"Firgenwine! What in all the hells of Morgoth—I told you to—"
Enguina had never seen a more frustrated and irritated dwarf than she saw now in Gimli. Filthy and swearing at the top of his lungs, mud was flying everywhere as the grey pony hauled herself out of the mud pit she had climbed through. Lómë, long-legged and much less-inclined to trudge a foot deep in mud, skirted lightly along the edges, winding his way around trees and thick, high grass to avoid it. Enguina had to laugh; Firgenwine was so much more straightforward and no mud disgusted her. She was a hardy pony, and even though Gimli would have hated to admit it, matched him quite well.
They had left the cave several hours ago, and since that time had been faced with extremely soggy ground and terrible footing that forced them to do no more than walk as their horses slipped and sank in six inches of muck. Enguina had nearly been unseated several times as the less-than-sure-footed Lómë nearly went to his knees in the mud. She watched ahead of her as Firgenwine slipped and slid along another soggy path, and she gathered her wits about her as Lómë traversed it just as unsteadily.
"This is the worst!" shouted Gimli from ahead. "We've completely and utterly lost the trail, we've no idea where Legolas has been taken with the kidnappers, and we're sliding around in the mud like a pair of children in snow! This is ridiculous! Our traveling is going to get one of us injured, or worse, one of the horses."
Enguina felt Lómë come to a stop and give a full-body shake, spraying mud and water in every direction. She sighed and patted his neck. "They say the mud actually helps clean the horse's coat…so perhaps the mud is doing someone some good."
Gimli snorted. "Very funny, lass." He sighed heavily as he drew the pony to a halt before turning to wait for her. "I'm sorry for it, Enguina, but I'mdespairing. We've been lost for hours. What're we going to do?"
She sighed softly as Lómë drew up alongside him. "I do not know, Gimli. I have been praying steadily that somehow we will find the trail, or that it will find us. I…I do not know what we should do."
"Well this much is sure: we can't go back without him simply because we won't, so we'll have to keep moving forward. At the very least, we are moving in the direction we knew they were last headed in." He prodded Firgenwine to turn about and to get moving again.
I wish that soothed me. She nudged Lómë to follow the pony, and then she added, "We are fairly pathetic trackers, are we not?"
Gimli glanced back at her and winked. "What were we thinking, coming out here after him on our own without Aragorn? We're utterly mad."
"Our hearts would never have let us wait, Gimli. Part of me wishes…" she muttered, and then sighed again. "Part of me wishes we had never come out here to Ithilien. We could have waited until after the wedding. And all because…because…" It was no use; she could not say it out loud. She felt somewhat responsible for what had happened. They would not be out here if Legolas had not thought she was too stressed; they would be back at home, planning for the wedding. She shook her head. "If only we had not come."
"Ah Enguina, don't travel that road. We can only do what we can now."
"But we could have searched for a home afterwards," she added miserably. "Instead, we were out here when we should have been back in Minas Tirith—"
"Would it've been better to search for a husband than an intended?"
"Certainly not!" Enguina exclaimed.
"Well, considering we've got no idea as to what these men and elves are after, I wouldn't concern yourself too much with what we could've done to prevent it. Nothing could be done, Enguina. Just let it go." He turned back to smile at her. "At least they have no idea they're being followed."
"Unless they had spies on the way."
"Now you're determined to be a worry-wart."
She frowned. "I guess we each have our moments, Gimli." The clouds still hung low on the horizon, and the fog hovered so that it obscured even her excellent vision. She heard Gimli grumbling about it before her once again, but she continued to squint into the deepening gloom. Ahead of them, the plain opened a bit, and she was glad to see that; at the moment, they were tired of the woods. As they exited the last set of trees, Enguina saw a small, dark shape appear off to the west near a standing clump of trees.
"Confound this fog," muttered Gimli again, and Enguina urged Lómë into a trot to meet up with Firgenwine. She drew up alongside him and pointed towards the shape.
"Gimli, can you see that dark object to the west near that grove of trees?"
He shook his head. "Enguina, even if I could see that far, I can't see anything in this fog. Your eyes are far better than mine; what do you see?"
At that moment, the wind blew towards them and both horses snorted at once and began backing away through the tall grass. "Whoa, Lómë, stand," Enguina said, and then to Gimli, "The horses do not like the scent. That is not a good sign." She narrowed her eyes, trying to make the vision clearer. "Unless my eyes are deceiving me, I would say that the shape is getting larger."
"Larger? As in: moving this way?"
She nodded, and Gimli noticed her hands tighten on her rein. "I think there is more than one shape…yes, definitely…three. Three dark shapes are moving this way…the other two are a bit smaller."
Gimli squinted hard in the direction she was looking and after staring hard could only just make out the faintest outline of a large black shape. "Are they horses, Enguina? Riders?"
