Chance Encounter

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

This chapter is dedicated to Nelarun. Thanks so much for helping me with my Ned Kelly assignment.

Chapter 18: A Big Misunderstanding

Legolas stared at the shimmering stars, humming an elvish melody under his breath. Occasionally, Gimli's rumbling snores drowned out the notes of his song. He found it comforting; at least he knew the dwarf was there. Sighing, he thought about their absent companions. Boromir was in the Halls of Mandos, Frodo and Sam were somewhere out in the wild, slowly making their way towards Mordor. The other hobbits and Balian were in the hands of orcs. The elf wondered if they were still alive; whether they were suffering or not. The brooch that they had found earlier away from the tracks of the orcs gave them a ray of hope. At least on of them was well enough to leave a sign. However, doubt ever gnawed at his mind.

In the east, a tinge of red was starting to stain the sky, like the beginnings of a bloodstain. Fear seized his heart and he was filled with a sense of foreboding. He remembered an old piece of folklore. "A red sun rises," he whispered to himself. "Blood has been spilt this night."

He whipped around to find his companions still sleeping fitfully, exhausted by the long and fruitless chase. "Awake, awake!" he cried. "We must move on! My heart is filled with dread and I fear that something terrible has befallen our companions!"

Gimli and Aragorn woke immediately and leapt to their feet, startled by the elf's outburst. Guy, however, only opened one eye and regarded the elf in a haughty manner.

"They've waited long enough," said Balian's archrival coolly. "They can wait a little longer. Anyway, what do you expect to do when you catch up? Jump into the enemy's midst and hack them to pieces?"

"That is better than leaving them to their fate," said Legolas icily. "No one will say we left our friends to die."

"I would never leave my friends to die," said Guy. "Enemies are another matter."

"Fine," snapped the elf. "Stay where you are and good riddance!"

Grumbling, Guy finally backed off and got up. His face was full of contempt.

The other three did not wait for him. Legolas was already sprinting off. His desperation drove him ever onwards, giving wings to his feet so that the others were hard pressed to catch up with him.

His shoulder throbbed fiercely. His back burned with vengeful fire and he was being jolted around terribly. Balian slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see orc armour again. Instead, he saw…brown and white hairs? He lifted his head to better observe his surroundings. He was draped over a horse's back and in front of the rider. All around him were mounted warriors with long plumes in their elaborately forged helmets with horse designs. Their hair was long and flaxen, reminding him of Odo, the German mercenary. It seemed they had been riding for a few days and most of them were in need of a wash. They had found him, for good or evil. God alone knew where they were taking him and what they intended to do to him.

"My lord Éomer," called the rider on whose horse he was draped. "The prisoner is awake."

At least he wasn't 'scum' anymore. That had to be an improvement. The warriors' leader, an impressive man with hawk-like features turned his horse and rode over. He nodded at the other warriors who took him off the horse and deposited him none-too-gently on the ground.

Balian gasped as the treatment aggravated his wounds. He wondered at his bad luck. Everyone seemed to think he was an enemy for some sort for some unfathomable reason.

The riders' leader —Éomer, he recalled— stared down at him disdainfully. "Who is your master?" he demanded.

"I have none," replied Balian truthfully.

Éomer dismounted and approached the kneeling man. "Don't lie to me," he hissed, gripping the other man's wounded shoulder painfully. The prisoner tensed, but did not cry out even as blood seeped through his ragged shirt, staining it crimson. "Whom do you serve?"

Balian met Éomer's hawk-like eyes. He was not ready to trust the man. For all he knew, he could be a servant of Sauron. "I serve no one," he replied.

Éomer sighed with exasperation. He hated it when prisoners refused to bend to intimidation. He was not a cruel man who enjoyed inflicting pain on others, but he was a patriot and he would do anything to see the glory of Rohan restored. This man was an important key to his goal; he was sure of it. "I do not want to hurt you," he told the prisoner "but if you continue like this, I shall have no other choice."

"I speak only the truth," replied the captive stubbornly.

