I Will Always Return
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CHAPTER EIGHT
Don't Let Me Die Here
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It was the early hours of morning and the sun had just begun to rise, tendrils of pink and red stretching across the clouds and illuminating the earth in a soft glow. The air was still chilled and the ground still damp. Dew clung to every part of everything and dripped from the ends of grass blades.
A hand closing over his mouth and two fingers, a thumb and forefingers, pinching his nose closed, severing his only link to oxygen, woke the prince with a start and he jerked, trying desperately to break the man's grip but without success. His bound hand clenched Aragorn's involuntarily as Ceorl drew a knife and the ranger was instantly awake, having developed a habit of sleeping as light or lighter than any Elf. Seeing Ceorl's hand splayed over the Elf's mouth and his fingers closing Legolas' nose, the man panicked and when his eyes fell on the decently sized knife enclosed in the man's other hand, he trashed against his bonds. "Leave him alone! Please! He will suffocate!"
"Shut up, ranger!" snapped the Rohirric man, irritated. "Do you think I don't know that?" He brandished his knife in Aragorn's face for emphasis before drawing it across his throat in a slow slicing motion, indicating what would happen if Aragorn did not comply. He didn't need the ranger anymore and he wasn't beyond killing him right here, right now. As a matter of fact, he rather liked the idea and the thought was growing on him. However, right now, Legolas was his main object of attention and he tightened his hold over the Elf' nose and mouth.
Legolas had stopped struggling after his initial surprise of the attack and was now watching Ceorl with a pair of cold, narrowed eyes, even as he felt his body trying to burst through his skin with the denial of oxygen. Swirling his eyes to look over at Aragorn, he gave him a disapproving glare, not wanting the ranger to get himself into more trouble than he had already gotten himself into. Turning to continue glaring at his captor, Legolas managed to stare at him in contempt for close to a minute before the man's face was losing perspective and becoming blurred as his eyes began to glaze.
"You are coming with me, as a sort of…insurance," he purred into Legolas' ear, relinquishing his hold on the prince's face in exchange for a grip in his hair, snarling his fingers in the light-coloured strands. Tilting the Elf's head to the side, he smiled, "and if I can't sell you off, then at least I have a bargaining chip of sorts."
Legolas attempted to pull away but the man trailed the knife beneath Legolas' vulnerable throat, allowing it to bite softly into the flesh under his chin as a warning. Legolas flinched at the sudden pain and stiffed as he was released and pulled disdainfully away, still bound to the pole. Ceorl just laughed and smacked Legolas' face so that his head connected with the wooden post. Then, to Legolas' dismay, his attention turned to Aragorn and a dangerous glimmer danced in his eyes. "I don't need you anymore."
Aragorn's face remained impassive but inside a cold fear clutched at his stomach and held him tightly. Looking to Legolas' he saw naked terror in the Elf's eyes. Unable to watch his friend's pain, Aragorn's eyes reconnected with Ceorl's. "Continue." His voice bore only the most contempt and he looked at Ceorl as though the man was slow in coming up with the simplest of explanations.
"Well, I could keep you alive, but where is the enjoyment in that?" he asked, fingering the nicely designed knife in his hand as a bratty child might finger a favourite toy. "And Legolas needs to have a good memory or two to take with him, does he not?"
Aragorn remained stoic and only arched a dark brow in response before muttering, "Why don't you tell me?" It was obvious that this man was going to kill him, one way or another, and he might as well antagonize him with all the things he had been dying to tell him from the very beginning. "You are going to die," he told Ceorl calmly, as though he didn't care whether the traitor lived or died but just happened to be stating the bare facts.
"Do you how many people have told me that?" he asked, inclining his head to the side as an arrogant looking smirk pulled at his lips' corners.
"The majority of people you have met, including me and my friend?" Aragorn guessed, unperturbed by the anger that suddenly glowed behind the man's façade of indifference.
"Close enough," Ceorl answered promptly, spinning the knife in his hand in a fashion that almost reminded Aragorn of Legolas' antics, except this human's was far sloppier and a great deal slower because Aragorn could pick out the individual revolutions of the blade. Legolas' usually looked like a single blur and lasted less than a split second. "But you know what? They are either dead or about to die themselves."
The tone in the man's voice almost caused Aragorn to cock his head to the side in mild confusion. He felt Legolas stir uneasily beside him. Legolas' hand still held his tightly and he could tell that the prince was scared to let go and not for himself but for Aragorn. It would take a good deal of leverage to pry them apart.
Ceorl was no longer looking at them but towards the east intently, as though deep in thought. Legolas twisted his head in the same direction, wondering what had gripped the man's attention. Aragorn quickly looked that way as well, narrowing his eyes as though that would help assess the situation a little better. "King Thengel and his little Riders mean to stop me, they mean to rescue you two. And funny, two out of the three of those dark hair Elves are still with them if my scouts are correct. Well, they are wasting their time! There will be no one to rescue, will there?" he asked, turning cold and merciless eyes on Aragorn and the Elf.
"Or maybe you don't see the whole picture," Aragorn suggested tartly, much to the disapproval of Legolas, who didn't want the ranger antagonizing Ceorl just in case their captor was bluffing. "Even the wise cannot see all ends," he continued, watching Ceorl with a calculating expression on his face.
"True enough, but I see yours pretty clearly," he answered and then everything was a blur as the knife was pulled back to gather momentum before being thrust towards Aragorn's abdomen at an astonishing speed. Legolas saw the knife being thrust towards his friend, and having minimal time to react, the Elf thrust his feet out, intending to catch Ceorl's arm and knock the weapon out of his grasp or if his kick was powerful enough, at least dislocate the elbow. Unfortunately, the prince's kicks did neither, because their momentum was slowed down by the cords about his ankles and he only succeeded in redirecting the knife from its original course.
