Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters in this story—they all belong to JRR Tolkien and New Line.
Wherever the Surge May Sweep
By Jame K.
Chapter Fourteen: 'Mid the Thick Arrows
Fate has carried me
'Mid the thick arrows: I will keep my stand--
Not shrink and let the shaft pass by my breast
To pierce another.
– Mary Ann Evans Cross
Legolas unwrapped himself from his blanket just as the eastern sky turned a colorless white with the approaching dawn and lingering fog. The heavy smell of impending rain drifted from the west and soothed his senses as a small breeze kicked up the pale, damp dirt.
Basking in the now apparent change of seasons, Legolas crouched beside the dark, smoldering fire and poured some water over the charred wood. The gray, mushy ash steamed briefly before dying out completely. Around him, Legolas could hear rangers putting out their own fires and gathering their supplies. They would be ready to leave soon. His weapons were already fastened onto his back and his bow lay only a few feet away.
"Is Estel still asleep?"
Legolas's nod to Halbarad was short and his gaze did not leave the cold fire. "I do not want him to awaken until after we have departed." A fond smile stole across his face as he turned to look at the dark head resting on a make-shift pillow. "He will not be happy to be left behind."
"Do not worry yourself, my friend, I will watch him well." Halbarad crouched beside the dead fire and pointed to the sword strapped to his own side. "I am an excellent fighter with both arms and the men with me will protect him as well."
"I have no doubt," the elf agreed easily but there was an undercurrent of worry in the soft tone. Legolas turned his eyes to the low sky for a moment and then focused his intense gaze on the ranger next to him. "Make sure that he eats well today. And stays warm. He will not want to wear his coat but, please, insist that he does. If he gets wet, make sure he sits by a fire until he is dry again – even his boots." His gaze was weary with long years and there was a flash of white as he nibbled on his lower lip. "Humans catch a chill so easily."
Halbarad chuckled. "Do not worry. I have been living in this mortal body all my life. I know all about sicknesses. Your precious little one will stay warm and dry while you are away."
"Good. Good." The mud squished beneath his boots as Legolas stood, fingers automatically checking the security of the quiver strapped around his chest. "Tell him I will see him tonight. Make sure he does not worry after me."
The ranger nodded. "Do not worry," he repeated with a slight smile. "You would imagine he is the child of your blood when you see how much you concern yourself over his welfare."
Legolas' smile was secretive and his eyes were soft with memories. "Thank you for looking over him, Halbarad. It is debt beyond what I could ever repay." He stooped to gather his weapons. "I will see you later tonight."
Halbarad tipped his head to the elven king and Legolas watched as he moved silently through the morning mist to the main body of rangers, his dark hair seemingly wet with the foggy dew. "They will be ready for you soon," he called over his shoulder. "I will come you when they are prepared."
"It is cold," Legolas murmured to himself when the ranger was gone, observing how the rangers clutched their woolen cloaks tightly around their bodies. He looked down at his own thin sleeves and wished that he could understand these things for Estel. He wished that he could awake in the mornings and know that the boy would need extra warmth instead of only realizing the extent of the cold when Estel began to shiver. His gaze turned towards the boy now and his brows knit closely together.
One wool blanket was draped over the thin body and another was between the boy and the hard ground. Estel was lying on his side and he had pulled the blanket up to his nose sometime during the night. The only thing visible was the white skin of his forehead and the dark, wispy clumps of his hair sticking haphazardly in every direction as they stuck out from underneath the edge of the blanket.
Legolas frowned as he noticed the tiny shivers running sporadically through the small form of his charge. Why had he not thought of that the night before? Mentally berating himself, Legolas grabbed his own cloak from the pile of their belongings and draped it over the boy. He tucked the edges underneath Estel's body and pulled the hood up to drape over the top of the boy's head.
Estel sighed and burrowed underneath the new warmth, his face relaxing as the cloak vanquished some of the cold that probably lingered over him the entire night. His head turned slightly and gray eyes blinked sleepily open. "Going now?" he murmured, eyes already closing.
"Yes." Legolas touched the dark hair, brushing it back from the boy's cheeks. "I will see you tonight. Be good."
" 'm always good," Estel murmured and then fell back into sleep, his small hands coming up to pull the cloak over his head.
Legolas smiled and tucked the cloak more firmly around the boy. "Goodbye, Estel." And then he stood, stretching his arms over his head as the sun began to work its way through the morning fog.
"You may have needed that," Halbarad commented mildly from behind him. "I could have found the boy another blanket."
