The moment the arrow had flown over the Ranger, hitting the tree far above Legolas' head, the Prince had known they were found by his kin. However, when Aragorn had thrown the Wood-Elf to the ground and spread himself atop the stunned and breathless Legolas, the archer had not the air or the chance to speak to their finders, for his battered ribs had been driven into his lungs and the oxygen from them. He could barely hear, and what he heard had the Elf trying to speak, to explain, but each time he tried, Legolas was bombarded by more coughing, and his ability to hear was soon lost with his ability to breathe.
Tack his hide to a tree? Leave him for the spiders? He sincerely hoped that the Wood-Elf would not make good on his threat against Aragorn, but given the familiar warning to the human, Legolas was excited to hear it nonetheless. Naiahim. Only he would threaten to tack the humans' hides to trees. Had he the breath, Legolas would have laughed: it had been this indomitable warrior, and circumstance, from whom he had taken the idea to leave Ament for the spiders. Only I have managed to see such a threat done, while he still threatens.
If the Wood-Elf had been at all able to open his eyes against the pain screaming through his chest and the quiet terror of not being able to breathe, Legolas was sure he would find that one of his father's most trusted and able warriors stood nearby. As it was, however, the Prince rolled from his side to his stomach, thrusting his hands under him and attempting to push himself upright. He had to sit: he needed to breathe. He could not see, he could not speak, and he could not know for certain what was happening, but that he needed to stop his fellow Wood-Elves from killing the humans was paramount on his mind.
They will think Aragorn and Jalian are my abductors.
Someone was sliding arms under his chest, twisting him around so that he could be pushed back to the ground: from the strong but yielding flesh of the body he was pressed against, Legolas could tell it was a she-Elf that held him now, and because he had heard her name spoken earlier, the Prince knew whom it would be. Hanir. I must get her to listen. The female warrior, in an effort to help him, coerced the Prince back to the grass, holding him there with her hands on his bruised chest when he tried to rise. He heard the softer timbre of her voice but could not discern what she spoke to him, for it was lost in the irate and harsh tone of the others arguing.
He tried to hear what was being said, what his fellow Wood-Elves were telling the humans, but the words were lost to him, and his lack of air stole the last of his waning consciousness.
"We were walking loudly to scare the rabbits," Elladan argued immediately upon seeing the merry face of a warrior Wood-Elf hanging upside down from the tree behind where he and Elrohir stood.
The Wood-Elf laughed, having enjoyed startling the two trespassers to the Mirkwood forest. Hanging by his knees, which were bent over a limb to balance him, the warrior stretched his arms to the ground, his golden hair whipping through the air as he straightened his legs and fell deftly to the roots beneath: the Elf first landed on his hands, staying there for only a split second ere his feet hit the ground and the Wood-Elf was upright, standing before them.
"And you have done a fine job of it, I am sure," the warrior told them, the merriness never waning from his smile, though within the dark, russet eyes of the Wood-Elf there was also wariness, and sorrow. "But prey in these parts of Mirkwood is more cautious than elsewhere, for the spiders do not limit themselves to just eating Elves and men." Glancing from twin to twin, his hand on the hilt of his sword, the warrior asked, "Why, if you do not mind my asking, do two Noldor hunt in one of the most dangerous areas of the forest?"
Underlying this question was the more subtle inquiry of why the Noldor were in Eryn Galen at all, and the warrior gave no impression that he cared if the twins minded his asking. Legolas! He will want to know of his Prince. Elladan, eager to relate the good news of the Prince's safety and to implore the woodland warrior for help, told his fellow Elda, "One of the most dangerous areas? Legolas assured us that this was the safe way." He watched the warrior's visage become guarded, and the Wood-Elf stepped closer to them, ready to question: knowing the query, however, Elladan supplied readily, "Perhaps you can ask him why he wanted to travel this way to the palace… once he wakes. He is at our camp."
Elladan stepped in front of his twin instinctively when the Wood-Elf seized the hilt of his sword and rushed forwards, but violence was not the warrior's intent, and he stopped just short of running into the elder twin to ask, "The Prince? Where? Why is he with you?"
