Here we are, folks! Same time(ish), same channel, back for more mayhem in Middle-earth! Will our heroes survive the night? And what about the next morning? Only time will tell! Mwahaha!
…please don't ask…just read. I don't know. I really, really don't know. Don't ask, just read…
Chapter Five
Gimli tossed another log on the flames and watched the sparks dance into the sky, blending with the white stars above. Then he snorted and dipped his head. He was getting to be as dreamy as an Elf. Speaking of the Elf…Gimli snorted again and shook his head. The addle-brained, dunder-headed moron…
The Dwarf's two taller companions were dancing in the darkness. Éowyn had determined that when they returned to Gondor after their journey, the Elf would be able to participate in the new dances—as the only human ones he knew were from centuries ago, still commonly practiced in Mirkwood, but only occasionally in mortal lands. Legolas emphatically maintained that he was quite content to simply watch the ungainly humans trip and twirl around the dance floor, but Éowyn and Aragorn had decided that both of their Elves would learn to enjoy and participate in human festivities. Arwen had been more gracious about it than Legolas, who had done his best to persuade them against it. Elves were not the only ones who could be stubborn, however, and eventually he had given in. They would have taught Gimli as well—had indeed tried to—but soon learned their folly.
And now, after three full days of riding, the two of them were prancing around in the darkness like…like Hobbits after too much ale! While Legolas would never trip on grass, however dark the night might get, Éowyn had stumbled enough for the both of them. Hiding a smile in his beard as the Elf steadied his partner, Gimli turned his amusement into a grumble while he checked the temperature of their dinner. It was just about ready for eating, he decided with satisfaction. Just as he raised his head to call the two frolickers away from their lessons, the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight upright.
Apparently the Elf had sensed the same thing, and was even now, Gimli knew, cursing himself for being too distracted to notice sooner. A quick hand-motion was all that the Elf needed to convey his intentions to the Dwarf. Legolas smoothly pushed Éowyn to the grass and slipped a long white knife free from its sheath—while, Gimli was sure, berating himself severely for leaving his bow beyond his reach on the other side of the fire. Gimli scowled at their dinner, trying to balance it on a rock while he carefully reached for his axe. Éowyn grasped her sword's hilt, but at a look from Legolas did not yet pull it free; the noise of the blade would give away their readiness.
It was thus with surprise on both sides that they met their ambushers, for the dark figures had thought their prey unprepared. Steel flashed from both parties as the three travelers leaped to their feet, weapons already swinging to stop their opponents' blades. Legolas's white knife caught the firelight as it flashed in and out, slicing the long staff held by the nearest dark-cloaked figure into three small segments. He twisted, his foot knocking the now-disarmed man to the ground as the Elf spun into another one whose sword was just beginning to descend on his pale head. He ducked the steel and came up inside the man's reach, cracking the hilt of his knife into the other's face. He dodged the spray of blood and knocked the man to the ground.
Gimli swung his heavy axe in a wide arc from his position on the log and smashed two of the strangers in the shins with the dull part of his weapon. They tumbled heavily to the ground as the Dwarf flew to his feet. However, he stood a bit too quickly for the dew-slippery grass, and suddenly understood why there had been so much stumbling during the dancing. He managed to keep his feet, but at the same time kicked their dinner from its precarious position on the rocks ringing the fire. It tumbled into the ashes, and Gimli cursed loudly in his first tongue. His eyes were narrow sparks of rage as he turned to face the foes who were only now crawling painfully to their feet on bruised legs. He roared, and raised his axe high. They dove to either side as his blade crashed down between them. He wrenched it from the ground and stepped backwards, careful not to follow their dinner into the fire.
Éowyn's Rohirric yell started the opponent she had chosen, and she sent his blade spinning from his hand. He caught her wrist as she swung back, and they grappled for her blade. But this shieldmaiden was no frail lady; she yanked hard on her blade and smashed the heavy pommel into the side of his head. He dropped to his knees with a moan, and she raised the sword again to knock him fully unconscious. He kicked out with a booted foot and caught her heavily in her gut. She fell to the ground painfully as he yanked on her ankle, and grabbed for a knife in his belt. Éowyn struggled to sit up, dragging on her sword, but he struck her across the face with a savage blow before she could recover. He pressed the knife to her throat as her head lolled backwards…
With a speed that would never be matched by any human, and could hardly be seen by their eyes in the flame-cast darkness, Legolas rolled away from the two figures he was fighting. He sprang across the dark grass and landed lightly in front of Éowyn and her attacker. Raising empty hands, he caught the man's eyes with the ageless gaze of his own.
