Chapter 13
AN
Ummm… hi. It's only been 3 years so… oops?
Well welcome to chapter 13 guys. I would say I hope it is worth the wait but uh, 3 years is probably pushing it!
Enjoy
Chapter 13
Elrohir crashed through the undergrowth on Rochiril, his father's mare. His wound, while considerably better due to Glorfindel, was burning painfully. The golden-haired elf's threat was ringing in his ears – Elladan's wrath was, without a doubt, more terrifying than anything they might encounter in the camp they were rapidly approaching. But the only thing on his mind was his brothers and his father. Weariness and pain wouldn't stop him, not when he knew that he was their only hope now.
Well, to be more accurate, the horde of determined elves thundering behind him were their only hope now.
Elrohir glanced above him, noting with distaste the scarlet sky. Glorfindel was clearly troubled by it too, the balrog-slayer kept turning to the heavens with a worry-creased brow. And for good reason, the elf thought. If the red sky was an omen from the Valar, the chance of it being a good one was less than slim.
The youngest twin was terrified for his family. All he wanted was for them all to be back in Rivendell, safe, sound and playing horrible pranks on each other. Well, he chided himself, he might lay off the practical jokes for two, three days. After all, he was insanely generous.
Despite trying to keep his thoughts cheerful, he chewed his lip nervously, his mind returning to the present. They had been riding for hours now, and Glorfindel had ridden through the night to get where he had when he bumped into Elrohir… nay, nearly been shot by Elrohir, he thought guiltily. He was so reckless he had nearly killed his father's best friend.
No, he shook his head quickly. He couldn't let his guilt distract him now.
Due to the state he had ridden toward Rivendell in, he wasn't exactly sure how long the journey had been. He didn't know what time they would arrive to help, he just hoped it wouldn't be too much longer.
Elrohir chanced a glance behind him at the party of elves, almost falling off Rochiril in the process. The horse whinnied disapprovingly, but the young Elrondion wasn't listening. Every one of the elves wore a fierce but proud face, ready to fight for their lord. Elrohir felt a surge of gratitude. There wasn't an elf in Rivendell that wasn't loyal to Elrond. His father had been right to cast out that traitor, Morcion.
The twin noticed Glorfindel's horse breaking ranks, catching up to him.
'Are we far, pen-neth?' He called to be heard over the wind. The golden-haired warrior's face was tense. Glorfindel had been friends with his father for a long, long time. It was comforting to know that someone else held Elrond as dear as he and his brothers did.
Elrohir shook his head. 'I don't believe so, Glorfindel. We are less than an hour's ride from where I left Elladan and Legolas, at least, but I do not know how much further the camp was.'
Glorfindel nodded slowly. 'I will tell the rest.'
Elrohir looked at his mentor anxiously. His mind was swirling with horrible thoughts, every terrifying possible thought. He opened his mouth but he just didn't know what to say. What if we are too late? What if they're already hurt? What if it's too late for Estel…
The young twin shook his head furiously, blinking hot tears out of his eyes. It didn't help to dwell on things such as this.
He glanced back at Glorfindel. Luckily for him, nothing needed to be said, as Elrohir didn't think he could speak without breaking down into tears. His fair-haired mentor smiled at him sympathetically, somehow coordinated enough to reach out and pat the young twin's shoulder. His deep blue eyes said all that needed to be said. He gazed back appreciatively, resolve hardened. Losing Estel wasn't an option, losing anyone wasn't.
Elrohir felt a surge of sudden exhiliration when his surroundings became all too familiar. They dashed past the battle scene where Rochiril had wreaked havoc on Morcion's men, and past where the twins and Legolas had camped the night. And beyond that, the clearest trail ever to left by elves. Bless Elladan and Legolas. The twin quickly thanked the Valar for giving his brother an ounce of wisdom. Actually, it was probably Legolas.
Elrohir quickly signalled to Glorfindel behind him, indicating to lessen their pace to remain stealthy. The balrog-slayer barked commands at the company. The youngest twin barely heard. He smiled, his heart anew with hope. The red sun before them suddenly felt in their favour, somehow.
Wreaking havoc on the camp ahead of them was going to be greater than any prank ever played in the history of his brothers and Legolas. Elrohir wasn't a violent person by nature, but for Morcion… well to say in the least, he was more than willing to make an exception.
