Chapter 4

"Estel… We are surrounded."

Estel's eyes flew open. Hránzin's singing had kept sleep from him, and he was glad of that fact, as it meant that he was still alert when he heard Legolas's whispered warning. With the goblin now silent beneath them, the pair could hear footsteps approaching from all sides. Many of the footsteps were small, of Hránzin's kin, but there were at least 4 sets of heavy man-feet walking alongside them.

Elf and man shared a knowing glance, and tried to make their escape through the only path left - up. They sprung into motion, scurrying up the branches, while their sudden movement prompted the enemies to abandon all pretense of stealth and rush towards them. Legolas moved lightly, and had sprung to the next tree quicker than goblin or hollow-man could have tracked. Estel climbed after him, and though he was obviously agile and well-trained, he did not have the otherworldly light-footedness of his friend and his movements were easier to follow.

"There." shouted one of the unquatani. Its voice was deep and gravely, and lacked any tonal inflection.

Legolas turned back, realising he had pulled ahead of his friend, and witnessed a hail of arrows fly at Estel. The goblins had fired at the unquatan's word. Legolas felt his throat tighten as the rough projectiles descended. But goblin-aim was poor, and Estel was swift, leaping out of the arrows' trajectory and onto a nearby branch. Legolas breathed easier for a moment; the man was running towards him, quickly closing the gap between them. This reprieve however was short-lived, as another hail of arrows rained down, this time just ahead of Estel, forcing the man to stop short to avoid the barrage.

The elf watched with mounting horror as the sudden stop caused the man to lose his footing and he fell from the tree. He caught himself on a lower branch, but could barely hold the position for a few seconds before he was forced to drop to the ground to avoid a throwing-axe. Drawing his sword, he stood ready to face the enemies.

Legolas flew through the trees back to where the man stood, drawing his bow as he ran and thinning the horde by a few goblins by the time he arrived. He dropped gracefully through the branches to join the man on the ground. Estel was fending off attacks from no less than six goblins at once, years of diligent training evident in every graceful deflection of a blow. More of the dark vermin were scurrying towards him, and Legolas drew his twin daggers to aid his friend in the fight, knowing too well that even Estel's exceptional martial prowess had its limits.

It was a dance the friends knew well. Back to back and steps in sync they fought, cutting down beast after beast. Estel's longsword swung in calculated arcs, while Legolas's twin blades seemed to glitter in the moonlight as the elf spun and dodged like a deadly whirlwind. The ground was becoming wet with goblin blood by the time the unquatani decided to join the battle, realising this fight was not a task they could entrust to their minions.

Two of the hollow-men faced each of the fair friends. Estel was surprised by the dexterity of his new foes. Their heavy tread and wide broadswords would have suggested a cumbersome - if strong - opponent, but they sidestepped his first attacks easily. Undeterred, he continued to swing at them, and managed to catch an unquatan deeply in the leg with his blade. Estel was again surprised when this injury did not seem to phase his foe. Deep red blood spurted from the hollow-man's leg, the artery plainly severed, and yet the unquatan continued his attacks as if he did not even feel the blow.

Sweat poured from Estel's brow as he fought furiously to match his opponents' fervor in the fight, while said opponents fought with dry foreheads, seemingly propelled by some unearthly force rather than the stamina of man. A minute or two after the slash to the unquatan's leg, the hollow man finally seemed to be faltering, unable to avoid the effects of exsanguination as he had those of pain. The sight brought hope to Estel as it evidenced that his foes were indeed mortal. He took advantage of the weakness, and struck his sword across the unquatan's throat. The first hollow-man fell, but this did not deter his comrade, who reacted to his loss with nothing stronger than a grunt of annoyance.

Legolas too was finding the battle to be turning in his favour. He had managed to wound both of his foes, though his strikes hadn't hit anything vital, and he was easily avoiding their retaliatory strikes. He could have happily continued to duel both the men, but was finding his attention increasingly drawn by the goblins, which were once again swarming around his feet. The small creatures had initially fallen back to make way for their masters, but seeing one of the unquatani felled by Estel summoned them to re-join the battle.