The blade had been meant to run Aragorn through the torso and fatally wound his internal organs, ultimately providing a slow, agonizing death. However, with Legolas' kicks, it had merely been thrust towards the side and had raked an extensive gash along the ranger's side beneath his ribs. The man sucked in a gulp of air as his body immediately tried to cope.
As pain exploded in his side, and he felt the hot rush of his blood being freed of his veins, Aragorn became aware that there were two voices, screaming in unison. He soon discovered that one was most certainly his own as he found himself breathless and with a hoarse throat that had suddenly constricted in pain. Looking detachedly at Legolas he saw the Elf's mouth slowly closing and his eyes wide with horror and realized the other scream that was still echoing through his mind had definitely come from the prince.
Trying to curl in on his left side where the blade had sliced through him, the man moaned helplessly and a shudder ran through him as his pain-wracked body convulsed. Legolas could feel him trembling against him and he struggled closer against the ranger, trying to keep him warm as Aragorn's heat drained away with his rapidly dispensing blood. Glaring at Ceorl he half-cried, "You heartless fiend! You will die for this if I have to kill you myself!"
Ceorl merely wiped Aragorn's blood from the knife in the long grass and his face conveyed only the utmost most indifference. Legolas had leaned over, his blonde hair obscuring his face as he tried to get a better look at Aragorn's wound, but there was no moving the human and all he could do was watch as the blood ran from the ranger's side, blossoming into a red stain that was stretching. "Estel," he murmured soothingly, and then continued in Elven that was inaudible to everyone but his friend, trying to provide some consolation to the ranger. The man's hand that was bound against his own was shaking and Legolas held it tightly, afraid to let go.
However, he wasn't provided with much of a choice as Ceorl took his knife and severed the bonds about his hands, pulling the Elf away from the ranger. It took him a while to separate their hands, as Aragorn's clutched Legolas' tightly; refusing to release its hold and Legolas' own seemed to be clamped inescapably tight. After prying them apart, he produced a new length of rope and slammed Legolas to the ground so that the Elf was winded and pressed with his stomach and chest against the earth and writhing against the restraining hands that held him there. Wrenching the Elf's arms behind him, he twisted the rope about the prince's wrists and cinched it painfully tight, chaffing against the already raw flesh.
"No! What are you doing! He'll die!" Legolas spat, twisting his face around to glare at the man pulling him up by his bound arms. "You can't do this!" He lunged forward, trying to pull free and get back to Aragorn's side but he had no such success.
"I am well aware of that, and yes, I can do this. Just watch closely, Elf," he advised, and stooped down to sever the bonds that had snared the prince's ankles so that the Elf could stand on his own. However, this only served to encourage Legolas and he used to his feet to produce more leverage to push his way closer to Aragorn.
Ceorl lost all patience and he drove his fist into Legolas' ribs, eliciting a cry from the Elf as he obviously struck a sensitive spot as a cracked rib advanced to a complete fracture. The prince stumbled and ultimately his knees buckled and he fell to them, sinking down into the grass. Pain-glazed eyes filled with a burning regret met Aragorn's as the ranger lifted his head at his friend's cry but the Elf quickly averted them, not wanting to cause Aragorn more pain.
Aragorn waited for the prince to cautiously lift his head again and then he gave him an anxious look of disapproval. The Elf still had a chance, if only he'd use it. Aragorn knew there was a chance he could survive this wound, but it was so small and he knew that even if Legolas was taken away the resourceful Elf could probably find a way of escape. He didn't want Legolas to ruin that chance.
Legolas felt hands on his arms and his body being pulled to its feet. Unable to stop it and seeing how his futile struggles hurt Aragorn as he watched the prince suffer, the Elf allowed Ceorl to drag him upright. But before the man could steer him away towards the horse he had prepared, the fair being shouted to Aragorn in Sindarin, "I will be back, my friend! Wait for me!"
The shouts earned Legolas a cuff over the head and the Elf ducked slightly to try and avoid the punishing blow, his body's involuntary instincts taking over. The prince continued to gaze over his shoulder, looking back at Aragorn as Ceorl prodded him forward. Legolas almost half-expected to wake up and discover that this was only a nightmare and that he was at the worst still bound to the pole next to the dozing ranger, but no matter how many times he blinked he couldn't wake up.
Ceorl forced him onto the horse first, but he continued to hold the skittish animal's reins, not taking any chances with the Elf tearing off and leaving him behind in the dust. Mounting the animal behind the Elf, he kept one arm around the prince's chest and with the other one, used the reins. Legolas normally would have felt a sense of satisfaction at seeing the human so dependant on the reins, but he was too frightened for Aragorn, so that was all that he could think about.
Aragorn watched from where he was bound to the pole by one hand. His other hand had been set free when Legolas' bonds were cut, but it didn't matter, he hardly had the strength to move it anyway. No matter how many times he blinked or gently shook his head, he couldn't relieve it of the black tendrils that were creeping into his vision and he was beginning to feel strangely tired. He was barely able to hold his head up, but he forced himself to as Legolas rode off. Despite Legolas' promise, his brave words and strength, Aragorn didn't believe he would see the Wood-Elf again in this lifetime and most likely not the next so he was going to watch him until he could see him no longer. It wasn't that the Elf wouldn't keep his word; Aragorn just didn't think that he would be here to hold him to it.