"Stop!" he cried in a soft voice that was both commanding and entreating at the same time. "Cease your struggle, stranger; we surrender ourselves. Leave the lady be, and tell us what purpose you have in so attacking us unannounced."
Gimli was, if it was possible, even more startled than their attackers. He gaped at his friend, who had somehow lost his Elvish aloofness and pride with a glance to become…he could hardly process the word in association with the Elven prince…meek. His axe drooped in his hands and he had to clutch at the haft to keep from dropping it completely in his shock. Legolas glanced at the Dwarf and their eyes locked for a moment. There was something strange in those cloudy depths, but there was no mistaking the command in them: be still. Gimli scowled and clutched his axe tighter, but made no move to attack.
"You trespass on lands which do not welcome you," the man with the knife spoke after a moment. "You shall be brought to the council for judgement on your presence here."
Legolas looked confused—confused enough that Gimli knew it was an act, for the Elf never showed strong emotions in front of strangers, let along enemies; he barely allowed uncertainty to show among friends. "I had thought that these lands belonged to Gondor," he responded, innocent puzzlement dripping in his voice. "And to my knowledge, they greet not travelers who show no hostility in such violent a fashion, although I admit my knowledge could well be out-of-date, for it has been many years since I last walked these lands, and things are wont to change in mortal realms."
Gimli blinked, wondering what by all the mithril in Moria the daft Elf was doing now. Glaring at the two ambushers who now flanked him perfectly, however, he held still, willing to let the Elf play out whatever game he was spinning.
The knife moved a few centimeters away from Éowyn's throat, and both Gimli and Legolas relaxed marginally. "These lands no longer belong solely to Gondor," sneered the attacker. "They will soon have a new master permanently, but for now, we must be certain no Gondor spies"—here he spat on the ground—"sneak around to report these changes to their foolish king. So, you will come with us. Offer trouble, and we will kill the woman—for we do not need all of you alive to reach the city; only one." He smiled broadly, a foul expression reeking of orcs.
Legolas bowed his head in submission. "As you say," he replied softly. "We will offer no resistance on the journey to your city. I give you my word."
Gimli was smoldering now, and vowed that he would soon avenge both the insult to Aragorn and the injury to Éowyn. For now, he would trust his friend—but he would be certain to get satisfaction from this foul man at the end of his axe.
…………
The Dwarf's anger had only increased as the night wore on. Legolas had managed to convince their captors that a brief rest was only sensible; the darkness, after all, was quite thick, and their progress would be slow with Éowyn only half-conscious. The Dwarf had heard only fragments of the conversation, for neither of the parties involved had been kind enough to speak at a volume he could hear comfortably. Yet he knew that he did not like what he had heard; the Elf had not cowed the man by bringing to bear his powerful Elvish authority. He did not use the ancient wisdom of the Elves and turn the man's words back upon him with scorn and wisdom beyond mortals—other than Dwarves, of course. Rather, he had bent his head and placated the evil man, appearing weak and submissive. Thranduil would have been incensed to see his son act so, and Aragorn would hardly have recognized the prideful Elf. The Dwarf had shot his friend dark glances, but he had been ignored, first for Legolas was conversing with their captors' leader, and then because he was tending to Éowyn—carefully never looking in his friend's direction.
Gimli did not know what words the Elf had spoken to her when she woke, but they had not been ones to gladden her heart. It was only barely that the Elf had convinced her, in hushed and hurried tones too quiet for the Dwarf to catch, to do as he bid, and the lady subsided gracelessly to his plans. Fortunately, she had still been bleary, and their captors, anxious to waste no more time, had tied her to her horse, where she eventually lapsed back into sleep. Holdwyn was being led with a jury-rigged halter by one of the men, and it was a toss-up as to which one was less happy at the circumstance. Windfolla was behaving, likely because her mistress was on her back.