Goblin-goblin-unquatan, goblin-goblin-unquatan. 1-2-3, 1-2-3. The elf struck on each count of the imaginary rhythm, keeping time in a deadly waltz. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Estel, and saw that the man too was kicking away goblins in between swings of his sword. However, he had not yet found as effective a rhythm to fend off the goblins as Legolas had, and the elf's heart lurched as he saw one of the wretched beings slash a dagger across Estel's calf. A cry of pain escaped the man's lips.

The elf quickly disengaged from the two foes he was fighting and moved towards his friend. Estel's attention was on his freshly acquired leg wound, and Legolas could see his unquatan using this opportunity to draw back his sword, preparing a meticulous strike.

The action threw Legolas back in time.

The sword was buried in Estel's stomach, sticking out of him like some grim skewer. The sword's wielder lay still on the ground, having met a swift demise at a green-fletched arrow which was now sticking through his eyelid. Legolas was still caught in battle, but the sight in his periphery of his dark-haired friend falling to his knees filled his heart with anger and grief. The elf slashed through the remaining foes with unbridled fury, a light glowing in his eyes which struck fear into any bandits still standing. The decimated band felt as if they were facing some demi-god come to earth, and soon began to abandon the fight and flee into the woods.

With the bandits gone, Legolas rushed to Estel, willing him to still be alive.

The man's breathing was ragged. He looked profoundly mortal. Legolas had always been aware of his friend's mortality of course, but he had thus far avoided having to face it - while he knew that Estel was doomed to someday age and fade, the elf had never considered the possibility that the man may not even have the opportunity to grow old. Somehow, he had taken the man's limited years as a guarantee.

That guarantee seemed to be dissipating with every pulse of blood that was leaking from the man's abdomen. Legolas carefully extracted the sword, and put pressure on the wound as he bound it tightly so that the man could be moved. He was whispering prayers to every higher being he could name. The ride back to Imladris was the longest of his life, and the minutes passed slower still when the man grew completely limp in his arms. An evil thought whispered to Legolas that he was riding with a corpse, but he pushed that dark voice to the back of his mind, held Estel tight, and did not stop riding until he stood at the steps of the houses of healing.

Legolas could not endure that again. Seeing a blade aimed at the distracted Estel, he threw himself into the path of the blow. The gesture proved unnecessary as Estel noticed the danger in time and ducked out of the way, but by then it was too late for the elf to change his course. The blade that was intended for Estel instead pierced Legolas's left shoulder.

It is said that extreme heat and cold feel the same. Legolas could attest to this, as he could not have told you whether the pain that tore through him was white-hot or ice-cold. The blade seemed to freeze as it entered him, and but a throbbing fire radiated away from the entry point. He felt the sword sink deep, grinding against bone, and his vision grew blurred and black around the edges. He could hear Estel calling out his name in a strange, half-muted voice. He tried to reply, to reassure his friend that the wound was surely superficial, but his lips disobeyed him and the words did not form. Through sheer force of will he remained standing, but he felt the dagger fall from his left hand.

At hearing the elf's name cried out, the energy on the battlefield suddenly changed. One of the unquatan's eyes widened in recognition, and its commanding voice boomed across the battlefield. "Cease! Cease! He names the King's son. Take them alive." The three standing unquatani turned on Estel, clearly perceiving no further threat from the elf.

Fear, rage, and guilt now coursed through the Estel's veins in equal measure. He channelled all three emotions into a last furious stand against the unquatani, determined to avoid capture so he could help his friend. He ignored the pain in his calf. His blade was ringing as he held his ground, and he felt a swell of hope as he managed to catch one of the hollow-men in sword-arm.

Legolas, still swaying on his feet, saw the valiant stand through blurry eyes. The thought of assisting Estel formed, and Legolas tried to step forward, but instead his knees finally buckled and his face met blood-stained soil. And as the elf fell, the man's concentration wavered, and he found his sword getting torn from his hand. The unquatani gave no quarter and tackled Estel to the ground, pinning him down next to the elf. His head was pressed into the earth as they bound his arms behind his back and his eyes went to meet Legolas's. The open blue eyes were unseeing.