When he couldn't see Legolas anymore, the pain in his wound seemed all too real, too vivid and he felt like he was made of agony. The blackness darkening his sight grew until there was little left that wasn't mottled by the shadow and the frightening thing was, Aragorn noticed with an unnatural since of calm, was that it was still growing. The pain had already become a part of him in a way that made him almost numb to it and drawing a shaking breath, he submitted to the calling of oblivion. Unconsciousness or death, there was nothing he could do to stop either, and in this case he was sure that they would be one and the same. Before the blackness became full and all sound droned out he took peace namely in one fact, that Legolas would get away. Ceorl was an idiot.
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Elrohir looked sidelong at Roth, who sighed heavily, squaring his shoulders. Thengel had made good time despite all the odds and now sat on his left, with Eómund at his side, staring at the two mounted Elves. However, his coming had not been unnoticed, Elrohir was sure, and if he knew anything about traitors and people who took pleasure from other people's pain it was that that they were cowards who would rather turn back and run than face those they had angered. He wasn't overly surprised when he had seen a horse shoot out of the camp as if Morgoth himself was at its heels with a multi-tongued lash made of pure fire. He strongly suspected it was Ceorl, the only one that he wished to slowly strangle.
He wouldn't have minded if the traitor had disappeared, there was very little chance of him making it anywhere on his own and usually people of his sort came to one bad end or another, didn't they? But unfortunately, he had feeling that this treacherous louse had not been alone and had taken one of his prized prisoners with him, most likely Legolas, if he took everything he had been told earlier into account. With Legolas or possibly Aragorn as a bargaining chip, there wasn't much that he couldn't do, even though he knew that the man's hostage would do everything in his power to impede his plans.
However, now the question was: how easy would rescuing the abandoned prisoner be? Since Ceorl, their leader, had deserted his men, Elrohir doubted they would be more organized or have any more common sense than a chicken with its head lobbed off. No, wait; since these people had managed to capture his friend, his mortal brother, shoot himself, Roth and his older brother and then wreak havoc, they deserved more credit. If there were a contest between a headless chicken and these people for common sense it would be a draw.
That didn't necessarily mean that there wouldn't be a battle, but there was the hope it wouldn't be as fierce and gory. However, if these people chose to continue and prove Elrohir's inner theory that they were no more organized than animals, then they might fight like a bunch of cornered dogs. Elrohir felt a little guilty about this analogy. He certainly hadn't meant to insult the dogs, after all.
"Well, what is to be done?" asked Eómund, looking between the two Elves and his lord dispassionately. He was too exhausted to feel overly much right now.
Elrohir looked at Roth, then at the two human's in turn. "Whatever we do, we have to try and avoid harming whoever was left behind. Ceorl left with either Legolas or Aragorn, I saw him."
Thengel blinked in surprise. "You saw that, Master Elf?" He shook his head and asked, "How?" He had not seen anything and he stared at Elrohir as though the Elf was more magical than he had originally thought. He was almost beginning to think that Elves were capable of anything except flying, but he wouldn't classify becoming invisible as being out of their league.
Roth guessed the man's thoughts and mentally shrugged, bearing a strong sense of indifference. The king's opinion wasn't overly different from that of most men who had never seen an Elf die or under stress.
Elrohir might have sensed the king's opinions, but he didn't show it. He only smiled wryly, "My people have an, ah, extraordinarily keen sense of sight." Rotating his stiff shoulder to stave off uselessness, he then pointed towards the opposite hills. "He departed that way, taking Legolas with them I believe."
"So the men are leaderless?" Thengel questioned somewhat dubiously, looking at Elrohir with disbelieving eyes.
"Yes. I think so. I believe Ceorl decided to get his prize and run. But that is just my guess. I could be wrong," he allowed, still turning all the possibilities over in his mind. Looking at the King of Rohan, Elrohir pointed out, "It doesn't necessarily mean that they will be any easier to subdue. And also, if they took Legolas with them, it means that Thorongil is still there, somewhere… hopefully alive."
"They know that we are here, do they not?"
"I suspect so…"
Eómund shifted uneasily and voiced what everyone was already thinking. "They could be prepared."
Elrohir and Roth looked dubious. "They are a band of peasant renegades, they are leaderless, they are few in number, and they are probably ill-tempered and disunited." Roth didn't mean to sound insulting to either of the men, but it was true and he felt that they should weigh these things into the equation.
"But they are still dangerous," Elrohir added. "Like a cornered dog with claustrofobia."
Eómund looked at his king and then focused his eyes on his horse's mane and neck. "That's comforting." Thengel scowled at his sarcasm but understood his point all too clearly and mentally agreed.
"Not exactly," Roth differed with small a shake of his head, ignoring Eómund's sarcasm.
Thengel sighed heavily and squared his shoulders before looking back at his travel and battle wearied men, who were slumped in their saddles. He was not a military man by nature and in fact, hated the idea of campaigning and slaughter, but he had already reached a decision about this. "We will surround the camp and gauge their reaction from there. They might very well surrender."
Elrohir frowned and then looked at Roth before sighing over dramatically as a way of venting his frustrations. "Roth and I will search for Ceorl and relieve him of Legolas, if possible." Ceorl's men were outnumbered two to one with or without them, so it wouldn't make a difference if they left now.
"Take care," the blonde ruler said as a matter of farewell, knowing that there was no way he could contain the two and that he had no right to in any case, they had committed no crimes. He also knew that there was no way to persuade them to stay and that he might as well save his breath and time.