"Very well then," said Éomer coldly. Two could play the game. It was a matter of endurance, and patience. He nodded to his men, who pushed the prisoner down so that he was prostrate on the ground. The prisoner grunted as the warriors put their gauntleted hands on his shoulders. Éomer brought his horsewhip down across the man's back. The captive arched in pain, and red blossomed on the stained cloth of his shirt.

The Third Marshall frowned in confusion. He had not ht the man with so much force that the blow would open flesh. His horsewhip was capable of raising painful welts but to cause bleeding upon the first blow? He didn't think so. He instructed his men to lift up the prisoner's shirt to see what was wrong. Raw bleeding flesh met his eyes. The prisoner had been tortured not long ago. The wounds still seeped blood. Éomer winced. "Who flogged you?" he demanded.

"Who else but the orcs?" said the panting man. His voice was thick with pain. "I was their prisoner, and now I'm yours. What do you intend to do with me?"

"As I have said before, I have no desire to hurt you. All I want is some information concerning the enemy's plans. The orcs are no friends of yours and I'm sure we can come to an understanding."

So this Éomer did not serve Sauron. That comforted Balian somewhat. However, he could not give Éomer what he wanted, because he did not have it. "I know nothing of the enemy's plans."

"But you must surely know something," insisted Éomer. "Your race serves him."

"I don't know anything," said Balian, wishing that he did.

Éomer felt ready to burst with impatience. Never in his life had he met such a stubborn man. Driven to the end of his wits, he struck the man's raw flesh with his horsewhip. The prisoner sucked in a painful breath through his teeth. His pupils dilated and his eyes widened with agony. His body was as taut as a bowstring from the pain, but still he would not talk. The Third Marshall dealt his blows slowly and deliberately to cause as much pain as possible without doing too much damage.

Agony was layered upon agony as Balian was flogged for the second time in two days. Still, he refused to speak. He had said all that he had to say and if Éomer did not believe him, there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was to wait and endure.

Finally, Éomer gave up. The prisoner seemed to have taken a vow of silence. He would take his riders out of Rohan first before that traitor Grima Wormtongue sent forces out after them. Once they were out of Rohan, he would interrogate the prisoner some more. Sooner or later, the man would break.

"Put him on a horse and lash his hands to the pommel," he instructed his men. His eyes roved over them and fell on a young rider whose name he did not know. "You, what is your name?"

"Wulf, son of Ulfwine, sir," replied the eager young warrior.

"You're in charge of the prisoner, Wulf. Do not fail me."

Éomer left the stunned rider and mounted his horse. Wulf faced the bound and wounded man. "Come on," he said. "On the horse. You can mount, can't you?"

The prisoner said nothing. He put his foot in the stirrup and Wulf helped him to swing into the saddle. Although he was battered and exhausted, the prisoner was a proud and noble man. The Third Marshall seemed so certain that he would break. Wulf was not so sure. He wished that they did not have to inflict such pain on others in order to save Rohan. There was no glory in harming helpless people.

Wulf lashed the prisoner's hands to the pommel and then settled himself in his own saddle. "Why must you be so stubborn?" asked Wulf of the stoic man. "Lord Éomer is merciful. If you cooperate, he will let you live and set you free. I don't want to see them hurt you."

"Would you have me lie to buy my freedom then?" asked the prisoner softly.

Wulf was startled by this response. He was rendered speechless.

"I will never do that," continued the prisoner. "I swore to tell only the truth. I will not break my oath. If you do not believe what I say, then there is nothing more I can do."

"Forgive us if we find it hard to believe you," said Wulf "but in these times, we can trust no one."

With that, Wulf took the prisoner's reins and kicked his horse into a fast gallop to catch up with the others.

From the distance, Legolas could hear the thunder of horses' hooves.

"There is a cloud of dust ahead, and it draws near," said Aragorn.

Legolas lifted his long hand to shield his eyes from the sun. "There are about a thousand men," he said. "Should we take cover?"