"I do not think so," she replied softly. "The heads are all wrong…and the way they are leaping…"
"Leaping?" The sound of that worried Gimli greatly. "Enguina, leaping indicates a predator—" He was interrupted by Firgenwine's sudden whirling about on her haunches as she tried to take off into the woods. Gimli halted her at the last moment and turned her back, urging her forward; she would not go back to Lómë's side, and it was the first time he had ever struggled with her. "Firgenwine! What do they know that we don't?" When Enguina did not respond, Gimli looked up at her, watching her face gather in fear, her eyes widening. "What is it? Enguina, what do you see?"
"Run!"
She turned Lómë on his haunches much as Firgenwine had, but instead of returning to the woods, he bolted down along the treeline, mud flying from beneath his hooves. Firgenwine, who had never been able to truly keep pace with Lómë, was pacing him now, and the clueless dwarf on her back simply held on for dear life. He was yelling something, but Enguina could not hear him. He had no idea what they were running from, so he looked back over his shoulder. What he saw stole his breath away.
Bounding through the mud were three gigantic warg-like creatures, the one in the center much larger and blacker than the others racing ahead of it. Even from a distance of this kind, Gimli could see their claws tearing at the earth and the sharp fangs glistening as they snarled aloud. Regular wargs were terrifying, but these creatures…they had certainly been spawned from hell.
"They're gaining on us, lass!" he shouted to her as their horses continued to run flat-out. They could not run forever, not with their horses more tired than they were.
"Keep running, Gimli!" she called back. "I am thinking!"
"And when the horses tire?"
This had been the question Enguina had been trying to win over in her mind. She could hear Lómë's breathing, and she knew he could only go for so much longer before he could not keep the pace any more. Ilúvatar, protect us! Please, please!
She had no experience with a creature so large, and she had no idea how to combat. It was nearly twice the size of Lómë, never mind Firgenwine! How were they to battle with it without getting killed? No, hand-to-hand was out of the question, but…perhaps…
"I have a plan," she told Gimli. Tying her reins in a knot, she looped them over her horn and touched Lómë's neck. "Keep running, Lómë," she whispered, and then she turned in the saddle, drawing her bow, and aiming it back at the creatures.
If Gimli could have laughed at this situation, now would have been the time to do it. Leaning over and drawing the bow up to her face, Enguina's draw looked so familiar it was hard not to imagine it was Legolas there at his side. Her focus was the same, the way her eyes narrowed at the edges as she laid in the course of the arrow through the fog. He watched as she steadied herself, her balance perfect in the saddle as she aimed directly at the largest warg's eye. She loosed the arrow, and Gimli watched as it arched through the air and headed straight for its intended target, but just at the last possible moment, the warg jerked aside and it knocked into its shoulder. The warg never slowed.
She gritted her teeth and prepared to release another arrow. "Gimli, do you have your throwing axes?" she asked, and he shouted an affirmative before drawing one out. He was not quite as confident as her in his balance. "Aim for the smaller ones!"
Take this, you ugly brutes! Aiming for their eyes and hearts, Gimli loosed an axe for the guard on the left, Enguina for the guard on the right. The axe struck the warg directly between the eyes, the force of it splitting open the animal's head, and dropping it immediately. The other warg stumbled, blinded in one eye, but still kept on, putting a burst of speed and racing out in front of the other warg, furious. Gimli prepared another axe, but Enguina had this animal covered. Firing three arrows in rapid succession, she hit the warg in the other eye, the snout, and then finally, hit the other eye so hard the point blew through the warg's socket and skull and into its brain. With a splash of blood, the beast fell.
"Nice shot, lass!" Gimli hollered, delighted at their progress, and the adrenaline of their flight and their kills so far lending them courage. The dwarf tried another throwing axe and the elf a few more arrows, but even though they stuck into the warg's hide and shoulders, they still did not slow him down. "This is no good," Gimli complained. "We're going to need our hand weapons!"
Enguina's teeth clenched again; in hand-to-hand combat, she was at a loss. She could hold her own perhaps for a few minutes, but against this monstrous creature? She watched him draw his double-bladed axe and heft it in both hands as the beast gained ground rapidly. Lómë's breaths were coming out in pants, and Firgenwine was nearly a full length behind the black now.
"Gimli, it is gaining! Hurry—"
"Set yourself up for a killing blow, Enguina!" Gimli called to her.
"What?!" she called, her eyes widening at his words. "What?"
"You'll know it when you see it!" he hollered back at her, and then he called Firgenwine to an abrupt halt and dropped out of her saddle, keeping the axe close to his chest and rolling over and then to his feet as he slapped her on the rump. She took off ahead to get away from the charging warg as Gimli stood facing the creature.
