She had been nearly dozing on horseback before she came suddenly wide awake. At first, she thought Lómë had stumbled as he trotted along, but he seemed perfectly fine; Gimli, riding behind her had not called for her either. So what in the world had woken her?
Enguina realized that her chest felt…strange. Releasing the rein with one hand, she felt her chest, her heart, and found she was struggling to breathe. Fear wracked her, and she would have called for Gimli if she had not felt something. Felt? No…heard. Her heart burned within her, and she heard a voice inside her head…and that voice…it was his voice.
She was so shocked that she nearly fell from the saddle rather than continue to two-point along and when she heard it again, she whispered his name as a prayer in her head. Legolas. Legolas. Legolas, we are here beloved! I am coming for you!
"G…Gimli!" she cried out suddenly, her hand still clutching her chest. At the sound of her startled voice, Lómë slowed to a walk. Gimli spurred Firgenwine in the sides to catch up to her and he turned to her, completely alarmed.
"Enguina, what is it, lass? Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost!"
"I heard him," she whispered, turning her head to look at him with tears in her eyes. "I heard his voice inside my head, asking for me, saying my name. I heard him, Gimli. He is alive, for certain! Alive!"
Gimli stared at her. "You heard—? Legolas? He spoke to you? In your head?" The dwarf was confounded by her startling revelation, but he did not want to ignore it. Even with tears in her eyes, she was filled with certainty. It was the first time she had seemed alive herself in the last few days…and he wanted to believe that Legolas was well and that he had spoken to her. He wanted desperately to believe it.
"I know it is impossible; I know it!" she said as she wiped her face. "But I swear, I can almost feel his breath on my cheek, as if he were whispering it in my ear. Praise Ilúvatar, he is near! I know it! They are close, so close! We are nearly there, Gimli!"
He laughed aloud. "I believe you, lass! I believe you! Let's pick up the pace and follow them, then, eh? Let's get there and get him out!"
Enguina's eyes danced forward and she suddenly noticed a faint, flickering light among the trees several miles to the west. She wondered at it for a moment, but she did not voice her thoughts to Gimli for fear that she was wrong. But they were downwind, so it took only a moment for the dwarf to smell what she was seeing.
"Do you smell that, Enguina?" he asked. "You're right! We've got to be close because that's—"
"A campfire!" she exclaimed with him, but her voice was still quiet. "I can see it to the west, a flickering in the trees. I am worried that our voices will carry in the stillness of this night.
"We've found them," he said in awe. "We've got them now, lass. We'll have Legolas back with us in a few hours at best." He grinned at her as they broke to a trot again; the horses reading their hurry. Through mud, storm, pouring rain, wargs, despair, and wounds…they had found him. A few more miles and they would travel the rest of the way on foot. Enguina and Gimli both thanked Ilúvatar a thousand times…and she looked up to the stars and prayed.
I am coming, love…do you know I am near? I am coming for you…I will be there soon.
No…no, please! D-d-d-don't! Stop!
His hands were touching her naked body as she looked on from the brush. The scarred face of the man she hated was clearly visible to her; she knew who he was, and she knew what he was doing. There were whimpers, moans, heavy breathing…the awful sounds of inappropriate intimacy at an inappropriate time…with an audience of laughing onlookers.
Her anger, her rage boiled up inside her, got trapped somewhere before she exploded. Blonde hair, spread out against the coarse dirt, firelight making her nakedness clearly visible, and the way she was tied…hands over her head with her breasts thrusting upward sickeningly, her back bent over a rock, knees bent. Her stomach recoiled and the heat engulfed her as the Elvish bodies began to jerk and there was screaming…
Arwen sat up before she was even fully awake, the blanket falling from her shoulders, Aragorn's arm still across her waist. A scream tore out of her throat as she gripped her throbbing head, bile rising in her even as she turned aside, retching on the ground and gasping for breath. Aragorn rose almost instantly behind her, kneeling beside her. She was drenched with sweat, her tunic was soaked through as he laid a hand on her; her whole body was shaking.
What the hell, Arwen?
But he could not ask her that; not in her condition. He knew very well she had seen something, and it had been all sorts of awful. Luckily, she had nothing to eat earlier, so there was not much to come up. He reached over and picked up the waterskin.
"Drink this," he said quietly, pressing it into her hands. With one hand, he helped her drink, with the other, he checked her temperature. No…it had been a nightmare…or worse. She could only sip for a moment before she was gasping for breath again. "Breathe, Arwen…and talk to me."
"Oh, god…" she whispered, dropping her face into her trembling hands. "Please…Father, I beg you…do not let it be real!"