"Nay, I do not think the Rohirrim are collaborating with the enemy," said Aragorn.

Legolas was not so certain, but he trusted Aragorn's instincts. He looked on with worry as the mounted warriors neared them.

"Riders of Rohan!" called Aragorn. "What news of the Mark?"

Legolas quickly changed his mind. Sometimes, he seriously doubted the ranger's sanity. This was one of those moments. Soon, the four of them were surrounded by a ring of hostile mounted spearmen.

One of the riders broke through the ranks. He was the leader, Legolas deemed. "What business does an elf, a dwarf and two men have in the Riddermark?" the rider demanded curtly. "Speak quickly," he added when they did not reply.

"You give me your name, horsemaster," said Gimli defiantly "and I shall give you mine."

The rider dismounted and approached them. "I would cut off your head, dwarf," he growled "if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Guy produced a snort of laughter at this comment, but quickly became sober again as Legolas put an arrow to his bow and aimed it at the rider with movements so fast that they were impossible to follow. "You would die before your stroke fell," he snarled. The spearmen advanced on them, their spearheads directed at Legolas' head and chest.

Things would have gone ill if Aragorn had not intervened. "Peace," he chided. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, formerly known as Thorongil in your country. This is Gimli son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your king."

Éomer recognized the name of Thorongil. He had heard many stories of the heroic deeds of this legendary figure of Rohirric history and he admired him. "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe," said sadly with an underlying tone of anger. He took off his helmet. "Not even his own kin."

This was a signal to the rest of the horsemen and they withdrew their spears.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over this land," explained the rider. "My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished." He looked at the four weary hunters. "The White Wizard is cunning," he told them in a low voice. "He walks here and there they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets." At the last sentence, he looked warily at Legolas.

"We are no spies," said Aragorn quickly, afraid of how Legolas would react to this subtle insult. "We track a party of Uruk Hai across the plains. They have taken three of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed," said the rider sharply. "We slaughtered them during the night."

"But there were two hobbits and a man!" cried Gimli desperately. "Did you see two hobbits and a man?"

"The hobbits would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn explained. "And the man would resemble one of the Haradrim with his dark skin and hair."

Éomer began to feel uncomfortable. Was the man the prisoner that they took and… mistreated? "We saw no children," he said awkwardly "but we did find a man matching the description of your friend." He turned to his riders. "Bring the prisoner," he ordered.

Balian was filled with hope as he recognized his friends' voices. They had come for him, Merry and Pippin. Then his heart sank. Merry and Pippin were still missing and he had no idea where they were.

Legolas' eyes widened as another rider broke through the ranks, leading a horse behind him. Upon the latter was a battered and bloodied figure that he would recognize almost anywhere.

"Balian!" he cried. He turned to the riders' leader, his eyes burning with fury. "Valar! What have you done to him?"

"He was already hurt when we found him," said the man. "We thought he was one of the enemy's soldiers, so we…interrogated him. I am very sorry for this misunderstanding."

He helped Balian off his horse and undid his bonds. The blacksmith's knees gave away under him but his friends caught him before he hit the ground.

"So you were telling the truth," said Éomer sheepishly to the man whom Thorongil and his friends called Balian. "I, Éomer son of Éomund, do apologize for not believing you. No hard feelings?"

"No hard feelings," said Balian with a weak smile. "I accept your apology."

The Third Marshall still felt awkward. The man deserved more than just an apology. Then he got an idea. "Hasufel, Arod, Louan, Cynebald!" he called. Four fine horses trotted forwards. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters," he said to the travellers. In addition, he gave them rations and a clean shirt for Balian before he went on his way.

"Farewell!" he called back as he rode north. "I hope we meet in better circumstances next time!"

A/N: I wrote this chapter in between working on my history and biology assignments, so there might be more typos than usual. Wulf actually sort of belongs to me, not that he has a major part to play or anything. I'd appreciate it if anyone who wants to borrow him notifies me before doing so. Anyway, reviews please! I love reviews and will probably write faster if I get more of them.