoulder with circular motions of his fingers massaging the aching flesh surrounding the joint.
Elladan opened his eyes cautiously as consciousness slowly came back. He didn't know how long he had been out and he decided that he really didn't want to anyway. Everything, and he meant quite literally everything, was burning with a pulsing ache. Licking his dry and pale lips, he looked over Elrohir, who was smiling a silly smile of surprise and joy.
"Welcome back!" he announced a little too loudly as Rothinzil retaliated in aggravation;
"Keep it a little quieter please. My head hurts." The dark-haired warrior's face was screwed up in a tight grimace. His wound was causing him more pain than he was willing to admit. However, this didn't matter because it was obvious in the creases of his face and the lack of colour his skin had taken.
"Where is Estel?" murmured Elladan in a broken voice, looking around rapidly as he felt inexplicably tired. He wanted to see to his younger brother…
"He went for Legolas-"
"Alone?" Elladan barked, his voice finally rising and his face turning cloudy in anger, spurred by an acute sense of anxiety.
"Um… yes," Elrohir admitted reluctantly, afraid of the effect it would have on his barely alive brother. His hands gently applied pressure to Elladan's shoulders, pressing him carefully but firmly back against the soft and natural grass bed. Elladan was wise enough not to resist, and even if he had wanted to, his still potentially fatal wound prevented any such activity.
"Why is he alone?" Elladan persisted, not put off by Elrohir's relentless mothering. He split his glare almost evenly between Rothinzil and his younger twin, staring them down.
Both of the two couldn't have looked guiltier or more uncomfortable. Elrohir sighed and glanced at Roth as though for help but the other Elf merely turned his face away and left Elrohir to field the question alone. Elrohir swallowed as he mulled things over in his mind. "Do you not remember being shot?" he finally questioned, watching Elladan carefully to determine his reaction and see if it was going to be necessary to restrain his older brother.
Elladan merely blinked. "Well that explains a lot anyway," he mumbled darkly under his breath before he shook his head minutely, immediately regretting the small gesture. "No, I don't."
"I was shot in the-"
Elladan raised his eyebrows questioning and in surprise, making enough of a gesture to commit his brother to a temporary silence, "You were shot? Where?" He tried to sit up again but his own pain was restraint enough. He knew his limits and didn't try to exceed them for the time being.
"Yes. Now, I was shot in the shoulder blade," Elrohir continued almost as though Elladan had never interrupted. Elladan submitted himself to listening to Elrohir's explanations but the cross and impatient expression never left his face –a perfect reflection of the brotherly anxiousness he was suffering. "Roth was shot in the shoulder."
Elladan parted his lips to speak but thought better of it. The sad thing was that he believed all of this without any trouble.
Elrohir sighed tiredly and gave Elladan a forced sympathetic half-smile. "And you were shot in the back."
Elladan didn't seem impressed even if he was a bit confused. By all rights he should be dead right now and even though he was grateful that he was alive, he was alarmed that the arrow had not killed him. Maybe the Valar had something worse in mind…like boiling oil…
"What of Estel? Was he harmed?" Elladan asked tensely, a dangerous glint coming into his eyes as he thought of anyone harming the human he still considered his little brother, despite Aragorn's age.
"Not when I last saw him," Elrohir answered solemnly, the half smile he had held earlier melted from his face as he was forced to face the uncertainty. "We have to have faith. He has survived these past four years without our help –and Legolas as well." Saying this was not only comforting to Elladan, it helped to sooth Elrohir's worries too.
But it also caused great hurt.
Elladan hated to admit it and Elrohir's words cut deeply into his thoughts and heart. Aragorn was growing up. They couldn't protect him from everything anymore. "It's unfair that their lives should be stolen just before they arrive home. Ada will never be able to bear this news and Thranduil…" He didn't have to finish his sentence and a heavy, ominous silence hung in the air, weighing them down.
"Well we can't just sit around here and hope they make it through," Rothinzil spoke for everyone but received glares just the same because they were almost incapable of anything else.
"We know," Elrohir snapped, frustrated. Elladan was in no position to travel and without more proper supplies all their wounds were going to become infected. Elladan was too weak and vulnerable to undergo an infection of any sort and live. Blood loss and injury had left him exposed and Elrohir felt scared. He couldn't lose two brothers…even one was entirely too much and the loss of a friend on top of that…
Looking at Elladan's closed eyes; Elrohir muttered worriedly, "we need to get you to Ada, or at least to Mirkwood's healers." He knew it was no use fighting it. They had no choice and precious little time. Elladan had to be seen to fast. This wasn't beyond Elrohir's store of expertise but unfortunately, the younger twin lacked the supplies to treat his older brother properly.
Elladan argued angrily, "No! We need to find Estel…" his speech was beginning to slur as merely thinking of Aragorn in danger drained him of energy. But Elrohir recognized that there was something else sapping his brother of his strength. A cold sweat started on Elrohir's face as he feared the worst.
