To claim that Estel was undecided as to whether he should let Ramlin and Doran carry the Elf would have been a gross understatement. I had no choice to leave Tauron. It is folly to raise their suspicions now when he is unable to escape. His logic did not save him from the overwhelming feeling that he had betrayed the Wood-Elf when Ramlin and Doran exited the cave.
Ai Valar! Can they not keep their hands to themselves? I left him alone for only moments. Aragorn sighed, an act that was quickly becoming a habit. It would take a thorough examination to determine what damage the oaf had done to the Elf this time; however, at first glance, Tauron did not appear to be injured greatly, and in fact, from what Aragorn could see, appeared self-satisfied. I should have known that Ramlin had no control in this matter, especially not after his actions last night.
"Ramlin. You have disobeyed my order to leave the Elf be." Ament spoke in a quiet, dangerous tone that incited contrition from his younger brother immediately.
"He started it, brother, he..." Ramlin ceased his explanation, a blush tingeing his wide, tanned face in realization that he sounded like a child in his arguments.
"I'm sure he did, Ramlin. The bound, mute Elf started a fight with you, did he?" Ament's anger had not abated but he grinned in enjoyment at the humiliation his brother was experiencing. "Looks like he got the best of you, too." Meika and Jalian snickered softly, only to be silenced by a sinister smile from Ament.
Ramlin rumbled incoherently, spitting blood onto the grass beside him, while Doran hefted the burden he carried, jostling the Elf about in an attempt to retain his hold on the archer and asking, "What should I do with him, Ament?"
Happy not to be the center of attention anymore, Ramlin ordered, "Hand him to me after I have mounted."
"No," his brother countered snidely, "we wouldn't want you to get hurt again. Hand him to Strider."
Aragorn pulled himself onto his horse, successfully suppressing a sigh of relief when Doran made to hand him the Elf. He did not want Tauron to ride with his attacker, especially now that the mercenary had been embarrassed in front of the other men. Ramlin, for his part, did not complain, but only mounted his horse, casting only a cursory glare at Strider for his relieved, if unwilling participation in Ramlin's displeasure.
"How do I seat him?" Doran's face was flushed with the exertion of carrying the Elf, and he nearly dropped Tauron in his inability to keep the Elda in his arms.
"Damn it. Am I the only one around here with any sense?" Sliding from his saddle in irritation, Ament walked to where Doran strained to keep the Elf from falling. "Stand him up."
Although he wobbled, Aragorn was ecstatic to see the Elf stand on his own. He recovers quickly. A day or more and mayhap he could run.
Their leader quickly discerned that he could not seat the Elf astride the horse without cutting Tauron's feet loose, nor could the Elf be managed when seated upon the horse if his feet were not tied. Rubbing his jaw in contemplation, Ament gazed back and forth between the captive and Strider's horse. We will never leave at this rate.
"Perhaps if we tied his ankles to mine while he sat before me. He will not fall that way, and he could not escape," Aragorn offered, not sure he liked the suggestion, but willing to endure it if it meant that they could continue their journey. Ament thought about this solution, Doran wiped his brow of the sweat gathered there from his earlier effort in keeping the Elf aloft, and Tauron only stood unwaveringly, his emotionless gaze fixed on Estel.
"Excellent suggestion, Strider," Ament declared all of a sudden, clapping his hands together and turning on his heel to retrieve the rope from his pack. Heaving breathily, Doran, with the help of the Ranger, lifted Tauron onto the horse to sit sidesaddle in front of Aragorn. Ament returned with a gleaming dagger and a coil of rope, the former of which he handed to the Ranger, who accepted it questioningly.
"Keep him in line, Strider." Pulling a small knife from his boot, Ament knelt down to reach Tauron's bound feet, looking up to Strider to ensure he was prepared. Estel held the knife lightly to Tauron's throat, the blade turned deceptively outwards in an attempt to avoid harm to his charge, while giving the appearance that he would cut the Elda should he try to flee. As a team, Ament and Doran cut the rope, retying the Elf's left ankle to the Ranger's ankle, and then lowering Estel's horse's head so that they could swing the captive's leg over to the other side, they tied the Elf's right ankle to Strider's ankle. Satisfied that the creature could not escape, for the Wood-Elf's feet were immobilized and his hands still tied, the mercenary ordered, "Mount, Doran. We leave now."
Aragorn handed the borrowed blade to Ament. The Elf sat before him inanimately, his back straight and his head held proudly forward, but a tangle of golden hair at the crown of Tauron's dignified head was discolored with silvery crimson blood. As Estel's horse jerked forwards to follow the others, he pondered melancholically, I cannot keep him safe, not even for a few moments. What will I do?
