Okay, well it has come to our attention that some readers think that Legolas angst is going to disappear from our horizons! LOL Not likely! Stay tuned as this story progresses! Trust us here. Okay, it really isn't like you have much choice anyway! LOL ;)
I Will Always Return
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CHAPTER SIX
A Waking Nightmare
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Aragorn woke slowly, feeling the Elf hitting against him and crying out softly. Becoming aware of his friend's pleading voice and struggles, the man's eyes shot open. It was still dark, so they couldn't have been asleep for more than a couple of hours. Fearing that his friend was in helpless agony, the ranger whispered fiercely, "Legolas! Legolas!" The Elf was not responsive to his pleas and continued to writhe, crying out bits and snatches of nothing.
He was having a nightmare, Aragorn realized when the prince's jumbled and slurred words made no sense no matter how you looked at it. Arms bound, he couldn't shake his friend but he knew he had to quiet Legolas before the men heard it and woke up angry and decided to make a spectacle of the frightened Elf. Frowning, he knew this was uncharacteristic of the prince and he hissed, "Legolas!"
He might kick the fair being or elbow him but he was sure that would do more harm that it would help. The wounds and abrasions would certainly be infuriated by the harsh contact and Legolas would certainly have a rude awakening which would only serve to heighten his groggy panic. "Legolas, mellon nîn, I am here, relax. I won't let anything hurt you." His urgent Elvish hung in the air.
Legolas still refused to wake, crying out rather loudly and causing Aragorn to flinch. "Please, my friend," he whispered desperately into the Elf's ear.
The fifteen-year-old boy lifted his head in his corner, pulling himself out of his sleep as the hushed voices murmured through his awareness. Blinking, he found that there was still a torch on the wall, stabbed into a tight crevice that ran from a crack. Starting to get up as he realized that the prisoners were in trouble, the boy grimaced and bit his lip as he found that his crippled foot was exceptionally stiff and sore. It habitually did this during bad weather and he was accustomed to the pain but it still slowed him down more than he was already.
Knowing that if his father was awakened by these two they would receive nothing but hell, the boy hurriedly shuffled towards them, bracing himself against the damp wall for a moment as he allowed the blood to flow to his permanently twisted foot. It hurt for a few more seconds and then appeared to be normal. Testing it gingerly, he then hobbled as quickly as possible towards the torch stabbed into the crevice of a wall.
Grasping it, he pulled it free with a tug and held his breath as the flames flickered and then stabilized. Hurrying towards the pair as fast as he could he eventually crouched in front of Legolas, allowing the torch to fall harmlessly to the stone ground nearby. Looking anxiously at Aragorn he asked in a short whisper, "What is the matter with him?"
Aragorn stopped trying to twist free and shook his head answering. "He is having a bad dream." He called to the prince in a pleading voice, "Legolas! Wake up, mellon nîn. Please wake up!"
The boy seemed to understand what Aragorn was trying to do and he shuffled close to Legolas and carefully touched his upper arm with his hand, enclosing it and giving it a soft squeeze. The Elf pulled away with a cry, merging reality with dream as is the way when they sleep. Only this time both were a nightmare. Of course, the fifteen year old could hardly understand this.
The boy slipped his hand over Legolas' mouth to stifle any further cries the Elf might make. Aragorn flinched at this, knowing every well that it could do more harm than good when it came to calming Legolas. The dreams of Elves were more vivid than those of men and everything seemed genuine and palpable. The youth gave the prince's shoulders a firm shake. Legolas jerked back and his hands clenched in the shackles above his head with a cold clank as he saw the cave walls leering down one him, preparing to close in and he felt the hand over his mouth. Panicking, he jerked and writhed, trying to twist his face free.
The boy relinquished his hold quickly and stumbled back, as Aragorn did his best to calm the Elf before things escalated. "Mellon nîn, I am here. I am here. See?" Aragorn stretched his bound hand and grabbed Legolas' clenched one, soothingly rubbing his thumb along the top of the prince's hand in an assurance that he was there and he wasn't going to leave. Legolas wasn't alone and nothing was hurting him right now.
The Elf froze, his heart hammering against his chest as he pieced together the actual situation.
Aragorn felt the Elf's muscles relaxing bit by bit as he rubbed his hand. "You had a bad dream, Legolas." He stopped rubbing the prince's hand and simply held it. Legolas unclenched his fingers and laced them with the ranger's squeezing the man's hand as things cleared up and then hot shame flooded his cheeks, turning them crimson.
Looking at Aragorn with wide blue eyes and a pasty face that was darkened only by bruises and dried blood, the Elf whispered, "My home is in danger…I saw my father…I saw him…die…" He didn't expect Aragorn to understand, but he spilled his soul out to the human anyway.
Aragorn held his breath and then asked placatingly, "Care to talk about it? It might help." The man's voice was slightly hoarse and he watched sympathetically as Legolas looked away, out towards the cave entrance. The rain had completely stopped the sweet fragrance of wet, fresh grass was rolling in and filling Legolas' senses. The Elf inhaled a deep, shuddering breath.
"No… and yes," his voice had dropped to being almost inaudible.
"Well, we don't have to talk about it now, you can wait until later after dawn if that helps. I just don't want you scaring me like that again. I didn't know if you were in pain or… or what was going on. You wouldn't answer. You frightened me." Aragorn's voice had dropped to a low murmur as he admitted how uncertain and afraid he had been for a few minutes where his friend wouldn't answer he call.
"Then I am sorry," Legolas answered softly, looking back over at his friend. "But… I will not speak of my dream. Not yet." He closed his eyes to block out the threatening cave ceiling and the men carpeting the floor as they slept. Leaning his head, he carefully rested it against his bound arm and his breathing began to even out as his exhaustion took over.
Aragorn noticed that the prince still held his hand. "It was only a dream, Legolas," he whispered reassuringly into his friend's ear. He had to admit he was afraid of what changes he would have to face if and when he returned home. He didn't even know if he would be accepted anymore and privately, that was his greatest fear -rejection by those he left behind. He knew his brothers would take him back and his father…but the rest of the Elves he couldn't be too sure of.
"Yes," the Elf smiled weakly. "It was only a dream." That said, the Elf shifted to a new and more comfortable position before drifting back into an easier sleep. He could feel Aragorn's comforting presence right beside him and even if he knew that he wasn't safe and that their situation hadn't changed, his fear had temporarily melted away.
The fifteen-year-old boy cautiously watched the two, picking up the torch. He was poised to start hobbling back towards his self-assigned corner, but his face was hesitant. Aragorn looked at him through the torch light and asked quietly, "What is it that you want?"
The boy opened his mouth to speak, but then only gapped, gauging his thoughts. A few seconds later he asked in an innocent and curious voice, "What does 'mellon nîn' mean?" He had never heard Elvish before and even these two words that he didn't understand were comforting somehow. He wanted to know what they meant.
Aragorn smiled. "It means 'my friend'." He felt Legolas hand go limp in his own as he relaxed. Aragorn retained his grip on the prince's hand, stroking it with his thumb, lulling Legolas into a deeper sleep. A reflexive smile pulled the corners of Legolas' mouth up as he subconsciously seemed to be in the conversation.
The boy nodded and then smiled broadly, the first true smile Aragorn had seen him give. "I like that."
Aragorn conceded as he held the boy's gaze. "Me too." Smile fading as his wounds caught up and he understood the risks the youth was running, the ranger advised kindly, "Now hurry off before you are caught." Even if the boy wasn't caught, he didn't want to get Legolas or himself into further trouble.
The boy nodded his head in as he conceded to Aragorn's warning. Hobbling away as quietly but as quickly as possible, he reached his forsaken little corner and sat down. However, his eyes never left the two prisoners and he watched as Aragorn's eyes became heavy almost instantly and the ranger drifted into sleep still holding Legolas' hand limply in his own.
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It seemed like the rest of the early dawn that they had been allowed to sleep through, had passed in the blink of an eye. Legolas woke up first, blinking rapidly as he tried to adjust to the white light scorching the inside of the cave from its mouth. He started to lift his head but immediately halted the movement when he realized that his head was throbbing and that jaw hurt badly from the blows he had received the day before. His whole body felt stiff and unresponsive.
The Elf compressed his hands and froze as he felt Aragorn's hand folded inside his own. He hoped that he had not inadvertently woken the ranger up. He knew the human desperately needed his rest in order to recuperate properly. But his hope for Aragorn's rest was shattered as the human stirred, having felt Legolas squeeze his hand and thinking that the Elf was going through another nightmare.
Opening his eyes, he pulled the room into focus and stared at the prince blearily. "Are you all right?" he inquired in a drowsy voice, realizing it was morning and that even though Legolas was wide awake he was deeply troubled.