Elrohir smoothed Elladan's hair back from his pale and wet forehead where it had been stuck. Grimacing, he could swear he felt a fever infiltrating beneath his brother's white and clammy skin. "No. I am taking you home."
Elladan merely groaned, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe properly. He couldn't have spoken if he had wanted to and he blinked rapidly, searching Elrohir's face pleadingly.
This was the hardest decision Elrohir had ever made in his life. Torn between two brothers… Aragorn was well when he left and he was becoming an adult in human years but all the same… he couldn't let him go like that, all alone. This was the first time he had seen Estel in three to four years and to lose him when they were this close was indescribably disappointing. He knew Roth must be pining to go and rescue Legolas and reap vengeance on those who were hurting him.
"Help me Roth," plead Elrohir earnestly, his vision becoming blurred by a onslaught of tears that soon burst free and ran freely down his whitened face. "He needs to get home to Lord Elrond."
Roth looked at Elrohir and saw the naked fear darkening his friend's face. Clenching his jaw, he knew that Legolas was beyond his reach and that if Aragorn couldn't save him then no one could. It cut him deeply like a knife through his heart to admit it, but it was so obvious that not admitting it would only hurt worse. "I understand. We'll get him there," he assured the younger twin, placing his hand over Elrohir's.
Suddenly he looked at his hand curiously as a droplet fell on it. It wasn't a tear, for he was not crying and no more had fallen from Elrohir's eyes. Something struck him on the nose and he flinched at the sudden touch. Looking up darkly, he gazed at the blackening sky and for the first time became aware of the thunder, lightning and overwhelming probability of a serious storm.
Elrohir looked up and his face seemed to go whiter, understanding without any doubt the dangers this was pitting them against. There was no shelter for them to run to and even if there was, their travel would be too slow to reach it in time and the rain would beat them down. They would have to work with what they had and hope for the best.
Looking at Elladan, he tried to think of the best possible way to protect his brother form the pounding rain that was due any minute. Determination darkened his face as he observed their situation through squinted eyes.
Taking his trembling hands, he reminded himself that he needed to be strong for Elladan, while he gripped the sides of his brother's cloak and folded them tightly about the older twin. Elladan's eyes drifted open. "There is a storm...coming." He paused. "What are you doing?"
"Preparing," answered Elrohir, almost under his breath. Taking his own cloak, he pulled the large grey hood tight about his face and then placed himself over his prone and almost unaware brother. Spreading his large cloak, he allowed it to cover and shield both of them. Rothinzil sidled up along side Elrohir, clearly offering his help and he spread his cloak over the younger twin, Elladan and himself after pulling his hood up and bowing his head.
The wind swirled around them and the thunder became louder and harsher. The rain picked up in moments just as Elrohir had known all along it would. It was as though the Valar had all collected buckets and buckets of water and had decided to dump them at the same time. It felt as though he was drowning even though he could still breathe. The water pounded relentlessly on his back and poured from him in broad rivulets. Gasping at the icy touch and harsh spray, he looked and saw Elladan staring up into his eyes, asking what was going on, helpless to do anything.
Roth wriggled closer to Elladan, doing his best to shield his friend with his body. Gritting his teeth as the rain came down so hard it stung; Roth knew they were going to be extremely lucky if this didn't turn into a hailstorm.
Wincing, he felt the thunderpealing painfully in his ears and the lightning blinded his eyes, at the same time laying the land bare in a flash of white, exposing everything. During a slight lull in the thunder, Roth's ears barely heard the muffled cries of Elrohir as the rain beat into his tender wound and the warrior saw red run from his friend's shoulders as the rain aggravated his fresh wound.
Wanting to relieve Elrohir's pain, Roth pulled himself up and placed himself forcefully above the younger twin. The rain slammed into Roth but Elrohir was shielded and he chanced glancing over his shoulder at the dark-haired warrior. "Hannon le," he whispered before turning his attention back to Elladan and keeping the rain off his older brother.
Roth's own shoulder wound was not as vulnerable as Elrohir's and therefore caused him considerably less pain when the rain hit him, even though it still hurt. His long hair had slid free of his hood and lay plastered against his face. Beneath him he could see the fresh blood seeping through the torn cloak of Elrohir; a nasty red stain spreading quickly in its wake.
TBC...
Well...that was a bit of a nasty chapter...those poor things, all of them! Well, all them except for Ceorl and his little sad crew. :) LOL We would like to thank you for all of your wonderful reviews for chapter three! They were precious (seriously). However, due to a small delay you should be recieving the responsesshortly sometime this evening. Sorry. We just had a bunch of exams and things of that nature! ;) We would love to hear from you all again and know what you think, so please, if time permits, drop us a review. :)
Thanks and see you next Friday! -Celeb and Tin