Legolas waited with bated breath from his position of cover in the trees. The red sun was rising fast, making Legolas worry that Elrohir may be seen. The men in the camp were becoming more active, and the wood-elf feared they may notice the absence of the young man he had rendered unconscious earlier.
As he watched, two of the men from the camp walked towards him. They were deep in conversation, and Legolas's apt senses told him they did not think much of each other. They drifted close enough for the elf to tune in on their words.
'…Rhûn, Commander. We haven't the time to waste.'
The fair-haired elf blanched when he heard the mention of Rhûn. While Rhovanion was once a land of worship, the East had long since been unsettled greatly. The beings in that land had long been dominated by evil, whether through lies and hatred or forceful oppression, Legolas did not know, but they were ruthless nonetheless. The lands east of Mordor were nothing more than an alliance of the bitter. No elf on this side of the Sundering Seas would have an ounce of respect for the soldiers of Rhûn, and yet, here was an elf, leading the men of Rhûn home. To say that Legolas felt uneasy would be an understatement.
'It would do you good to remember who is in charge here, 'Captain. I doubt that King Melehta would appreciate hearing of your.. incompetence.'
The man snarled haughtily, his expression fixed with the utmost condescension the Valar could have ever possibly permitted a living being to wear.
To his credit, the other man stood his ground, blue eyes glinting unyieldingly.
'And I doubt that King Melehta would appreciate you delivering a dead ranger and an uncooperative elf lord to him, Commander Donngal,' the man retorted evenly. 'We have wasted enough time as it is for you to toy with the ranger.'
Donngal's face contorted furiously, spit bubbling at the corners of his lips - an intensely ugly image that Legolas absolutely hadn't needed to see.
Legolas's heart caught in his throat as the man could only have been referring to Estel. Dead really didn't sound too good. Estel really mustn't be in a good state, but the elf could only hope the men were exaggerating. From what he could gather from this tense conversation between the men, Aragorn was captured as a bargaining chip to make Elrond cooperate.
While this definitely wasn't good news, Legolas did make a breath in relief. The twins and him had worried that the men had learned of Estel's true identity. If anyone learned of the young ranger's real identity, the son of Arathorn, it could mean severely detrimental effects to his health. The world was full of jealous, callous, power-hungry creatures, all who would simply love to get their hands on the last hope of men.
The ranger did not yet know of his fate, and honestly, Legolas dreaded the day he would learn of it. The path of Estel's foretold destiny was a dangerous one, and there was nothing more that Legolas and the twins wanted than to keep him safe. But this was a thought for another time.
The elf winced as he shuffled further into the trees, his wounded side arcing with pain. The bickering men were coming closer. The elf took back his earlier judgement. The men thought plenty of each other – primarily loathing contempt.
'You seem to have grown a soft spot for the ranger, Captain Lucien.' Commander Donngal had calmed himself considerably since Lucien's last comment. 'But remember what he is here for – we must persuade the elf lord to give up his kingdom. We cannot return home to King Melehta without his cooperation. He will be murderous.'
Lucien nodded distastefully. That was one point where the men seemed to be in agreement.
Donngal leaned in close to the other man, a contemptuous smirk on his face. 'And believe me, Captain, in my report to the King, you will be the one at fault. So, I suggest you find some respect for me, lest I send word to Rhûn of your uselessness. Your family would be dead before we were halfway through Mordor. What was it… 3 daughters and one son you have?' The man spat disgustingly.
The captain's blue eyes hardened hatefully, but he remained silent. It made sense now, Legolas thought. This king in Rhûn wanted Rivendell, Morcion wanted revenge on Elrond, Donngal wanted… well it seemed that Donngal wanted to be the sole infliction of pain on everyone around him. And Lucien wanted to protect his family. The elf felt a twang of sympathy for the captain, but it was quickly quelled by the anger and worry he felt for Estel and Elladan. Everyone in this cursed company was involved in something evil, Lucien's motive was just purer than most. But that didn't change the facts.
Legolas rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger, ready to strike if the quarrelling men came any closer.
The distinct clatter of blades rung through the air. Legolas's heart jumped into his throat. Elladan must have been discovered, he thought in terror.
The men abandoned their dispute and raced back towards the camp, both men instantly drawing their swords.
The elf stealthily nocked an arrow, stalking out of his shelter in the trees. He would be damned if he let his troublesome friends get hurt. He planned to distract the men and draw them away from Elladan, hoping the twin would find Estel and get him to safety. Silently praying to the Ainar that they would pull off another of their famously impossible escapes, he launched into battle.