"As well as is to be expected," the Elf responded quietly, his broken lips causing some impediments in how he spoke. It was obvious that he needed water and his need could turn dire very soon. Continuing as he ignored his difficulties, Legolas shook his head. "You need rest, mellon nîn."
The hoarseness of Legolas' normally smooth voice disturbed the ranger and he shifted in his cords, wincing as they scraped against the raw flesh of his wrists. If these went untreated, or any of his other wounds for that matter, he was running a serious risk of infection. "I am rested," he lied effortlessly to the Elf, who looked at him, raising a brow incredulously.
"Human, you can recover no faster than I can…and I am still exhausted," he admitted just to prove his point. The Elf smiled just to let Aragorn know that the term 'human' had been used merely in a jest since he realized his tone might have sounded a bit grumpy. The assuring gesture broke the laceration on his lip again and it started bleeding. The Elf licked the blood back subconsciously.
Aragorn smiled back, despite their circumstances. "Guess we are in the same boat." He turned his head for a moment, observing the men stirring around the camp. They had obviously been up for a while and thankfully, Ceorl was no where to be seen.
Legolas lifted his head and nodded, ignoring his inflexible and sore muscles' protests. "Again." His voice sounded depressed and Aragorn couldn't blame him.
While Aragorn observed the camp, Legolas took the opportunity to observe the ranger's wounds, which were extensive. He couldn't see the human's back, of course, but he just knew that it was inflamed –much the same as his own if not worse. However, he could easily see the accumulated bruises that mottled the man's rib cage and chest area, as well as on his back. The kicking had been relentless and Legolas knew that a few ribs were at the least cracked.
Aragorn was trembling, probably with cold, because the chilling damp air that they were exposed to was even getting to Legolas to some degree. The drain of torment, stress and ultimately lack of vigour had undermined his normally resistant endurance. The prince scowled and pointed out, "You are shivering."
"I am not," the man turned his head to face the Elf. Now that he saw him in the morning light, he realized how terrible Legolas actually looked. Bruises covered his torso, chest and face as did blood and abrasions. His eyes were accented with dark ringlets. A whip-like mark raced across his proud cheek bone, one that Aragorn couldn't identify and he knew came from no lash that the men possessed –it was too thin. However, he would question the Elf later…
"Yes," Legolas argued, "you are."
Aragorn was about to protest but a violent shudder ran through him as his body tried to block out the cold and warm up. It belied anything he might say and he just frowned, shifted closer to the warmth of the Elf. "Maybe I am," he conceded quietly and Legolas just gave him the infamous I-told-you-so,-didn't-I? expression.
Everything was silent except for the grumbling sounds of a lively camp that consisted of rather grumpy and sleep-deprived soldiers. Legolas and Aragorn sat listening and observing for a few moments, thinking about what had transpired so far and about what could very easily happen. "Ah, Elbereth," Aragorn finally breathed, then sighed and slamming his head back against the stone wall.
Legolas looked at him curiously, not understanding the man's actions.
Aragorn closed his eyes, swallowing hard as his head remained against the stone. "My brothers and Roth," he answered Legolas' unspoken question in a groan. Grimacing, he looked at the Elf sitting calmly beside him but Legolas left no room for explanation.
"You met your brothers and Roth? When? Where? How?" This was news to the Elf and welcome news at that. His voice rose a little more than he had intended towards the end and Aragorn hushed him with a pleading look on his face that was nearly comical. But Legolas' excitement was understandable. After all, the prince had not seen any of the three Elves in close to four years.
Legolas' surprised and almost joyous expression melted into one of concern and fear as he looked at the hinting sorrow that clouded Aragorn's face. He could tell by the guilty look flushing the ranger's face that something had happened that was not meant to…something Aragorn had taken the blame for without question. "Estel-"
The human refused to meet his eyes. "Legolas, I don't even know if they are alive," he admitted the sickening knowledge to the Elf. "The assassin was after me...they interfered…they were shot."
Legolas' anger flared inwardly, and the bruises on his face suddenly felt all too new and hot as he remembered Deor. That filthy, clever but cruel excuse for a man…Legolas would have paid in gold to choke him and double for Mandos to send him back so that he could choke him again. He remembered Ceorl emotionlessly noting Deor's absence and stating his belief about how it had come about. The three Elves he had always thought of as being the twins and Roth, but now he had no doubts.
"And what happened to the man who shot them?" Legolas asked in a bitter voice. Aragorn felt his friend's anger and satisfaction. Looking at the Elf curiously, he cleared his throat of the lump of sorrow that was accumulating in its depths before he provided an answer.
"Roth shot him."
Legolas' eyes looked quizzical. "I thought you said he was shot…"
"He is too much like you mellon nîn," Aragorn offered, hoping that would be enough and that he wouldn't have to go into details about their assault. He could still see Elladan stumbling forward and falling onto him, and his scarlet blood blossoming on his tunic, the arrow protruding through the front from the back.
Legolas didn't say anything; he just stared at the stone and dirt floor, shifting the dirt into little mountain ranges with his feet. "Did he make it?" the prince asked softly, his demeanour turning reclusive as he pulled into himself. Rothinzil should have never had to come out to look for him. He should still be safe at home.
Aragorn wished he could promise Legolas that Rothinzil was all right and only nursing his injury. He wished he could assure himself of Elladan and Elrohir's fates, but he could not. Not wanting to give Legolas a false hope but wanting to console his friend his answered, "When last I saw him, he was still alive."
Legolas might have wanted to hear more about his old friend that was like a brother to him but he didn't ask, rather merely nodded in understanding. "And your brothers?"
Aragorn pulled into himself, not wanting to be this open with the Elf-prince right now. "I don't know. Elladan…he wasn't moving when I left…I-I. I don't want to talk about it."
"Just like I didn't want to talk about my dream," Legolas compared pointedly, waiting for Aragorn's response that was expected to be defensive.
The ranger didn't utter a word at first, only nodded his head slightly. "Almost." Mine was real! I saw it! I felt my brother's hot blood; I saw their faces screwed up in pain. I watched consciousness leave my childhood hero.
The conversation might have gone further but a commotion at the edge of the cave mouth disrupted the reminiscing discussion of the friends. Ceorl had stormed in, looking very grumpy and dragged his son by the tunic front behind him. The boy was hobbling to keep up and faltered several times as his father's pace was far faster than what his crippled limb could manage. The older man didn't care.
Legolas scowled. If he didn't think it would make things worse and that Aragorn and the youth would pay the price for his actions Legolas might have reprimanded the abusive handling of the boy. Clenching his fists above his head into tight balls, he watched the youth finally trip up beyond recovery and one of his knees clash sharply with the stone floor. The fifteen-year-old bit his lip to keep from crying out and hurriedly apologized for what was by no means his fault.
"Stop your palavering and get those two fed now!" he glared in Legolas and Aragorn's direction, not even hearing his son's slurred apologies. Seeing Legolas glaring coldly at him and regaining some of his defiance, the leader cautioned in a softer voice, "Now, now Elf. You mind your own business and keep your mouth shut. Otherwise," he inclined his head towards Aragorn and smiled in a way that was anyway but kind, "he will taste some more of last night."
Legolas was too stubborn avert his gaze but he kept his tempter under control and didn't dare to say one wise comment to his captor, even though he had already come up with several that were probably fitting. Ceorl stared at him with a smirk on his face. "Like a good boy," he teased the prince, before he turned his back on the prisoners and walked out of the cave to attend to other business.
The boy fumbled around, gathering dishes in which he could pour some corn-mush, and now that his father was gone, he visibly relaxed. When the older human wasn't around the boy seemed to get along fine with his impediment. Unfortunately, that was not when he counted.
The last men in the cave walked out and it was only Legolas, Aragorn and the youth.
The fifteen-year-old hobbled out again and returned shortly, balancing two bowls of steaming, but meagre, portions of porridge. A water-skin was hanging from a strap that had been slung over one shoulder.
Making his way carefully over to the Elf and ranger so as not to spill, he set it down carefully on the ground. Breathing hard from the exertion it took to fulfil this task with a twisted leg that threw off every shred of balance he possessed, the boy waited a minute before stepping towards Aragorn. "I am to loose you of your bonds and then you can feed your friend." He already knew that Aragorn wouldn't run because he wouldn't leave Legolas alone even though the Elf had already begged him to twice.
Legolas looked indignant at the notion of being spoon fed by even Aragorn and watched as the cruelly tight ropes binding Aragorn's wrists were severed. They almost had to be peeled away from the man's chaffed skin and Aragorn held his breath as blood flow, which had long been denied to his hands, surged back and caused no small amount of pain. It was obvious that his wrists were bruised, even if they were not nearly as damaged as Legolas' were by the metal cuffs.
