The murky forest had scared the young Elfling. He had not yet reached his majority, and though he had spent his free time cavorting amongst the trees close to Eryn Galen's stronghold, he had not ventured so far into the forest – not alone. The childish taunts of his friends had spurred the Elfling Prince into accepting their dare, and he had taken off into the woods, evading the ever-watchful eyes of his guards, and running swiftly to grab the fruit from the apple trees that lay far beyond the safety of his father's halls. The journey there had been uneventful, and so Legolas had walked his way back home overconfidently, occasionally stopping in innocent curiosity to inspect a leaf, a flower, or listen to the sweet calling of the woodland birds.
He had ambled for much longer than he had supposed it would take him to return, and his realization that the late afternoon was quickly turning to sundown petrified him. He searched his surroundings for familiar landmarks that would guide him back home. Placing his small hand on random trees, Legolas tried to listen to the lifesong of the woods; though it comforted him to hear the familiar beauty of his home, lack of experience hindered the Elfling from tuning in to the oeuvre's many layers, and therefore he could not discern whether he had come this way earlier. With escalating panic, the Prince wandered through the woods, consoling himself with the knowledge that he had likely already been missed and his sentries would locate him.
His father would later soothe him that should he get lost in the woods that Ada would always find him. But his father had not found him that time. His youthful exuberance and fear borne energy had led him farther away from the palace than he had ever traveled, and it had been his faithful sentry Tirn who had discovered the sobbing, frightened child huddled against the soothing trunk of an old oak tree in the moonless night.
"Prince Legolas," the sentry whispered, trying not to startle the young one. Tirn had only recently joined the Eryn Galen palace guards in the footsteps of his father and it had been his watch on which the Prince had become lost. "Your Majesty, come." He made as though to grab the Elfling, to carry the child home, but decorum prevented him.
Legolas remembered that his sentry had fluttered about him, as though Tirn feared the scared child would shatter, but the Prince had not wanted a stately, impassive guard; no, the Elfling had wanted comfort. He threw himself into the sentry's arms. Tirn did not shirk the desperate, trembling child but held him tightly, stroking the blond tresses.
"Come, your Majesty. You are safe, now, I promise." Picking Legolas up, the sentry had carried him home, swearing an oath to mollify him that in his many years the Prince of Eryn Galen had never forgotten, but had never considered might be tested: "If you are ever lost, my Prince, just be still and I will find you, wherever you have strayed. I promise; I will keep you safe."
Tirn's calming hold abruptly tightened, the arms bearing down on the Elfling's body with force, and Legolas opened his eyes to find he was lying on his stomach, his face in the soft grass of a clearing, and the pressure above him ridiculing maliciously, "Do not fight it. I will destroy you either way, Thranduilion. You could well enjoy your last moments."
In agonizing remembrance, Legolas saw he was no longer a child, though his fear had not abated. He closed his eyes. The next few moments the Elf knew well; they smoldered in his memories, stealing his breath from him, and creating a haze of despair to cloud his desire to live. He felt the mercenary grab him.
"Just be still, and I will find you." The memorable voice assured Legolas, the hands on his person disappeared, and the archer opened his eyes.
Strider knelt beside him, softly patting his face, mouthing words the Prince could not hear. Jalian glanced at him anxiously before peering across the clearing.
"Legolas?"
His eyes were open but unfocused, and with a blink, the Prince's gaze fixed on the healer beside him as his lungs gasped for air. Strider's immense relief at seeing the Elf awakened and breathing caused the human to sigh profoundly. "Valar, Legolas, you have frightened me."
The archer could not yet find his voice. He was unsure whether he dreamt still. Unintentionally ignoring Strider, the immortal pondered his outlandish reverie in misery. I am as lost in my waking as in my dreaming. They are naught but fancies my mind has concocted to pacify me. No one will find us, and if we remain, we only welcome our deaths.
"Legolas. Legolas?" The healer's voice was becoming more insistent, more worried, and the Elf finally turned his attention to the human.
Hoarsely, he replied, his beaten brow knotting in the effort to speak, "I am here, Strider."
Letting loose a lengthy breath, the healer murmured, "I wish that you were not here, my friend." Rubbing his own forehead wearily, Strider explained, "You had ceased to breathe. I thought I had lost you to grief."
You almost did.
"I am here. We are not parted yet." Legolas did not contemplate his own words, and did not consider the effect his proclamation would have on the healer.