"Peace, friend," Elrohir soothed, shoving his brother softly out of the way in annoyance at Elladan's protectiveness, and acting more diplomatically than his twin had in explaining, "He is well at the moment, though we are glad for you to be here. We are low on herbs and food, which is why –"
"Take me to him," the warrior demanded harshly, lifting the pommel of his sword, ready to force the twins into doing so if they did not comply.
Only because the elder twin could understand the Wood-Elf's hesitance to rely on the words of two strangers for the well-being of his Prince, Elladan placated, "Of course we will take you to him. He is with our brother and friend."
The warrior reached out to grab Elrohir's arm to push him into action, to get the two brothers to lead him to his Prince: Elladan tried to remain calm at the Wood-Elf's act, for Elf or not, he would not suffer the Wood-Elf to hurt his grieving brother. He caught his twin's reassuring smile, however, and then returned it as Elrohir, not one to use his lordship to gain favor, told the Wood-Elf, "I am Elrohir Elrondion, of Imladris, and this is my brother, Elladan."
"I am Salneril Saldonion, of Thranduil's halls," the warrior replied automatically, his good manners besting his distrust for the moment; but then the Wood-Elf's hand fell back to his side, releasing Elrohir's arm, as he eyed them suspiciously. "Elrondion?" His hand settling back onto his sword's hilt, lifting it slightly as the warrior looked between the two Elves, his eyes widening as he studied more closely the two Noldor he had caught in his homeland.
He is just noticing we are twins, the elder brother mused, having seen the same expression on many faces when first they saw the identical twins. Usually their similarity would have already been noticed, but given that Elladan was bandaged, bruised, and most of his head was still covered in linen from the gash on his forehead, the elder twin could understand this.
"You could be anyone, claiming to be the sons of the Lord of Imladris," Salneril retorted, though he lowered his sword.
"Tirn believed us readily enough," Elladan mumbled, disappointed when Salneril did not trust them. He soon realized the folly of not thinking through his words before he spoke.
"Tirn is with you?" the warrior quickly inquired, a smile gracing his fair face. "He is with the Prince?"
The twins' eyes met for a moment, exchanging the same information. Wonderful. Now we must tell him that the sentry is dead.
Not wanting his twin to revisit the pain of Tirn's death, Elladan nonetheless answered Salneril's question bluntly, saying, "Tirn is not with us. He is dead." When the Wood-Elf's smile vanished, the twin sought to reassure the warrior with what he knew would be a compliment to Tirn, "He died saving the Prince. If not for Tirn, Legolas, my two brothers and I, and our human friend would have died."
With a frown, the Wood-Elf drew his sword, forcing Elladan to step before his twin again, though the warrior only ordered them gruffly, "Take me to the Prince."
Elrohir nodded and led the way, and though Elladan waited for the warrior to follow, the Wood-Elf gestured with his drawn sword for the elder twin to walk next. Falling into step behind his twin, the elder Noldo looked behind him to see that Salneril now held his sword out, aimed at Elladan's back as if the twin might flee, or turn on the warrior with the intent to kill him.
Although he had not removed their weapons, tied them, or showed them any harm at all, Elladan could tell that the Wood-Elf would do whatever it took to find his Prince, and he would not interfere with Salneril's purpose. Elladan was not about to allow Elrohir or himself to be harmed just to satisfy their pride. If it took them walking in a single file line as Elflings to their lessons for the Wood-Elf to feel safe, then Elladan would not argue. All this will be settled once we reach the camp. The warrior was suspicious, not violent, and unless he gave Elladan any reason to believe otherwise, the Noldo would not complain, for he was between Salneril and his twin, and keeping his brother safe meant more to him than being treated like a criminal.
"Are there other Wood-Elves with you?" he asked Salneril, following his twin back to the camp. They had rambled through the forest for the last half hour in their hunting, but Elrohir had memorized the way back. "We could use the protection and supplies if you've any to spare."
The Wood-Elf hesitated before responding, "There are several others dispersed through the forest. We have been looking for the Prince."
"I thought that King Thranduil sent no search parties after it had been found that his captors took to the Anduin," a curious Elrohir stated from ahead, though he added so that the Wood-Elf would not think his questioning statement was meant as criticism, "Because there were no warriors to spare, I mean – because he did not wish to expend the warriors when Eryn Galen's borders need them."
