Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Lord of the Rings.
Note: Thanks for the reviews. I have decided to perhaps cut it into two chapters. Second I wish to apologize profoundly for updating so late but I just, well, my real life caught up with me. Anyway, let's begin.
Aragorn cursed under his breath and ducked out of sight, pulling his hood over his face. The harsh cries of the orcs that passed near the bushes he was hiding were rough to his ears and he prayed silently that they wouldn't discover him.
He stayed out of sight, even when his sensitive ears could no longer hear any cries or footsteps on the mountain path below. He was deep in the Misty Mountains, trying to cross them before the first snow fell and he would be trapped in the Northern Lands.
He pulled the hood of his cloak up against the biting wind and then slowly peered around the bush. There was not a sound in the darkened air around him and he slowly began to walk ahead. The orcs were roaming these passes frequently and he remembered the stories that Elrohir and Elladan had always told him that the passes were dangerous to cross but there was no other way to Mirkwood.
Aragorn would just have to be careful and he slowly travelled further up and into the mountains each day. He strained his ears, trying to catch every small sound that might inform him of the orcs movements.
He kept his hand on his dagger, his fur lined cloak tightly wrapped around him. Winter was approaching fast and the last leaves had all fallen of the trees. He had taken his time, darting past Rivendell, not wishing to be seen and not wishing to see anybody through he had send a letter to Elrond, telling the elven lord where he was heading.
He had stocked up on supplies in the last human settlement before he had gone back to the wild, winding his way up to the Misty Mountains. He had a rough idea where Mirkwood was and how to reach it but he knew that the wood elves were not sociable elves and mistrusted easily, but as long as he made it through the Misty Mountains safely then he could worry about Mirkwood later.
He rounded the bend in the road. The road was small and a large ravine was on the left side, showing a steep drop. Aragorn had glanced down and quickly retreated. If he ever fell down that hole, he would never survive it, he knew.
On the other side steep rocks rose up, making it nearly impossible to climb. He knew of the stories that were told of the orcs that had created large tunnels, making travelling between the passes easier for them.
He wondered for when they would notice that a stranger was passing into their domain. He hoped they wouldn't find out. His hand once more came to rest upon his sword. He would let them catch him off guard.
Loud and harsh cries came and Aragorn cursed softly again as he quickened his pace. The wind roaring, hitting his face and it made the location of the sounds difficult to locate. He looked around, eyes searching the shadows but he couldn't find them. This part of the path had no bushes so Aragorn pressed on.
He rounded another bent, hand still resting on his sword and his other hand fumbling for his dagger that he knew was hanging from his belt. Soon he had located it and taken it out, holding it in his hand. Slash and wound first, then I can always make my escape later. Let no orc live, for they will tell the tale that a stranger, an enemy is here and by nightfall these hills will be swamped with orcs.
He remembered the lessons Glorfindel had told him about the orcs. That they were ruthless to the elves and those they considered to be elven friends. He had been the son of one of the great elven lords so there was no change for survival if they ever caught him.
He pressed on, feeling urgency in the back of his mind to keep walking. He couldn't turn back for he would not be able to cross the Misty Mountains again before spring.
The harsh langue of the orcs flooded past Aragorn's ears and the young man quickened his pace again. His legs were burning with the strain of walking uphill for so long with such a pace. He couldn't outwit them for the only way was to brave the rocks and if he fell, he would surely be dead.
The harsh voices faded and Aragorn breathed a little easier but he couldn't shake the feeling of alarm that swept over him. There was something wrong. It was quite, extremely quiet and for a moment Aragorn feared that they were moving in.
But stealth has never been the orcs way of doing things. Soon they would show themselves and Aragorn would need to fight. He shook his head; he needed a clear mind for this. It wouldn't do to think of things that could not happen.
He sighed deeply and hurried on. The roads were abandoned and his eyes were growing used to the fading light. He could see very faintly in the darkness, his eyes not accustomed to such a dense darkness as the one that lingered in the mountains.
He was taking a risk in travelling at night but he would be in danger if he decided to wait now. He slowly continued forward, counting his steps as he made them. He knew the rough estimate of the path and how long it would be until it joined another, safer path and then he could travel more quickly.
It happened in a flash, Aragorn rounded another bend, around a rock rising high above his head when suddenly he heard the small but unmistakable sounds of rocks falling. He turned, drawing his sword into a fluent motion even when he knew it would be no use against the rocks falling like they did.
He stumbled backwards, out of the way of the bigger rocks that fell and he cursed, loudly. The rocks were falling, he had no idea what had made them fall but he didn't have the time to search for it because soon the rocks would crush him.
He veered to the right and then to the right, stepping out of the way of the bigger boulders. He felt the smaller pebbles hit him in the back, the shoulders and the head. They rained down upon him, one hitting him in between the shoulder blades and making him cry out with pain, a low sound.
A boulder hit him in the back of the leg and he could feel it tremble before it buckled, forcing him to the ground. He cried out loudly, the sound vibrating of the rocky wall around him and Aragorn struggle to his feet when suddenly shouts were neared nearby. The orcs had heard him.
He managed to get his feet under him, limping rapidly as he sought to get away from the scene of the rocks falling. He tripped over some of them but he managed to keep upright, his sword in hand as he struggled to get away.