Estel's breathing grew quick with panic. This was wrong. Eyes that normally glittered with life were glazed and cold. Shining elvish skin which usually seemed almost immune to the elements was splattered with mud. Blood was still spreading from the injured shoulder across his tunic.

Too much blood.

"His wound! Please! If you need him alive, you must tend to him quickly"

Estel was begging. The unquatani paced wordlessly behind him as long moments ticked by. Then, silently conceding the point, one of them knelt and roughly pressed a bit of cloth into Legolas's injury to stem the bleeding. As rough hands bound the elf's wound, Estel winced; the cloth was filthy and promised infection.

Legolas winced harder. He was torn back to consciousness by an explosion of agony as they bound his shoulder. He felt a cry of pain build deep in his chest, but his lungs did not have the strength to push the sound from his lips. What escaped was a mere strangled whimper, and with it he fell into blackness again.

The unquatan next stepped over to Estel, and examined his leg. The slash where the goblin had cut him was not deep, and was already clotting over, but the hollow-man bound it for good measure.

The captives were carried to the base, thoroughly bound. Hands, wrists, knees - the unquatani were taking no risks. On the journey there, Estel stubbornly blocked out worry for his friend; if he allowed himself to think of that he would surely be overwhelmed. Instead, he focused on committing every step of the journey to memory, latching on to any detail that may aid their escape, or indeed their triumphant return once they could fetch reinforcements.

After around an hour and a half of trekking through thinning forest, the party reached the pass. Walking into the crevasse, earth turned to stone beneath their feet, and the muddy scurrying of goblin feet turned into a distinct pitter-patter. Estel could hear that the number of pattering feet was far fewer than when they had been ambushed; he could not help but feel satisfied by this, knowing that they had at least been able to dent their enemy's numbers. They soon turned into an even narrower crack in the stone of the mountain, and followed the path down to a cave. Thet base was exactly where Estel had expected it to be. At least this way they would truly get an insider's view of it, he thought grimly.

The captives were left in a make-shift supply room deep in the cave, while the unquatani and goblins went deeper still to consult with their masters. A pair of nervous-looking goblins were left as guards. They were there more as sentries than anything else, ready to alert the others in case the captives made any attempt at escape - if the captives successfully broke free, these guards alone would be of little consequence, and both parties were very aware of this fact.

Estel searched with his eyes for anything around that may aid them in re-gaining their freedom. He was disappointed to find that his immediate surroundings seemed to contain only sacks and barrels - the supply room was most mundane, and utterly useless for his purposes. Next, he began to try and feel out his restraints, testing the bonds for any give. Alas, they were tied fast, and the only thing the test earned him was a prod from one of the guard's spear, as he barked an instruction to stop struggling.

Seemingly out of available actions, Estel could no longer push worry out of his mind, and so he sat and stared at Legolas. A sheen of sweat was apparent on the elf's brow - worrying, as this was not a common symptom in the Eldar - and his breathing was fast and shallow. Estel wished dearly that he could tend to him, to examine his wound, and ease the pain, and drag him back to the houses of healing, much as the elf had done for him not all too long ago. Looking at the perilous condition of his friend, a sudden wave of guilt washed over him as he recalled that the elf had suggested returning the previous evening, while he had insisted they stay longer. Too, the sword that had pierced the elf's shoulder had been intended for the man, and the elf had thrown himself in front of the blade. Estel sighed, "Ai, Legolas, what have I done to you, my friend."

The Elvish words, though softly spoken, earned him another prod from the goblin-spear.

Estel was exhausted from battle, the trek, and the prospects - or lack thereof - ahead. He could not think of a way to make this end well for them. If the hollow-men or goblins or dark master did not kill them, Elrond surely would on their return, for the sheer foolishness of their choices. And if Elrond did not, then Thranduil gladly would in his stead. And with that slightly delirious thought, Estel slipped into an uneasy sleep.

A/N: Happy New Year All! And thank you to everyone who is reading so far. You have no idea the joy it brings to my heart when you guys follow or review - seeing interaction with the piece really means a lot!