"I do not get cold and I will be back by the time the true night chill sets in." Legolas rubbed his hands on his thighs, feeling the soft fabric remove some of the dirt that had become ingrained in his palms. "Perhaps it will make me feel better to know that the cloak is doing some good while I am off fighting."
Halbarad shrugged. "They are waiting for you now. Do – not – worry." His hand gripped Legolas's shoulder as he tugged the ancient being in the direction of his horse. "You will be back before you know it. Estel will be quite safe with me and the others to protect him. I doubt the boy will even miss you."
Legolas could not keep the flash of hurt from his eyes but he almost chuckled when Halbarad hurriedly amended himself.
"What – what I mean was, well, that he will be so busy doing chores and running around that his mind will too occupied." The ranger shrugged helplessly and then grinned. "Ah, you know what I mean."
Legolas conceded with a nod. "I will see you tonight." A ray of sun found its way through the misty fog and touched his hair as he swung onto the horse. He smiled again. "Tell Estel I will be back soon."
Gandalf's startled into full wakefulness just as the first of the hot sunlight began to burn the fog away from the wide plains. He blinked once, twice, in the new brightness and waited as his surroundings full focus.
Coldness sat in the bottom of his insides and he shuddered at the unnatural quietness of the morning. Strange forebodings seemed to saturate the very air around him. Something was wrong – something was very wrong.
"Ah, Valar, no."
The old muscles in his weathered body creaked as he threw off the blanket and his joints complained loudly as he leaped to his feet. But that did not matter. Blood pounded in his ears and thoughts swirled inside of his head as a frenetic haste seized him tightly. His only thought was to haste as he gathered the few belongings he had scattered around the campfire the night before and loaded them upon his horse.
His stomach churned and he briefly considered taking a meal before he departed. The idea was quickly discarded as the foreboding made itself more prominent in his thoughts and worry made his gut clench tightly. Ahead of him, there were much more pressing matters than a hungry stomach.
Saruman's markings were all over the plain, stretching across the hills in the direction Gandalf knew that Legolas and Estel had taken as they left the forests of Lothlorien. Gandalf could feel the thick, dark taint of the turned wizard in the very air he breathed and the grass he walked. The smell of the evil wizard clung to the grasses and filled Gandalf with dread.
Saruman must have tracked Legolas and the boy to the plains. There was not much time. Haste was of the essence if Gandalf was to save them both from the grasp of the White Wizard. And he had to save them. Gandalf did not want to imagine a world in which Saruman successfully snared the Heir of Isildur. Today, the future of all of Middle-earth was trembling in the balance.
Within moments, the wizard had mounted his small gray horse and was urging the beast in the direction of Archet – in the direction the rangers had gone with Legolas and the boy. Soon, they were going at a gallop and the pace was still not fast enough to suit the concerned wizard.
His senses stretched out over the wide plains, soaring above the dense fogs and scanning the blue skies and hills beyond.
There were the orcs – not too many to be a threat to a party of rangers. That alone could not be the cause of the great dread in Gandalf's heart. There had to be something more that Gandalf was missing. Something…
A black shadow seemed to dance through Gandalf's thoughts and a distant echoing of an unearthly bellowed fill the wizard's mind. And Gandalf froze. By Ilúvatar, he hoped he got there in time.
Bitter tastes hung in Legolas's mouth. He swallowed and took a deep breath. But it was no good – his mouth still tasted of bile. Physically, he was crouching on a narrow ledge – arrow pointed towards the seething mass of orc flesh below him – waiting for the signal. Mentally, he had drifted beyond the fog and sickening smells. He was serene and calm. Orcs could not hurt him. He was safe.
He sat at the canyon's narrowest point – the pale blue ribbon of the Gladden River narrowing to nothing more than thick stream against one canyon's smooth cliff walls. The orcs were forced to journey three abreast here, caught between the white cliff and the sparkle of the river – easy pickings for the talented archers crouching above and the skilled swordsman waiting below.
There was barely a flinch when a shrieking whistle resonated off the slate walls of the canyon. His fingers itched for another arrow as his released. The balls of his feet pivoted against stone. Aim – release. Battle coldness settled across his mind – no thinking – no feeling – reacting.
Brown clashed with brown – the brown of the rangers' jerkins fighting with the weathered brown skin of the orcs. Legolas wondered how a mortal's eyesight could discern between the different combatants. They were just a seething mass of bodies with occasional flash of silvery white.
He was detached, unmovable, as he watched screeching, bleeding orcs stumbling up in the incline below him as they tried to reach the hidden archers that were so steadily picking off their numbers. The smooth, cool wood of his bow shifted from palm to palm for a better angle.