Vision…oh, Ilúvatar… "Arwen, talk to me, please…"
"It was her…and him…and there was screaming and…and…he was…he was…" He took her in his arms at the sound of her anguished voice, soothing her quietly and rubbing her back. He knew very well what she was feeling; the last time she had a premonition it had been true. Was this as real?
"Last time, you did not know who…this was more like a nightmare," he whispered. "Brought on by stress and exhaustion."
"Maybe it was not them…" she gasped, her voice pleading. "Maybe it was nothing; just a dream."
"Just a dream," he repeated, and she turned her head to look at him, her eyes haunted, desperate, tears and sweat covering her face. She saw her look reflected in his eyes; she knew very well it had not been a dream…and so did he.
"We should not have rested!" she cried and she dragged herself to her feet, Aragorn right behind her as she stumbled. "I should have pushed harder," she muttered, the grief and terror clear in her face. "My will should be stronger than my weariness!"
He was silent while they gathered their few things; talking to her now, trying to convince her of anything other than leaving was impossible. Eating on the road was their plan now. They had not been asleep even three hours, but the horses seemed rested well-enough. Aragorn began tacking Brego back up and just as he finished he heard Arwen curse.
He moved quickly to her side, and saw her holding the wrist she had snapped back; Asfaloth's saddle had made it on his back, but he shook his head. Reaching over, he caught her arm in his hand. "Arwen, stop this."
"I cannot!" she cried, panicked. "We have to get moving and I—"
"You are not to blame for this," he told her. "Take it easy; you are going to hurt yourself even worse. You need to calm down. We will reach them; we will." Their eyes met, both burning with hidden fire, a passion for their loved ones, a drive to reach them and rescue them from the imminent danger.
"I…my will should be—"
"It is, or you would not even be here. Stop blaming yourself," he said a bit more sternly than he would have liked. He finished cinching the saddle and continued, "One cannot hope to stem a flood of exhaustion by will alone."
"You have," she said stubbornly and he sighed. Asfaloth snorted, a laugh, and Aragorn punched him in the shoulder. "You hit him because he knows I am right."
"Arwen—"
"I do not want to speak of it anymore," she said tiredly. "Please, let us just be gone already. It is not soon enough. I want to be there to stop them right now. I need to be there. To reach out my hand, close it to a fist, and crush them all. I want to stop them, Aragorn."
"I promise we will," he told her, putting all of the weight of his compassion and peace behind it. He moved away to mount and she stood beside Asfaloth for a moment. In her head, she knew that it was quite silly, even foolish for him to promise such a thing, but just the sound of it soothed her heart. She knew it was wrong to desire to teach Bragolaur a serious lesson, to desire his death—but it was what she wanted. She wanted the bastard to die, and her hands and jaw clenched as she thought about it, her nails digging into her palms. Trying to push the feeling aside to tie her bedroll back to the saddle seemed almost impossible, but when she turned, she saw Aragorn beside her astride Brego and ready to go. She looked up at him, noticed him rubbing his brow.
"You are very nearly shouting," he said to her, raising his eyebrow.
She looked guilty for a moment. "I am so angry. I have never felt this way about anyone before, Aragorn; not in my entire life have I ever wished for someone's death. It is wrong; so wrong." She mounted swiftly and looked at him. "And I am so sorry for my bad temper; I have been so tired and angry the last few days and I…" she shook her head, unable to finish.
"We are both on edge," he told her, and he bumped Brego even closer to Asfaloth so that he could reach out and draw her close for a moment, resting his forehead against hers after the kiss so that their noses touched.
"How can you love me when I am like this?" she asked, a laugh nearly on her lips, but he felt her reach up and wipe her cheek. "I feel like my life has been a stormy sea for the past five months."
"It has," he whispered. "But it is going to get better."
"It is going to get worse first," she whispered. "Perhaps life will be better after the wedding."
"It will."
"Is that a promise?"
"I will make it so," he told her, and kissed her again. They released one another, and then they were off, both of them praying fervently in their hearts that they would not be too late.
It was half-an-hour's ride to a place where they could leave their horses and travel the rest of the way to the campfire on foot. When they dismounted, Enguina and Gimli only took the provisions they thought they could not do without—weapons and healing remedies. Gimli had every axe he could carry, throwing, walking, and his double-edged axe that he now carried, ready for battle. Enguina had taken Legolas's lone white knife and as many arrows as she could fit in her quiver without having them trapped inside it. Her bow was fit and ready, and so were they. Both of them were ready to fight for Legolas, to take him back no matter what. They had spoken softly to the horses, explaining to them that they would return for them and that they needed to remain behind. Neither one was happy with the arrangement, but silence and stealth were necessary.
It was in this moving forward and secrecy that Enguina realized how loud dwarves could be without meaning to. She could hear his every breath, every branch breaking and leaf cracking under his boots, every swish of fabric and creak of leather at his chest. Her movements, on the contrary, were as silent and stealthy as a stalking lion, and being able to hear his every move was not helping her focus. She wanted him to be quiet; what if the enemy heard them coming?