"Gimli!" Enguina screamed his name, her stomach dropping, her heart wrenching within her as her head snapped around to see him hefting his axe just as the gigantic warg came running at him. The hideous face snapped at him, huge fangs coming down mere inches from the dwarf's beard as terror consumed Enguina. Before she even knew what was happening, she was yanking back on the bit and Lómë was flinging up his head, coming to a sliding stop in the dirt with mud spraying out on all sides. As the horse whirled about, snorting and rearing, she stared, transfixed.
Gimli stood before the beast, slashing at him with the double-blade. He knocked it across the face, ducked under its massive jaws, and came up to his full height at the animal's shoulder, slicing a deep wound there. Snarling, the warg tried to spin on him, raising one huge paw to clap him across the chest and sweep him from his feet. When Gimli touched down, he rolled, hugging his axe close to his body as the warg's jaws snapped shut just where he had been. A paw moved to come down on him and hold him in place, but he sliced the pad of it and rolled away again while the beast roared, now even more furious than before. Lunging and snapping at Gimli, the dwarf met every paw with his axe, slashing and cutting as much as he could, praying Enguina was nearly ready with that shot.
Enguina spurred Lómë forward, and the horse reared in fear. She leaned down and touched his neck. "Lómë! Gimli is in danger! Forward, now!" She spurred him again, and this time, against his better judgment, he leapt towards the fight, Enguina knocking an arrow as they flew.
Gimli stumbled back, the warg reared back on his hind legs, and then the dwarf lunged suddenly forward, trying to plunge his axe into its chest. The beast was able to save himself by moving slightly to the side, the axe embedding into his right side, near the shoulder. Screaming, the warg smacked Gimli aside with his caws, but the axe remained stuck fast, striking bone. His prey, meanwhile, was rolling aside, and he went after it, snapping, completely oblivious to the elf on horseback.
Aiming for the warg's eye, Enguina loosed the arrow and it plunged through in a spurt of blood and other viscous substances. Roaring and delirious with the pain of the wound, the warg struck out in that direction, launching itself at Lómë and as the horse spun in fear, knocked its claws directly into Enguina, dropping her from the horse's back as Lómë fell onto his side.
"Lómë!" she screamed, rolling to her feet as she felt the warg's horrid breath on her skin. She snapped off another arrow as it leaned down to snap Lómë's neck with its long fangs, and then, roaring, fell back as the horse scrambled up to his feet and bolted. She would never have blamed her black as the beast then turned to her, its hideously scarred face far too close for comfort. He turned even further and leaned forward to snap his jaws over her head, but she got her bow up just in time to loose an arrow into the roof of his mouth. Slamming his mouth closed, the arrow snapped in two, and he snarled, raking his claws down across her shoulder and knocking her backwards ten or fifteen feet. She continued to roll back, and when she got to a knee, she realized that her bow lay five feet behind her—it had been yanked from her hand during the confusion…and he was coming for her!
Ilúvatar in Heaven! Please!
"AGHHHH!" The warg leapt for her and was knocked in the ribcage by the last of Gimli's axes. It stumbled to the side, thrown off balance by the force of his attack, and Enguina wasted no time as she darted forward to reclaim her bow. As soon as it was in her hand, she fired another arrow; this time, it tore out the warg's other eye. Screaming in agony, scratching his face to dislodge the arrow, he stumbled around trying to find the two of them on scent. Enguina yanked out Legolas's knife, the only hand-combat weapon she had thought to bring, and tried to prepare herself for when he found her.
Gimli, however, used his axe as a ladder; swinging onto the beasts back from its leg, he landed on the beast's back, gripping around its neck with his knees. It tried to dislodge him, but Enguina lunged forward with the knife, slicing open the lower part of the warg's jaw and neck, gore everywhere. But still, the beast stood, slashing forward with his claws and tossing her aside as though she weighed nothing. And while distracted, Gimli hacked down along that neck with his short axe and severed the beast's spinal cord.
One, two, three…it took for hacks with his axe to drive all the way through the animal's neck and cleave it from his torso. The body collapsed and the head rolled several feet away, Gimli falling into the empty space as there was nothing to hold him there and he lay there on the ground, his axe falling from his hand as he tried to catch his breath.
Moments passed, and he finally lifted his head to see Enguina, looking right back at him, eyes glistening, blood all over her and, he found, himself. Her breathing was just as labored as his own, and her face held the same adrenaline, the same fear as his did. She lowered herself to her knees to rest, and he could tell quite easily that she had wounds just as well as he did…and just as awful. He grunted and sat up in the mud, bracing himself on his knuckles as they simply looked at one another.
"Well…" he muttered, "that could've been easier."
"Nice work," she said back, swiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her shaking hand. "But you will never…and I mean ever do that to me again. Do you understand me?"