Gimli, certainly, was the least happy of the little group, and he was determined to have words with the Elf. He would have his explanation, or he would personally see their captors felled right now. How he would do that with his hands bound in front of him he did not know, nor did he care. The rage of an angry Dwarf is a powerful thing, and it was only his deep trust in his friend that now restrained it—barely.
"Well?" he growled quietly as he trudged along next to the Elf, whose bowed head and slow gait were, Gimli thought, overdoing it quite a bit.
Legolas glanced at Gimli out of the corner of his eye through a curtain of pale hair. He could tell that the Dwarf was ready to rip their captors limb from limb barehanded, and he would blame him little if he did. He debated quickly about how much to tell his friend, but decided that he could not share the secrets of others—he had no rights to those secrets himself; he could not give them away.
"Yes, my friend?"
Gimli's scowl, if that was possible, became even more pronounced. He had seen Legolas's "innocent" act enough times to recognize it instantly. He was already in a foul mood, and was far from eager to engage in their customary game of words. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I am doing as instructed, and walking."
"Which is entirely the problem," the Dwarf hissed into his beard. "We are doing as instructed by our captors. We have routed entire orc bands before, and you surrendered us into the keeping of a few foolish, half-competent men. Have you entirely lost your wits?"
"Nay, my friend, there is purpose in what I do." Legolas sensed that his friend was near the end of his scant patience, and decided to try it no further.
"Then perhaps you should share it? It sits hard on my pride to let these fools lead me about!" His temper was rising, causing his voice to do likewise. One of their captors glanced over, and they were forced to fall silent. Seeing nothing but a prisoner sad and subdued and the other apparently red-faced from the exertion of keeping up with the others' longer legs, he shrugged and turned his attention outwards again.
Legolas waited another few moments to be sure that they were not being overheard by their guards, but as Gimli could tell that his friend had finally made up his mind to share his thoughts, the Dwarf waited more-or-less patiently until he was ready to speak.
"Would you rather wound your pride, my friend, or risk hurt to the Lady Éowyn?"
Gimli blustered, speechless; there was only one answer to that question, and the Elf knew full well what it was.
"Then I ask you to continue in your trust in me; there is more going on here than I can tell within the presence of our temporary captors."
"They had best be most temporary, or I fear I shall need to knock in a few skulls, and if you will not allow me to bash these men I shall have to turn to an Elf to relieve me frustration on," the Dwarf threatened darkly.
Legolas hid a smile. "I promise you, my friend, our captivity is only a ruse. In truth, we are their captors, and they are our escort to let us enter unhindered into—" Legolas paused and glanced at two of the men conversing quietly. "Do you trust me, elvellon?"
"With my life and more," Gimli answered truthfully.
"Then pray do not give any sign of confusion at my next actions."
Gimli looked up, startled and suspicious. "And just what will those actions be…?"
"Your pardon, please; you shall see in moments." Leaving the Dwarf sputtering quietly, Legolas casually wandered to the side, where their "temporary captors" had a better view of him. They proceeded quietly for a short space, and Gimli began to relax, thinking that whatever the hair-brained Elf had planned, he had now thought better of it.
Then Legolas gave a cry and fell to the ground, clutching his ankle. Gimli leaped forward, nearly falling to the ground himself as, forgetting his hands were bound and his weapon taken, he grabbed wildly for his axe to aid his friend against whatever attack he was sure had just descended upon them. He was shoved roughly aside as one of their captors—a foul-looking dark-haired man with black eyes and a scraggly beard—hurried, short-sword drawn, to the fallen Elf. Another of the men grabbed Gimli by the shoulder as he struggled upright and shoved him back down, holding a blade at his throat. Gimli struggled until he heard words disguised in Legolas's moans: "sedho, mellon nin." None of the men, being not at all fluent in Sindarin, had noticed the command.
Gimli obeyed, wondering what scheme the crazy Elf had in mind, and what in the world he was trying to do now. He was seething, silently cursing the Elf in all the tongues he knew even the barest fragments of, for not telling him his foolish plan in the beginning. Gimli hated not knowing what was going on, especially when it was the thrice-cursed Elf who was in charge. You never knew what Elves were thinking, and personally, Gimli occasionally doubted whether Legolas even knew how to think.