It was so difficult for her to think of anything else but getting to Legolas, her heart racing so fast that her chest ached with longing. Her mind was filled with plans for freeing him, possible escape routes through the woods, numerous defense tactics to neutralize opponents. But there was nothing in her head or her heart that compared with the desire to see him again, to hold his face in her hands, to tell him she loved him. She never even thought this might not be the right camp; Ilúvatar had led her right to them; Legolas was alive. Involuntarily, she was moving forward faster, and she heard Gimli's pace quicken as they drew nearer. This was when she needed to be quiet, yet her racing heart was driving her.
She tried to force herself into the calm at her center, to reach out to Eru for peace. Father! Legolas is near—I can almost feel him! Please, calm my racing heart! Help me to do what I must to save him. You have brought us this far in safety, and I pray that you will keep us safe the rest of this night. Help us to find him, to rescue him; Gimli and I are your servants, oh Rock Eternal! Sustainer, guide us so that we might bring Legolas home…and that I will be reunited with him once more.
It was completely impossible for her not to close her eyes and imagine herself in his warm arms again. He was her shelter, her rock…and she suddenly realized that since he had been taken, she had not had a single nightmare. She had been so focused on finding him that she had not had the time to worry about herself. Their wedding was in a month…a month and then they would be together forever; belonging to each other. She wanted that…she wanted to belong to Legolas, to look into his beautiful eyes and pledge herself to be his wife, to see the sincerity and devotion that was the core of his strength, to see the love that he held in his soul for her. She wanted to give that love back, and again she prayed that she would have all the time in the world to tell him. To love him for the rest of time would be the greatest gift that Ilúvatar had ever given her.
The dwarf beside her knew he was making far too much noise, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was no way possible to make himself as quiet as the elf, who he could only see in front of him, not hear. Gimli kept glancing from left to right to see if there were elves awaiting an ambush, if they had heard him coming, but he saw nothing. He could only hope against hope that they were all dead asleep and they would not be discovered, unlike their travels in Lórien. He could not help thinking of Enguina's brother then or his words about his breathing. And this led him to thinking of Legolas…
The elf was his best friend of so many years; he felt as though he had known him forever. Their camaraderie had no equal; they had suffered through terrible times and rejoiced in the good, and there were many journeys they had shared. Nothing mattered more in Middle Earth to Gimli than the Elf…nothing, and nothing ever would. He could not explain how he knew that; he just did. And Enguina, because she was to be his wife, was now held in the same high regard. He would give his life for them; he might very well have to tonight. But he was ready for that sacrifice if it was called for by Eru. Looking on Enguina from behind, he realized that nothing mattered more to him at this moment than seeing them together again, reuniting them. He would see to it, even if it cost him his life.
Their thoughts left them as they drew near to the campfire; there was quiet laughter by a small group of men by the fire who were clearly the intended to keep watch. There were numerous bedrolls with sleeping forms in them; even Enguina's sharp eyes could not tell if they were men or elves. Gimli nudged her shoulder as they crouched behind some brush and he pointed towards the horses.
"They number at least thirty. There are several pack horses."
She nodded, but she did not look over. Enguina did not have eyes for anything except searching for Legolas. Ignoring the men, ignoring the laughter, she searched for a bound captive. Gimli began scanning as well, trying to plan which men they might have to take out first. The campfire light cast eerie shadows on the trees, but Enguina felt it was rather perfect, for the shadows would still conceal them. And it was then her eyes caught on a figure tied to a tree.
"There," she whispered breathlessly, and their eyes fell upon him together.
Being the first time she had laid eyes on him since that morning in Henneth Annûn, she was struck mute by his condition. It was the same delicate face they remembered, but his handsome face was bloodied, eyes and cheek swollen, ears battered. His perfect posture was gone; he was slumped against the ropes, his head hanging off to the side. His tunic and leggings were soaked with blood in some places—his hip, side, shoulder, left knee, the outside of his right thigh. His face was drawn and pale, and he had lost weight. It was very clear that he was ill, and even at this distance she could hear him cough and his breathing was heavy. His head hung low to his chest now, his tunic torn, his body tied tightly to the tree. It was the fresh blood dripping from a head wound onto his tunic that brought Gimli ready to roar and spring from his hiding place. He would have killed every one of them with one stroke if it would have been possible, if he had the power.
All Enguina could think of was to run to him; upon seeing his face, it was only the two of them alone in the woods. Her Legolas, bloodied, battered, and bruised beyond description. Her promised one, the center of her new world…this would not go on with him, it would not! It was unbearable for her, and then…Marloch appeared beside him from around the back of the tree, and it was clear with his bloodied fist where the fresh wound on Legolas's head had come from.
