Author's Note: Thank you to all who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story. You honor me and I appreciate it more than you know!
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Tolkien. I only own my OC's Eriphael, Mithelen, and Delhir (and all the other ones you haven't met yet).
The blackness started to fade as consciousness took its place. He gasped as water splashed his forehead. Drip. Drip. Drip. The droplets fell from a jagged edge above him. Their source came from a steady trickle of water that meandered down the dank, rock wall he was slumped against.
A fog enveloped his mind. His head pulsed with his heartbeat. The last thing he remembered was cracking it after being hurled against the wall. With a groan, Aragorn tried to focus on his surroundings, but his vision swam.
A wave of nausea slammed him, and he quickly shut his eyes to still the sea. I think I'll just keep my eyes closed for now, he concluded silently. It didn't really matter because darkness engulfed everything around him. It was the kind of darkness that could make even the stoutest of hearts despair.
The human shivered. His tattered tunic provided little protection from the cold, and the rough ground was icy to the touch. Aragorn could feel the cold seep into his bones, which caused them to ache. He longed for warmth. He longed for home. He longed for freedom. But, alas, he was trapped.
Aragorn wanted to move. He wanted to get away from the slimy water that dashed his face and find a warmer spot. Summoning his resolve, Aragorn used his shoulders to push himself away from the wall. He bit back a cry as his body quaked with exertion. It was too much.
With a gasp, he fell back against the wall as pain flared within him. His broken ribs burned, and each breath scratched his parched throat. The bruises that dotted his body throbbed. He could feel blood oozing from his lacerations.
"So much for that," he muttered between shaky breaths. The ranger leaned into the wall and sighed. The best thing he could do was rest and regain his strength. He would need it if he was going to survive.
He was deep in the confines of sleep when he sensed a hand draw near. Battle-honed reflexes reacted even before he was fully awake. In a flash, his fingers curled around the knife under his pillow and lashed out at the presence.
A "clash" sounded as steel hit steel. Yet, the blade just held his knife, as a hand gently pried it away from his own. "Easy now, it's just me," uttered a disembodied voice.
Eriphael's bleary eyes slowly made out a tall, lithe form in the dark. "Legolas?"
"No," the voice answered, "it's Delhir."
Now, Eriphael could see the other elf's auburn hair. The elf's face looked anxious. Still, the brunette elf could not find it within himself to match his companion's concern. He was tired, and he hated mornings. Based on the cricket's chirping and very pale rays of dawn, he could still grab a few more minutes of sleep before Legolas had them all up searching for Estel. Eriphael waved him away. "Mmm...leave me alone. Whatever it is, go talk to Legolas," he mumbled groggily as he draped the covers over his head.
"Wait, Eriphael!" The auburn-haired archer shook the other's shoulder firmly.
The second in command lifted the covers. "What?!" he growled.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because he's missing."
Green eyes flew wide awake. Eriphael was on his feet in an instant. He grabbed Delhir's nightshirt, "What do you mean he's missing?!"
Delhir remained unfazed by Eriphael's ferocity. He had expected it. This is why he and the other elves had drawn straws to decide who would wake Eriphael and deliver the news. "He's gone. We can't find him anywhere."
The warrior sank down onto the bed and swore as he ran his hands through his tangled hair. He looked back up at the archer in front of him, "You've looked everywhere in the house?"
"Aye," reported Delhir wearily, "Nyriel and Ulöden are finishing the search now. Ulöden discovered him missing when he woke up."
"What about the stables? Is his horse gone?"
The auburn-haired warrior shook his head, "We haven't checked there yet."
"I bet you a barrel of dorwinion his horse is gone," he muttered grimly. "I'm going to kill him." Eriphael slammed his fist on a pillow, "Ai! I should have known he'd do something like this. The king will have my head if anything happens to him!"
Delhir clapped his friend's shoulder, "This isn't your fault. We'll find him."
The second-in-command dragged a hand over his face, "Yes, but how?"
The archer looked around as if searching for an answer. A white note caught his eye. His blue eyes peered closer, "Is that Legolas' handwriting?"
Eriphael rapidly followed Delhir's eyes to the stand beside him. He snatched the folded parchment and opened it like a hungry cat devouring a mouse.
"What does it say?"
Several moments passed as the green eyed firstborn peered at it hard. "I...I...don't know."
"What do you mean?" Delhir leaned in for a look and scanned the elegant script. His eyes widened, and he swore under his breath, "He didn't…"
"He did," Eriphael deadpanned. Sucking in a breath, he flung the paper on the floor, "Now I'm really going to kill him!"