He saw something in her eyes then, and he recognized it for what it was—love, and fear that he was going to be killed, and friendship. He sighed and then struggled across the few feet that separated them to hug her fiercely. Enguina gasped as she tried to hold back her tears; she was not going to lose him. He was safe…and she was safe…and they had beaten this massive beast.
They held each other for as long as they wanted, both simply too relieved to do anything else. Behind them, they could hear hoof beats, and Gimli opened his eyes to see Firgenwine headed their way, Lómë several lengths behind her. Gimli smiled and then released her slowly, wincing at his own wounds, and knowing as soon as he looked down that hers might be worse.
"That isn't pretty, lass," he said, and she followed his gaze, then she nodded towards him.
"Yours are not pretty either."
"Well, since we should be dead right now, I've got no complaints at all!" He laughed and lifted his face toward the heavens. "Thank you, Eru, for saving our hides once again!"
"Amen," she said softly, thanking Him a million times in her head as Gimli hauled himself to his feet. "Where are you going?"
"To get our wound supplies," he replied, nodding towards her. "That's deep."
She nodded. There was no way she could get to her feet at the moment, so she watched him walk to his pony and beginning drawing supplies out of the saddle bags. "Gimli, what was that creature?"
"It's a warg of some kind."
"I have never heard of one so large," she added, shaking her head. "Where…where do you think it came from?"
"I've no idea," he replied as he came back to her side, handing her a water skin as he nearly fell to the ground beside her again. He winced when she looked at him, watching him roll his shoulder, and sighed. "If I had to guess, I'd say it came from them. Wargs hunt easy prey without a master, and we were by no means easy prey." He gave her a smile. "We made a good team today."
She smiled at him. "I was terrified you were going to get your head bitten off."
"I thought that was going to happen to you when you lost your bow. I guess there was no good shot to take down that beast, hmm?"
"No," she replied with a grin, "just good, old-fashioned head-chopping."
"Oh yes," Gimli said with a chuckle, "we could certainly use some more old-fashioned decapitations. As a matter of fact, I think I might be able to think of a few people that might deserve some." His eyes darkened. "You're bound to see more of them on this trip."
There was silence for a few moments as both of them began taking supplies and cleaning their wounds. Neither of them wanted to admit it or be the first to complain, but it was a painful process, and they were both extremely quiet during it. After a few moments, as Gimli began spreading a soothing balm over the tear in his shoulder beneath his tunic, he looked at her thoughtfully, though her back was to him. She had turned aside, as she needed to undo her tunic to try and mend the wounds.
"Gimli," she said suddenly, "if those wargs were sent by someone, do you think it might profit us anything to follow the tracks?"
Gimli was silent for a moment, thinking. "Well, it might not lead us exactly to our captors, but the tracks should get us close. I'm sure those beasts left miles of them, and it would be our best lead to find Legolas. I think it'll work!"
"I would wager my heart that they are nervous that we are following them, and so they sent their beasts to stop us. This will be perfect; they probably think we are dead and so we will undoubtedly surprise them when we catch up." Straightening her tunic, she turned back to him. "We have lost so much time and traveled at a great pace in the wrong direction. We should leave as soon as we are able."
Gimli nodded. "I agree. This is our chance to make up lost time and to find these traitors." He winked at her. "Now, you're thinking like a tracker! That's a good plan.
She lowered her gaze and blushed. "Oh, Gimli, I hope he is at the end of this trail. This journey has been hard to endure, and I am so worried about him." Then she suddenly laughed and winced, touching her left arm and frowning. "Look at me, still worried about him when we are here, injured and falling apart."
"We're still breathing," Gimli pointed out, "that counts for something! And if anyone or anything else comes our way, we can take 'em!"
She laughed again, her spirits a bit higher. "You have that correct, Gimli." The dwarf pulled himself up and stretched, testing the binding on the wounds on his arms.
"I'll check on the horses while you finish up, and then we'll be on our way."
It was late evening, and after several long days of traveling, Vilyath and her bedraggled band nearly crawled to the outer gate of the little village they called 'home.' In the drizzle that still fell, the gatekeeper never even questioned them. Knowing exactly who Vilyath was, he allowed them to pass into the wayward town of Londeglai.
A small group of shacks and a tavern made up the center of town. There were numerous hitching posts, a small grassy area where livestock could graze, and at the very center, a well to draw water for both people and animals alike. Londeglai was not really a harbor; it bordered directly on a pond that joined to a stream that caught up to a larger river eventually. It was really a safe haven, a few shacks in the middle of nowhere that provided a place for the people who belonged nowhere to stay. Those needed refuge from the law had created the place, and there was no rule or law there except the honor of thieves; if anyone of authority in Gondor had known of the place, they would have disbanded it, and more than likely burned it, long ago.