Legolas flexed his fingers, alarmed at how they had lost sensation. He licked his dried mouth in longing of even temporary freedom. His arms ached relentlessly and his wrists were sore and smarting where the cuffs had managed to bite through his first layer of skin. Even as Aragorn felt his sense of feeling coming back to his own hands, he knew Legolas' discomfort and had not forgotten it simply because he was not experiencing it in fullness anymore.
"Can he not be loosened? He would not run, I promise," Aragorn plead on his friend's behalf, crawling over to grab a bowl and spoon before shuffling on his knees to sit close to the Elf. He intended to feed Legolas first, and look after himself later. "Please?" he asked once more when he didn't receive an answer the first time.
The boy shook his head reluctantly, hating himself for his cowardice but unable to help it. "I am sorry. He is…his kind is fast…I could get into real trouble." His explanation was understandable but it still frustrated the ranger that Legolas was reduced to this. The proud Elf would never accept being spoon fed in the presence of his captors and would readily starve first. However, Aragorn didn't want to argue more and waste time.
Looking up at Legolas' and realizing that the prince's thirst would be far greater than his hunger, Aragorn reached for the water-skin, which the boy quickly handed to him, trying to be helpful. Legolas unintentionally licked his dried, cracked lips in helpless anticipation of the welcome moisture.
Putting the rim of the opened water-skin's mouth against Legolas' lips, Aragorn tipped it, only allowing Legolas to have a sip at first. The last thing he needed was Legolas to get his stomach upset because he had forced down too much cold water too fast. Apparently the prince didn't agree because he glared as the water was temporarily revoked. "If you promise not to force down too much or too fast," Aragorn said as he prepared to offer Legolas more water.
The Elf glared expectantly until Aragorn pressed the water-skin to his lips again and then he drank greedily, careful not to let his rapid swallowing qualify as too fast. It felt good, the cold water sliding down his parched and hoarse throat. It had been tantalizing listening to the rain falling and being so thirsty, even though he had not recognized his thirst at first. His mouth didn't hurt so much anymore.
Suddenly some of the welcome liquid glided down the wrong pipe, blocking his wind and the Elf sputtered, water dribbling down his chin as he coughed and curled in on himself as far as his bonds would allow. Alarmed, Aragorn handed the water-skin off to the boy, who was watching without comment.
Pushing gently against Legolas' shoulders, he steadied the prince and then smiled wryly as Legolas' coughs subsided, resumed and then left for good. "You drank too fast. I warned you."
Legolas shook his head in protest. "I did no such thing. My throat is just not used to the moisture." Aragorn shook his head as well but didn't argue.
"Care for anymore?" he asked as Legolas licked his lips again, feeling refreshed and enjoying the lingering taste of the clear, clean water.
The Elf frowned. "What about you?" He knew how selfless Aragorn was, and he knew that the man's limits did not reach as far as his own. If anyone needed to take advantage of this, it was Aragorn.
The ranger shook his head. "You first. I am sure we can get more after," he looked back at the boy, who nodded in agreement.
"There is a spring close by."
Aragorn turned back to the reluctant Elf and smiled encouragingly. "See? Drink." He recovered the water-skin from the youth behind him and pressed it against Legolas' compressed lips. When the Elf still seemed hesitant, Aragorn pressed it closer and glowered, "I know you are still thirsty. This might be your last drink in a while."
Legolas accepted the water-flask without further resistance, taking in more water, surprised when he felt his spirits rise ever so little. Finally, when he had drunk his fill, Aragorn relented and removed the flask from the Elf's lips.
Reaching for the bowl of slightly cooled porridge, he held it in one hand and the spoon in the other.
Anger swirled into Legolas' eyes as the thought of further humiliation crossed his mind. It was bad enough he couldn't drink by himself and the water had dribbled down his chin like a baby being nursed, but being fed corn-mush from a spoon was asking too much. If he had been hungry earlier, he had lost his appetite now. "No," he refused flatly.
Aragorn had expected such a response, knowing Legolas was not one to suffer humiliation unless there were simply no other alternatives…like starving to death. It was stupid, but the Elf considered starvation to be a better option than shame even though there was nothing for him to be ashamed about.
Sensing Legolas' mood, the boy shuffled out, taking the emptied water-skin with him to be refilled.
Legolas watched him go but still was just as stubborn even after the boy was gone. A soldier of Ceorl's could walk in and see him accepting food from a spoon and he would never live it down. Aragorn collected a spoonful and offered it to the Elf, placing it against Legolas' mouth.
Legolas twisted his face away, snubbing the proffered food. Aragorn sighed, pulling back. "Legolas, you have to eat something."
"No," the prince corrected, keeping his mouth out of range of Aragorn's hands. "I don't."
"Sure you do," Aragorn coaxed, readying the spoon again for when Legolas would turn his face around.
"No. I don't," he argued vehemently, glaring at Aragorn out of the corner of his eye. "I am not hungry."
Aragorn knew that arguing this much with Legolas would only make the Elf more stubborn and resistant. He shrugged and sat down seemingly uncaringly. He was hungry and he knew that their next chance of getting food was unknown. He could convince the Elf to drink but forcing the prince to spoon feed was beyond his expertise. Taking a bite, he looked at Legolas with a thoughtful expression. "It's not bad. Makes me wonder why they gave it to us."
Legolas watched Aragorn swallow his first mouthful and continue with another. He had to admit, it was tempting but he couldn't bring himself to stoop that low. His stomach gave a low growl and it wasn't lost on Aragorn, who stopped eating his breakfast and stared demandingly at the Elf.
Teasing aside, Aragorn promised, "No one will ever hear of this. The boy isn't back yet and the men are busy. Just eat a few bites, mellon nîn. I will never mention it again."
"Yeah, right. Could I get a copy of that in writing?" Legolas answered with a small chuckle, grimacing as his aching arms started to throb.
"No. Well, maybe when we are out of this mess," Aragorn brushed the jest aside, having a feeling that he had a limited amount of time before his bonds were replaced and he was secured again. Selecting the bowl and spoon that he had not touched, Aragorn offered another spoonful to the prince, who grudgingly accepted it.
Aragorn smiled, trying not to chuckle at the expression written across the proud creature's face. Legolas scowled as he swallowed, nearly choking. "Chew your food," Aragorn reprimanded jestingly.
Legolas rolled his eyes. "You sound like my mother." He didn't mind accepting food from Aragorn's hand too much, he decided reluctantly, as long as no one witnessed it and the ranger kept his mouth shut. He accepted another bite presented by the man and the human chuckled as some of the broth-like liquid slid down the prince's chin.
The Elf swallowed quickly and reached his tongue out to lick around his mouth, a grin pulling at his lips against his will. He simply couldn't help it even though he knew he should find nothing funny about all of this. His father would be thoroughly embarrassed for him. It was a few moments before he could accept another spoonful and it was challenge to swallow it before he nearly gagged in soft laughter.
Soon, the whole bowl was almost gone and the two were acting almost as though they weren't really miserable.
Just then, their momentary joy was broken when the boy hobbled back in, carrying the water-skin, freshly filled. Aragorn, not wanting to shame the Elf, stopped feeding him and set the bowl and spoon aside. Legolas feigned disinterest.
If the boy had picked up on what was going on he certainly didn't show it, which was a smart thing. He handed the water-flask off to Aragorn, knowing that it was the ranger's turn to drink his fill before they had to leave. The boy scowled, not looking forward to moving out as he never did. It only caused him more heartache because he was not as strong in body as the others and it took a strong toll on his health from time to time with no help from his emotionally calloused father.
Turning his back on the two prisoners, he watched through narrowed eyes as men filed into the cave, gathering the last remnants of the unpacked supplies before bustling out again to saddle their horses. Catching sight of his father giving orders to someone and walking past him as though he was nonexistent, the boy listened intently.
However, his father must have seen what he was doing or already intended to speak with him, because he grabbed the boy's arm in a tight grip, his fingers leaving bruises. "I want you and a few others to ride out to where the orcs are posted. Tell them they are to carry out their plans and get those horses." The boy could do nothing but nod in fear.
Ceorl gave one last demand as he shoved his son back a step, watching in distaste as the boy nearly fell. "And if you can't find them and fail me, don't you dare come back. I will kill you, understand?"
The boy grimaced and stammered, "Yes, father."
Ceorl smacked him sharply across the face, whipping the youth's head to the side and drawing blood. "Don't call me that, boy!" He had long ago disowned the child and he was sick of little slips in being addressed, such as this one. He was not the boy's father. The boy was a mistake, he never should have happened and he wasn't wanted. He was a no one.