The Lord of Imladris worked his bonds furiously, the pain of the ropes rubbing his wrists raw becoming void as he heard the inimitable sounds of combat ringing in the camp. It could mean nothing good, and most likely it was his rebellious sons and Legolas trying to help. No matter how proud he was of their chivalry, the last thing he ever wanted was for them to be in danger. And unfortunately for him, danger was all they ever seemed to be in.
A few men dashed past him, completely regardless of the elven lord. Some of them were young, far too young to have made any of their own decisions. Brainwashed, he thought. They were younger than Estel by far.
As they rushed past, a small knife fell from the sheath of one of the men, mere feet away from Elrond. He could not believe his sheer luck.
He shuffled awkwardly, wriggling his legs to try and kick the knife closer. He imagined he must look quite like a fish out of water, and he was momentarily glad that Glorfindel was not here to see it. Until he remembered that his dear friend would be a blessing right now, in this unfortunate situation.
He managed to hook his boot around the little knife, and carefully began to nudge it closer.
Elrond heard the rapidly approaching sound of footsteps, surprisingly light for a human, but still unmistakeably human. He whipped his head around in dread to see the Captain of the men, wielding a sword. Lucien, Elrond recalled frustratedly.
It was too late for the elf to hide the blade, and his intentions with it were undoubtedly quite clear. The Captain's fierce blue eyes locked with Elrond's, still annoyingly unreadable. Elrond's heart sank. He had been caught now.
Lucien stared at him detachedly for what could have been only seconds, but dragged on for yení.
To Elrond's utter disbelief, the Captain's fixated gaze turned away from him, and the man continued to walk at an unbothered pace, like he had not seen a thing.
The elf lord's heart was racing sporadically. Why would the Captain let him go? His mind raced with scenarios. Was it a trap?
He decided he didn't care. This was his chance to find his son and there wasn't a chance in Mordor that he was not going to take it.
The Lord of Imladris kicked the knife as close as he could to his hand, and attempted to pick it up with his bound hands. Dropping curses that he prayed the twins didn't know existed, the elf lord realised his fingers were too numb from the ties to actually grasp anything.
Clenching his jaw in frustration, Elrond swiped the knife behind his back to keep it hidden while he relaxed his wrists in their binds in an effort to get some feeling back in his hands. He glanced up at the skies, the blood-red sky being slowly suffocated by black clouds, characteristic of the oncoming winter.
The elf-lord stared at the omniscient heavens, his fingers beginning to tingle painfully as the blood rushed through them. He firmly grabbed the knife – at long last – and began to saw through the bonds, tense with worry for his children.
The Peredhel stood determinedly, knife grasped tightly in his hand, his heart full of apprehension of how he might find his sons. He began to walk towards the centre of the camp, full of purpose. Hiding was far from his interest.
Elladan waited with bated breath at the entrance of the tent. He could hear the sounds of commotion outside, which meant Legolas must have ventured into the camp as well – as he doubted the men would be fighting themselves. No matter how nice that would be, he thought solemnly.
The elf chanced a glance out of the tent. Confusingly, there was no one near, save for the dead man that Elladan has hastily shoved into the corner of the tent to keep him hidden. There had been no mistaking the volume of the clanging blades, yet no one had come running to the scene. Legolas must have been drawing the men away from them.
The tent was relatively close to the dense glade of trees around the clearing. Perhaps he could take Estel and test their luck. Not so intelligent though, really, to leave a prisoner unattended so close to escape. But then again, Elladan thought, looking worriedly back to his stirring brother laying on the ground, he doubted Estel could crawl out of this tent even in a week's time.
The elf crouched down next to Estel, gently brushing a wavy lock of the ranger's dishevelled brown hair out of his eyes. His little brother's brow creased, his silver eyes opening, full of pain.
'If you throw me like that again, muindor, I think you will be due for another hair appointment soon. Ada has some wonderful orange blossoms in the courtyard that I think would flatter you endlessly.'
The ranger croaked feebly, though his eyes had their usual mischievous glimmer.
Elladan cracked a smile, even though it physically pained him to see his brother like this. It seemed like so long ago when he had been chasing Estel around Rivendell, his hair full of pink flowers, screaming bloody murder. Better times, he thought to himself.