He must flee. Eryn Galen must be warned. Father must be told.
"No, Legolas. Speak not such thoughts! You will not leave me at all! I will not let you..." The healer stopped his livid tirade, his face falling in tandem with his voice. "I am sorry." Strider appeared to have much more to say to the Prince but the empty words would not come, so instead the young healer clasped the Elf's bicep reassuringly, careful not to agitate any of the Prince's many bruises and wounds.
He looks as though he may cry, Legolas thought. He is no more than a child lost in the woods, too. I welcome the company.
"Legolas?" the Elda's eyes snapped open: he had not been aware they were closed. "Try to stay awake. You need water, and food. I can give you a draught for the pain." The healer leant forward, knowing the Elf could hear his quiet muttering while the mercenary beside them would have trouble understanding his softly spoken words, "Jalian says they have found the goblet, though they cannot yet reach it. We will escape."
Shaking his head slightly, Legolas responded in Sindarin, "Run, my friend. You must tell my father of my death."
"You will not die. Do not die, Legolas," the healer implored vehemently, speaking in Elvish as well. "I will not leave without you. We will go together or not at all. We will escape."
The human is too obstinate for his own good... for our own good, and for Eryn Galen's. He must leave.
"How?" Jalian was watching the healer and Elf with great interest, his head cocked quizzically to one side, observing unabashedly, albeit not comprehending their conversation in Sindarin. "How will we escape?"
"I do not know but I give you my word," Strider admitted humbly, evading the archer's eyes by searching through his satchel, "we will find a way out of this." Water flask in hand, the healer raised Legolas' head tenderly, dribbling the water slowly into the Elf's mouth so as not to choke him.
From the sun's position overhead, the immortal could tell that he had been unconscious for several hours. He could hear the wailing trees the men were chopping and smell the dank, earthy scent of the leaves and ground on which he laid. Too exhausted to argue further, the Prince closed his eyes and considered the best way for Strider to flee. He will not last long in the forest alone if he has no weapons. He has not the benefit of the trees to guide him, nor the knowledge of the Dark beasts that roam these woods, but we would never reach my father's halls if I accompany him. I am too injured to continue. Legolas berated himself sadistically, Too injured? And so you would leave a child to tend your duties as Prince while you lay here, waiting to die? Combating the longing to weep, the voice instilled in him through his training as a warrior and as royalty, a voice that likened to the tenor of his father, the King, told him unsympathetically, You will live, and you will fight.
"Legolas?" Strider softly tapped his cheek in an attempt to wake him. "Legolas I need to bandage your leg wound with fresh linen. Would you like something for the pain?" The human's compassionate voice contrasted the self-recrimination in the Elda's mind.
"No," the Elf whispered, not bothering to open his eyes.
He could feel the man unwinding the cloth around his thigh, the minute brushes of the healer's hands inciting memories of events too recent to suppress. It is only Strider, he reassured, Ramlin is dead. Several silent tears spilled from the immortal's eyes, running down the sides of his face and into his blood-matted hair, while his body betrayed him by shivering each time the man touched him. Stop this. You have no time for despair. Eryn Galen and your King are in danger.
Ere he felt Strider replace the linen, the healer apologized lachrymosely in a voice no louder than the sough of the breeze, "I am sorry. I am almost finished."
Legolas did not have to see the man to know the healer pitied him, and that Strider knew why the Elf wept. You are weak, Legolas. You prove Ramlin correct with your weepy capitulation to die.
Quickly, the cloth was wrapped around his leg, and his human benefactor pled with him once more in Elvish, "Please, Legolas; run with me. We will take the horses."
"No. You are not obliged to fight with me, but I will die fighting the mercenaries. I will not flee with my home and father in danger." Legolas had still not opened his eyes: he feared that the healer's kind face would break his determination.
I have to be strong. They must not use the goblet to harm Eryn Galen.
Forgetting to speak in the Elven dialect, Strider hissed in frustration, "It is not Mirkwood that is in danger, it is you, Legolas. Ament's revenge on your father is complete only with your demise." At this, the immortal finally faced his new friend, opening his inexhaustibly blue eyes to read the same resolve he held mirrored in the healer's gray orbs.
"If not today, then some day in the future my father or I will be threatened with Ament's plans for vengeance. Should I leave, he will have all of eternity to see his bloodthirsty revenge completed once he finds another Elf. Besides, I will die anyway, my friend, and I would rather die fighting."