"I'm sorry, master," the youth answered in a trembling voice, back peddling for fear of another blow. He knew his father was trying to get rid of him, he knew this was a mission that he wasn't meant to survive. That thought stung a lot. He knew that he was freak, that he was failure, that he was a mistake…he just had never thought that he was meant to die.
Fighting back choking tears he flinched and withdrew as his father drew closer. "And if you fail or try to get help I will know, and your little friends that you made, they will die. Forget the money I will get for the Elf; I will kill him if you go for help, understand? And you know how slow I can drag out someone's death, don't you?"
The boy desperately tried to feign confusion for Legolas' sake but his father already had everything figured out and he wasn't going to stand for this brat's lying. "Why would I be friends with-"
"But you are, aren't you?" Ceorl accused spitefully, going over to Legolas, kicking Aragorn out of his way and pulling on one of Legolas' ears in a way that made the Elf wince. "Because he's a freak, just like you! Because you think he understands you! Because he and this ranger are kind to you!"
The boy couldn't argue; he was too hurt and feeling too alone. His chin trembled and he stepped backward, preparing to rush out of the cave. But Ceorl hadn't released him yet and the man snapped, "Did I say that you could go, brat?"
Standing still and lowering his eyes, the boy whispered, "No, master." There were painful tears burning in his eyes and crimson flooded his cheeks with shame, making them burn.
"You may go now," he said with a sneer. "Remember this, even if you succeed and return, you will never fit in with us. You were born different and a freak and that is how you will stay!" he spat at the youth as the boy shuffled out of the room, tears streaming down his face unchecked.
Legolas had watched the exchange in hot fury, pulling free of the man's grip on his ear and glaring up at him with flinty eyes of ice. His defiance had been robbed of him earlier but seeing the maltreatment of the boy who was biologically this man's son rekindled something deep inside of him. Something that refused to listen to reason or threats…something that refused to be silenced.
"You are sick!" he spat at the blonde man, throwing caution into the wind. He knew what rejection was, and he knew what it was like to have an argument with his father, but Thranduil had never outright hated him and he never would. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be hated by those who were part of you, whose blood ran inside you and in whose company you should feel safe.
"Watch your mouth Legolas, lest your ranger friend should suffer the consequences of your actions," Ceorl warned coldly, boring his eyes into Legolas'. "I would hate to see him suffer more, wouldn't you agree? Since this would be your second offence I would say his punishment should be upped a degree."
Legolas' jaw tightened and he compressed his mouth into a thin white line as he knew he must control himself for Aragorn's sake. "Before this is all over," he warned in a cold, hateful tone, "I am going to kill you."
Ceorl didn't laugh, he didn't move. He just stared at Legolas for a moment, as though wondering if the Elf's promise could possibly come true. Not wanting the prisoners to see his doubt, he looked at Aragorn, who was still free of his bonds. Throwing all his anger and hate into one motion, he slammed his boot into Aragorn's stomach, doubling the man over and making him gasp sharply.
Legolas threw himself against his bonds; ignoring the pain it caused to his inflamed wrists. He withheld a cry as he knew the pain that Aragorn was feeling and understood that the kick was strong enough to do damage internally. His hands clenched into fists above his head and the knuckles went white.
Ceorl stared at Legolas and smiled at the Elf's distress. Giving Aragorn a harder kick in the side, and sending the man sprawled onto his side, Ceorl laughed scornfully at Legolas. "Break your chains and stop me Elf. Free yourself and come between me and him, put yourself in his place, and I will stop."
He knew Legolas' desire and he could see the pain reflected in the unmasked eyes. The colour that had barely come back into Legolas' face had vanished again and his eyes were large. The bruises and dark rings about the prince's eyes accented his eyes, making them even more potent. "Or are you not strong enough, princeling? What kind of kingdom is ruled by someone so weak?"
The words bit Legolas deeper than he would ever admit to anyone, even to himself. He knew deep inside that he wasn't weak, but somehow, he couldn't believe that now. He own father had called him irresponsible…but that seemed like millennia ago. It was his last memory of home…
Ceorl kicked Aragorn again, drawing a cry of pain from the ranger, who curled in tighter on himself, unable to stop himself for crying out under the abuse. He wished to the Valar he could be stronger for Legolas but he couldn't. Gasping, he realized that he couldn't breathe either and that his attempts to protect himself against the raining blows were growing weaker and weaker. It felt as thought his diaphragm had been smashed and panic was beginning to choke off what was left his breathing capabilities.
Legolas watched wide-eyed, silent tears pricking under his eyes as he witnessed his friend's abuse. The Elf's fair face was screwed up in emotional pain and he wanted to rush forward and throw himself over Aragorn but his unbreakable bonds held him back against the cold stone of the wall. His breathing accelerated; he wasn't going to let his pride interfere with his friend's well being. Yes, he was weak, but Aragorn shouldn't have to pay for it. "Please, please stop. I am –am begging you, Ceorl, please!" The desperate tone and the edge of helplessness made the man cease Aragorn's beating and stare at Legolas in disbelief.
"Say that again, Legolas, louder, so everyone can hear it." Gesturing to the men that had returned into the cave to see what the commotion was, the blonde human invited, "Come, Legolas has something to say." Looking at Legolas and talking in a low, deliberate voice, he demanded, "say it."
Aragorn cried out as another kick smashed against his already abused and battered diaphragm, nearly making him throw up. Legolas watched his friend shudder helplessly as he struggled to pull enough oxygen into his body.
"Please! Please stop!" he almost yelled, loud enough that all could hear it.
Ceorl prepared to kick Aragorn again, watching Legolas. "That isn't the part I wanted to hear. Let's hear it all, Legolas. Every. Little. Word. Am I clear?" He questioned, wondering if maybe he needed to find a new tactic to use on his victim. Aragorn lay on the ground, struggling to breathe.
Legolas swallowed down his pride almost visibly, putting thoughts of him aside. "I am begging you! Please stop! Please!" His eyes spoke more than his words or his voice could have ever conveyed and Ceorl smiled, hooking his boot toe under the ranger and rolling Aragorn over.
"Well since you asked so nicely. How can I refuse the prince of Mirkwood?" he scorned the Elf, spitting in his face. Cupping Legolas' chin as the Elf recoiled from the glob of flying saliva, he squeezed Legolas' chin tightly. "Like a good little Elf." His words burned Legolas' stubborn heart and the prince refused to meet his eyes.
Producing a length of rope from his pocket after he fished around a bit, he threw it into the arms of a man standing closest to him. "Bind Thorongil and then unchain the Elf. Use rope and bind him but make sure the knots are secure and tight." Releasing Legolas' chin, he patted his head as though he was a dog and then turned and stalked away.
The man who had been tossed the rope looked white as he clumsily made his way towards the prone ranger. He was well aware of the gravity of the situation should the prisoners, either or them, escape.
He didn't need to subdue Aragorn anymore than he already had, but of course, he wasn't going to take any risks. Kicking Aragorn one more time in the ribs for good measure, the man pulled the other groaning man's hands together and began wrapping the rough hemp around the torn skin of his wrists. Making sure it was good and tight, he seemed satisfied after a series of painful tugs and he shoved Aragorn coldly aside.
He went to Legolas and then realized that his leader had failed to give him the keys. Not being able to unlock the prince's manacles without the keys, he hurried out to catch Ceorl and amend this mistake before trouble came of it. He was expecting some trouble anyway, even though it wasn't his fault.
Legolas and Aragorn were left to themselves for a short while since all the men had left a little earlier, seeing no reason to stay with the end of the spectacle at hand.
Legolas was the first to break the silence with a soft sob. "I'm sorry, so sorry, Estel."
Aragorn lifted his head slightly from where it lay in the dirt, fluttering his eyes open as he was still recovering from his painful ordeal that had left him winded. "For what?" He didn't understand… none of this was Legolas' fault… he had stopped it anyway. In his eyes, Legolas was innocent and had nothing to be sorry for.
The prince shook his head and whispered back in a choked voice as he withheld his shameful, shuddering sobs, "For you paying the prince for my weakness." His voice was so low Aragorn could barely hear him and he blinked in disbelief.
"Your weakness?" What had happened to the defiant Elf with the icy eyes? What had happened to his friend that could face anything with his headstrong mind? The man's voice was a whisper as he couldn't believe what he was hearing and was barely capable of breathing anyway. "Legolas…I haven't paid for your weakness…I have paid for your strength…"
Legolas shook his head. "No. I am weak. I got captured. I forced you here where you have been subjected to torment because I can't free myself." The Elf's bitter lament made Aragorn flinch inside and he wriggled closer, crawling through the stony, dusty ground so that he was able to hear any whisper the Elf made.