'I don't think Ada will let you out of bed for several months to come, Estel.' Elladan joked. 'The bedridden do not get to play the pranks – the healthy, vengeful older brother does.'
Estel smiled. 'Maybe so, but the bedridden do become awfully bored, and therefore terribly creative….'
Elladan smirked. 'Well let's get you home first, and then you can be as 'terribly creative' as you would like.'
Estel looked up at him in agreement.
Elladan apologetically slid his hands under the ranger's shoulders, and another under his knees. He lifted his brother gently, but the young man still winced in pain.
Heart pounding erratically, the young twin prepared himself to sprint directly into the trees ahead of them. After glancing around one last time, the elf broke into a sprint, mindful of his injured little brother.
Elladan didn't dare stop to look around him, even though he heard the distant twang of launching arrows and blades clashing. There was no doubt Legolas had joined the fight, and he was sorely outnumbered.
After what felt like yení, Elladan crossed over into the safe obscurity of the forest glade. He immediately dropped to his knees to tend to his brother. Estel was pale, his face noticeably white somehow even under the mottled colours that decorated the young ranger's face. His shoulder was a horrible, festering wound that needed urgent attention, attention that Elladan couldn't afford to give right now. Estel's breathing was dangerously shallow, but the man's eyes still seemed surprisingly alert.
Elladan tried to control his bitter fury. How dare somebody do this to his little brother. In this moment, Elladan wanted nothing more than to go and join Legolas in the slaughter of those disgusting beings.
Too late, Elladan heard the cracking of branches, drowned out by the rage flowing in the elf's ears. He whirled around just in time, barely stopping his own decapitation.
The offender was a man with stringy, mousey-brown hair, and shallow watery blue eyes. Elladan regarded him with disgust. The man radiated perverted callousness, an aura that the elf had never had the misfortune to sense.
The man looked taken aback when he noticed that Elladan was not human, and stood back, apparently to reconsider.
Elladan quickly glanced over to Estel to make sure he was alright, but his words caught in his throat. His brother was staring at the man, and the mix of terror and dread that Elladan saw in his eyes instantly told the story of Estel's inhumane injuries. Elladan's looked back at the man, blind with vehemence. He hadn't seen true fear in his little brother's eyes since he was little. This man must truly be a monster.
Elladan drew his blade, and when the man raised his own in defence, the elf parried with such force that the man flew backwards. He scurried backwards, scrambling to his feet and staring at Estel with animalistic intensity.
'That ranger is mine, elf.' The man spat while retreating. 'We have unfinished business.'
'Like hell you do,' Elladan thundered.
The man fixed the pair with one last disgusting glare and ran back to the camp.
Elladan's chest heaved with savagery. He knelt back down to Estel, whose eyes were still glazed with fear and panic.
Forcibly calming himself, Elladan rested a hand on his brother's cheek.
'Don't worry Estel, he is gone. He can't hurt you.' The elf murmured soothingly.
His brother looked at him fretfully. 'You do not understand, Elladan. I do not know how someone of my own race can be so… ' Estel trailed off, apparently at a loss for words to describe the man's absurdity.
Elladan looked at him with sympathy. 'Who is he, Estel?' he asked gently.
Aragorn looked at him distraughtly. 'Donngal. He is the Commander of the men, and he… he's barbaric.'
Elladan chewed the inside of his cheek. It was so unlike Estel to be afraid. He made a mental note to find Donngal later and end him in a very painful way.
Estel shook his head, apparently having had enough of this topic. 'Where is Elrohir? I highly doubt he would let you be here without him.'
Elladan shook his head. 'Elrohi-'
The elf was cut off by the thundering of hooves and the trilling of war cries. Elvish war cries, he thought, suddenly ecstatic.
The pair looked to the edge of the clearing, where dozens of horses were galloping into the camp, carrying on their backs Rivendell's finest.
Elladan grinned. 'Elrohir is right here.'
TBC…
Translations:
Elrondion – son of Elrond
Pen-neth – young one
Ainar – The Valar, 'Powers of the World'
Yení – Elvish equivalent to 144 years.
Peredhel – half-elven
Muindor – brother
Ada – father
A/N
Hey guys, let me know what you think! Thankyou for all the amazing reviews that encouraged me to return to this story – I appreciate you all so much. :)
Chapter 14 will come… hopefully the wait isn't too long.