The Wood-Elf did not want to answer any of the trespassing Noldor's queries, Elladan was certain, but the warrior sighed and replied, "Once King Thranduil gave Tirn his permission to seek the Prince, every warrior and sentry on leave made the same request." Snorting in a short, weary, and halfhearted burst of amusement, the Wood-Elf told them quietly, "Tirn may not have known it, but he nearly started a revolt. Prince Legolas' friends are many, and none who could come was willing to be left behind in searching for him. King Thranduil allowed only some of us to leave, though, as the others might be needed. We have been combing the forest since, moving southwards with hope of finding the Prince, Tirn, or some sign of the Prince's abductors to pay them their dues for their crimes."
Elrohir turned round to tell both his twin and Salneril, "There was more to Tirn than even he realized, it would seem." The younger twin smiled sadly at his brother and then walked on, leading the hurried trio to the campsite.
He was ecstatic that they had been found. The Wood-Elves can help us to Eryn Galen. His twin would be freed of his responsibility for all their lives, the Ranger and Silvan could have the herbs they needed, and Legolas would be surrounded by Elves he knew, rather than strangers who he had only encountered in times of trouble. By Elladan's account, their situation was clearly improving.
Aragorn twisted in his captor's arms, keeping his head still, however, so that he would not harm himself against the blade still pressed against his throat. I have to help him.
"Sit him up," he told the she-Elf, pleading with the warrior to listen. "He cannot breathe lying down. His airway is blocked from injury."
The four Wood-Elves that had entered the clearing only moments ago shared the same acidic tone of voice, all of them emanating the same violent ambitions for the two humans, and though he could only see three of the Elves, he could feel the one behind him exuding the same hatred that marred the others' fair faces. Now that the clouds had obscured the moon and stars, the only illumination in the dark clearing was the tinge of orange light of the fire set within the cave that Jalian and he had lit earlier.
"Keep your mouth closed, human," the irate Wood-Elf behind him cautioned, removing the blade at Estel's throat temporarily before kicking the Ranger behind his knee so that Aragorn fell kneeling to the ground. The blade was rapidly replaced at his neck, and the hand fisted in his hair tightened its grip.
The Ranger ignored the pain this caused him, his attention only for Legolas, who was unconscious. His breathing slowed into almost imperceptible movements of his chest, the Silvan's pale skin was becoming nearly translucent, and the Ranger could not remain quiet when the Prince suffocated. "Sit him up," he implored the female warrior, praying that she would listen. "He cannot breathe."
The she-Elf looked to the others for guidance, but they all watched with helpless worry as their Prince struggled for air. Hanir gave the Ranger a cursory glare, warning him silently that he had best not be lying, and then quickly pulled her dark hair away from her face, tucking it into her collar so that it would not hang in her way as she tried to tend Legolas. Pulling the Silvan up from the ground, she arranged the Prince with his back against her kneeling thighs, his head lying against her stomach, and the archer's torso now inclined. Almost immediately, the Prince began to cough: blood sprayed from his mouth, dribbling down his chin in lathered rivulets as his body, though still unconscious, sought to fill his lungs. The female Wood-Elf swiped at the blood on her Prince's chin with her tunic: Hanir and the other Wood-Elves seemed to sigh a collective breath of relief to find Legolas could now breathe as well.
"It was not us that hurt 'im," Jalian tried to explain. The mercenary was in much the same state as Aragorn – that is, with a blade to his throat and a Wood-Elf keeping him immobile by it. The disfigured mercenary was trembling, his fear of the Elves more than likely stemming from the same difficulty that Estel could not reconcile: with Legolas unconscious, there was no one to ameliorate this tense situation.
"Not you? Two humans took the Prince." The warrior that the she-Elf had earlier called Naiahim glanced around him with mock surprise, adding, "And there are two humans here, with our injured Prince." Squatting so that he was face to face with the Ranger, Naiahim spat in the human's visage, the disgust and hatred the now spittle covered Aragorn saw in the Wood-Elf evincing to the Ranger that if he did not soon convince the Wood-Elves that he and Jalian were friends, then their lives were forfeit. "Swine. What have you done to him?"