The cries seemed to come from all around him and he tried to keep his mind away from the pain in his leg as he struggled to get his bearings. He needed to disappear, to get away from the wall of rocks that had collapsed. The orcs would soon be here and if they found him, dressed in an old elvish cloak, there was no telling what they might do to him.
He would need to be brave and resourceful now and his eyes tried to pierce the darkness but without avail. He quelled the fear that was in his belly, knowing that running around without a clear head would only get him into more trouble.
He turned back to the path. The path was blocked and it would take hours to try and climb over the rocks that had fallen. The orcs were much smaller and at ease around the mountains and they would climb the rocks easily so the only way was forward.
Aragorn took a deep breath, sighed and then grasped his sword tightly as he continued forward, his leg buckling a little and throbbing with pain. He ignored it.
He made little process; limping rapidly through his leg was mending a little, the pain fading. The rock must have hit a muscle but Aragorn wasn't going to stop and find out now, he would only be caught. He rounded another bend, the road suddenly descending as Aragorn struggled to keep his pace.
He bent down and swept a hand past the back of his leg, feeling the blood that soaked the material of his trousers. He cursed very softly. This injury could slow him down. Why had he been so foolish not to take a horse? It would have been so much faster than on foot like he was doing now.
Suddenly something else rounded the bent, a bent over shape, harsh mouth twisted in an ugly sneer as he stared back over his shoulder. Aragorn took out his knife, straightening. The orc hadn't seen him yet but it would only be a matter of time.
It seemed to be running from something and perhaps it was just a scout and if he dealt with it now, he would be safe and able to escape the other orcs. In what sort of predicament had he managed to bind himself? He sighed and took a step forward.
The twig that was lying under his foot snapped loudly in the silence and Aragorn froze. The ugly head of the orc turned and Aragorn leaped forward, his sword flashing but the orc was just as fast. The sound of iron rung sharply through the air as sword met sword.
The orc was quick and strong, matching Aragorn's blocks and parries with equal power and determination. Aragorn pressed on, using his advantage of height over the orcs. He took a step forward, using his weight and then he struck with the knife in his right hand, pushing it deep in the orc's temple so it made a sickening sound.
The expression on the orc's face was something that Aragorn would never forget as the harsh eyes rolled up in their head and the orc collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. The man stood breathing heavily before he pulled the dagger out, wiping it off on the orc's fitly clothing before he pressed on.
There would most likely be more orcs; He would need to press forward and to hope that he wouldn't meet any more orcs. He pushed his hair out of his face and took a deep breath.
He had been travelling for days, braving the mountain passes. Surely he was going to get to the end soon or he had a taken a wrong turn somewhere but that would mean he was utterly lost. He could very die out here.
He could only press on, who knew what was behind him. The roads were not safe and he could get very lost if he tried to search for the right road to Mirkwood. He rounded the bend, listening intently. There were no sounds.
He froze when another rocky outcrop appeared before him. By this time the light had faded so much that he could no longer make out the top of the rock but the path worked its way around and below. Slowly he made his way forward, on his guard. His eyes could be deceiving him but he thought he saw a flash of movement on top of the rocks but that couldn't be…the light was too dark for him to see properly and the moon hadn't risen yet.
He had no choice but to brave the path. Perhaps if he ran he could make it. He wasn't sure what the movement had been that he had seen up there, or if it had even been movement but he didn't want to find out. He took a deep breath and then took a step forward, and another one.
His leg throbbed as he hurried forward. The moment he neared the place where the rocky outcrop movement above his head shifted and he could hear cries above his head. He turned his gaze up to see at least three orcs appearing above his head before he turned back to find three more advance.
Aragorn brought his sword up, a battle cry passing from his lips before he pushed forward, meeting the first orc with raised sword. His leg throbbed and shook but Aragorn pressed on, dispatching the first orc easily.
He breathed heavily, not turning around to see any other orcs that had gathered behind him. He was trapped. He had made a mistake; he was cornered, front, back and above him. The only other solutions was, except for fighting his way out of this, to jump into the ravine and hope he would plunge into the river below, unharmed and throw his fate to the Valar for them to judge.
The orcs advanced and Aragorn blocked, slashed and parried, feeling rocks bounce off his head, making it throb and swim with dizziness as they grew larger. If only he was as strong and as agile as an elf, he could easily escape but he was utterly trapped.
He managed to dispose of another orc when he was pushed back by the ferocity of the third orc. He stepped back, only being able to block as he tried to recover his strength and breath. Aragorn glanced behind him, three more orcs, laughing and standing by idly as he was pushed towards the ravine.
So he was either going to meet his end falling down a steep ravine or at the sword of the orcs. He would prefer the sword. He growled and then moved forward, hearing the rocks beginning to fall that the orcs threw from up the rocks.
The moment he managed to slash the throat of the orc before him, a heavy rock landed on his head. Aragorn froze, his head was suddenly spinning and darkness etched his vision. He weakly blocked a trust from the orc before him when a battle cry reached his ears.
It sounded so familiar but it couldn't be. There weren't any elves nearby. He moaned when the sword slashed his stomach as he jumped back. Losing his footing, Aragorn ended up on his knees on the ground. A flash of gold and green shone in the distance and then arrows shot past him, just as he lost conscious.
I am leaving you hanging. So what will happen now? Did Aragorn imagine the elf or is he really there? So who will it be? Our certain blond elf perhaps? Review of course.