"I am the one who is weak," Aragorn murmured to his friend, causing Legolas to give him a hard stare. "I failed to get you out and I have failed to protect you when you needed me." Aragorn smiled grimly and gave a snort as his bruised diaphragm wouldn't allow a chuckle. "And you didn't force me anywhere. I came here because I wanted to."
Legolas knew this was true, but it hurt to think about anyone sacrificing that much for him.
Aragorn seemed to be aware of Legolas' feelings and he turned completely solemn. "It's no more than what you did for me in Harad. You didn't have to come for me." He hadn't forgotten the screams of the Elf, being tortured because he had dared to come for him and become embroiled in the whole mess and asked nothing in return. The prince had even been deaf at the time. He hadn't forgotten how mangled Legolas had been and the painful healing process that wasn't even through yet.
Soon enough the man assigned to prepare them for travel returned bearing the expression a bear cub might have after a harsh reprimand by his mother. In his hand was clenched the rusty key and Legolas couldn't help but sit up straight in the anticipation of the flow of blood that return to his hands and fingers. He wasn't expecting it to be painless but at the same time he was expecting it to be relieving.
Aragorn's faith in him had made him feel slightly better and as the traitor coming to free him from the wall kicked the ranger out of the way, Legolas growled in a dangerous undertone, "You had better not do that again." His voice may not have recovered all of its potency but it still had a surprising amount of effect.
The assaulting human stopped and stared at Legolas with an expression akin to laughter but when he saw the protectiveness and honestly that filled the prince's already flinty eyes his jovial look faded. He couldn't help it. The prisoner that he thought had moments ago been begging had just commanded something of him and the strange thing was that he found himself heeding the Elf's demand.
Legolas was sure that this had something to do with the fact that the man had to actually unlock him from the restraints that were the only things keeping them separated. Even if he was hurting badly and his heart felt broken by the situation he couldn't help but appreciate this particular circumstance.
The man edged his way closer to Legolas, watching the prince as though he might break the manacles and bite his head off. This was highly unlikely, because there were a few times already when Legolas had genuinely wanted to do something along those very lines.
Aragorn was now on his knees, watching as his friend was about to be released of the wicked iron that had almost shredded the first layer of skin around his wrists. The prince was watching the man with the key intently as he jabbed it into the lock mechanism and gave it a few odd, harsh twists. There was the grating sound of metal on metal and then the apparatus released, allowing the irons to fall from Legolas' aching wrists.
The man then moved to place the bonds on Legolas, but stumbling up and reaching the prince's side, Aragorn interfered. "He needs the circulation returned," the ranger explained, shoving the other man aside without a second thought. True, his own hands were bound but he could still use them to some extent.
The man must have seen the sense in the suggestion, because he didn't retaliate and he didn't impede. However, he kept a close watch and his hand never left his sword hilt. Anger kindled behind his eyes.
Taking one of Legolas' cold numb hands, Aragorn tenderly but firmly began to rub it, taking note of how the prince bit his lip as the portion of his body long denied blood eagerly accepted the liquid again. He knew the painful rush of sensation the Elf was experiencing and quickly moved to the other hand, trying to ease it as quickly as possible.
The circulation quickly returned and no lasting damage had been done the Elf's newly healed fingers, at least not that Aragorn could see. He had Legolas open and close them several times before he was satisfied.
The traitor finally grew impatient as the sounds of people mounting horses could be heard and he moved to bind the Elf. Legolas' muscles tightened and he resisted the urge to pull his throbbing hands away. It wouldn't do any good and would make him seem weaker than he must already.
Just then, Ceorl, in his perfect timing, strolled in, obviously wondering what the hold-up was and his face was scrunched up in wrath. His eyes lighted on the Elf, who was in the process of having the rough rope twisted about his wrists and pulled taut. The pain was plain on the fair creature's face as the man binding him gave the bonds one experimental tug to make sure that they were properly in place. Satisfied, he grabbed Legolas by his arm and yanked him to his feet, shoving him back a few steps so he nearly banged into Aragorn who had stood up on his own.
"What took you so long? My orders were concise and should not have taken this long…nearly twenty minutes to be exact," he added as he glared at all three before him.
The man placed in charge of Legolas and Aragorn seemed fidgety and he mumbled a hasty apology, hoping to merely get by with a scolding. "I had to get the key from you, sir," he tried to justify the copious amount of time.
Ceorl was gracious enough to consent to that, but to make up for his graciousness, he snapped, "Get them out there this minute!" The idiot had been far too gentle with the prisoners, but there was no time for harsher reprimands. It wasn't his fault the other human was a total idiot, he decided as he turned his back on them and stalked out.
Legolas and Aragorn were roughly prodded out, with a series of cuffs and curses as they went, most of them breaking over Legolas who was primarily blamed for the trouble.
Once out, Legolas winced as he saw there were no extra horses, they were expected to walk and most likely run. He couldn't help but feel sick and he was glad that Aragorn had demanded that he eat their meagre breakfast, but he wished the human had ingested some of his portion. He didn't need it all, after all.
Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw Ceorl approach, more rope in hand and he resisted the urge to panic as he thought of more bonds being placed on him, meant to make him helpless and run for his life. It was like being a puppet on a series of cruel and punishing strings.
Aragorn had not yet seen the additional ropes but he had seen Legolas tensing at his side and had wondered immediately what had alarmed his friend so. Twisting his head in the direction of the prince's gaze he grimaced at the sight of Ceorl's burden and closed his eyes, just imagining Legolas' reaction and trying to control his own.
The Elf subconsciously retreated closer to Aragorn as he recognized the all too familiar form of a rope noose meant to be used as a dangerous leash. Old memories of Farlost soared into his mind, as well as Harad. Understanding and appreciating Legolas' emotions about this, Aragorn compassionately touched the Elf's back with his bound hands as a reassuring gesture. Even if it didn't insight memories of pain and hopelessness as it was, it still damaged the prince's pride.
Ceorl grabbed Legolas by his chin, as he had been fond of doing recently, and pulled him forward away from Aragorn. Taking the noose, he slipped it over the Elf's head and cinched it partially tight, making the Elf flinch as he felt it enclose loosely around his throat. The prince stared at the rope as though he was glaring down a venomous snake but the fear could not be mistaken in his eyes.
"You and Thorongil are going to run beside us. Our pace will be reasonable, you need time to recover before you are handed over to Sharky and there are ways of avoiding patrols if we travel through the more mountainous part of the country." He proceeded with the rope attached to the bonds on Legolas' wrists, lengthening it so that it could be wrapped around the horn of a saddle along with the end of the hated leash. Legolas found it ironic that they expected them to recover while struggling to keep up with the pace set by a horse but there was nothing he could do about it.
Any stumble or overly zealous reproof could easily result in the prisoner's death. Knowing this didn't comfort Legolas and he turned his face away, unable to watch as Aragorn received the same treatment.
As he avoided seeing the rough handling of his friend, the Elf noticed the boy out of the corner of his mind. He had finally come up with a name for the child in his mind, though he knew that the human youth would never accept it: Voronwë, the name of his murdered cousin. It meant "faithful" in Quenya. The child looked strangely at ease with what he was about to venture into, even though Legolas could read the terror and pain in his eyes.
Narrowing his eyes as he took a closer look at the boy, he noticed that he didn't ride with a saddle, which made perfect sense considered that it would hamper his twisted foot. He must have an excellent sense of balance to be able to counter for the awkward way his foot would spread his weight across the animal's bare back. Frowning, Legolas watched as the child spurred the animal and steered him towards the Eastfold, along the Gondorian and Rohirrim border, where the orcs were encamped.
:0Ї0:
They had reached the camp no more than ten minutes ago and the noon sun was just beginning to reach its peak in the sky, warming the earth and releasing the pleasant smell of the luscious grass. Roth inhaled deeply as he dismounted ahead of Elrohir so that the younger twin could deliver Elladan to him before lightly hopping down himself.
Collecting Elladan, who was still unconscious, Roth waited until Elrohir was free of the horse and had stretched his stiff muscles before yielding his brother back to him. Elladan's condition was relatively stable even though he had yet to wake up. There were still some things to be grateful for, the warrior supposed as he stared at the pasty and emotionless face of the elder twin.
Elrohir cradled his brother close to his chest, almost unwilling to let go. Roth stayed just behind the older Elf, not sure of what was about to happen and banking on the assumption that Elrohir knew how these humans worked. Sighing, he watched as the three that had been helpful enough to escort them, left them standing by a russet tent, obviously having a more important errand or fetching along a healer.
Unfortunately, Roth had the sinking feeling that they were being left alone and exchanging glances with Elrohir, he knew that the youngest of the twins felt the same.