He turned his head, and managed to watch through a face-full of grass as two of the men hauled the Elf to his feet. Legolas moaned again and sagged limply in their grasp. "My ankle," he gasped, pained. The Dwarf stopped moving completely and his face went slack. Elves did not stumble and twist their ankles! Gimli knew instantly that this must have been what Legolas had been telling him about earlier, but he had no idea how faking an injury would aid them; surely the Elf was not idiotic enough to believe that if their guards underestimated him he could single-handedly—with hands still bound, no less—handle them all? No, not even the flighty prince would be that stupid…Gimli hoped.
A third man, who seemed to be their leader, walked over to the two holding the Elf upright. One of them broke away, leaving the other to support the prince, and they had a hurried conversation. They spoke too quietly for Gimli to overhear them, but he knew that while Legolas gave no sign of paying any attention, the Elf was listening carefully to their every word, and would likely be able to recite it back verbatim later if requested to do so.
Gimli intended to request it, along with a great many other things besides.
None of the men seemed happy with the decision they reached when the leader came around and quietly informed them of it, but they restrained their grumbling to casting foul looks at the "injured" Elf. They were soon on their way again, after another brief argument, this time with the Elf seated on Holdwyn. The bonds tying his hands had been double-checked, and two men walked on either side of the horse, one holding a jury-rigged halter securely. Gimli walked between the two horses, with another guard close behind him. The remaining company was spread in front of Windfolla and behind Holdwyn, and they all looked highly anxious for their trip to end. Gimli was merely anxious for them to reach their night's camp so he could quiz the Elf more closely on his crazed scheme—and by the grace of the Lady Galadriel, he had better like the answers.
…………
The stars looked small and weak when they finally peeked through the clouds that dimmed the night. Éowyn gingerly slid from the saddle, careful with her bound hands—far more careful than she would ordinarily have been, and also far more awkward. Éowyn had grown up on the back of a horse, spending as much time learning to ride as she had to walk. She had not been saddle sore since she was tall enough to swing herself onto a horse unaided. Yet she walked gingerly now, wincing a little as her feet touched ground for the first time that day, pretending to be in pain from the long ride. She swayed a bit, and allowed one of her captor's to prop her upright again, although inside she was seething at the touch. But Legolas had given her strict instructions, and she would follow them, whatever plan they were meant to further. She would soon know exactly what his strange purpose was, for she would not allow the Elf to hedge out of explanations tonight. She could tell that Gimli had the same thought in mind from his purposeful stride towards their companion, and the steely glint in his eyes.
Legolas sat where Holdwyn and the men had deposited him, rubbing his ankle as if he were in severe pain. The other two had been instructed to sit near him, where the fire would soon be built, but not too near—their captors did not want them plotting anything while they were busy setting up camp. The Elf glanced at Gimli and tilted his head slightly; whatever message he was conveying Éowyn could not tell, but Gimli seemed to understand instantly, for he slowed his stride slightly and dropped down next to the Elf. Loudly, with concern carefully lacing his voice—the tension that showed how very, very patient the Dwarf was being would like be taken by worry by their guards, unfamiliar with him as they were—as he inquired into his friend's health.
"And how bad is your ankle, Master Elf?" His scowl was enough to crack rock without hammer or chisel, but only the Elf could see the glower directed at him.
Legolas carefully pitched his voice so that it would not carry, and replied calmly to the Dwarf. Éowyn did not catch the entire reply, being too far away, but whatever he had said, it ended with, "continue your trust."
Éowyn—remembering to stumble—awkwardly dropped to the ground next to the other two. "Perhaps it would be easier to trust you, my friend, if you told us what you had planned."
Legolas looked from one to the other. Éowyn could see him resign himself to the fact that they would insist on hearing the entirety of his plans—and that he had a feeling that they would object to them at least in part, if not entirety. Nevertheless, the Elf was nothing if not scrupulously honest, and when he made up his mind to tell them everything, that is exactly what he would do.