Tirn paced restlessly in the main hall outside the large doors of King Thranduil's throne room. That cannot be it. The King cannot give in so easily. Shaking his fair head, Tirn once again placed his hand upon the handle of the door he paced in front of, stopping himself from entering. The two Elves guarding the door looked at one another in amusement, trading sorrowful smiles at the sentry's hesitation. Tirn had been pacing for over half an hour, occasionally refraining long enough to place his hand again on the handle before turning about and resuming his pacing. Prince Legolas is not lost to us. Why does he grieve so? We may yet find him. Once more, he grasped the handles to the throne room door, intent on throwing them open and pleading with the King to continue the search. The doors, however, swung inwards precisely then, carrying Tirn inwards with them, and causing the fair sentry to crash directly into the King's advisor. The two landed in a tangled heap on the threshold.
"I am sorry, my Lord," Tirn voiced once he had disentwined himself from the elder Elf. He helped the disgruntled advisor stand, brushing the dust from the advisor's robe, his fair face the color of a ripe tomato in horror at his unintentional assault upon the King's trusted servant.
"Never mind, Tirn," the advisor told him, brushing Tirn's hands away impatiently. "King Thranduil wished to see you. I was on my way to find you but it seems you found me first."
"Of course, my Lord. Right away." Tirn bowed slightly, following the advisor back into the throne room.
King Thranduil sat at a small table, picking pieces of fruit from his plate only to toss them back down absentmindedly. The advisor announced Tirn's presence and then walked towards the doors, nodding to Tirn on his way, who awaited the King to address him. After several minutes of watching his King play with food, Tirn cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, you wished to see me?"
The sentry was bewildered by the misery that shone through in Thranduil's otherwise blank expression. The sovereign of Mirkwood stared at Tirn as though he was trying to ascertain something, though what his King looked for, the warrior did not know. When the King finally spoke, Tirn had to move closer to him to hear the hushed words. "I do not want my son to die, Tirn. I want him to be found."
Not knowing how to respond but deciding to push the issue of the search, the sentry replied, "Neither do I, your Majesty. None in Eryn Galen would wish such a thing. They still desire to search, my King. Why do we not..."
Thranduil interrupted with a belabored sigh, "We cannot afford the warriors. Any who leave for this wild goose chase down the river means fewer to protect our people. Our number of warriors is already diminished and grows more so every day in fighting the Darkness. There are increased attacks along the north and the spiders are growing bolder as the game in the south becomes scarce." The King paused, his usually regal face contorted with bitter emotion. "I want my son back, Tirn, but the kingdom must come before his safety. Legolas would not begrudge us tending to Greenwood's needs first, and nor should we be guilty in doing so. Do you understand this?"
No, I do not understand this, the Elf thought morosely, though he knew that what the King told him was correct. "I will go myself, your Majesty. I will look for the Prince."
His proclamation stupefied them both, causing Tirn to start and Thranduil to lift both golden eyebrows in surprise. "You are a sentry of the palace, Tirn, not a scout or a warrior of the forest. You've little experience outside the palace, keeping watch over Legolas within these walls."
Tirn hung his head dejectedly, again realizing that the wise King of Eryn Galen spoke truthfully, even should Tirn not wish to admit his own incompetence in such matters. "Then I am most expendable. I would go for Legolas... and for you, my King."
A faint smile lit Thranduil's face, a smile that the King turned upon the disarrayed plate of food on his table. "You are not expendable, Tirn."
Taking this as a rejection, the sentry protested fervidly, "I will find the Prince. I will, your Majesty." The King only quirked his eyebrow again, returning his attention to throwing the fruit about his plate. Silence filled the large, empty, stone throne room. "Please."
Thranduil stood, pushing his chair back as he did so, his bearing no longer that of a grieving father. With the hauteur of his royalty, the King looked down at the shorter sentry, a ghost of a smile still on his lips at memories of long ago, when an Elfling Prince was lost in the forest. "Go then, Tirn. If any would find him, it would be you."
The unexpected approval temporarily stunned Tirn, causing him to stammer, "Th-thank you, your Majesty. I will return with the Prince." The sentry knew the promise sounded empty; he also knew he would return with the Prince or not at all.
His mind reeling with thoughts of the many preparations he would need to make before his departure, the fair Elf made to leave the throne room and almost made it to the door before the King stopped him, saying, "And Tirn, the carpets in the main hall are older than you. Please do not wear them out walking in circles."
The journey thus far had been uneventful. Thankfully, for should we run into Orcs I would be useless strapped to a bound Elf. Aragorn yearned to apologize to the Wood-Elf, to try to explain what was happening, and to make certain Tauron was well. I should never have left him alone with Ramlin. The mercenary in question turned often to glare trenchantly in the Elf and Strider's general direction, though whether the stare was for him or the Elf, or both, the Ranger could not say. The constant supervision precluded any discussion. He wanted desperately to speak with the wounded Elda – Tauron's halcyon demeanor perturbed the Ranger because he knew not what it hid. He may well be mortally injured and yet would keep his stoicism.