Their sharp ears picked up the sound of people returning, walking towards them. Not that this would have been uncommon if the King of Rohan didn't make up one out of four of the company. Elrohir would have normally smiled in greeting but the circumstances and his physical as well as emotional pain prevented any such gesture. Roth just narrowed his eyes suspiciously behind Elrohir's back, knowing full well that since he was a hair shorter that the king and his companions would be unable to see it.
The king's face was grave and he didn't smile either, only extended a hand but pulled it back when he saw that Elrohir's arms were rather full. Roth didn't move forward and the Rohirric ruler didn't extend any greeting towards the Elven warrior.
Appraising the two mentally, the king could easily diagnose that they had been in some sort of fight. Clearing his throat, he skipped the formalities and cut straight to the matter at hand. "I will personally see that you receive the best medical attention that I have at my disposal here," he informed. "But in return I should like to know how this all happened, my lords."
Elrohir nodded his appreciation, feeling rather breathless and unexplainably tired. Roth still seemed a bit cold about the meeting but he didn't interfere and as a matter of fact, seemed to be trying to avoid a confrontation or a simple conversation altogether. His wound was paining him and his head was throbbing with a pulsing headache that just wouldn't quit.
Thengel turned to the three men and with a wave of his arm sent them off on some errand but attended personally to the directing of the three Elves to the Healing Tent placed near his own individual quarters. He had never met the twin Sons of Elrond himself, however his most trustworthy men only had good things to say about them and his father had told him of them when he was a boy sitting on the late king's knee. If so many others before him had placed faith in the pair of brothers and any they claimed friendship to, then he felt obligated to give them more than a fair chance himself.
The Healing Tent wasn't too far away, only a few yards and their walk was unaccompanied by any conversation. Roth hung on the other side of Elrohir, keeping the brothers between himself and the Rohirric ruler. He couldn't help his lingering distrust of men even through he knew it was foolish considering that he had married a mortal woman. But then again, he knew that she would never hurt him. When she went to Lake Town as she was wont to do in avoidance of the Elves from time to time, he could accompany her there because he had grown up there and knew vaguely what to expect. His adoptive parents had been mortals.
However places like Rohan completely threw him out of his comfort zone and left him feeling rigid and on guard so that rest became rare.
Sighing as everyone came to a halt before the tent flaps, he unnoticeably swallowed and prepared to enter the room, expecting to see wounded men lying in agony stretched out on mats soaked in blood…writhing… How could they keep Elladan in a place like this?
Feeling something in his throat, the Elf coughed a bit hard and then blinked as he quickly recovered. That had definitely not been normal for even a mortal Elf, but he hardly could pay attention to it now and blamed it on the wet, cold weather of the night.
Elrohir pushed threw the tent flaps and Roth tagged on his heels as the king turned and left, having other things to do and knowing that the Elves could take care of themselves. He had spoken with the healers and so they knew to give the Elves anything that they needed and what was available.
Elrohir didn't speak, and in fact, seemed like he had forgotten how. Seeing an empty and clean stretcher, he carried his brother to it and gently spread him on onto the soft material. Fresh, red blood was on his hands as he withdrew them from beneath the older twin and allowed Elladan's limp body to relax. Looking at his hands in disgust, Elrohir's face flushed slightly in fury as he remembered all that had happened. His own wound's intensity increased at the reminiscing and he had to use more will power than he liked to admit to get his pain under control.
Roth stood at his side and frowned down at Elladan. The elder twin was still unchanged and if Roth wasn't imagining things, he even had a small, trustful smile on his face. However, it seemed unlikely that this was possible considering that he was still unconscious and therefore, completely unaware. "How are we going to do this?" he asked his friend quietly.
Elrohir would have shrugged if not for his wound, which he didn't think would appreciate it. "I am not sure…I wish Lord Elrond was here." He hardly ever referred to him simply as 'Ada' in public, understanding that his father had an image to uphold. "We need to disinfect it, but that is going to be tricky…" Puncture wounds were very dangerous and he knew that this one would be no exception.
The Rohirrim healers looked at the Elves for a minute, expectantly, but realized soon that they were not needed and that their own skill might be passed up by Elrohir's expertise. Heeding the moans and groans of those already in their charge, the men put their attention to better use and left the Elves to their own business.
Elrohir stared at Elladan one minute longer before he decided that something had to be done and very, very soon. Quickly, his long fingers flew to unbutton what was left of Elladan's tunic where the arrow had ripped through. The fabric was a rusty scarlet and stiff in places where the blood had dried but a ruby spot was developing where fresh liquid was pulsing out. The jostling of the horse on the way there had aggravated the injury, causing it to start bleeding again.
Once Elladan's chest was exposed, Roth watched Elrohir tenderly pull the rudimentary bandages that had swathed his chest and back free, revealing the gruesome injury. Every time the older twin breathed more blood trickled out and Roth resisted the urge to turn his face away. Quieting the sickness in his stomach, he whispered, "Looks bad."
Elrohir only nodded, feeling too choked up to speak. Evidently entrusting Roth with Elladan's basic care, he went and sought a healer to direct him to the cash of meagre supplies.
To Roth, the time seemed to pass for an eternity. He wasn't a healer and didn't consider himself to be knowledgeable on even the basics of caring for cuts and abrasions let alone these sorts of wounds. He wished he had someone wiser around, but as he did not, he tried to remember all that his experiences with Legolas, Aragorn, and the twins had taught him… Valar knew he had seen these types of procedures often enough.
Elladan was still bleeding and the dark-haired warrior scowled as he knew that the blood had to be stopped and made to clot. Feeling like he wasn't a complete idiot after all, he grabbed one of the former bandages and applied it firmly against the wound with a pertinent amount of pressure, staunching it. His mind held a single task, keeping the blood at bay and he gradually applied a bit more pressure.
Just as he was beginning to feel in partial control of the situation, Elrohir returned, bearing bandages, a case of varieties of herbs, and some other rudimentary instruments. None of this compared to Rivendell or even Mirkwood's stores of supplies by far but they would have to work with what they had. By most standards they were lucky.
Starting his administrations, Elrohir quietly instructed Rothinzil as to what had to be done and his directions were carried out flawlessly despite the other Elf's shaking hands.
:0Ї0:
After a couple of gruelling hours all three Elves were successfully bandaged and on the road to recovery –even if the road was beset with bumps and ruts every few feet.
Elladan had returned to them and had returned to full consciousness but was now in a fitful sleep as the substitution mixture for Lord Elrond's legendary drugs was working to dull the pain. Elrohir hadn't been able to completely recreate the mixture and so he had to do what he could, which was precious little but evidently enough.
His own wound he had staunched and sterilized before he had bandaged it tightly and the pain was considerably less. He didn't give himself any pain drugs, unwilling to dull his reeling senses. Dark circles lined his eyes; accenting them and making his steely grey eyes seem even darker and more tired.
Roth was less cold towards the men now, realizing that without them Elladan might have very well lost his life, but he remained slightly suspicious. Elrohir had helped him sterilize, staunch and wrap his wound only after he had cut his way through a series of protests. The stubborn warrior was just as mule-headed as Legolas, but Elrohir couldn't figure out why he had ever expected less.
Fearing that it might be a bit hard for Elladan to relax and feel at ease in a Healing Tent, Elrohir had boldly but politely requested that he be moved somewhere else. This was understandable and King Thengel personally saw to it that the older twin was moved to quarters of his own and that the tent was sectioned off through the centre to accommodate the Elves. He had fully expected that Elrohir and Roth would stay with the direly injured immortal.
After Elladan was moved and all the lodging had its alterations accomplished as best as they could be, the king of Rohan humbly requested that Elrohir look at some of his wounded for which he was afraid nothing could be done for. Elrohir knew he was being taken advantage of, but in atonement for the aid of the ruler and his people, the younger twin obliged.
He was grieved to see the wounds of some of the men who had fallen at the bite of an orc blade. Most were poisoned, which explained why they wouldn't heal properly and kept breaking open and bleeding repeatedly as well as excessively. Unfortunately there were a few for which he could do nothing and was forced to explain such. This only served to make his hatred towards the accursed orcs even more bitter and burn with a fury that was almost consuming.
Finally, he and Roth had been taken into King Thengel's tent where they decided to have their arranged conversation about all that had transpired.
Elrohir sat by his brother, holding is wrist and keeping track of his pulse even as he spoke. However, his fingers trembled as he realized how close Elladan had come to death and how far he had been dangling over the brink.
Roth had to explain things every now and then since Elrohir would sometimes put all his concentration into making sure that all Elladan's vital signs remained stable. His own shoulder hurt where the blade of it had been nearly pierced and he just felt sore all over.