Elrohir merely smiled and Roth looked at the younger twin teasingly before turning a pair of serious eyes upon the king. "I will do my best to keep him out of trouble, my lord." A small smile pulled at his lip's corners, splitting his serious face and ruining his composure.
King Thengel smiled back and chuckled dryly. He hadn't been certain that this Elf had known how to smile genuinely, at least not publicly. Shaking his head as the two broke off from his soldiers and himself, the man decided that he would give up trying to understand Elves, which he knew wouldn't offend them any. They seemed content to be isolated and he counted himself lucky to have been honoured by their acquaintance, even if they seemed to be omens of an ill tide.
Before they were even out of site, he turned to Eómund, "Order the camp surrounded. Nobody, and I mean nobody, gets in or out. However, make sure to impress the order that none of the rebels are to be killed, unless they attack first. These are our brethren and when this conflict is over we want to re-establish ties with them." By laying a siege of sorts he hoped to at the least contain the traitors and at best, capture and subdue them. He expected that they would fight some, but he also believed that any resistance by them would be relatively short-lived. In time, he expected them to see the light of reason.
Eómund nodded and steered his horse around to do his lord's bidding. "As you wish, my lord."
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About midway out, Legolas had decided that he had had enough and that there were only so many things that he could stand. Having his best friend murdered before his eyes and then being used as a bargaining chip himself for a treacherous bastard that had begged for death in so many ways, was asking way far too much. True, his hands were bound behind his back and he wasn't in much condition to fight even a hobbit but he simply could not endure riding before this filthy, rude, evil man with his breath racing down his neck every few seconds. Something had to be done and he had come up with a plan had he intended to put this very moment to good use.
Having much experience riding horses, at the very least being far more skilled than the man steering this poor beast, Legolas thought of directing the horse without so much as using his hands or a saddle. Using his heels that were dangling over the side, he kicked the animal in front of its rapidly flexing withers, giving it the signal to stop. Confused, it snorted and stamped its feet, twisting around in a circle as Ceorl countered Legolas' request and slammed his spurs into the animal's sides. The Elf merely used his feet to keep the animal moving in a small circle and then spoke in Elven, which all good beasts seemed to understand, "Easy, girl, easy. Stop. Steady. Steady."
"You are more trouble than I had originally thought," Ceorl ground out in Legolas' ear, causing the Elf to withdraw from his foul breath that sponged against his face.
"How did you ever guess?" the Elf asked, still keeping the horse under his control. It was obvious the animal had also taken a liking to her second passenger. Ceorl's face turned an unhealthy shade of crimson and his eyes became more virulent than Legolas had thought possible. It was then the prince realized that despite everything the man had done, he had never seen him truly angry. A cold thrill of fear shot up his spine and raised the hair on the back of his neck. But there was no need for Ceorl to know that, so Legolas kept his face calculatingly cold.
However, Ceorl jerked the horse's reins to stop the animal's anxious turning and then, out of no where his fist smashed into the side of Legolas' face, toppling the Elf to the ground. Unable to catch himself or absorb any of his fall with his arms bound the way they were, Legolas simply hit the ground with a soft grunt as his battered ribs bore the brunt of his collision with the earth. Rolling over onto his stomach, he quickly struggled to get up, but Ceorl had already leaped down from the horse and seeing his captive trying to rise, drove his boot into Legolas' side, rolling the prince over onto his back.
"I am going to teach you to mind, Elf, as a good slave should," he growled, locking his hands on the prince's throat and constricting it completely. Unfortunately, before he had done this the Elf had just exhaled. His knee came down on the prince's chest, preventing the lungs to re-inflate. Legolas felt panic rising inside as he realized that he was suffocating and that Ceorl might not have any intentions of letting go this time.
Using his legs, he managed to wedge them between himself and Ceorl, and gathering leverage, he thrust the man off. Ceorl tumbled backwards a few feet, butLegolas had no time for recovery beyond getting a breath into his starved lungs.
Ceorl had never looked more enraged and he stood up, slowly stalking towards the Elf that was quickly working his way backwards along the ground, using his feet to push his body off the tussocks of grass. Legolas didn't like to make a habit of back-pedalling from an enemy but at the moment he was at the disadvantage and his goal was to stay alive as long as possible and if he was lucky, kill Ceorl.
Suddenly something pricked his hand and then sliced deeper, and he felt hot blood oozing out of his hand's palm, slicking his skin. Morgorth be accursed, what had happened now? The smarting sensation normally would have deeply bothered him, but he was too used to pain of that kind now and it seemed like it had become some part of him. The only thing that had the Elf concerned was the mystery of how he had gotten cut. There had to be something sharp there, after all, grass cuts typically were not this extensive and didn't bleed even a quarter as much as this laceration was.
His hands groped the grass beneath his back, searching carefully for the sharp object, not intending for it to bite him a second time. He had enough wounds already and Aragorn and a herd of nearly rabid healers would probably enjoy poking him full of stitches. The last thing he needed was to give that human more of an opportunity to jab a needle in and out of his skin as he was given some drug that put him out of his mind.
Eyes locked on Ceorl, the prince sighed inwardly when he saw the man draw his knife. He had an addiction to that blade, the Elf decided as he realized that Ceorl scarcely used any other weapon. "I still plan to get money for you, Elf, but I am afraid that I cannot get you to them undamaged."
Legolas licked a reopened crack in his lip after smiling tauntingly, "I am sorry to have…cost you money."
"Not as sorry as you are going to be," the man growled, tightening his grip on the knife as he stared at the Elf, obviously wondering where he should start.