Perhaps it was the sudden flash of guilt that ran through him as he thought of his responsibility in Legolas' current condition, or from Naiahim's obvious detestation for the humans he believed to have harmed his Prince, but the Wood-Elf sneered at the Ranger, Estel's answer unnecessary. Naiahim fisted his hand, ramming it into the human's stomach. Forthwith, Aragorn tried to double over from the agony of having his infected but healing burn wounds rent with the warrior's violent retribution. However, the blade at his throat immediately had him leaning backwards, rather than forwards to protect his stomach, when he realized his predicament.
"Sauron's arse, Naiahim," the Elf holding Estel complained, removing the blade from Aragorn's throat and inspecting it for blood, before replacing it at Strider's neck. "You could have slit his throat with that outburst."
Naiahim did not disagree. "It would be what he deserves. What have you done to the Prince? Why did you take him?"
He did not return the warrior's incisive glare, but watched Hanir as she opened a skin of water for Legolas. "Do not give him anything to drink," he told her, "he will choke," the Ranger explained: his shattered patience he tried to reform as he watched Hanir continue to open the flask of water.
"I asked you to be quiet, human," the Wood-Elf holding him warned, twitching the blade at the Ranger's throat though he did not cut him. "We do not need your advice."
If you wish your Prince to live, you must listen, he thought but did not say. He did not intend to make the Wood-Elves any angrier than they already were.
"Please, I am a healer, trust me. Do not give him water, not while he is unconscious." He had learned this lesson only moments before, when nearly choking Legolas by doing the same that Hanir now attempted.
"Why would you wish to help him, human?" Hanir charged as Legolas began to cough again, thankfully forgetting the flask of water so that she could keep the shaking Prince upright, and letting the opened container fall to the grass where it emptied itself. "I can feel his grief. I have lost my sister to the same fate, though it was Orcs and not humans who…" The she-Elf stopped speaking, lowering her head to watch the fallen Elda's coughing subside. "The Prince has been mistreated by these humans. He is fading."
Naiahim rose to his feet, his disbelieving stare directed at Jalian and the Wood-Elf who held him, before it fell upon Aragorn once more. "And we managed to stumble upon your camp before you could mistreat him again, Orc spawn. Did we interrupt your fun, humans?"
Aragorn struggled to understand what the Wood-Elf meant, but then realized, I tackled Legolas to the ground to shield him from the arrows. He thinks I was trying to attack his Prince. Closing his eyes, sickened at the idea that any would think he would harm the Silvan, the human nearly groaned in frustration. He was guilty in Naiahim's thinking, whether he had stolen the Prince or not, and both he and Jalian would pay for this with their lives.
The Elf behind him argued, saying, "The human was standing before you released your arrow, Naiahim. It was not until afterward that he jumped upon the Prince."
The Elf sounded as if he was defending Aragorn, but the Ranger knew better than to trust in this beneficence. "I was trying to keep him from being your target," the Ranger retorted. "I did not know who you were, or what your intentions might be."
"A likely excuse." Naiahim scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. The storm clouds over the Elf's head were crawling closer, the cold wind blowing the Wood-Elf's fair hair around his head in its own storm of flaxen braids as he accused, "Even still, you have harmed our Prince before tonight, and you will not go unpunished."
"He is fading, my friend, yes. He has been mistreated, but it was not us," the Ranger tried desperately to explain, looking up to Naiahim despite the rub of the blade against his throat. I have to diffuse this. I must make them understand. "His captors are dead. We are helping him. My brothers are in the forest hunting, they will return any moment and can explain this to you. They are –"
"Do not call me friend, human," the warrior hissed in interruption, stepping closer to Aragorn so that he peered down at the Ranger. "You have taken our Prince, and you have abused him. You will not go unpunished," he repeated.
Aragorn shook his head in negation, the blade cutting across his already marred throat but he did not care: he would not die this way, not with the Prince in less than capable hands, not when it meant that Jalian, forgiven by Legolas for his part in the Prince's abduction, would be slaughtered. He could only imagine the scene his brothers would happen upon when returning from their hunting. "You are mistaken. Let Legolas wake before you make such hasty conclusions."
"Dispatch the scarred one," Naiahim ordered vehemently of the Wood-Elf holding Jalian, ignoring Aragorn's advice and sliding his own blade from his scabbard to point it at the Ranger. "This one I wish to kill myself."