He had not meant to incite the human's anger to this point but merely to delay the witch so that he could think of some plan, some way both to save Legolas and see Melfren dead. The Ranger had noted the witch's odd behavior and knew that the transformation was not complete. That taunting the mercenary elicited Ament's character to come forth was not lost on Aragorn, but despite this knowledge, he did not know how to avert the new tragedy he had instigated. Angering Melfren had only brought Legolas in immediate danger, and Estel didn't know how else to stall.
If Legolas felt the blade piercing his chest, he did not show it. The obdurate Silvan stared at the witch with abhorrence. A trickle of bright blood ran down the shallow hole the witch had placed in the Prince's breast; the blood welled around the blade of Elladan's sword, its sharp point no longer visible but hidden in the rent flesh of the Wood-Elf's chest. Melfren did not move. Aragorn watched in immersed horror as the witch's face twitched uncontrollably, the disparate facial expressions vacillating between a calm resolve and passionate loathing. The Ranger's body was primed to leap forward, to throw himself at the witch, to stop the sword's progress. So ready, so eager was he that his every muscle was rigid in its opposition to the spell that held him.
When the halcyon determination on Melfren's face finally gave way entirely to the recognizable, hateful scowl that he had seen Ament wear so often, when the darkened sky seemed to clear of limbs and clouds, and when the blade's polished point sunk deeper into the Prince's chest, Aragorn tumbled forward in astonishment. His body's inert momentum to spring at the witch was finally realized: his body leapt forward but his surprise caused him to pull his lunge short. Aragorn abruptly found himself on his hands and knees, the toes of Ament's feet several feet away.
The booted feet moved before the Ranger realized what had happened; he watched them walk forward, drawing his gaze to the Wood-Elf. The Prince tried to escape the threat of Elladan's sword by falling onto his back and rolling. It was not until he saw Legolas move that Aragorn realized his own mobility and forthwith sought his sword on the ground. He seized the hilt firmly, using it as a crutch as he fumbled to stand and face the witch. The sudden actions had jerked open the still fresh, blistered and burnt puncture wounds of his chest and stomach, and Aragorn fought his swimming vision as he finally stood.
Melfren had followed Legolas' roll, his steps quicker than the injured Wood-Elf's movements. The witch swung the blade quickly through the air, the sword hitting the hardened dirt beside the Elda's head; the tinny ringing of the metal blade striking a rock sent small sparks flying in the Prince's peripheral vision. Get up, he ordered himself, his hands rummaging through the short grass around him to find his borrowed blade. The quiver Strider had given him had broken with his fall, and his arrows were scattered and splintered under him, the arrowheads lacerating his back and legs with shallow slices as he tried to scramble backwards and away from the advancing mercenary.
Legolas saw the Ranger stumble to his feet just as Melfren swung Elladan's light, Elven sword through the air again. The bow he had dropped met his questing fingers and the Silvan brought the thin, curving piece of wood from beside him, arcing it through the air in front of his face to meet the witch's potentially fatal swing. It was a pitiful attempt to fend off Melfren, but Legolas had no other options.
The blade struck the simple bow, shattering the wood into fragments and causing the taut bowstring to whip through the air. It licked across the Wood-Elf's bare chest in a scoring, singing hiss. The force of Legolas' swing threw Melfren's aim from meeting its target – the Elf's head. Instead, the witch's blade was wrenched clumsily to the side. The Prince groaned when his already harried, tormented body sustained another injury, for the falling blade, while deflected from his throat, was pushed towards his side. The blade sank through his bicep, splitting the outermost flesh on the outside of his upper arm. Legolas rolled again, turning his back to the witch as he unconsciously curled in on himself from the pain of his gouged and slashed chest and his equally hurt arm.
"Do not run from me, Princeling," the witch snickered, stepping on the long hair close to the Prince's head to keep Legolas from rolling away yet again; the Wood-Elf did not budge, however, especially not when Melfren placed Elladan's blade under his chin.
Kill him Strider. Hurry. Legolas would die happily, if he only he could see the witch's demise, too. The witch glared down at him, his hatred and scowl as brilliant as the lightening blue sky above Melfren's head. It was then that Legolas realized what the Ranger had: The spell is broken. He is Ament once again.
"This is three times that you thought you could escape your punishment." The mercenary grinned, his curled, crimson hair casting a shadow over Legolas and blocking the morning sun's balmy radiance from hitting the Prince's frigid skin. Ament moved the tip of Elladan's blade, bloodied with the Wood-Elf's essence already, to rest at the base of Legolas' throat. "You should have run faster, Elfling."