Flaming orange rays glistened in his eyes. Legolas shaded them as he watched the sun creep over the horizon. He was encouraged by the absence of a red sunrise. No blood had been spilled that night; there was hope for Aragorn yet.
Sighing, the elf rubbed his mare affectionately as sticky lather coated his hand. They had been riding hard all night. It was time to give his horse a well-deserved rest.
Sharp eyes looked ahead for a spot. A brook bubbled through the landscape several yards away. Lush grass blanketed the ground around the bank and several young trees offered shade. It looked inviting to both rider and mare. Gently, he tugged the reins and slowed Mithelen into a walk. "Just a little further, mellon nin," he murmured as the firstborn directed her towards an area with plenty of dew-drenched grass.
When they came to a halt, Legolas gracefully slid off the saddle. The elf crooned softly to his tired mare as he began to methodically remove her bridle. Her sides heaved, but she whinnied gratefully. A smile spread across her master's face. He patted her neck, "No, hannon le, Mithelen. You've born me a great distance this night."
Mithelen started to graze, while the prince ambled over to a willow a few feet away. He shrugged off his weapons and let them drop to the ground. With a grunt, he settled against the trunk.
The rough bark felt oddly comforting against his back. His fingers strayed to stroke it, and he relished the life that sparked beneath his touch. Suddenly, his eyelids felt heavy. Legolas exhaled slowly, "We will rest here. We've put enough distance between us and the others." He snickered softly to himself, "I took great pains to delay them for awhile."
At his words, Mithelen's head, which was hovering over a patch of grass, shot up with a disapproving snort.
Legolas quirked an eyebrow at her, barely able to contain his amusement. "What? I didn't do anything terrible," drawled the elf.
His mare merely huffed.
"I left them a note of my plans..." Blue eyes twinkled as he watched his companion deflate in relief. Oh, she was going to enjoy this next part. "...I just wrote it in an ancient language they can't understand," he chuckled mischievously. He had used one of the oldest language books in Elrond's library.
The mare neighed with alarm and displeasure. She glared at her master in a horse-like manner. Legolas held up his arms, "Hold your horses! Valar, you're acting just like ada!"
Mithelen continued to stare at him. Legolas folded his arms and shook his head with a smile, "Don't worry, mellon. They can decipher it after they find the book I used. Or Lord Elrond can translate it for them."
After a moment, the horse gave another snort and went back to eating. The elf leaned against the trunk as he closed his eyes in thought. Eriphael and the rest of his escort were probably having a fit at the moment. It was only a matter of time before they followed him. The elves in his company possessed every bit of the renowned stubbornness the Woodland elves were known for. They would chase after him relentlessly until they caught up with him.
Legolas shifted. He felt bad about leaving them behind, but it was necessary. Something about Estel's disappearance didn't sit well with him. He could feel it in his gut. The ranger wouldn't just disappear. Somebody knew something, and the prince needed stealth to uncover it.
On one of their hunting trips, Aragorn had once told him the best way to observe humans and gather intelligence was to not draw attention to oneself. To find information about Aragorn, Legolas needed to remain as inconspicuous and unthreatening as possible. A group of elven warriors would only draw attention he didn't need. It was best if he searched alone. Besides, the elf was confident he could handle it; he was no stranger to danger.
The gurgling water drew his attention. The prince got up and made his way over to the bank.
Kneeling down, he splashed his face. The cold water's sting felt refreshing and made him more alert. Legolas filled the flask from his belt and took a long drink. Invigorated, he sat down again to review his plans.
"If I were that crazy human where would I be?" he pondered out loud. He was not in Imladris, that much was certain, or they would have found him. No, Estel was either in the Shire, in some village, or in the wilderness.
The rangers were scouring the Shire, which was good because the archer would have had a hard time blending in there. So, that left the wilderness or towns. Valar, Legolas prayed the ranger wasn't lost in the wilderness. There were leagues and leagues of land he couldn't possibly cover in a timely manner. If he was in the wild, the elf hoped Aragorn had left some clue in a village.
Last night, he had asked Erestor to show him all the towns they had already searched. From what he surmised, the twins had started with the six establishments closest to Rivendell and worked their way out.
One town, in particular, had caught the prince's eye. Bree was the farthest away, almost a five-day ride from Imladris. Yet, Legolas recalled Aragorn mention the town once or twice in conversation. The human could have gone there. Even if he didn't find anything in Bree, he could work his way back and meet Elladan and Elrohir in the middle. One of them had to find the ranger.
The archer's gaze shifted to Mithelen, who sipped water from the brook. She was strong and fast enough to reach Bree in three and a half days instead of five. Still, it felt like three days too long.