Instead, this was the place where Legolas found himself coming awake. His head was swimming; the last thing that had happened to him, that he could remember, was crawling on his knees to reach the horses. His body ached all over; he could barely lift his head. There was such a weight on his chest that he felt as though someone had been sitting on it for hours. He found his breathing was heavy and he knew that he was very ill. The wounds were awful; he tried not to think of them. He could do nothing about any of this situation and clearly his escape attempt had been ill-fated from the start. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the thick cord that bound his wrists to the horn of the saddle. No, he was not escaping anywhere. If, and that was a hope that Legolas had to keep with him, Enguina and Gimli had survived Girith's attack, he might be lucky enough to be rescued. He had no choice but to wait until then, or try for an opportune moment.
He tilted his head back, stretching it against the pain and stared into the night sky, finding pinpricks of light. Honestly, Father? Ilúvatar, what were you thinking? I was not, am not, interested in a test this close to my wedding, with this long of a separation from my loved ones, from my betrothed. You are keeping me alive, which I am very grateful for…but I feel like hell. Please…please bring an end to this rather quickly; I would rather be in the arms of my love. He slowly released a breath, humbled. And this is not the best prayer to ever leave my thoughts, but…I am not in the best of conditions, am I? You will have to allow me some grace, Father.
Leaning forward slightly, he began to slide his wrists from the saddle horn, but a dagger fell down across his hands. "Really, elf? You're going to try and escape again?" The tone was full of disbelief, and when Legolas raised his eyes he came face-to-face with Dragsúl.
"It was completely unsuccessful the last two times," added Omarom from the other side of him. "I would not waste my time again, Prince."
"On the contrary," he muttered to them, trying to keep his wits about himself, "the saying goes, 'do first, but if you fail, do again.' You can only prevent me from trying."
"What if I knock you unconscious into next week?" snarled Dragsúl, digging the edge of the dagger into the back of the elf's hands.
"Dragsúl, enough," Vilyath snapped, tugging her mare into line to shove his horse aside and away from Legolas. "Does the Prince not have enough scars to last him? His last escape caused him more trouble than us, and we lost no more time. Let it be."
Dragsúl snorted and turned his horse aside. "As you wish."
"What exactly were you thinking?" she said, turning back to him, Omarom still remaining on his left side. "It would never have worked, you know."
Legolas tilted his head and coughed away from her before tilting his head back and giving her a wry smile. "I had to try; you would not recall Girith."
She outright laughed at him, and it stung. "You are such a fool! You were thinking you would ride off to save them? Captured yourself and still you must play the hero!" He tried to ignore her then, taking in as much about the surrounding shacks as he could, from the water in the trough to the dirtiest shutter, but she continued, "I suppose you can think of nothing but them, so grieve if you must. They will not have survived him." A muscle twitched in Legolas's cheek, but it was the only outward sign that he had even heard what she had to say. She smirked at him. "So, you have decided I am not worthy of your temper?"
She was teasing him; he knew it, tried to refuse to give in to it, but he was angry and so he looked at her, fixing her with an icy glare. "No, you are very worthy of it, I assure you. I am not grieving, and I have no intention of doing so. My friends are not dead; but I hope you all, at least, are enjoying yourselves, for you will soon regret every act you have performed in evil."
"We will mark your words," Omarom said, and Vilyath heard no sarcasm in the elf's voice. He believed there would be some retribution, and Vilyath could not pretend that a part of her did not agree with him.
"Once your father gives us the land we seek, you will be free to go," Vilyath reminded him. "Nothing more is going to happen to you." She sniffed at him, rolling her eyes. "And I regret nothing that we have already done." But there was something in the way she said it that made him wonder if she meant that.
"You are going to fail," he whispered to her, his eyes hard as steel. "People like you, like yours always do. You cannot win; you will never win."
"Shut your mouth," she whispered back, and he shook his head.
"Would it irritate you if I just kept on?" She struck out at him with an open hand quite suddenly, and it was a testament to his reflexes that even as ill as he was, he had the ability to avoid her, just raising his chin enough so she would miss.
"You are full of snide remarks today."
"I do try." She raised a hand to slap him across the face again, but he jutted his chin out in defiance then. "You could try that again, but I doubt that your second attempt would be more successful than your first."
"We are here," Omarom interrupted, and Vilyath turned her horse immediately away from him. Legolas turned his eyes to the establishment in front of him. Shutters were falling off, tiles from the roof were loose, and bricks were falling from the outer walls. Other than that, Legolas figured Gimli would probably see it and sputter: A fine establishment for some drink! At this thought he smiled and when the horse pulled up with the others outside of the Warg's Prey and the travelers dismounted, the elf did not even blink an eye when they dragged him down from his horse.