Thengel took a few minutes to assess all the information they had just sifted through and everything was ominously silent for a moment. His face was clouded and his eyes shut as he rested his forehead against his fist. He had feared this for a long time, he honestly had but, he had never thought it would result in this. Even if he knew halfway what was taking place, he still had no idea what the traitor's plans fully were. He had no idea where he should fortify, or where the band of traitors would strike next. Would it be innocent women and children? Burning and pillaging? The possibilities were endless and unfortunately they amount of time he had to successfully counter these men was not. He was grateful that his men had stumbled on these three Elves. Very grateful. They could all help each other.
"So you are sure that he was Rohirrim?" the king questioned one last time, hoping that maybe Elrohir was wrong and that it had been a pack of renegade Dunlanders. That was something he could deal with, relatively speaking. "What did he look like?"
"Dark haired, maybe –and tall, but you had better ask Roth about that, if it pleases you, my lord," Elrohir politely differed to his friend, sitting comfortably at his side.
Roth perked up at the mention of his name and immediately gave Elrohir and the King of Rohan his full attention. The dark-haired warrior had been preoccupied staring at the earthen floor of the tent, only vaguely aware of what was transpiring around him. They looked at him expectantly and he seemed puzzled for a second before he conceded wearily, "Yes, dark-haired. Although I can't say how tall for certain –close to my height."
Dark hair wasn't typical of the Rohirrim and so the Rohan ruler couldn't help but be a bit sceptical, which was exactly what the Elves had expected. However, they were unprepared to buffer any allegations he made against their accusation of their attacker's nationality. They had no hard evidence; all they had was their word.
However, that seemed to be enough.
Even if the relative rarity of dark-haired men in Rohan made this unbelievable, it narrowed things down.
Thengel remembered his scouts that had vanished soon after the first run in with Thorongil and his Elven friend. He had not seen it as suspicious right away of course, but over the past few days it had been bothering him and now he was sure that he knew why. Ceorl had not returned either. As a matter of fact, he had noticed a desertion amongst the ranks as of late, though he had thought nothing of it, blaming it on the simple fact that the orcs were pillaging and mauling villages at a time and the men were probably afraid for their homes. Besides, they hadn't been signed into the Mark, they had joined of their own will and therefore were allowed to leave when the need arouse.
However, he had a dark feeling that half of them at least were up to something behind his back and had taken advantage of Rohan's just laws.
He said one word finally, after mulling everything over in his mind, "Deor."
Elrohir and Roth both resisted the strong urge to look at him strangely, the man being the king and all they felt that it would be a bit disrespectful to bear him such an expression. He knew their attacker...
"Excuse me, my lord, but who is Deor? Or was," Roth corrected himself quickly, recalling that he had shot the man dead. He shifted in slight embarrassment and then waited patiently for an explanation, even though inside he wished they could cut through the chase and he could know how Legolas was faring.
"He was a scout, along with his comrade, Ceorl. They were scouting for me not two days ago. As a matter of fact they had managed to capture this fair-haired Elf that you speak of –Legolas?" He waited for them to confirm his question before continuing. "That was when we were riding towards Edoras. We spotted his and Thorongil's fire and made for it, unsure if they were friends or foes. They grappled with Legolas and we surrounded Thorongil."
Elrohir looked impressed and Thengel looked at him curiously. The younger twin sounded astonished. "Grappled with Legolas?" His eyes were wide and he blinked in disbelief. "Without acquiring a scratch?"
Thengel admitted, "Well no, Ceorl managed to get a small arm wound. It seems they caught your friend unprepared." He stared at Roth and Elrohir quizzically, understanding that this was a rare thing to happen to any Elf, seeing as how they were always very alert and vigilant.
However, Roth and Elrohir couldn't disclose any explanations and so the subject remained on track.
Thengel admitted to the Elves that the scouts had gone missing but that this was not unusual since they always leave from time to time, fulfilling their jobs as his companies' eyes and ears. Although, he further divulged to them the fact that he was not at ease, there had been strange goings on lately and his people were suffering for it.
Both Elves seemed to piece things together very quickly but it was Elrohir who spoke faster, cutting off Rothinzil, who gave him a quick glare. "Is there any reason that Ceorl and any followers of him might commit treason?" The younger twin didn't expect Thengel to take any offence at his pressing question and his trust in the man's judgment was rewarded.
"Not to my knowledge, I know that at one point in time in the village he came from, that the Dunlanders intermixed with his people, but that was long before his birth." Here the man smiled a little. "That was when I was but a small lad."
For a moment no one said anything, no one had to. They all knew what each one of them was thinking. Someone had too much Dunlander blood in his veins and that same someone was not going to ignore it –he was appreciative of it.
"And you say that he has Legolas captive?" Thengel made sure that he had nothing confused, staring squarely into Elrohir's eyes.
The younger twin nodded in answer and then added, "And we know not of Thorongil's fate. He is a close friend –a brother. As we mentioned earlier, we caught up with him and after the assault parted. We know his intentions were to free Legolas and then return to help you with the orcs, but we do not know what has become of him or Legolas."
Jut then their conversation was interrupted by a hesitant messenger who parted the tent flap slightly and reported, "A boy has ridden into camp and requests an audience, my lord. Shall I tell him you are occupied at the moment?" He couldn't imagine what a boy would want with the king himself, but of course, who was he to judge? It would be on his head if his lord missed an important message because he turned the child away.
The King of Rohan looked at the two conscious Elves before him as if asking their opinions. He waited patiently for less than a minute while they seemed to be thinking of the options and weighing the possibilities. Seeing no objection on their faces as they returned his gaze, the king ordered his sentry, "Escort him here and then leave."
The man nodded curtly, merely doing his duty and left to carry out his liege's orders.
The Elves and mortal ruler waited for over five minutes. If Thengel was impatient he showed absolutely no sign, however, the Elves were openly anxious, thinking only of their loved ones. How long could it take to escort the boy to the blasted tent? This was ridiculous.
Noises were heard of shuffling feet just outside the doorway and all three looked at the entrance way in anticipation of the child and sentry's entry. It was not more than a few seconds before they were rewarded and the boy stepped through, agilely slithering through the meagre opening with the sentry at his back.
"Thank you," Thengel addressed the guard politely, having respect for those of his men who earned it. "You may return to your post." The man nodded humbly and left without any more words, allowing the tent flap to swing closed behind him, leaving the four in privacy.
Roth, who had been staring at the ground in anxiety, took notice of the way the child, who looked like death, held his foot at an odd angle. It was twisted almost fully around and with a pang the mortal Elf realized this impediment had existed from birth. Sorrow struck his heart that a child should know despair after barely beginning to live. He knew what that was like to feel outcast and unwanted and it was something he could never forget. Pity swelled in his sensitive heart. Inconspicuously tapping Elrohir's thigh, he gestured towards the crippled limb with his eyes and Elrohir was immediately taken aback, even if he didn't openly show it.
King Thengel indulged the boy, greeting him as though he were an adult all the while flashing an encouraging smile. "What news from the Mark?" The greeting was more than one between two grown-up men, it was conventional for the Rohirrim soldiers in their communications.
The boy didn't answer at first, and Elrohir began to wonder if one of his other deficiencies was being a mute. However, this thought was a bit ridiculous because he had demanded to be brought here.
"My lord, now is not the time to be smiling. Two people I care about very much are in grave danger as well as…as everyone here, I think," The youth's answer was unimpressed and flat. He was a boy, granted, but he knew when there was serious trouble and he knew of the dangers that he spoke better than anyone in that room could imagine.
King Thengel sobered up immediately, seeing that this child was obviously old enough to know the earnestness of the situation and there was no sense in keeping a smile on things when everybody knew it was a lie. Turning graver, he coaxed the boy, "What is it that you came to tell us?" His voice was gentle, encouraging and calm.
It took a minute for the boy to answer as he was busy gawking at the three Elves, looking sorrowfully at Elladan for the most part. Their ears…more Elves…but they were accepted here. His father was wrong. He was deluded. "My father is Ceorl, he has a contingent of traitors riding towards Isengard as we speak with an Elf, Leg'las, and a man, Thorongil, in their possession." The mispronunciation of the prince's name was overlooked in the anxiety of the moment.
"And he sent his son to tell us this? Why?" The lord of Rohan's eyes narrowed in suspicion that he didn't try to mask. He wasn't going to me outright mean to the boy, but he was going to be firm and that was to be expected. He had a feeling that none of this was in the least the child's fault. After all, he had a boy at home and so automatically his heart held pity for the misfortunate youth.
"He didn't send me, I-I came anyway," the boy was trembling involuntarily as he wondered what was going to happened next. He had been involved in and aided in sedition and he knew that garnered death in any kingdom. Swallowing he tried to hide his fears and look brave, like Legolas. The prince had barely flinched when his father and Deor had first started in on him, taunting him and beating him…being horribly cruel. It burned his heart that the prince and Thorongil were still trapped in those deplorable, cruel circumstances.