They must be very desperate, he thought, to run so openly into the points of the arrows without true order.
His fingers reached for an arrow and came away empty. His nostrils flared once and he glanced to the ten rangers serving as archers with him. Boys, his mind supplied cynically, only a few years older than Estel.
They looked back at him with wide, steady faces. Their bows lay empty at their thighs and their fingers were curled around their swords. And Legolas nodded his command.
His back foot propelled him off of the ledge while his hands drew the knives from his back. Tucking his knees close to his body, he somersaulted over the slope and straightened just before he impacted with flat, dirt ground.
The odd, gaping mouths of the orcs shouted in warning as they slid towards him on the pebbly slope. Spittle dripped from yellow, pointed teeth and squinty eyes ogled him hungrily.
Cool metal slapped against his palms as he flipped his knives in graceful arc. He balanced his weight on his front heel and lunged forwards while simultaneously ducking the dark, swinging blade. The tip of his knife caught ragged gut skin of an orc and a spurt of black blood sprayed onto Legolas's arm. He stood to his full height, slashing both knives upwards quickly. One silver blade bisected the middle of the orc directly in front of him while the other slashed the throat of the orc on Legolas's right.
He took a breath through his nose and jerked his left arm upwards and backwards, his blade slicing deeply into the nostril of the orc behind him. His blade came away with gray brain matter.
A harsh breeze caught Legolas's hair and blew the blond strands across his face even as he turned, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. Something was wrong. His lungs jerked roughly against his ribs and that horrid foreboding crossed his mind just as nine black riders cross the ridge on the other side of the Gladden River.
The Nazgúl had arrived.
His gaze desperately went to those fighting with him as the whining, screeching cry of the black riders pierced his eardrums.
Legolas could not help himself. One knife fell to the sandy ground as he tried instinctively to protect his ears from the horrid noise. His eyes slammed shut and his knees buckled. A beat passed and all that existed was the cacophony raging in his ears.
Legolas! What is happening?
Impossibly, Estel's frightened voice across their bond drowned out the shrieking and Legolas was able to gather his thoughts – thoughts such as his impending death if he did not get up off of his knees and fight.
Peace, Estel. Everything is fine.
He dropped his arms from his head and grabbed his dropped knife, springing back to his feet even as he backpedaled from the approaching riders. Bone crunched beneath his elbow as he drove an orc's nose back into his brain. A tired grunt passed his lips as he leapt atop a rock, his gaze skimming over the battle.
Many of the orcs had been slaughtered – only a mere handful remained on their feet – but Legolas's heart ached for the amount of dead rangers strewn across the bloody ground. His eyes turned to the Nazgúl once more. If they could not escape – if they could not die – he and the rangers would be cut down as a lamb led to the slaughter. And that could not happen.
"Rangers of the North!" His voice rose above the rising din of the battle – the galloping hooves of black horses – even as he sprung lightly from the rock and began a light jog towards the depths of the canyon. "To me!"
A cave – small and high on the rocks, but it would hide them all for a time. They could defend themselves against the Nazgúl with greater ease there – if they could make it to the rocky haven in time.
The fog was rolling over the cliffs, gray and silky as it stretched towards the fleeing rangers.
Legolas risked a glance behind and his heart cracked at the amount of dead men sprawled on the ground. If there had not been the Nazgúl on the ridge, Legolas would have stopped and given the respect. He would have said a prayer for the fleeing mortal spirits, blessing their entry into the Halls of Mandos. But, now, he had to see to those who yet drew breath.
A vague, stifled cry rose up on Legolas's left. Crimson blood spurted across the colorless ground and pebbles spurted every which way as a young ranger began to stumble to the ground – an arrow caught in his calf.
Rough material filled Legolas's fingers as he lunged forwards to grip the boy's tunic. Gathering a fistful, he yanked the boy to his side and tucked his arm around the narrow waist. "You must keep going," he ordered with breathless haste. "Do you understand? You will die if you fall now."
Bloodless lips parted in a choked moan and the dark head lolled on Legolas's shoulder even as his feet kept moving at the elf's insistence. "Hurts," he murmured with the frightened voice of a child.
There was no time for pity – no time for soft words. Legolas tightened his fingers and began tugging the boy up the slope towards the cave, sardonically considering how many times he would perform the same feat with Estel in the upcoming years. Only a few more steps and they would reach relative safety.
Dust slid down on the pair as the rangers ahead of them slid into the haven. Pebbles rolled down the slope, disturbed by the running feet.