Legolas' hands suddenly enclosed around and tightened on a long, sharp object attached to a staff or sorts. He wasn't sure what it was, although it was probably a disregarded spear, but he didn't feel so helpless anymore. It was amazing what comfort even the most primitive weapon could provide. Appearing to be squirming away, Legolas positioned his bonds over the sharp edge of the weapon, mindful not to cut himself a second time. He would be darned if he would let that thing get the best of him a second time.
Ceorl began to slowly circle him, smiling coldly, obviously enjoying this and taking his time, letting the fear develop in his victim. That was his big mistake.
Legolas winced as he felt his bonds split apart and the blood rush back into his hands, causing his cut to suddenly bleed with a vengeance. The return of life-fluid to parts where it had long been denied caused no small amount of pain and he grimaced as he suddenly rolled beyond Ceorl's reach and jumped to his feet.
The only thing he had ever seen more amusing than the surprise and fear on this human's face had been the look of Aragorn before he fell backwards out of a tree and into a pond. However, that had not provided the same amount of satisfaction that this was.
Ceorl blinked once and then steeled his face before asking dispassionately, "Elven magic?" The man was beginning to have second thoughts about Elvish powers. Maybe they deserved a bit more respect and maybe he was in over his head with this obviously riled Elf.
Legolas smiled and gloated, "Of course."
Ceorl suddenly grinned and moving forward, he kicked the spear up out of the grass, revealing the weapon in the early morning light. "Elven luck is more like it."
"It's more luck than what you have right now," Legolas retorted darkly, although he had to admit that up until this point this human had been ridiculously lucky, or everyone else, including himself, very stupid.
"That's mighty confident talk for someone who is unarmed and bleeding, and looking like he had just wrestled with death and only won by less than a hair," Ceorl's voice was strangely calm, but something akin to fear flittered across his face before housing itself in his eyes.
Legolas would have shrugged, but the pain in his shoulders and the rest of his muscles was too great, so he merely quirked a fair eyebrow in recognition of his opponent's point. Ceorl was right. He was unarmed. But what the man didn't seem to understand was that Legolas' wasn't beyond throttling him with his bare hands, if he had to, although it wouldn't be his first choice.
For a few minutes they stood there, sizing each other and the situation up. Legolas became forced to counter step to keep his distance between himself and Ceorl as they began to circle one another.
Legolas groaned inwardly with impatience. He didn't have time for this. Aragorn didn't have time for this.
Suddenly, Ceorl threw patience into the wind and charged the Elf, coming down to pick up the long shafted spear as a weapon beforehand. Coming low at the prince, he seemed intent to run the Elf through with the weapon. Legolas' Elven reflexes, though slowed by injuries, saved his life as he twisted out of the way at the last possible second, allowing the man to charge ineffectively past him and come to a skidding halt in the grass.
Legolas had only a split second to prepare himself as the man whirled around and this time, prepared to lunge the spear for the prince's torso. Apparently, his addiction to the knife had faded, mostly because it would require a proximity to the Elf that could prove fatal and it left the smallest margin for error. Legolas saw him draw back and his muscles tensed as he prepared himself to dodge a second time.
The spear was released and Legolas moved to sidestep it, successfully missing being skewered in the stomach. Seeing the weapon plunged into the ground and still vibrating from the impact, the Elf made a grab for it, taking advantage of his enemy's error to arm himself. Unfortunately, the age of the discarded weapon had taken its toll on the shaft and the way the wood splintered off and dirtied his hands told Legolas he would soon be fighting with less than half a spear.
Not deterred, he looked at Ceorl as the human hurried drew his sword, still refraining from using his knife if it all possible. He didn't want Legolas to be any closer than he had to. A separating distance of seven to ten feet seemed to be the optimum. However, that would never make a battle and Legolas knew it. True, his body was definitely not in the most favourable condition for hand-to-hand combat, but he didn't have much other choice besides running and that would never do.
Rushing forward with a strangled cry, Legolas attacked the human, not much caring for how his fighting style looked at the moment. Suddenly he was forced to up his weapon as a shield when Ceorl's sword flashed through the air intending to split his skull. It was then Legolas knew why Ceorl had survived as long as he had. The man might be stupid and unpredictably lucky, but he was also a strangely talented fighter, something Legolas had suspected from the first time he had been taken off-guard by the man.
But the shaft of the spear was not enough to impede the oncoming sword and the blade still severed the wood as though it was made of butter or perhaps something softer. Legolas barely had time to jerk aside to avoid having his head split in half. But he couldn't move his body in time and the sharp edged metal sliced into the skin of his shoulder, forcing a surprised scream from the Elf as it was removed.
Blood spread quickly from the deep wound and Legolas swayed on his feet, dizzy with pain and blood loss. Dark blotches seeped into his vision, impeding on what fighting skills he was still capable of using.
Ceorl grinned, looking happily at the silvery blood that painted his sword. "Your day to die, Elf." Obviously he had decided to forget getting any money for the prince. He simply wanted him dead and out of the way.
Legolas staggered back, barely able to hear as the rushing sound of blood pulsed in his ears and he tightened his grip on the head of the spear, prepared to use it as a knife. "Humans…always so sure of themselves…." He spat the taunt as the slur it was meant to be.
Ceorl came at him, sword raised but Legolas was faster despite his wounds and the moment the man hefted his arms and exposed a clear route to his chest the Elf tightened his grip on his spear tip and drove it with all the force he could muster into the centre of the human's ribcage.
For a moment Ceorl held the sword still aloft over his head and then his fingers relinquished their hold on the weapon, allowing it to slide free and fall, narrowly missing skinning the side of Legolas' face. Legolas removed the spear tip with a harsh jerk, and watched as blood foamed in the corners of the man's mouth.