He could not, however, put one foot in front of the other, so Omarom and Dragsúl had to half-carry, half-drag him inside. When he did make it inside, he could not help but notice the Warg was mostly just a dilapidated inn, one that might have been similar to The Green Dragon of the Shire, where he had some excellent ale, though Legolas could hardly believe that place would ever go to shambles as this despicable place. The tables were dirty and the chairs were worse, some seeming as though they might collapse if you set your backside on them, and the glasses…dare one even comment?
A figure in a dark cloak caught his attention coming down a staircase toward the rear of the establishment. Legolas heard muttering from some of the men around him, but he could see a smile on Vilyath's face as she moved forward to meet him, holding her hands out to take his. There was no doubt when he took her hands in one of his and stroked her cheek with a single finger that this was 'the Master' they had been speaking of all along.
"You have done well, Yesta," he said to her, and the voice made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Though Legolas could not see the look in his eyes as he spoke, he already knew it quite well; he had seen it on others who cared only for passion. The light in Vilyath's eyes held a promise that made him sick.
The elf's finger dropped, and he shook the hood back from his face as he turned to look at the rest of his men. "You have all done well," he said to them, and then he smiled. "Take some rest, gentlemen." Legolas found his eyes fixed on that scarred face.
It had once been a handsome face; an elf of the Golden Wood he had clearly been and of noble rank and stature. Only Ilúvatar knew what he had done to fall among the lowest dredges of society. Legolas's eyes were drawn automatically to the scars crisscrossing his face; a set ran down the right side from ear to chin, in five deep lines, and another set of them ran straight down the center from forehead to chin. Wherever the scars had come from, it looked as though the elf had been in a fight with an eagle. In disgust, they reminded him of the white paint spread across the Uruks faces during the War, creatures he had spent far too much of his time killing.
The 'Master' turned his eyes towards him. "And welcome, welcome to our guest," he said quite lavishly, spreading his arm. "I hope you are prepared for a bit of a stay."
Legolas lifted his head to meet his eyes evenly. He found, as he stared into those blue eyes, that they had a bit of a crazed look to them; his impression was that the elf's mind was not entirely all there. Another thing Legolas noticed in them was anger; it simmered close to the surface. Legolas was in no shape to provoke him…at least not now, so he decided to remain silent for the moment.
"I assume you know why you are here?"
"She may have mentioned it once or twice," he replied wryly, "and yet I cannot imagine that she is serious. Do you realize who you are dealing with?"
He smiled darkly, and the scars became a bit more menacing. "Do you know who you are dealing with, Prince Legolas?"
Legolas could not resist. "I did not realize you were anyone of importance," he replied simply. "Should I know you? Please, tell me who you are so you can strike fear into my heart by your very name." He heard several gasps around him, but he felt the eyes of Vilyath most keenly. Probably a bit much with the sarcasm…Ilúvatar, forgive me.
"I will allow your tongue for the moment," the elf replied smoothly. "Have you been…at home recently, Legolas?"
"At home?" he asked, thrown by the question. "Not for several years, and it was not very lengthy of a stay when I was there."
"I have been…" he cast about for a word, "plaguing your homeland now for four years; not so much myself, but others I have been using to cast annoyances their way, such as the goblins off in the Misty Mountains. Every once in a while they run down and kill someone—just for sport."
Legolas sneered at him. "These are your own people, and you would have alliances with goblins? Evil creatures; they terrorize and kill. You are no better than they."
"I asked the question, because you might have heard my name if you were at home. And your people, Prince, are not my people," he sneered right back in Legolas's face. "I was cast out from my people, in dear Lórien, more years ago now than I care to remember." He leaned back, standing tall. "I am Bragolaur; I have been leader of this band for many years, and I have been living here for an untold number of them. Londeglai has been my hidden fortress, but no longer." He smiled at Legolas, and again it cast a frightening light into his eyes. "No, soon your home will be my home…and your father will be cast out."
Legolas coughed and shook his head. "You are a fool."
"A fool, am I? My men have been watching you for some time, Legolas." He glanced to Dragsúl. "Were those with him killed?"
"They were dealt with in several ways, my Lord," Dragsúl replied with a grin, and Bragolaur nodded.
"Excellent." He turned back to Legolas, his eyes hardening. "I know that your friend, the King of Gondor, has a history of being quite relentless, and I have heard stories about the…dwarf—" he spat on the ground, "you have called your friend." Legolas lunged forward with sudden strength at the insult to Gimli, but hands held him fast. "If he has been killed and we are days ahead of your friend, the King, then I should very much be in the clear."
"Girith took care of him," Vilyath said and Bragolaur grinned.
"An excellent death, then. So you have met him—Girith?"
"I heard him," Legolas stated through gritted teeth. "But you cannot know the dwarf if you think a single warg can stop him."
"Girith is not simply any warg, Prince."