Legolas lurched forwards, dragging the boy the remaining steps. Dust coated the insides of his mouth and his stomach rolled as he gagged heavily. He blinked – once – twice – and wondered why the pale dirt in front of him had turned a deep scarlet. Slowly, his eyes drifted upwards to the boy he had dragged into the caves – the red blood spurting from his calf.
"Lay still." Legolas flinched at how harsh his own voice was
But the boy obeyed the terse command instantly, his mouth wide and gaping like a fish on land. "You – you – saved…"
Legolas resisted the urge to cover the flapping mouth with his hand. "Yes. Now stay quiet." Mild irritation touched Legolas's face as more pebbles and dirt rained down on them. He tossed a reassuring smile to the boy before gripping the muscled shoulders and dragging him away from the hole.
"The arrow?" The boy's frightened, green-eyed gaze canvassed Legolas's face. "What will you do?"
"Hush." Legolas smiled as he turned his eyes upwards to meet the boy's. "You will be fine." An odd tenderness gripped Legolas's throat as the boy trembled beneath his hands. So he smiled again and patted the boy's head. "It will hurt but then you will be better. Do you understand?"
A stubborn glint set in the boy's eyes and Legolas allowed himself to be impressed. "I will not cry out."
"Good." Legolas hoped the smile he gave the boy was warm and comforting. But his gaze kept darting towards the gray opening and the rangers perched against the sides, firing arrows to the orcs surging below. "Good. There will be only a moment of pain." He turned his eyes back to the dark arrow. "Breathe."
Slippery fluid coated Legolas's palm and he struggled for a moment to brace his hand properly on the bloody calf as his fingers wrapped around the dark shaft. He took a deep breath of his own and swiftly pulled. A gout of blood appeared with the black arrowhead and Legolas pressed a long cloth to the wound. "It is done."
Sweat clung to the boy's cheeks and forehead and his eyes were dark and glassy. "Yes – yes. Thank you." A weak smile touched the pale face and the dark head sagged against the ground. "The bleeding…"
"Will stop in a moment." Legolas wrapped the calf and knotted the bandage lightly. "You will be fine again in no time." The boy's head felt clammy and he used his thumb to wipe away sweat from the green eyes. "Sleep now."
The boy nodded and closed his eyes.
Driven by the compelling urge to guarantee Estel's safety, Legolas stretched his mind in the direction of the small boy. A tired smile tugged at lips when he found the boy half-asleep. Instead of waking the boy, Legolas cast a pulse of warmth and love to the child. Then, he picked up his bow and rejoined the fight.
A night and a day. Legolas rubbed his hair against his scalp and rested his chin against the cold rocks. A night and a day they had laid in this grotto – without food, very little water, and a dwindling supply of arrows.
When the dawn had burned away the fog and the sun had streamed against the ground, the last of the orcs disbanded into the hills. But the Nazgúl stayed. The sun rose through the pale sky and the rangers heard the stamping of hooves and the hoarse snorting of horses.
Eighteen men were crammed together into small, dank cave. Four were… Legolas swallowed and turned to look behind him. He imagined he could smell the teeth grinding scent of blood. Legolas wondered if the deep crimson stains reflecting on the floor were there – or it was just his own imagination creating horrors to further shake his resolve to escape from this place alive.
He turned back around. Four men were dying. Four boys were bleeding their life away on the stone floor. And they could do nothing but crouch in the dark and wait for the Black Riders to leave.
Unless… Legolas tilted his head back and stared into the deep canyon. "Conran?" he called behind, wincing when his voice seemed to echo against the low ceiling and bounce off the close walls.
The man bent down beside him, his gaze questioning.
"We…" Legolas swallowed. "If we are going to get out, it has to be now."
Conran looked into the gray sunlight. "Dark might be better…"
"The Nazgúl's eyesight is very poor, my friend. They will smell us in daylight or in starlight." Legolas gestured behind those lying wounded on the floor. "And they will not last until the sunset."
The man was silent, his gaze studying the gray contours of the rocks. "What do you suggest then? Run from the cave and let them kill us in flight? I must admit that seems better than starving in this dank place."
"Listen." Legolas pulled the man's sword from his hand and waved it before his eyes. "Orc blood. We can confuse them by painting the men with orc blood. They will not understand at first and time will be bought."
"But not long enough to make a good escape. The Nazgúl have horses. We travel on foot with wounded." Conran shook his head, his eyes drifting away from the elf's. "Still it is better than no plan."