Stiffly the Elf back stepped as the human toppled to the ground, landing on his knees, staring up at Legolas with cloudy eyes. His fingers still groped for the sword, but Legolas stepped on it, glowering back down at the man with eyes so cold and merciless that Ceorl could think of nothing else but his impending death.
Tossing the spear tip aside in disdain, Legolas picked up the man's sword and looked it over, staring detachedly at the copious amount of his own blood that coated it. He had not realized that he had been drained so. Suddenly his eyes fixed on the kneeling human and he spat, "Maybe long ago you were good, I don't care." He twirled the sword in his hands and smiled as it smoothly moved, making a slight swishing noise. "This is a good sword."
"Master Elf, you wouldn't kill a helpless man, would you?" Ceorl's voice as cracked in pain and Legolas frowned.
"No. I wouldn't. However, someone who single-handedly caused buckets of innocent blood to be spilled, tormented me and my friend, probably murdered my friend and escaped certain death at the hands of those he betrayed isn't exactly someone I would call helpless, would you?" The prince's eyes had turned emotionless, absent of everything, especially mercy. It wasn't that he wasn't merciful to those who deserved it and while it was true, he could let this human live, that wouldn't be a mercy to everyone else.
Legolas' chest was heaving from the exertion of fighting with his wounds and his feet were growing more and more unsteady as he lost more and more blood. Raising the blade, he stared into Ceorl's eyes and he drew it back and then ran it through the man's chest for a second time, splitting his heart and killing him on the spot. The human said no more, he couldn't, he was dead.
Legolas wrenched the blade free as Ceorl fell to the ground on his back, staggering backward with the effort and then he landed hard against the ground, sprawling out on his back. The blood from his shoulder wound turned the grass a crimson colour to match the dawn sky and he gasped as he realized how horribly tired he was and how much everything really did hurt. The adrenaline in his body had slowed down considerably and was leaving him with the after-effects of pain and exhaustion.
Normally he would have smiled in satisfaction but he was too tired and there was nothing to really smile about anyway. As his fingers uncurled from around the hilt of the sword and it slid free of his grasp he could feel his body shaking with relief and the remnant of the adrenaline.
Staring up at the sky, he tried to contact Aragorn telepathically by means of their strange connection. /I am safe. I killed him…I am coming/. But the connection was broken and there was no answer.
The blood continued to flow from his wound, and the red dawn sky wheeled overhead. As he lay on the ground, receiving no response from Aragorn, Legolas tried again and again, desperate that he should make some contact, even though he knew that by all standards, Aragorn should be dead. His chest was still heaving and rolling over onto his side to prop himself up on his good arm, Legolas prepared to try and rise.
A grimace wrinkled his fair face as pain blossomed from his ribs, which he had forgotten about in the heat of battle. Now he felt like he had been crunched by an obese oliphaunt and breathing almost became a voluntary response as the pain threatened to shut down his body. Collapsing back against the ground, so that this time he was on his stomach, the prince closed his eyes, just for a moment to gather himself together, but he found that they had become leaden and against his will, they involuntarily closed and refused to open.
His breathing, though still erratic, became softer and shallower. Stretching out one hand, the Elf clawed at the grasses in an attempt to drag his failing body forward, in the direction he knew Aragorn would be if he crawled far enough and long enough. Unfortunately, the quickly dispensing blood flow from his coupled wounds had robbed him of much of his strength and his body trembled before he found himself immobile.
The early sounds of morning faded.
Legolas suspected he had only blacked out a couple moments, because the sky still appeared the same and it was still early morning. There it was again. Something was nudging against the side of his face, blowing hot air into his blinking eyes. Legolas rolled onto his back with a moan as his shoulder screamed and found himself staring up at Ceorl's horse, who apparently hadn't left when his master had died as most horses might have. Legolas smiled painfully as he had a suspicion that the horse had stayed for him.
It snorted in frustration and pawed the earth around the Elf like an anxious dog, whose master has fallen asleep. Legolas started to involuntarily close his eyes again, which only sent the mare into a new round of fits. She stamped her foot right by his ear, obviously knowing where he registered sound and where it would be the most difficult to ignore. "Estel…" Legolas murmured, delirium beginning to set in as the adrenaline left him.
He had not remembered Estel to be this heavy sounding or this…hairy, but he didn't remember too much right now, did he? Whatever this creature was…it was just as obnoxious as Estel; that was for sure.
The horse hit him in the face again with her velvety nose, stubbornly refusing to leave him alone. Her acute senses as an animal told her that if he stayed here, then he would die. However, her abrupt nudge had infuriated some of the abrasions and hot bruises on the Elf's face. "No," Legolas' voice sounded almost childlike, as though he was frightened of the dark. "Let me be…" His delirium made him believe that he was being interrogated again and he knew he could not live through something like that again.
Finally, unperturbed by the writhing and moaning of the Elf, the horse dropped to her knees by his side, providing him warmth and easier access to her back should he chose to accept the proffered ride. Legolas looked at her with glazed eyes and then winced as the sunlight scorched his sensitive orbs. He knew that he needed to get up, knew that he needed to escape from here, knew that Aragorn needed him. But his befuddled mind could not piece together much else and reaching a trembling hand towards the horse, he stroked the animal's travel dirtied pelt. The horse nickered softly in encouragement, pleased to see the Elf extending even this much effort.