The human was on the verge of driving Elrohir mad. Jalian had not spoken since telling the story of his friend Meika; he had ceased weeping, though, and was once more drawing pointless patterns in the dirt beside him. The torchlight had long since sputtered its last oily flame, leaving the tunnel dark save for the soft light coming from the entrance. The tunnel was also now entirely silent, save for Jalian's occasional sniffle or sob: each noise broke the Elf's concentration, severing his tentative mental essay in ascertaining where Elladan was, and why he could no longer feel him. Usually a constant, familiar, and comforting presence within him, the lack of his twin's consciousness was unsettling to Elrohir. Always have I felt him, even in sleep or when we have been parted. The Noldo tried again, focusing on his brother. Where are you, Elladan?
Jalian sniveled incoherently, inciting Elrohir's head to snap up, a scathing castigation on his lips, when he noted that the mercenary's weeping was renewed. Great Valar, I cannot just sit here waiting for Elladan and the others to return. Elrohir reached for Tirn's wrist, assuring himself that the sentry was as well as could be expected, and that he would remain so for the time it would take the Noldo to go above ground. He could wait no longer to find out what had occurred.
"Jalian," the Noldo said quietly, not wishing to startle the despondent human, who appeared lost in his miserable thoughts.
Drawn from his melancholy, the disfigured mercenary said nothing but looked questioningly at Elrohir. The Noldo did not desire to leave Tirn with Jalian but he lacked any other means of both seeing to the sentry's welfare and his twin brother's wellbeing, not to mention seeing to the well-being of Estel and Legolas, and the death of the witch. Once more, the healer checked his charge's heartbeat, feeling the thready, weak pulse by placing his fingers on Tirn's neck. Elrohir sighed, standing as he pointed to the sentry. "I need you to keep watch over him."
Jalian's reaction was immediate; the human rose from his seated position quickly, standing in front of Elrohir with blatant and very explicable fear in his eyes. "Where are you going?"
"Above."
"You're going to leave me in the dark? What am I supposed to do for him?" Jalian tilted his head towards the ruined sentry.
Elrohir had no patience for the human's absurd questions, and so replied crossly, "There is nothing you can do for him."
The mercenary shrank from the Noldo's ire, lowering his head and rubbing his face clean of tears. Taking a deep breath, Elrohir placed his hand on the mercenary's shoulder lightly, keeping his irritation from his voice, as he demanded, "If none of us return and Tirn still lives, take him to the Mirkwood patrol. Please. Inform them of what has happened." With an odd, anxious look that caused Elrohir to vacillate in his choice to leave, Jalian nodded, agreeing to the Elf's orders.
I hope one of us returns for Tirn, Elrohir thought as he sprinted away, casting aside his apprehension at leaving the helpless sentry in the care of one of the Prince's captors. Please be all right, brothers. Ahead of him was the open shaft that led out of the tunnel, the ladder glinting in the scant light that shone down through the natural grotto above. Elrohir did not hesitate when he reached the exit, but tightened the leather belt around his waist to keep it from becoming caught in the wrought rungs of the ladder. He fondled his empty scabbard with longing as he listened for any sounds from the outside, realizing, I have given Elladan my sword. Wonderful. Fast falling footsteps, not from outside the tunnel but from within, met his ears, and the Noldo turned, seeing Jalian running blindly around the bend and into view, brandishing a sword in his hands.
Placing his booted foot on the Prince's chest, the mercenary pressed down, enjoying the audible crack of the Elf's rib and the battered creature's choking attempt at breathing. He could sympathize with the Elf's inability to breathe. Only hours earlier he had been struggling to overcome the wound the Prince's arrow had caused, a wound that by the witch's power was now healing though still painful. Look behind us, fool. Ament listened to the advice without thinking; he was an intense, elementary hatred that Melfren had been forced to acquiesce to, if only to complete this one task, and had little volition of his own beyond his desire to kill. The mercenary lifted his edge from the Elf's throat, seeing the Prince immediately twist his contused and bleeding body away: the Wood-Elf did not rise, but wrapped his arms around himself, sputtering and coughing violently. The Ranger is behind us.
The mercenary spun around; Elladan's sword spun round with him, the burnished blade swinging wildly through the air as Ament moved. It connected with an uproarious clash of metal on metal as it met the Ranger's blade, sending shivering jolts of pain up Melfren's arm and his sword to the ground. He could not retrieve the fallen weapon, for the Ranger stepped forward with his weapon still extended, blocking the witch from reaching the dropped blade safely. They will kill us. Move, you idiot. Do not stand between them. Ament ducked Strider's next swing, though he felt the rush of air and heard the sibilance of the blade over his head.
Instinctively, and now without a weapon, the witch ran towards the only object in the clearing capable of making the Ranger halt his attack. He ran towards the dark-haired Elf on the ground, and the dagger he had dropped close by.