"It will work." Legolas' smile was small and firm. "It will work."
Estel sat on his knees in the damp grass. He was vaguely aware of the wetness seeping into the thin cloth of his leggings. A stiff breeze had started during the night and continued through out the bright chill of the midday. But Legolas's cloak was warm and Estel found the continued coolness a wonderful excuse to remain wrapped in the soft folds that smelled of the elf.
Legolas had been gone a day and a night and a day. Estel had vague remembrances of awaking when Legolas had been leaving and the elf's whispered goodbye. Estel remembered how head rolled over and fallen back into sleep with just a mumbled farewell, expecting Legolas to be back within the day.
But Legolas had not been back within the day – or the night – or the next morning. And there had been no word.
Estel had reached through their bond many times throughout the time of Legolas's absence and had only found a projected calmness and serenity, masking a deeper worry and fear that Estel could not discover the root of. He knew, however, one thing for certain. The mission had to be going poorly or Legolas would have reached out to reassure him.
Yesterday, Estel had been dozing by the fire when he had felt the familiar touch of Legolas's mind against his own. He had grasped desperately at the tendril, clambering against Legolas's mental barriers. But he had been shut out quite firmly with only a faint whiff of warmth and comfort.
Estel sighed heavily and drew the edges of the cloak towards his face. Behind him, he could feel the worried eyes of Halbarad boring into his back. The older ranger had tried to comfort him and tell him it was probably a simple delay – maybe they had run into rain?
The boy had just shaken his head and retreated to sit alone and wait for word. An awful feeling of dread had gathered in his heart and icy water was dripping through his veins. He was scared.
The boy in Legolas's arms stirred groggily, his eyelids fluttering as he was jostled up the steep slope of the canyon and towards the questionable safety of the plains beyond. His white lips moved and a trickle of blood fell down his colorless cheek to drip down to the earth, leaving a ghastly trail. "What…"
"Shhh," Legolas pressed the lolling head to his chest and quickened his stride, ignoring the stickiness of dried orc blood on his forearms and the front of his tunic. "We are escaping. Soon you will be home."
"Home?"
"Shh." And the elf ignored the wet feeling on his stomach – the boy's red blood soaking into his clothing.
A fog was beginning to creep over the land again. Smoky tendrils reached across the slate rock from the green dale beyond. Legolas was grateful. If the men could get far enough way, they could lose themselves in the fog.
"Legolas." Conran stepped beside him, his brows knit and the torch in his hands flickering a little in the growing breeze. "The Riders are restless. I fear…"
"I know. We will make it." Legolas turned his head and watched as the black horses began to prance and whinny. "We must make haste." And it hurt Legolas when he had to ignore the pained moan of the boy-ranger.
The sound of hooves made Legolas turn again – made Legolas thrust his precious burden to the arms of Conran as he saw the Black Riders turn and gallop towards them. He hesitated for a bare moment, thinking of Estel, wishing he could see the child again. For a breath, he wondered if he was needed dearly in the future of Middle-earth – if his death would cause all to spiral out of control. Then he dropped his gaze to the bloody face of the youth he had carried up the hill. And he knew. The rangers would guide Estel on the right path – with or without Legolas. He was expendable and he would not let these men – these boys – die this day. He pushed the boy into the open arms of another ranger.
"Go!" he shouted, not sparing the rangers a glance as he started back towards the canyon and the approaching Nazgúl. "Run!"
"What are you doing?"
The incredulous tone hanging in Conran's voice made Legolas smile just a little. "Go – I will hold them off for awhile. I have more of a chance of surviving them than you, my friend. Run, now!"
"Damn fool," the man muttered and Legolas smiled when he heard the man's feet quicken across the grass. He smiled again when he heard the horses head directly for him. His ploy had been a gamble – but he knew Saruman did not want a group of dirty rangers. Saruman wanted the elf-king.
His plan would work – the rangers would escape – Estel would be protected by the rangers and Gandalf until he was ready to claim the throne of his forefathers. And eighteen precious lives would be saved this day.
A brief flash of fear zinged through his heart as the horses bore down. He had always imagined he would see Estel become a man. As death loomed, he wrapped his thoughts around the bond, sending reassurances and love to the boy.
Be safe. Be healthy. Be whole. Remember me with love.
Then, even as he felt Estel clamber against the bond, he shut down that section of his mind and focused on his survival and the survival of the men behind him. And he still had that flame of hope in his heart – when he swung his torch like a scythe at the first Ringwraith – he still had the hope that he would survive and see his child again.
to be continued.