gulps in lungful of air Am in a hurry, gotta go, but here is the next chapter! ;)
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Chapter 6: Trapped
Not for the first time that day did Halbarad curse their rotten luck. The day which had started grey and misty had turned into a sunny day. The sky was of a brilliant blue with only sporadic clouds. The icy air froze the ground and made their breaths mist in front of their faces.
Any other day, Halbarad would have welcomed the change in weather, but right now, he wished for it to rain, or storm, or hail or be misty. And if he was honest with himself, he whished for it to be all that at the same time. For, that would provide the cover they so desperately needed.
Now that they knew that the mysterious assassin was not only hunting them, but already in front of them, possibly waiting in hiding for his chance to kill them, the two rangers had kept their eyes open for any signs that might give away the assassin's position. And indeed, around midday, when they had rested in the shadow of an old beech tree, Halbarad had found signs of the man. With all the mud freezing, the tracks had not been swept away by wind or water.
For the rest of the day they had kept to the rocks that dotted the landscape, had hushed through the dry grass and stayed to the shadows. But now, with the rocks thinning and the sun shining brightly down from the sky, a few hours from sundown, their tall forms were visible even to the most unobservant eye.
Glancing to his left, Halbarad shadowed his eyes with his hand and peered into the distance. He could barely make out the rock formation that they were heading for and had intended to reach this day. Another glance to his right at Aragorn told Halbarad in no unclear terms that they would not make it that far during the day, and perhaps not even if they travelled through the night as well.
Aragorn looked not only pale, he looked as if he had already died and was on his way to Mandos's Halls. His dark hair and stubble contrasted starkly against his nearly white skin; dark shadows circled his eyes, which were bloodshot and slightly glazed. The wound he had received in Bree had not started bleeding again, but his numerous injuries had caused a slight fever to settle in his body. And without the proper care, rest and food, his body could not battle it the way it would under other circumstances.
Halbarad turned his gaze once more to the rocks in the distance with a frustrated, inward sigh. He knew that there was nothing he could do. They needed to reach the ford and alert the other rangers to their predicament before they met the assassin. Or the assassin met them, he thought darkly.
The longer they saw nothing of the assassin, the more Halbarad felt his stomach churn uneasily. Why was the man not showing himself? Why had he not already tried to attack them? Would it not have been easier for the assassin to kill them when he had overtaken them?
The moment Aragorn coughed softly next to him, Halbarad knew the answer to his questions. Without provisions, the time to hunt and with the need to stay in hiding and at the same time make great haste to reach safety, he and Aragorn would exert themselves to the point of easy defeat. Not only was Aragorn already injured, but Halbarad, too, began to feel the strain of their flight.
No, the assassin did not have to attack them in the open. All he would have to do would be to wait until the two of them were so exhausted that they would not be able to lift their swords or aim an arrow. And Halbarad had no illusions. He knew that the assassin would not attack before they had reached that point. But, that did not mean that he was not watching them or trying to make sure that they reached no help.
Well, that was if the assassin knew that there existed a manned ranger ford not three days away from their current position. Which brought Halbarad back to their problem. They were standing in the open, on a wide plain that provided no cover. No trees, no bushes, no rocks, nothing. They needed to move.
"Strider, how are you?"
Another cough, then Aragorn's rough voice answered him, "Well enough."
Halbarad snorted. Why was he even trying?
"Good. Then let us go on. These rocks will provide sufficient shelter for the night."
With a sideways glance at Aragorn, Halbarad started to move into the direction of the rocks. Aragorn followed a few steps behind him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Not for the first time that day Halbarad wondered whether Aragorn had the hand at the sword out of habit, or because it provided some kind of strange support for the tired man.
They travelled until nightfall, always on the lookout for signs of the assassin. They passed some dead bushes shortly before dusk, and some of the branches had been snapped in two, but they could not tell how long ago that had been or if it had been made by an animal or a human.
When darkness fell around them and the air turned icy, the rock formation still loomed in the distance. It looked as if they had made no progress at all, although their tired limbs told them differently.
Sighing and tilting his head sideways to work out the stiffness in his neck, Halbarad commented, "It is getting dark. Perhaps we should rest here and go on once the moon rises."
Aragorn glanced at the darkening sky. The moon was still low in the sky and its silver light was weak. "No, we should go on for a bit longer. We will be easily visible once the moon is up."
And with that Aragorn sped up his steps, passed by Halbarad and strode determinedly, if slightly swaying, towards the rock formation.
Halbarad shook his head. Sometimes it was beyond him how someone could be such a good leader, and at the same time be so incredibly stubborn. Taking a deep breath and almost instantly regretting it when his lungs practically froze mid-breath, Halbarad followed his friend.
Perhaps it has to do with his ancestry, Halbarad mused. Or with the fact that he has lived most of his life alone. If one was to survive, then one would have to have a strong will. With a sudden pang of regret, Halbarad mused that surely Aragorn would have perished long ago, were he not that stubborn.
While the moon rose in the sky, the two of them hurried onwards, and when the open plain was bathed in a silver light, they stopped for a quick break. Flopping down on the dew covered grass that would be frosty in the morning, Aragorn and Halbarad massaged their arms and legs to keep the warm muscles supple. The chill in the air and their inactivity would cool the muscles too fast, making them hard and stiff.