Legolas' vision was black and his chest heaved painfully. He could feel his newly broken rib puncturing the flesh around it. His lungs burned and with each pained breath, he inhaled more blood than air. Coughing only exacerbated his agony and inability to breathe but he could not seem to stop. You leave a human child to perform your duties. Rise. The Wood-Elf crawled to his hands and knees, opened his eyes, and concentrated on dissipating the black that blanketed the world around him. There were countless specks of blood on the grass under him, splinters of wood and the occasional arrowhead – nothing that would help him. Looking up, he saw Ament running to Elladan, who still lay motionless and pale against the tree trunk across the clearing.
He pushed himself up with his hands so that he knelt, his eyesight darkening with dancing black streaks. Strider bound after the mercenary, his pace desperate and frenzied as he tried, in his injured state, to reach Elladan before Ament. Legolas looked around him for Elrohir's sword, his own fraught actions too fast for his failing body, but his hand lit upon the sharp edge of the Elven blade, slicing his palm in his carelessness to gain hold of the weapon. The Prince groaned, rising to his feet in erratic, wobbly movements. I will see you dead.
The mercenary stopped unexpectedly, stooping to the ground a few feet before Elladan to pick up a dagger. Aragorn did not cease running, his desire to keep the insane human from reaching his Elven brother paramount in the Ranger's mind. Despite his sudden stop, the mercenary reached Elladan first; however, Ament did not have time to threaten the unconscious Noldo, for Estel was upon him, his sword already sweeping through the air. Again, the mercenary ducked, falling to his knees even as he flung the short blade he had picked up from the ground.
Aragorn felt the incising metal strike his chest. It did not dampen his determination to cleave the grinning mercenary's head in two, nor did it stop his blade from its flight. His sword missed once more, however, for his arm, injured just the previous morning from Doran's arrow, failed him as he tried to recoup his off-balanced swing. The Ranger realized that the same dagger that Ament had stabbed into his upper arm and held at his throat more than once was now protruding from his chest, its hilt twisting in an indecent manner with his slightest movement. Although the wound did not pain him, the Ranger dropped to his unfeeling knees in front of Ament, his sword tumbling from his numbed fingers. The mercenary's grin grew wider, his victory over the Ranger finally achieved.
Ament's gaze left the young human before him, and Estel watched the mercenary grapple with the tree trunk behind him, reaching his feet quickly. Waiting for Ament to finish him off, or worse yet, now to kill Elladan, the Ranger watched with stunned marvel as the suddenly pusillanimous mercenary backed away, the scowl cleared from his tanned face to be replaced by fear. Grinning with unaware delight at the fear on the mercenary's face, the Ranger observed the mercenary withdraw into the underbrush around them before turning on heel to flee into the forest.
Legolas.
The Prince ran past the Ranger, Elrohir's sword in hand. It was the last that Aragorn saw ere he closed his eyes and toppled over onto the soft grass of the clearing.
He became completely still, thinking, Something has happened to Tirn. The abnormal smile Jalian wore as he jogged down the hall did not portend such an excuse for the mercenary to follow him, though, and Elrohir stepped away from the wall automatically so that he was not backed into a corner. Elladan's distrust of the human tainted Elrohir's conclusion of Jalian's intentions, and so the twin prepared himself for a scuffle. Throwing a glance at the ladder, the Noldo realized that the oncoming, armed mercenary had the advantage, because Elrohir would not flee, not with Tirn still within the tunnel. Jalian stopped several paces in front of him, the short sword held out limply towards the Noldo. Elrohir tensed for the attack.
"Here," the mercenary stated, shaking the weapon in Elrohir's direction. "Thought you might need this, mate." The Noldo did not reach for the sword; Jalian looked down at the blade as though trying to determine what kept the Elf from taking it. He frowned, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve ere turning the pommel of the weapon to Elrohir. "The Prince had mine but left it and took Ament's, and as your brother has yours…," the disfigured human explained in a short-lived ramble, shrugging as he waved the sword again at Elrohir.
"Thank you." Elrohir grabbed the proffered hilt, taken aback by the mercenary's good will. Jalian merely smiled his peculiar grin before he hastened back down the dark tunnel, back to Tirn.
The Noldo slid the short sword under his belt and climbed the ladder. I believe you are wrong to distrust Jalian, the Noldo thought as though speaking to his doubting twin. But his unanswered thoughts only accentuated his brother's absence, and an alarmed Elrohir climbed the ladder, pulling himself into the narrow space within the warped tree trunks. Nearly throwing himself through the aperture between the trunks, the Noldo crawled quickly, his unease mounting at the silence permeating the forest.
A flash of blond hair flying through the trees beyond the clearing caught Elrohir's attention as soon as he righted himself from his crawl. Legolas. With all intentions of catching the Prince, to question him as to what was occurring and where his brothers were, the Noldo ran forward. Elrohir's step faltered when he saw the two lifeless bodies lying near each other at the base of a tree. Brothers.