Legolas plucked the grass in frustration. Part of him wanted to mount Mithelen and gallop non-stop to Bree. But, that was foolish. He needed to be patient. He couldn't afford to make mistakes because of hasty decisions.
Legolas balled his fists and sighed. Just like Eriphael said, Legolas had to trust Aragorn's skill and the Valar to keep him alive. They would rest a while longer and then ride toward Bree.
Three days later a strong gust of wind whipped around the elf and his mare as he brought her to a halt. The sunny weather had disappeared; now angry clouds hid the sun from view. The trees creaked around them. Mithelen shied slightly. "Steady, now," he murmured. She grew weary, and he felt a slight tremble run through her body. Legolas glanced around the wooded area. It appeared safe enough to stop. Dismounting, he led her toward a group of thick trees that would shelter the two from the biting wind.
The prince ran his fingers through the tangles in her mane. "I've pushed you hard these last few days, haven't I?" Legolas mused softly. "Take some rest, mellon. You deserve it."
Mithelen nuzzled her master, who returned it with a fond pat on her nose and smile. She proceeded to lean down to graze. The firstborn began to untie one of the leather pack from her back. The pack landed on the ground with a quiet "thud."
Legolas plopped down on the leaf-littered ground and started to rummage through it. Mithelen watched out of the corner of her eye as he pulled out a dingy, dark cloak. Next, the archer brought out a pair of black pants. A coarse tunic of smoky gray and a faded brown vest followed. Finally, he sat a leather belt down on the ground beside him. The mare gave a nicker of curiosity. Legolas looked up. "Hmm?"
She motioned at the stack of clothing. "This? This is Aragorn's," answered the elf casually. A pleased expression spread over his face. "I raided his dresser before I left. I didn't know what I would need, and I have found one can never be too prepared when it comes to Aragorn."
The mare snorted in agreement. Her curiosity satiated; she went back to eating.
Legolas took off his weapons and undid the laces on his tunic. In one fluid motion, he pulled off his green tunic and shirt. The air pricked his bare chest. He wasted no time in shrugging on the gray tunic and vest.
Five minutes later, he fastened the cloak around his shoulders. The prince turned around and asked his companion, "There. How do I look?" Mithelen gave him a funny look as she glanced him over.
"You're wondering why I'm wearing Aragorn's clothes?"
She wagged her head and waited expectantly for an answer.
"Estel told me how the men of Bree are distrustful of outsiders. I need to gain their trust. Blending in with them will help me gain it. That, mellon nin, is why I'm dressed as a man."
Legolas slouched his shoulders slightly and struck a relaxed pose, "Do I look like a human?"
Drawing close to her master, she nipped at his warrior braids.
"What?" he asked as swung his braids away from Mithelen's teeth. Blue orbs suddenly lit up in understanding. "Oh, I forgot. Humans are far more unkempt than elves."
With a sigh, he moved to undo them. The wind swept his hair around his face as he unwound each braid carefully. Blonde strands tickled his nose and cheeks. Annoyed, Legolas blew the pesky strands away from his face. A horsey laugh escaped his mare. He glowered at her. At least, the long hair hid his ears from view. "What about now?"
Mithelen shook her head, and pawed at the dirt on the ground.
"No! I'm not doing that."
The mare huffed.
Several moments passed before, Legolas relented. "Fine." He pointed at her, "Not a word, whinny, or anything, to anyone about this. If Ada, Eriphael, or any elf for that matter, found out about this...I'll never live it down."
Gulping, his hand lingered over the ground. "The things I do for that human," he muttered. The prince scooped up a handful of dirt and rubbed it over his face, arms, and hands. I swear, if Aragorn ever calls me prissy again, I'll kill him.
A light drizzle of rain began to fall as he finished the grubby disguise. A flick of his hand pulled the cloak's hood over his head. The elf didn't want to look like a muddy, wet rat. "I'm finished," Mithelen nodded her head approvingly. "We will continue on when you are ready."
Legolas bent down and picked up his weapons. He strapped on his bow and quiver. Men did not wear their blades on their backs. His twin blades and their sheaths clinked slightly as he relocated them to the belt around his waist.
Suddenly, a branch snapped nearby. Elven ears tracked the noise despite the howling gusts. "That is no animal!" He spun around towards a large, leafy oak fifty yards away. An arrow suddenly materialized and sailed straight at him. Legolas whipped out his bow as the missile flew above his head and thunked into the trunk behind him. A warning shot. Faster than the eye could follow, he nocked an arrow to his bow. Steely eyes hungrily sought his target. "Show yourself!"
Author's Note: Things are getting messy...
Reviews are appreciated and welcomed!
~M.B.