But sore muscles were not their main problem, as they both knew only too well. It had not rained during the day and the puddles that had been left after the rain storm had dried out already. There was no stream from which they could drink, and their thirst was great after the restless march through the wilds.
But where Halbarad was merely thirsty, Aragorn felt his thirst more strongly. The fever that had settled in his body had drained him of energy and water; his throat was raw and dry, hurting every time he spoke or swallowed. His skin already had a grey hue, and the pounding in his head told him in no unclear terms that he needed water. Quickly. Even a ranger could only go so long without the proper provisions.
Another cough tore at his already sore throat and Aragorn wiped a weary hand across his eyes. Valar, he felt so tired. When had he become that exhausted? He was used to going on for days and days with little sleep and food. While he had been in Rohan he had been forced to find his way back to his company after a skirmish with the Dunlendings, and he had travelled through Rohan for days with only his water skin and sword. And, he had been injured that time, too. So, why was he feeling now, after only three days, as if he had marched through the Emyn Muil for weeks?
Perhaps because I was already weary of the Wilds when we rode to Bree, Aragorn thought darkly. Or because I am tired of hiding and fighting. Truth be told, Aragorn was not only tired of fighting, but tired of his life in general. He had spent the last four years in the Wild, and his return to the rangers had not been as he had hoped it would be.
During the cold and long nights that he had spent in the forests close to the Misty Mountains, or in a hot, stinking tavern somewhere in the middle of nowhere, he had dreamed of the Dunedain villages, with their warm fires, friendly faces and welcoming atmosphere. But then, when he had returned to civilization, it had been different.
He had felt cooped up in the houses, watched and scrutinized by the rangers and their families, and had felt the walls close in on him every time he had lain down to sleep. For the first nights he had actually considered returning to the Wild, but his hope that things would change once he got used to living amongst other people again had kept him in the village.
But things had not changed, and when the trip to Bree had been discussed, he had seized this as an opportunity to escape. And now? Now he felt tired of the Wilds and the battle he had to fight to survive. Again.
Sighing wearily, Aragorn felt his chest tighten. For many years the Wilds had been his home, his sporadic visits to civilization the exception. And now, now he felt neither at home in the villages of the Dunedain, nor in the wilds. Was he now truly an exile? Bound to nothing and nowhere at home?
Aragorn had once heard that home was where the heart was. But at the moment, his heart was only weary and burdened. The prospect of returning to the village held no comfort for him. Aye, he did want to reach its safety and warmth, but after that? When he was healed, where would he go from there?
"Strider?" Halbarad's worried voice broke through his dark thoughts, and with a start Aragorn realized that he had nearly fallen asleep, so immersed had he been in his thoughts.
Blinking repeatedly, Aragorn took a deep breath to clear his head.
"Strider, are you well enough to move on?" From the tone of Halbarad's voice it was clear that he wanted to hear the truth. He would not go if Aragorn was not up to it.
A sigh left Aragorn's lips and he rolled his head on his neck to wake up completely. "I am tired, Halbarad, as are you. But we should go on and try to reach the rocks tonight. The longer we need to reach the ford, the more chances this assassin will get."
Halbarad nodded and then stood up giving him another long, searching look, "Then let us go." He reached down and helped Aragorn to his feet, mindful of the broken ribs and the stab wound.
For a moment or two Aragorn swayed on his feet, feeling dizzy and light-headed, and Halbarad steadied him until he found his balance.
"Strider…."
"No, we will go on. If we do not, the assassin has already won. We will not make it without water and food, and…some healing supplies."
"Aye." Halbarad agreed dejectedly, but he had been a ranger long enough to know all this, too.
With the light of the moon illuminating their path, they made their way from shadow to shadow, coming ever closer to the rock formation. The wind picked up, and with it the temperatures dropped further, making the two rangers shiver. Mist formed in front of their faces, and they tightened their cloaks around their shoulders for protection.
Halbarad, who was a few steps in front of Aragorn, kept his eyes trained on their surroundings, ever watchful for signs of the assassin. An eerie quiet lay over the plain, and only the howling of the wind and the pebbles that crunched under their feet could be heard.
A crow cried somewhere to the right, sending a cold shiver down Halbarad's back. Licking his dry lips, he turned his head and gazed at some dry bushes some distance away, from where the cry had come. Was the assassin hiding there? Was he waiting for them in the dark, ready to strike?
He narrowed his eyes, peering intently into the darkness. Had the bush moved? Or was it just the wind? Halbarad gripped the hilt of is sword more tightly. If the assassin was waiting for them, he would have to go through him first before he would lay a hand on Aragorn!
Loosening his sword in the scabbard, he made a step into the direction of the bushes with the intention of investigating the sound he had heard and the movement he thought to have seen.
He heard it the split second before he felt the excruciating pain speeding up his leg. The metallic click of iron jaws snapping shut around his foot, and the blood curling sound of metal meeting flesh and bone.
With a pained scream leaving his lips Halbarad fell to the ground, immediately gripping his right leg with both hands, sword forgotten. His searching fingers met the iron jaws of the trap, which had tightened around his leg, in the middle of his calf. The teeth of the trap had entered his flesh, hurting skin and muscle, only to be stopped by the bone. Blood was already drenching his trousers and boot, staining the ground a dark red.
"Halbarad!"
To be continued…
Mwuahahahaha... please don't kill author ;-)