"Very well," the Elf said, so quietly they could barely hear him speak. "These men are obviously from Ostad, which means that all there is not as peaceful as we might believe; hence, no doubt, the true reason for Faramir's…visit. I suspect that things have gone wrong for Prince Faramir and his companions, and now am certain that he would never have sent for you, my lady." There was a strange look in the Elf's deep eyes; not for the first time, Éowyn wondered exactly how much the Elf knew, and what he guessed. He continued, though, without saying anything about what he had guessed—or knew. "Although I have no wish to lead…anyone into a potentially dangerous situation"—Éowyn looked sharply at Legolas, silently telling him that she had caught his hesitation as he decided it would be better to say 'anyone' than 'Lady Éowyn.' He had the grace to look down, slightly embarrassed, but paused only slightly—"I feel that there is enough risk to Faramir and the others with him that we cannot waste the time to return to Gondor and seek aid. Still, it is obvious now that we are travelling through dangerous territory."
Gimli snorted. "Annoying, perhaps, but these incompetents are hardly what I would classify as being dangerous—at least as long as one is not a flighty, cowardly Elf."
Legolas glared at the Dwarf, but did not give in to the temptation of retorting to the jibe. "In order to reduce the danger of our travels to Ostad, we will utilize the kindly-offered services of our escort." He indicated the men setting up a careful camp around them. "They will get us safely to our destination, where we will then no longer require their aid—at which point, my friend," he smiled at Gimli, "you may bash as many skulls as you desire to."
"It will be about time," Gimli growled, eyeing the nearest of their captors with anticipation.
Éowyn nodded. "Yet I do not understand why I must act as if saddle sore, or why you are pretending a limp—for we both know fully that there is no possible way that your fall was genuine."
"If you arranged all of that simply so that you could ride instead of walking," Gimli cautioned, "I will be most put out."
Legolas smiled. "Fear not, my friend, it was necessity, not laziness, which lead to my 'injury.' I overheard our captors, and thought that it would be best if they sent no one ahead to inform the city guard of our imminent arrival, as they had intended to do prior to my accident."
"So by making them guard you, they have no one left to send?"
"Ay, my lady," he nodded to her. "Yet I would ask both of you to be most—"
"You!" one of the men turned and saw the three of them conversing. "No talking! Move apart!" He glowered at them, and Gimli only swallowed his own wrath at the insistent pressure of Legolas's hand on his arm.
"Be patient, my friends," Legolas whispered as he assisted the bound Éowyn to her feet, taking care to not show amusement at Gimli's own efforts to raise himself from the ground. The Dwarf, he knew, would never accept an offer of assistance, but would likely truly injure himself attempting to rise faster were one tendered. "I judge from their anxiety that we be few days indeed from our destination."
"Good," Gimli growled as he managed to get his stocky feet underneath him at last, "the sooner I can retrieve my axe the better."
"One would never wish for it to be lonely," Legolas whispered to her softly. Éowyn bit back a laugh, and Gimli glared at the two of them, apparently knowing his friend well enough to guess at the target of his quiet comment.
"The only question," the Dwarf continued as if he had merely paused a moment, "is whether my axe shall meet with Men or Elves when I get my hands on it again." Éowyn could see Legolas fighting with a reply, but the Elf restrained himself; after all, he was supposed to appear meek in front of their captors, and it would never do to be seen trading barbs with the Dwarf.
Éowyn shook her head at the strange pair and smiled. Like a true daughter of Rohan, she buried her worries behind her shield, trusting that she was fated to meet Faramir again soon. She would be strong; even the Elf would not be able to see that she feared for her love. Fumbling more than was necessary, even with her tightly bound hands, Éowyn wrapped herself in her cloak with a last glance at the faint, hazy stars overhead.
…………
Light swam painfully through the curtain of his eyelids as Beregond slowly found consciousness again. He heard muffled sounds, and tried to lift his head to see what was happening—there was some dire reason, he knew, that he had to awake—but found that it took all of his concentration to slowly—agonizingly slowly—lift his eyelids. They felt as heavy as orc armor, and twice as cumbersome. Eventually, however, he managed to will them upwards, only to moan quietly as the daggers of blinding sunlight pierced through his pounding skull.