Grasping her tangled mane, he pulled himself up a little, so that he was hunched over his knees with one arm on her shoulders. She turned around and rammed his side with her nose in support, not understanding his injuries and realizing that she was only causing him more pain. Legolas grimaced and cried out softly between clenched teeth at the rough and repeated touch. Fire burned beneath his ribs.
He felt a small sense of confusing accomplishment when he managed to drag himself halfway up on the animal. She began to stand up and the familiar movement of a horse moving caused Legolas' almost involuntary riding instincts to kick in gear and the rest of him to mount the animal.
She stood and swung her head around as though to make sure her passenger was fully on her back and prepared for the ride ahead. Satisfied, she snorted softly to herself and set off at an even pace that was somewhere between slow and fast. However, her footfalls were incredibly smooth for a horse of her mixed breeding and Legolas was jolted very little.
The motion of riding a horse had awakened some of the Elf's senses and even as his head bowed against her mane and neck, he murmured gently in appreciation, "Hannon le."
Nausea roiled in his stomach at the looping motion of her strides.
Then his forehead connected with her neck and as he watched the ground blur under her nimbly moving hooves, his leaden eye lids slid over his orbs and he was lost to darkness a second time.
:0Ї0:
Aragorn groaned. He could hear raised voices and a heavy sense of panic seemed to have fallen over the camp as they realized that Thengel and his riders had them cornered, surrounded and effectively defeated. This battle was going to be over before it started, but the battle was not the part that they feared, it was what happened afterwards. They had been responsible for the killing of many men and the invasion of orcs. To expect mercy would be ridiculous.
Aragorn, however, had no idea about this. All he knew was that for some strange reason he was not dead, and had not bled out. His body was still convulsing and if he could be on fire and be alive at the same time, then he would believe that was what he was experiencing now. It felt as though his blood was not merely blood, but fire. Lifting his head, he blinked as the rising sun smashed its rays into his eyes.
Not understanding what was causing the pain, but knowing that something definitely was, Aragorn mentally searched himself and drew on recent memories. Looking over to his right, he as about to ask Legolas why he was hurting so much, but he discovered the Elf was not there; the space was occupied only by air. Suddenly, memories surged back, almost giving him a headache as he recalled what had transpired early that morning.
Looking at the wound in his side, he noticed detachedly that his body's involuntary healing capabilities had already started their work, and the laceration was no longer bleeding as heavily. Or, he mused darkly, that could be because there wasn't much blood left to escape. Either way, he hoped that it would eventually stop altogether.
Leaning his head back against the post, he gasped as he drew a deep breath, provoking his ribs and injuries. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he clamped his eyes tightly shut against the pain.
Moments later he heard footsteps stop in front of him and he carefully cracked an eye open, trying to assess whether they meant harm, or whether they had good intentions. Unable to tell by merely looking at them, he decided that it wasn't worth the effort, since there was nothing that he could do to prevent their actions for good or evil by looking at them, and he his eyes slid shut.
"Ceorl may have abandoned us, but we can look after ourselves," one voice suggested angrily. "The Elf isn't here, but they hold this one dear too by all accounts I have heard, and I've heard quite a lot." His assertion was obviously about Aragorn.
"You are an idiot!" another voice chastised with open scorn. "As if we aren't in enough trouble, let's add hostage-taking to the list!" His bitter sarcasm made a good point and for a moment it seemed like his fellows might listen.
"They are going to kill us anyway! You're the idiot!" snarled the other. The beautiful morning was obviously not reflected in their moods, and with good reason. "Think about it! We allowed, nay, encouraged the travelling of orcs, through his majesty's land unchecked and they spilled gallons of innocent blood! Do you expect the king will show us mercy? Contrary to what Ceorl has said, I do not think Thengel is that stupid!"
Aragorn groaned, not liking the turn this conversation had taken. Licking his chaffed lips, he swallowed down the fear that was weighting down his stomach, making him seem like he would sink through the earth. Shuddering, he couldn't help but feel cold.
"It just isn't right…"
"Is anything else that we have done?"
"No. but…"
"If you are too much of a coward to save your own skin, that's your problem, but don't tell me how to go about saving mine!" the other voice hissed defensively. "Now if you aren't going to help, then get out of the way!" There was a shuffling sound and it was evident that he had given his companion a forceful shove. There was no retaliation and Aragorn opened one eye as a dark blonde man crouched by him.
"I am not going to help you," he managed out, mentally kicking himself as his voice cracked.
"Not willingly, no," the man agreed. "But through you, we will be helped."
Aragorn did his best to acquire a defiant, dark glare, but he was too weak and it ended up looking like more than half a grimace. Looking around the other man, so that he could see the horizon, Aragorn could see some of Thengel's riders outlined by the sky on the hill's crest. He couldn't see the others, but he knew they were there, spread out around them.
Vaguely, he became aware that his bonds around his ankles and his hands were being cut and that hot blood was surging back into his appendages that had long been destitute of the life-giving substance. The tingling sensation quickly multiplied through out his hands and feet before morphing into a tortuous, but at the same time relieving, throb. The air smarted against the exposed, raw skin of his wrists, making him wince as the man hauled him to his feet, preparing to take him somewhere.
Aragorn put up a fight, though it was short lived and wasn't anything near threatening. At the most it only aggravated his captor who hissed angrily, "You are in absolutely no position to be fighting with me, so if I were you, I would stop, because you might not be able to live through the consequences."
Like Legolas, Aragorn didn't take kindly to threats, especially if they were meant to keep him subdued, but in the state he was in, he accepted this one as simply good advice. His struggles ceased and the rest of the time carrying him was rather easy because he had lost a good deal of his weight. As a matter of fact, he was bordering a bit too closely to anorexia and if give the opportunity he wouldn't doubt that Legolas would attempt to force-feed him.