"My friends are not simple folk either; they are warriors," he stated. "And when they find you, which they will, you can be assured there will not be much mercy to go around."
Bragolaur stepped up and glared into his eyes. "Even if they do somehow manage Girith and they arrive here, they cannot beat me. Not even the King of Gondor could best me—not in hand-to-hand combat."
Legolas snorted. "You cannot be serious if you know anything of him. Not one can stand beneath the power of Andúril, Flame of the West. What power do you possess that will overcome him in battle?"
"Does he never make mistakes?" Bragolaur snapped, his face twisted in anger.
"I have never seen him make one, save once. Many have tried to kill him and failed. But if the threat of him alone is not enough, there are others. You will die, Bragolaur; I can almost see it."
"You are awfully cocky for a captive," he said softly, menacingly.
"That's what I've been saying," murmured Dragsúl, and the elf suddenly lashed out and thumped Legolas in the ribs with his fist. The pain caused his knees to give out and he fell, his captors letting him, his cracked ribs screaming; his head swam and he nearly retched, catching himself on one hand and coughing over and over.
"I rather enjoyed that," Bragolaur continued in that same soft voice. Then, he directed his words to Legolas, "Your father will give me his land in return for you, or he shall see you return in pieces."
"You know nothing of my father," Legolas spat, groaning. "He would never betray his people and give away the land he has cared for since the time of his father, King Oropher. You will never even see a piece of Eryn Lasgalen. You might as well kill me now."
"I could," he replied, flexing his fingers in irritation, "but then I would have no ransom, and I want desperately to see the look on Thranduil's face when he surrenders to me. We have wandered in the wilderness, homeless, for too many years. This is our chance!"
"So you need to take my homeland?" he asked, lifting his head, still on his knees. "You cannot have it," he stated, staring fiercely into his eyes. "I would die before I become leverage for you."
"We shall see about that, Prince." He glanced at Omarom. "Make him uncomfortable upstairs, if you take my meaning, until we are prepared for journey." Omarom and Dragsúl drew Legolas to his feet again and began dragging him roughly towards the stairs. Bragolaur turned and reached an outstretched hand to Vilyath, taking her upper arm in his hand, and none-too-gently. Legolas's senses had dulled in his weakness, but not enough that he could not hear the words he spoke low in her ear.
"And you, my sweet, are coming with me; it has been too long since you have pleased me."
Legolas's lip curling with disgust, he wrenched his head back around and called out to the elf, "What happened to your face?" He felt the thud of Dragsúl's fist across his face, and he fell to his knees again, this time banging them on the steps.
The knuckles of Bragolaur's hand holding Vilyath turned white, but she had enough sense not to wince. The elf looked straight at Legolas as he raised his other hand to touch the edges of the right-most scar. "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made to…get something that you have always wanted. Have you ever wanted anything so badly that you would do anything to have it?"
Legolas assumed that was a rhetorical question, but he made to answer it anyway. "No," he replied. "I would never do anything. There are some things no man should do."
He smiled. "That is the difference between you and I, Legolas. Some things are worth any sacrifice. I would give my left hand to have that same feeling of…power again. I have never felt anything quite like it since."
Legolas was not completely sure he knew what Bragolaur meant, but if those scratches were from hands and not an eagle as he had originally thought…then he could piece together the rest. His stomach roiled within him, and he glared at Bragolaur. "You…are a sick bastard. When you die…you will rot in the pits with the demons of—"
The words had been muttered, but the other elf picked up on them easily enough. "Legolas, when you place your hands on a woman, you know where they belong."
There was a moment of silence.
"Whoever did that to you," Legolas growled low, "should have torn your throat out."
"You will never speak of her again," Bragolaur suddenly snarled with irrational anger, and Vilyath did grimace at the amount of pressure he placed on her arm. "I should have killed her then, but next time, she will not be so lucky. I was too slow; I did not have the strength. If I ever come face to face with her again, I will take her life myself." Seeming to come back to his mind for a moment, Bragolaur raised an eyebrow at him. "Now, I believe you have some tying up to get to and I…to a much more pleasurable experience. If you will excuse us." He nodded to Omarom. "Take him away."
The sun had already set, but there was still enough of a moon that Aragorn could dismount and find a trail. According to Soronar's directions, they were only about a day and a half's ride from this Londeglai. Even though there had been inches of rain and they were six to seven inches deep in mud (Brego kept reminding him), Aragorn could still take notice of several changes that had taken place along this path. Ever since he had mentioned Bragolaur, Arwen had been driving herself in such a manner that worried him. She had to be sore; she had to be exhausted; yet, he could feel nothing from her, and she would not let him see how she was really feeling. He glanced up at her, found her watching him intently, and he thought immediately they should have halted more. He could have sighed; she would have had none of it.