"Lie still," a voice rumbled through his head like an avalanche. The light shifted, and he felt a cool hand on his brow. A soft, healthful sent spread vigor through him, and he blinked, gradually bringing the world into focus. One of the Elven twins—he could not tell which—held a bowl of steaming liquid near his bed. King Aragorn was bent over him, murmuring soft words in an Elvish tongue.
"My liege," he rasped painfully, but Aragorn shushed him.
"Lie still Beregond. You have done your duty well; you have my gratitude."
Memory burst through the fog around his brain, and Beregond sat up abruptly. "Lord Faramir!" he cried, then fell back on the pillows in agony.
"You must lie still, Beregond. You were nearer to death when Elladan and Elrohir brought you in than many I have seen; to have come so far in such a condition was a most dangerous gamble."
"But…my liege…" he gasped, fighting to stay awake through the blinding pain, "Lord Faramir…"
"Fear not, good captain," the king reassured him, "you told your news. Even now Elrohir prepares a small group of Dúnedain to travel to his aid, while Arwen finds us excuse to depart in secret. All that can be done is being done; you need now to rest and recover thy strength."
"But, Highness…Lord Faramir…I must go to him…"
"Hush, Beregond. Sleep now. I shall not depart 'ere you awake."
"But my king," he protested once more.
"Losto," Aragorn commanded, gently but firmly, smoothing the man's fevered brow with a healing hand.
Beregond slept.
By the way, please, please, please correct my Elvish when I make a mistake! I haven't had time to learn more than a few words in it, and very little grammar—hence the reason I'm avoiding using much of it. I know I'll screw it up. So for those of you who've gotten further along than me in Sindarin, please tell me how to correct my mistakes, and I promise I will! And beyond my serious lack of skill, I've also managed to leave all my Elvish documents behind when I went to college…and then been stupid enough not to remember to grab them over winter break…and they don't do me much good at home, do they?
Reviewer Responses:
Deana – knowing our Elf? Something painful, no doubt. ;)
Avalon – Legolas and Gimli beam and say thank you very much. Good little stupid males indeed… Yep, ambush it is, and the twins, too! Hee hee, Elves and more Elves! I'm a happy person…
Lil Pippin Padfoot – Mwahahahahaha! Evil laughter time, pet! Lots and lots of evil laughter, and even some rubbing of hands. Poor allllll of them when they're in my control! Mwahaha. Rock on, Pip.
Laiquendi – Mwahahahaha again? Okay, how about bwahahahahaha this time instead, okay? Gotta keep that evil laughter fresh and creative…
Jebb – It's a pity I'm not musical enough (being tone deaf and all) to put in a score…then they'd always know when something foreboding was about to happen. Gimli? Miracle? You mean…like speaking with Legolas for more than five seconds without dropping into banter? Hey, it is the "synamic duo," remember? What do you expect? ;)
ForeverFaramir – How can I be so cruel? Easily! I'm the Mistress of Evil! Thank you—those compliments almost tempt me enough to tell you there'll be a happy ending. …almost. Heh.
flowerbee1 – Innit it though? And thanks! I'm so glad you like my kind and queen. :)
Slayer3 – Yes Gollum, here you are, an update. And I'll throw in a fresh, raw and wriggling fish for you, too. Now leave my eyes alone, you! scowls. And who you calling "menses," bub:P
Aranna – Very nice. Always good to keep convenient twins handy. I'm glad to hear that your finger is fully recovered. Oh man, I found this picture when I was searching the internet, and it's a drawing of Legolas on a horse (back view) and on his shirt it says "if you can read this, the Dwarf fell off." I almost died, I swear! I wish I could remember where I saw it, I'd give you the link… And quite entirely forgiven, lovely! Hope your weekend was fun, wherever it was! Shadows will be out either later tonight or tomorrow morning!
East Coastie – It's all good indeed. Er…or maybe not. Feel better soon! Try some athelas, I hear it works wonders. Oh, and does that mean that I'm allowed to whack him again? It'll add to the suspense…! Good luck on algebra—ick. May the Force be with you.
Thanks again, everyone! Much appreciated, as always. See you all in a week! :)