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ILovevolleyball - sorry for being cruel... nah. I'm not really! I hope this chapter doesn't kill you too much and don't worry, it will soon be over... I think! As usual thanks for the review. You are keeping me going you crazy, lovely person :) ( Btw, would love your input on my little drabble called Gone)
Ok, so here's the next one. Hope you like it and please don't forget to let me know what you think !
Chapter 15
Two days have passed since their battle with the orcs and the three brothers have not given up their search yet begin to be more and more fearful of its outcome. No further foul creatures have crossed their path but the twins have heard distant growls and noises which seem to indicate that they themselves are being tracked. They are also worried that Estel has withdrawn into a brooding silence they are unable to break however hard they try. Answering queries with monosyllables if at all and barely eating or sleeping the young man appears to be diminishing in front of their very eyes, if he were an elf they would be sure that he was beginning to fade.
" 'Dan, we can't go on, we must get Estel back to Ada" Elrohir whispers softly, leaning into his twin although he knows the object of their discussion is oblivious to his surroundings.
" Do you want to try taking him home?" his twin replies, " I have a feeling it would be impossible."The youngest twin glances over to where his human brother paces, eyes fixed upon the ground as his brother gives a wry smile." And I have no wish to enter into combat with a desperate Estel even if you do, I value my skin too much!"
Elladan is pleased to hear a small muffled chuckle issue from his twins lips at this comment, he is trying hard to keep calm for Elrohirs sake but is finding it increasingly difficult. As the eldest he feels he has a responsibility to his father to ensure the safety of both his siblings however difficult this becomes and it is even harder when trying to keep his true feelings from flowing over the bond he shares with his twin. They walk on in silence, following the young man who is glaring at the ground passing under his feet as if it is deliberately trying to foil his attempts at tracking the missing prince. Was it only yesterday that they came upon the unnerving clearing with its discomforting contents?
They had taken time for a short rest following their impromptu battle with the orcs, knowing that their search had just been made nigh on impossible however, relinquishing it was not something that any of them chose to consider. With their wounds treated all three had sat in silent thought, sipping at a restorative tea Estel had brewed and contemplating a future in which the golden haired prince they each called friend was not present. Separately they respectively had decided that whatever action the others chose to take they would not abandon the search and when two pairs of determined, deep brown eyes eventually met the steely, confrontational gaze of stormy grey an understanding had been reached that needed no words.
It had been about half a days journey later that the three companions had stumbled upon a small clearing in the woods in which the iron tang of blood lay heavy on the air, assaulting the elves senses. Walking over to the remains of the storm shot tree at its centre they soon discovered the drying remains of a not insubstantial puddle of blood pooled around its roots. Horrified, they stood as statues, and stared down at the browning mess as if mesmerised by its presence before Estel broke their fugue like states as he squatted to peer closer at the gore, then uttered a sudden exclamation and reached out to touch the rough bark of the stump with trembling fingers.
Standing silently he held out his hand for his brothers to see and there, captured gently in his sword calloused hand lay a single strand of exquisite, long, golden hair. He felt his heart may stop as he curled his fist back around the radiant filament and clutched it to his chest whilst unheeded tears began to flow freely from eyes squeezed tight in anguish. This could not be happening, he wanted to scream but sorrow had his throat in a vice like grip and he could only whimper with a strangled cry like a rabbit caught in a trap, but the evidence was overwhelming, this was Legolas's hair they all knew without doubt, that this was, moreover, his blood was also beyond question but what had become of their friend, and his captor was what puzzled them now.
As the three brothers make their sorrowful discovery the object of their deliberations is bent double, elegant hands resting upon the tops of his thighs as he tries to still his ragged breathing. It has been harder than he ever thought possible to keep moving, slowly placing one foot in front of the other in an effort to put as much distance as possible between himself and the clearing. It has been two days since his first, faltering steps led him from that Valar forsaken glade and although his strength is gradually returning, he still has to rest at too frequent intervals, a fact that frustrates him intolerably.