"What is it, Aragorn?" she asked softly. She knew quite well that though she was an elf and she could hunt well enough, he could see signs in the ground and earth like no one she had ever seen. There was nothing as watching him in action, in the hunt. She shook her head. "I cannot hope to interpret what you are seeing. Tell me."
Her voice sounded a bit lighter than it had over the last several hours, so he smiled at her words. "I believe that our friends have departed from the captor's trail."
"What?" she asked worriedly. "Would they have reason to do so?" Then she sighed. "Were they simply lost; they could not find the trail?"
"I would assume they were lost," he replied. "They are headed northwest, Legolas northeast. If they could not see the trail in the dark and the mud, they were forced to choose. But there is something else here, the tracks of something strange and large."
"Warg-like," Arwen said. Those tracks she could clearly see from the saddle. Asfaloth snorted as Aragorn nodded.
"Definitely, but much larger."
"So…now what?" she asked, her voice full of frustration as she leaned her arms on the pommel of her saddle. "We have to make a choice as well, do we not?
Aragorn returned to Brego and mounted easily, coming to stand beside her again. "We do have to make a choice. We could follow Enguina and Gimli, but I am not sure this would be a wise decision."
"Because we may lose the trail altogether."
Aragorn nodded. "If we continue to follow this Vilyath's trail, we will surely reach Londeglai; she was not lost."
"What about Enguina and Gimli? Could they be in danger? Are they so lost they will not find their way home again?"
"The warg tracks are older than theirs," he stated with a sigh. "I am wondering if they were not following the warg on purpose. If we follow them, it is possible we may lose Legolas completely. We must find Bragolaur, we must find Legolas, before they reach the edge of Eryn Lasgalen. If we hurry from here, we might be able to catch them before they leave Londeglai. Soronar told us their intention was to meet there. We might be able to catch Bragolaur as well."
Arwen was silent for a moment, looking at the divergent paths. "What…what if—"
Waving a hand, Aragorn cut her thought in two. "Absolutely not."
"Aragorn," she chided him, "it is logical."
"Forget it entirely. Logical or not, the risk is too great."
"But it will save time! We cannot be in two places at once, but if we split up—"
"Arwen," Aragorn said warningly, a clear sign that she ought to drop the matter.
She pushed him instead. "We might be able to save Legolas and help Enguina in one shot. You can follow Legolas's trail to Londeglai, and I will follow Enguina's. This way, you can catch Bragolaur, and I will catch up with our friends, and Enguina never has to know that he was behind…" She drifted off when she saw the look in his eyes. "I can see that you do not like this idea."
"Are you certain?" he asked in the driest voice possible.
After a moment of thought, she realized she did not want him to take on Bragolaur alone. "I agree with you. How about you follow Enguina, and I will go after—"
"Out of the question!" he said, exasperated. "Arwen…" He closed his eyes, drawing in patience and breathing out frustration. "Neither one of us is going anywhere alone; can you not understand?"
"Understand what?" she asked, but he could sense the tempest behind it. Her every movement now seemed to imply that he thought she was too weak to take them on herself. How wrong she was!
"Arwen, I do not want to risk the chance that one of us will walk into Bragolaur without the other. We do not know their full strength, we do not yet know the full extent of Bragolaur's madness, and we do not know how poor the condition of Legolas is at the moment. We shall certainly have better odds taking them together instead of alone." He gave her a little smile and reached over to tip her chin towards him with a finger. "Arwen, you are one of the strongest people I know, and one of the most capable fighters; do not doubt my knowledge of that. Alone, we are strong, but together we are unstoppable."
The fire in her eyes died. "You are right, of course," she said softly. "I am…worried, about Enguina and Gimli out here alone with Bragolaur on the loose."
"The faster we find Legolas, the faster we can prevent the other two from doing something incredibly stupid." He gave her a smile. "Cheer up. We shall be upon them faster than you know, and then Bragolaur will wish he had never been born." His smile became grim. "He will rot in the darkest dungeon. Though, Thranduil may probably enjoy locking him away forever in Eryn Lasgalen."
"Any situation that puts him out of reach forever would be perfect," she agreed. She said another silent prayer for their friends, and Aragorn did as well, reaching to her and providing them both with comfort. Above all else, she had to hope that Enguina would not find Bragolaur first. Arwen was certainly not worried that her friend would kill him; that was the best scenario. But Arwen's greatest fear was if Enguina found him and completely froze in time. What if he, Bragolaur, remembered all those years ago in Lothlórien; what had happened, what he had done, and now tried to regain what he had lost? What if no one could stop him? There was no choice; they had to stop them…they had to. She breathed a sigh, looking a bit more renewed, even in the dim light.
Aragorn met her eyes and returned his hands to his reins.
"Shall we ride on for a little while longer?"
Within moments, they were following Legolas's trail again.