Elrohir's face softened as did those of the king and Roth. He was remembering Aragorn when he was much younger and he felt his heart open towards this child just as it had for the lonely ranger-child he had helped Elladan gather up so many years ago. Smiling in an absorbed way that surprised those there, he almost slid back into a set of memorable reveries.
This boy had earned his trust through this small admittance. He had honesty and that weighted heavily in the Elf's mind and instantly made him think better of the boy. Looking at Thengel, observing the king quietly, he came to the conclusion that the ruler felt very much the same way and that this boy had nothing to fear while he was here.
Remembering the boy's impediment of a foot, Thengel gestured towards a light, easily traversed with chair and proffered, "Would you like to sit down?"
The child hesitated and then reluctantly shuffled to the chair that was no more than a few feet off, before sliding onto the wooden seat, still seeming rigid with apprehension. "My lord, Legolas and Thorongil are in grave danger. I wasn't supposed to come here but I couldn't…I couldn't go to…to them." He shuddered helplessly as he recalled his first contact with the brutish servants of Mordor. They had made his stomach sick and his heart labour in his chest by merely looking at them. He could never converse with them. Never.
Thengel narrowed his eyes asked in a firm but kind voice, "Who, child?"
"The orcs…" his voice had become a trembling and barely audible whisper, unable to contain his fear for his new friends and his fear of the cruel orcs. He had just found some kind people who had genuinely seemed to care about him. He couldn't lose that. He couldn't bear to see them dead.
The king leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak noisily, and scrutinized the boy carefully with his clear grey eyes. Elrohir looked alarmed and sat up more straight, while Roth looked like he was going to be sick. "Orcs?" he wasn't surprised about the fact that there were orcs roaming his lands. Numerous clashes, one particularly that had started this mess, as well as their pursuit of the creatures proved that.
"Yes, my lord." He suddenly stammered, "My father was collaborating with them to undermine your rule and ultimately the entire kingdom, people and all. But he is playing both ends for the middle, I think." For being a boy of merely fifteen years, with no teaching, he seemed to be incredibly smart when left to his own devices and perceived things rather quickly and clearly. The king of Rohan was candidly impressed yet again.
"But is he consorting with the Nameless One himself?" If this were so, this could mean real trouble. He didn't think any mortal was that brash besides the Dark Lord's own creations, but things were changing and he couldn't be too certain. After all, he was dealing with treachery, which was made entirely of deceit and people who were good at it and usually demented in some way. He wouldn't put communicating personally with the Dark One past any of them.
The boy shook his head, confirming the negative. "No, only with his messengers. Orcs mainly and strange men that I couldn't tell you about. I have only heard him mention them once or twice," he confessed a little shamefully, wishing desperately that there was more he could do. Remembering his father's new plans, to sell Legolas out to some demented man, the youth spoke up before his liege or the Elves could get a word in. "He is also in contact with a strange man, Sharky, who wishes for an Elf to breed some new sort of, ah," he fumbled for the right words, "monster orc?" He probably sounded crazy but he felt that this was important enough to risk that.
Elrohir finally opened his mouth and asked the first question concerning the information. "But why not sell Legolas to Sauron for that purpose? Does Sauron know of this Sharky?" His voice turned quiet, but he looked at the boy with only kindness in his eyes.
"I can't say for certain." The Elf looked a little disappointed at the admittance so the boy tried to add more facts if he could remember them. "I think he is trying to get the most out of this that he can, namely in money. The Dark One will pay him handsomely for the black horses and for his cooperation. Sharky has promised the same in return for Prince Legolas."
Elrohir, as well as Rothinzil, looked openly startled that this young human knew Legolas' title but the way he referred the Elf as though he was a friend led the Son of Elrond to believe that Legolas had let him know. However, in the back of his mind, he knew that it shouldn't be known and that something was wrong. Still, now was not the time to be splitting hairs.
Thengel had not missed Legolas' title, and having not known it before merely looked at the boy curiously before setting the subject aside for a later time.
Sighing as things became a little clearer; he rubbed his hands wearily down his face as though wiping off weariness. "So it isn't about revenge?" he mumbled halfway to himself.
Here the boy looked up and he frowned darkly, hard seriousness giving his voice a bitter edge. "It never has been. It was about money." This didn't surprise the king even if it did disgust him. His people were peasants and he wouldn't be amazed if the wickeder ones tried to earn money by selling anything that wasn't nailed down, living or dead. It just so happened this man and his followers were either incredibly smart or extremely lucky.
"How many of our people have collaborated with him?" he asked the child, who seemed pleased at the reference of 'our people'. He wasn't seen as a traitor in his lord's eyes and it was heartening that he wasn't talking his way to his death.
"He has at least one hundred, but they are capable of more trouble than they seem. The orcs support them." The boy suddenly shuddered with emotion and he implored the king with wide, terrified eyes, "We have to do something! You have to rescue Legolas and Thorongil! You have to! He said he would kill them if I came here."
The king looked at the child with mild compassion. He could read in the child's eyes that Ceorl's threat was no bluff and that he would take Legolas' as well as Thorongil's life -and Thorongil's sooner.
Elrohir was now verging on a state of panic and Roth looked like he was swallowed something vile, leaving his face with a green tint. Normally they wouldn't have let their emotions take them this far but they had come so close to getting their loved ones back and to possibly have them taken away forever when they were this close was frustrating and more than a little frightening. They didn't know how their own homes would hold up if Legolas and Aragorn perished considering that the two weren't even dead and already things, inanimate and living, were rapidly decaying.
"We will leave to find them at dawn, my lord," Elrohir notified the king, not asking permission. They needed this afternoon and night to recover and collect themselves otherwise they would be worthless. His only worry was that they could not take Elladan with them and he feared to leave his brother alone in this world of men and bored soldiers who might not mind making a spectacle of the prone Elf. He had never been good at entrusting his brother into other's care and now it was especially hard.
Roth, as much as he was itching to go and save his prince and sworn brother was not disposed to leave Elladan behind by himself either. His heart was heavy and he almost leaned against a tent post in despair and weariness.
The king looked the two Elves over respectfully, even though he was having thoughts that they were half-mad. "And what of your brother, Lord Elrohir?" he questioned the identical Elf, who glanced at him with carefully masked irritation before looking at Elladan's frail hand and squeezing it gently.
"I don't know." He had to be honest; he knew that he couldn't leave Elladan here by himself. And he didn't want his brother to awake surrounded by strange faces in a tent without a friend to speak to. Elladan would be in horrible pain when he awoke and that would only delude his perceptions of what was transpiring further. He didn't want his brother to think that he had been abandoned or that something horrible had happened and that he and Roth were both killed. Elladan needed encouragement and drive if he was to survive this and if he thought his brother and friend were dead he would let go. Elrohir knew it and he would never forgive himself if that happened.
King Thengel prepared to throw the divider and section off the tent into equal parts to give the Elves their valued privacy, but he stopped and said one last sentence. "We are going to attack the orcs at dawn. Hardly a man will be left here."
Elrohir only nodded as he tucked the edges of a woollen blanket tighter about his brother. Afternoon had lengthened into evening and the air had a biting edge and was able to slither through the cracks of the tent in cold drafts. The last thing that Elladan needed was a chill that could ignite a fever or worse. True, Elves were not susceptible to illness the way humans were, but wounds this grave could do outlandish things to their normally resilient systems and make them unnaturally vulnerable to the cold's effects. Of course when they had lost almost all their blood, this was understandable to say the least.
The king of Rohan quietly observed the brotherly love shared between the companions for a moment and before he let the divider fall, he asked the boy, "And where are you staying tonight? Surely you aren't going to go back, are you?" He was willing to house the child, having an understanding that he and his father were not on good terms.
The boy looked uncomfortable. "I wouldn't want to be burden, my lord."
The older man chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair with his hand, truly grinning for the first time that night if not for the boy's sake than for his own. "I have two thousand spears, three Elves and many horses. You would make little difference; that I can assure you." His voice was friendly and inviting, but living a life of suspicion and continuous harassment and betrayal had taught him that those coaxing words were not always to be trusted. He openly hesitated and Elrohir stopped what he was doing behind the divider, having heard everything with his acute Elven hearing that wasn't even necessary to pick up over half of their words.
Peeking around the dividing cloth, he smiled warmly. "He can stay with us. Roth is rather dull to talk to." He cast the affronted, glowering warrior a jesting smile and then said seriously to the boy, "Really. You can stay."
TBC….
LOL This chapter wasn't so bad….(ducks randomly hurled objects) All right…but you really have to admit that it could be worse! LOL
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See you Friday! –Celeb and Tin