The healer sighed and shook his head, but then smiled his resignation. "I will not let you die, and we will fight together, for I will not leave you." No pretense lay in the man's words.
Legolas closed his eyes again, content and prepared to accept the man's oath, but struggling against the waves trouncing his weary mind, dragging him down into the undercurrent of his horrid memories. He felt the healer shift beside him and was comforted to know that the human would stay with him. While he did not want the Adan youth to die, neither did he want to feel that he was lost in the woods, alone.
He has endured much, and he still wishes to fight. If not for his duty to Mirkwood, I fear Legolas would not struggle against his despair. Aragorn eased his injured arm forward to inspect it. The pain from it, the arrow wound to his forearm, and the gash to his side aggrieved him but none, he believed, was remotely fatal. I have suffered little in comparison to the Prince, and yet I am willing to flee. Even after Ramlin's mishandling he wishes to stay. Whatever keeps him alive, I will gladly give him. But I will not watch him die. The Ranger contemplated his own culpability in the immortal's torment to find himself, according to his own perceptions of the situation, the sole cause for the Elf's continued anguish.
We should have fled this depraved situation days ago, when Legolas was healthy enough to run, and I was still trusted enough to flee unhindered. However, Aragorn could not deny the archer's logic. Nevertheless, he is right, if not today, then in the future Ament will seek his retribution. He must not use the goblet; it must be destroyed. For Legolas, for Thranduil, and for all the Elves. If Legolas is willing to stay, then so too will I, even if it means our deaths. My life is the least I owe him. Gently, the Ranger brushed the golden, bloody hair from the Elf's forehead, sweeping his fingers kindly over the furrowed brow and whispering Elvish in a condoling tone. We need a plan of our own. I do not even know where my weapons have been concealed. I must find something. He couldn't just flee without taking the Elf, and he would never get far carrying the Wood-Elf, or be able to battle the mercenaries without weapons. Even should he find something, he would not be able to protect the Prince while fighting off the mercenaries.
When it was apparent the Wood-Elf slept, Jalian interrupted the Ranger's thoughts by asking, "You'd give your life for it?"
Valar, I had forgotten Jalian sat beside us when I spoke in Common.
Knowing the 'it' in question was the battered Prince lying beside him, the healer answered, "I would." The Ranger spoke honestly: he was tired of the lies, the farce, and especially the overwhelming feelings of blame and disgrace that these acts had bestowed upon him.
"Why? He has done nothing for you." There was no censure in Jalian's tone; it seemed to Aragorn that the man was baffled.
Jalian was a slave trader. It is how he gained his disfigurement, according to Ament. He thinks the Elves are but animals to be trapped and sold.
"He has just handed his life over to save mine," the Ranger argued. "And he does not deserve what Ament plans for him."
The mercenary snorted disdainfully, "He killed Ramlin, ain't that enough?"
Unable to contain his anger, the Ranger replied heatedly, "As well he should have. And so would you, or I, in the same situation. He had been kidnapped, beaten, ravaged, and soon he will be slaughtered for Ament's perverse justice, and you would fault him for taking Ramlin's life?"
Great, Strider, anger the man who knows you and the Prince plan to fight.
The words would not stop, "He has done naught to any of you. You cannot judge the whole race of Elves by those that burned you, Jalian, and knowing they did so to flee being your chattel in the slave market only reduces your hatred of them to nonsense."
Fully expecting the mercenary to clobber him, the Ranger was stunned to see the man rub the tufts of dark hair on his scarred head thoughtfully and exhale noisily, watching Doran hack the twisted trees steadily away from the object of their concupiscent desire for riches. "That is what Meika said. I tried to change his mind. Can't make money being nice, I would tell him. Never would listen, that one. He just wanted the farm and family." Jalian confronted the healer, his sad countenance reminding Aragorn that he was a man, only that, despite his many failings, and grieving for the loss of his friend. "Ramlin killed Meika, Doran told me. For wanting to free the Elf. For killing Meika, Ramlin deserved to die. But I reckon you're right, Strider, and so was Meika." The mercenary glanced at Legolas, who lay sleeping fitfully. "I think it's too late, though, for any of us to turn back."
The abrupt yell of Ament drew both their attention away from conversation, and to the travesty occurring across the clearing.
"Do not cross me, Doran. I gave you an order. Now go." Ament's scowl had taken scandalous proportions, and his insanity glowed brighter than his wiry red hair, illuminated by the sunlight into a fiery cap of spiraling curls. He stepped close to the unmoving Doran, placing his face so that the two were nearly nose to nose. "You lied. You said you wanted to avenge Ramlin's death."