He tried to stay awake as he was being transported somewhere in the camp, but the darkness that was clinging to his vision refused to be shaken and in fact, continued to grow. It was slowly closing the circle of clear eyesight that he had left and blinking only seemed to make it worse. Gradually the blackness claimed dominion over his senses and the sounds of the bustling, panicked camp faded and Aragorn knew no more.
:0Ї0:
Legolas didn't know what had happened and certainly not how. All he knew was that his pain had just redoubled and that he could feel grass beneath him. Somehow, he had a suspicion that the grass had absorbed a portion of his…fall? Yes, he had fallen, but from what? His mind felt like a patched up pair of well-worn boots, there were places where he was unravelling and everything was a blur.
Curling in on himself as he lay on the ground, Legolas tried to retain some warmth. His body had lost a lot of heat with his rapidly fleeing blood and even though the bleeding had slowed down now, so that it was almost non-existent, his body was still having trouble rebuilding and maintaining a half-normal temperature. If he were a human he would be in danger of a light case of hypothermia, despite the fact that it wasn't even cold outside.
Shirtless, Legolas wasn't able to preserve much heat and he shivered involuntarily, and worked on making himself into as tight a ball as possible. But his battered, bleeding body was slow to react to his brain's confused commands and his muscles were stiff without the normal amount of blood to nourish them. Sighing, Legolas resigned himself to merely laying there, his arms crossed against his chest and his knees drawn in as closely as he could bring himself to drag them in his wearied state. His hands balled into fists as a wave of pain broke over him, threatening to pull him under the surface of consciousness again.
The prince coughed a little as he gagged in agony.
As a matter of fact, it was by sheer will that he was remaining conscious at all. Aragorn was out there, alive or dead, but he was out there and Legolas didn't mean to draw his last breath or give up until he had the human back. Draining his strength but not caring, Legolas tried to use the telepathic connection between himself and Aragorn to see how the human was faring, but either it was broken or he didn't possess enough strength to wield it. Legolas wasn't sure which, but he decided that it was probably a mixture of both.
However, he tried again, determined to get through. /Estel, please answer me! Where are you?/ A throbbing sensation started between his temples before it escalated in sharp pain, like knife work between his eyes, and he curled into himself tighter as a feeling of nausea broke over him and the pain wracking his skull grew to unbearable levels. There was no doubt in Legolas' mind that the connection between himself and his best friend was severed and that this horrible, pulsing pain was the whiplash effect.
For the first time in his life, Legolas prayed that he was weak, that the loss of the connection was his fault, because it was too much for him to handle. But despair tugged at his heart as he realized that there was little chance of that. He had seen the knife slice into his friend and he had seen the blood squirt out, blossoming on his side. Shuddering, Legolas wished he could erase the pained look on Aragorn's face and the man's pained whimpers from his mind but the cry continued to ghost through his thoughts.
His hand slowly sought the wound on his shoulder as it became even more painful and he felt the warm blood spreading over his body. Clasping his hand over the laceration in an attempt to alleviate his pain, Legolas slowly applied pressure with his palm, but it was to no avail and the blood leaked between his fingers.
Unable to lie here as he remembered all the laughs that he and Aragorn had shared and all the pain they had shared, Legolas couldn't allow that they die this far apart. Besides, Aragorn couldn't die. He had a destiny and Legolas had a promise to keep. He had never broken a promise and there was nothing here that was persuading him to start now.
Reaching a trembling hand forward, his fingers curled around a cluster of long, dead grass and constricted until they were white knuckled. Using what strength he was still capable of, the Elf dragged himself forward a couple inches, grimacing as his cut and battered body crept across the rough grass. The blades rubbed against his lacerations and abrasions, making them smart and begin to bleed again, staining the grass a dark crimson and leaving a short scarlet trail.
Shuddering as the pain caused his muscles to convulse; the battered Elf clawed himself along for another few inches. But that was as far as he could drag himself. The throbbing pain between his temples had exploded into all-out vertigo and his body was refusing to respond and began to loosen its tense muscles, going limp in exhaustion. Stinging tears began to prick under the prince's eyelids as frustration built within him at his own weakness, but at first he was too proud to let them escape and so he clamped the orbs shut, his face crumpling in pain and anger.
Eventually, against his will, a single tear squeezed out and slid down his pale, trembling cheek, clearing a path through the grime and gore that had stained it these past few days. Legolas lifted his head and scrubbed his eyes against his outstretched arm, wiping away the moisture as his proud cheeks flushed in shame and hurt.
Rolling slowly onto his back so he wouldn't incite his wounds to further agony, the Elf watched the crimson sky as it seemed to whirl overhead, like a swirling mass of blood and sunlight mingled together. Blinking, Legolas tried to will everything to stop spinning but the pain in his head only increased and closing his eyes, he realized that it was less painful if he couldn't see the bright light and the colours. Blackness, nothingness...it soothed and the Elf felt a strangely calming sensation of floating, floating, floating...
TBC...
Oops. Ouch. Gee... -glances over chapter- Ummm...yeah, this looked like a good place to end it at the time...I mean, Aragorn and Leoglas had to suffer, shouldn't you guys? By the way...what happened to Aragorn? -nudges ranger with boot toe- He doesn't appear to very lively, does he?
Hey! We did one nice thing for them both! Ceorl is DEAD! Muahahaha...our muse decided that he had been around far too long...
Please review! We love hearing from all of you and the reviews last time were just awesome! Thanks a lot! Hopefully you uys got the responses...