He has neither seen, nor heard anything to suggest his erstwhile captors, or any others, presence during his bid for freedom but is well aware that in his depleted state, senses usually to be relied upon for his life will be dulled and useless, leaving him almost as vulnerable as a human to further attack from predators of all forms. He hates himself for this perceived weakness but has come to realise that railing against his own body is going to gain him nothing and all he can do is continue moving forward and trust to his elven healing powers to restore him to normality as soon as possible. His breath gradually settles at last and, forcing himself upright, he slowly moves off again, uncaring of which direction he takes, hardly daring to hope that he may make it to shelter and safety after all, counting the steps his tired feet take to keep his mind from replaying the horrific events he has endured.
" He has gone this way!" there is a new sense of urgency in Estels voice as he follows a thin trail of blood away from the stump and the twins too pick up their pace after him.
After the initial shock and despair hope has flared once more within their chests, there is no sign of a body anywhere and the young man has discovered tell tale rusty marks left by the archers wounds when he stumbled away into the woods. Now they carefully follow this tenuous link, daring to believe it possible to find their missing friend before further harm should come his way. That the signs of his passing are so easy to read tempers their optimism slightly, knowing as they do that a wood elf in his prime would leave no trace, and this wood elf in particular is especially good at disappearing until he wishes to be found, however, it is with lighter hearts that they continue on, eyes fixed on the ground beneath their feet, senses alert for the slightest sound, drawn deeper between the trees.
.
High in the canopy, unseen by all save a few birds, Lhosson stalks his prey. He watches impassively as the archer continues on his way, noting the gradual return of strength and secretly admiring the dogged determination shown. For a few, brief, moments he again looks upon the young prince as he did whilst he was his mentor and friend and pride swells within his breast, then, the dark dagger of malevolence returns again to twist into his heart and he is lost to hatred once more.
"Soon, so soon now" his hushed whisper reaches no ears and he feels his heartbeat quicken in anticipation of what is to come."It will not be long now Erlinniel till I send him to face you."
His eyes gleam with a dark light as the elf beneath him stumbles slightly over a tree root before regaining his balance and he makes a sudden decision. He has waited for long enough. Erlinniel has waited long enough. It is time to complete the final part of his plan to wreak vengeance on this young upstart, to make him pay for his arrogant selfishness, to destroy him utterly, and he knows exactly how. Checking to ensure that the young archer is still heading in the same direction, with a sudden surge of speed, he moves a short distance ahead before carefully choosing his spot, then descending to ground level to lean nonchalantly against a tall tree. He has kept Legolas' long knife in his own quiver and now withdraws both this and his own to loosely twirl them in his hands as he waits for his prey to catch up.
.
Legolas feels his foot hit the small root of a tree and just manages to catch himself before he falls, grimacing at the lack of his usual sure footed grace. He stops briefly to glower at the offending extrusion then continues on wearily, still maintaining the count almost as a mantra, a charm, to ensure his continuing freedom and return to normality. His world has been reduced to the gradually climbing numbers and as they slowly rise so does his hope. Stumbling on, concentration fixed on his steps, he fails to spot the waiting figure standing in the shadows beneath a tall oak, walking blindly past until he is arrested by a well known voice.
" Well, if it isn't the 'honourable' young princeling of Mirkwood". Lhosson steps out of the shadows, his mouth twisted into a sneering smile. "Thought you had got away from me did you?" He spots the slight fall in the slender figures shoulders as the young archer halts, and relishes the sense of power he feels at this sign of defeat.
Standing completely still, refusing to give his adversary the pleasure of seeing the pain and misery etched upon his face Legolas musters his will to calm his features before turning to face the elder. Head held high he warily watches the whirling blades now spinning in Lhossons hands before glancing up to look into the elfs eyes. Once there his gaze is caught by the sheer hatred emanating from the formerly sparkling green orbs which seem to darken to an inky blackness as he feels the emotion increase and nearly crumbles beneath its force.
The twirling blades advance yet he refuses to let his body move, his iron will bent upon the wish to show no fear, no weakness to this elf who has changed so much he is hardly recognisable any longer as the kindly mentor he once was and he feels his heart ache for the loss. Suddenly the blades cease their frantic movement to rest crosswise on either side of Legolas' pale neck and Lhossons face leers into his, breath whispering across ashen cheeks as he leans in to stare compellingly into his sorrowful eyes.
" Tell me, 'my prince'" the elder sneers, " do you fear death?"