"I would avenge Ramlin," the towering archer ground out between his gritted teeth, "but I should like to live to see it accomplished. I am not crawling in there. Get Jalian to do it, or send Strider, he is expendable, is he not?"
I suppose he is right. The Elf will live for now, or so Strider claims. I've no need for Strider for much longer.
The leader lifted one eyebrow, and then backed up only slightly before yelling, "Jalian, bring Strider over here!" Ament noted cheerfully Doran's pained expression at the booming scream, and then bent to inspect the hollowed area again.
The trees had twisted the space between their trunks into a conical opening, one that began wider at the bottom, where the trunks only touched those beside them, until it tapered into a warped interplay of trunks and limbs at the space's highest point. Altogether, the hollow lay no more than a man's height across, and was only crawling room high until its middle, where a man could possibly stand hunkered over. The goblet must have been placed here before the trees entwined, Ament mused excitedly. His eyes did not stray long from the tarnished object obscured by leaves in the middle of the natural enclave. I am close.
"Here, boss." Jalian held the unbound Strider in front of him by the arm. Both men were confused, having only now even been close to Doran and Ament's toils.
Ament gave the healer a snide grin. "Fetch the goblet." He pointed to within the confines made by the trees. "It's in there." The healer made no move to comply. "Go, Strider, or we will all have your Elf when I am through with him." After shooting Ament an exceedingly enraged frown, one that held such promise that a momentary streak of dread broke through the leader's insanity-born invincibility, Strider carefully maneuvered through the hacked opening, opting to crawl forward leisurely. The suspense was irritating Ament, and so he ordered, "Quickly, Strider. Do not try my patience."
The healer's feet finally disappeared from view, and Ament rubbed his hands together in delight. Idiot. No telling what traps have been set to keep the goblet safe.
A few moments later, Strider's voice echoed out into the glade, just as the healer's head became visible through the opening, "It is not here."
With no effort to contain his fury, Ament did not give the healer time to extract himself from the hollow before he flew at Strider. "You lie. I saw it," the leader accused, boxing the healer's unprotected head with his bare hands. Ament dragged the stunned healer from the opening by his leather coat, and then promptly began to land kicks into Strider's back, stomach, and legs, wherever he could. "You lie. Where is it?"
Jalian intervened, grabbing Ament by the shoulder to yank him away from the felled healer. "Stop, Ament. Let him speak." The leader threw his minion's hands from his back but did not advance on the healer again.
"Speak then," he growled. "What did you find?"
Strider sat up, holding the knife wound on his stomach, where blood ran anew because of Ament's battering. "It is no goblet you have seen. It is a door handle."
With voluminous cachinnations of joviality, the leader grabbed his knees as though to hold himself up, such was his apparent delight. "A door handle, you say?" Ament could hardly talk from the giggles that still poured forth. Doran and Jalian smiled nervously but Strider could see the leader's expression, and though he sounded amused, Ament was anything but. "That is a fine addition to this catastrophe, Strider. Did you bother to open it?" The healer shook his head in negation. "Of course you didn't open it. Then you might have been useful." Whirling about on his heels, Ament commanded viciously as he pointed in Strider's direction, "Tie him up, hands in front, with a leash, like we had the Elf. Make sure the ropes are tight."
Ament again peered into the grotto, staring hard into the darkness at the now fully exposed metal object he had thought to be the goblet. I need no more complications but I should have known it could not have been this simple to obtain, he reasoned, trying to regain his composure. No matter, we will see what is behind the door.
"What now, boss?" Jalian held the rope leash to the healer's tied hands; Strider stood, oblivious to the mercenaries as he cast his concerned gaze towards the Elf across the clearing.
"Strider will open the door. It may only be a coffer but given the events of the past several days, it is likely it opens into a blazing abyss of damned souls. Either way, Strider will report to us what he sees." Ament enjoyed the healer's menacing, defiant stare, and the leader grinned ludicrously as he added, "If there are no traps, else I suppose he won't be in a talkative mood."
"What of Legolas?" Strider could not long remove his eyes from his patient.
Taking the tether from Jalian, Ament gave a vicious yank, pulling the healer towards him and cruelly twisting the man's wounded forearm, "He will be fine. Jalian will watch him. Now, lead the way."