"Ramlin, Meika!" Ament called from the front of the formation. "Go find Jalian and Doran. You two can surveil for a while." Knowing this was his last opportunity at casting a withering gaze towards the Elf and Ranger, Ramlin scowled fervently, almost mimicking his brother's usual expression perfectly, ere he spurred his horse into galloping forward in search of their companions.
Ament slowed his pace to allow Strider to catch up to him, obviously intending to converse. "How is the Elf, Strider?"
"I do not know. He does not appear to be injured badly, Ament, though he could have been." Strider had been unable to stop the resentful tone of his voice, as much as he tried, and then held his breath as he waited for the lead mercenary's suspicion.
Ament, however, simply nodded in agreement. "Ramlin has his mind set to make the Elf his slave." The mercenary glanced at Tauron, who remained as aloof as ever, not indicating he was listening to their conversation, whereas both men knew he listened to every word.
"I admit that his plan for the Elf would be easier, though not as satisfactory," he told the mercenary, adding, "and I do not understand why we must take the Elf with us." Strider tried to look innocent as he questioned Ament for information, though he was not one for prevarication, and only hoped Ament did not see this. Elladan and Elrohir always claimed I was never good at looking innocent, either, though I think I have proven my worth as a liar thus far. "Why do we need the Elf?"
The mercenary's red hair shone brilliantly in the sunlight, almost blindingly, as it reflected the radiance of the mid-morning sun: Ament nodded his head sagely. "Meeting you in Fulton was a stroke of luck, Strider."
That wasn't the answer I was hoping for. Galloping horses approached them: Jalian and Doran had returned, having been relieved by Ramlin and Meika in their surveillance.
Ament beamed at the Ranger, prodding his horse into a trot to meet the men as he told Aragorn, "The Elf is the key to what we want. We need him alive," before leaving Estel and Tauron behind.
When the men ahead were out of hearing range, the no longer reticent Elf noted caustically, "How relieving."
Aragorn startled at the Elf's sudden disturbance of his deep musing, which in turn caused his mount to skitter nervously: Estel had been brooding over the recondite answers Ament had given him and had not paying attention to those around him. "Valar, Tauron," he hissed. The Wood-Elf only sighed in response. With the chance to confer with the captive, Aragorn immediately began his apology. "I am sorry. I should not have left you with Ramlin. I did not think him so bold, not with others watching him and Ament having made clear that you were to be left alone." Tauron said nothing, and so the Ranger continued, "Are you injured?"
The Elf shook his head in negation. "No, I am uninjured."
Aragorn decided not to press the matter, despite the evidence to the contrary in the bloom of blood on Tauron's scalp: Elves were proud and therefore unwilling to be seen as frail. Instead, he asked, "What happened?"
"I bit him." The Elf said no more, not elaborating on the circumstances surrounding the incident. Not that he needed to do so; Aragorn could well imagine how Ramlin's tongue had become the Elf's target. "How did you come to be with these men, Strider?"
The unanticipated change in topic put the Ranger on the defensive. "I am not with these men; I only travel with them because they know the whereabouts of something that I myself should like to find."
"You want what they want. The goblet."
Estel was startled yet again, but then grew excited to think that the Elf might know more than he did about Melfren. "You know of the goblet? What do you know of it?"
"I overheard the older man and the scarred one talking about it." Turning his head and torso to face Aragorn as well as he could, though he kept his body carefully away from the Ranger at all times, Tauron continued, "They said it would make mortals immortal."
The Ranger gasped. I still cannot remember. Is this not what Ada told me of it?
"Judging from your reaction, I suppose Ament saw fit to leave out this detail?" Returning his view to the men in front, Tauron added softly, accusingly, "They seek it to destroy the Elves. You say you desire what they seek."
Aragorn could see the Elf's line of logic, prompting him to quell the accusation before the Wood-Elf could doubt him. "Nay, I seek the goblet to keep it from them. It's..."
"Complicated, right?"
Refraining from sighing, the Ranger agreed, "Indeed. Listen, Tauron, I will see you out of this alive, but they cannot obtain the goblet, at any cost."
"Because you wish it for yourself."
Unable to make clear his own intentions for the goblet, Aragorn tried to explain, "I wish it, yes... well, no, not for myself. I do not want them to have it, yes, but..." A call from the front ended the Ranger's pitiful explanation.
"We cross the river," Ament shouted, "the water is shallow at this point."