"Hey Elvish Princeling," he laughed, "come and have a go. You gonna fight back, or what?" Clearly, the man was a bit drunk, and Legolas was not inclined to respond. The man snatched Legolas's head in his hand by his hair and dragged it back against the tree, yanking his shoulder wound. The elf grimaced, but still made no reply. A low growl began in Enguina's throat, but it was the jab to the chest from Marloch's knee that made her lose her mind. There was no plan of attack, and any thought to injuries from the warg went completely unthought-of; the only plan was to reach Legolas—right now. Losing his breath, Legolas began to choke, and he never heard the sound of her scream as she leapt from the bushes and cut down the first two men that stood between her and that tree, the first with an arrow that she had loosed, the second when she wrapped the bow around his neck and yanked upward, crushing his windpipe. She leapt over his falling body as she took to the next elf, aiming with her bow.
It only took Gimli half-a-moment to join her, taking out two by the fire on his way over there with his throwing axes, hollering like an army of dwarves and throwing as though he did not even need to aim. He swung his axe up and over his shoulder and then across his body, taking off the head of another man seated there, the other across the midsection as he tried to rise. Drawing his throwing axes from the dead bodies, he flung them at two others who were on their way towards him; one fell back with an axe in his forehead, the other in his heart. Gimli waded into the nearest set of soldiers, swinging left and right with his double-edged axe, hacking and hewing and spewing gore everywhere all over the ground, and all the while screaming Legolas's name as a battle-cry.
Enguina lunged over another fallen body as all hell broke loose in the camp; even she knew they were severely outnumbered. They needed to free Legolas and escape with him, not start a war. Some of the men began to run back from Gimli—an axe-wielding maniac they were shouting—and she advanced towards the tree.
"What the hell—" Marloch began, staring at her blazing eyes and vicious sneer as she knocked an arrow in her bow and loosed it into his heart. Their aim had become positively deadly, and there was no way that someone three feet in front of her was going to survive. He dropped to the ground with a gurgle, she hurtled his body, and leapt to Legolas's side.
"Ai, meleth nîn!" she cried aloud, wishing she could wrap her arms around him but knowing that would hurt him. Instead, she dropped her bow in the dirt beside him and cradled his face within her cupped hands, planting gentle kisses along his brow.
It could be no one other than she…no one other than Enguina, and his heart leaped inside of him, finally controlling his cough and pressing down the pain in his chest that made him nearly delirious. "Moina quen," he whispered. "Is it really you?" He opened his eyes amidst all of the bruising, and they were still the bluest of blue…and she cried.
"I am here! We have come for you!" This rope was clearly of Elvish make and could not be cut, so she began untying the knots. "Hold on, love," she cried, blinking back blurry vision so that she might work faster. Her body suddenly jerked into him and her breath left her in a huff before she pulled back, pain on her face.
"Guin!" he said, his voice full of concern as he strained suddenly against the ropes to get out, trying to undo them the rest of the way. Enguina half-turned from him and raised her bow, firing arrow bursts at the two elves who were standing nearby. One fell, the other turned away and fell directly into Gimli's axe blade.
"It is all right," she said, struggling to make the fingers on her left hand work. "It will be fine. Just give me two seconds and—"
Legolas was terrified. There were too many of them, and she was out of time. He began to say her name again and an arrow lodged itself in the bark of the tree between his arm and where she knelt. As she worked even faster now, turning herself away, he could clearly see the arrow protruding from her left shoulder.
"Guin, no! You have to get out of here!" he said urgently. "Please!"
"I am not leaving without you," she whispered, her fingers working frantically now on the knots.
Behind her, three men were taking on Gimli in hand-to-hand combat, simply whaling on each other with fists and elbows, even teeth as they lunged at each other. Gimli's axe had long been knocked from his hand, but he continued to fight; even when two of the men jumped on his back, he continued to pummel the third until his face was an unrecognizable bloody pulp. Finally, they subdued him, forcing him to the ground and binding him up.
"Guin—Enguina!" Legolas hollered in her ear to alert her, but it was too late. If she had turned around at the start of her name, perhaps she would have been able to knock them back. As it was, Omarom grabbed her left arm and wrenched her around, grabbing the arrow and pressing it deeper into her flesh. Gasping, she swung around at him with a free hand—that was caught by another elf and wrenched back. Throwing her weight back at him, she hit him in the face with her fist, entirely by accident but completely effective, as he lost his grip on her. She tried to yank away from Omarom, but he twisted her hand behind her back and grabbed her elbow. Recognizing the hold, she had no choice but to settle down for a moment as the pain was excruciating, leaving a burning trail down her shoulder, arm, and into her back as well. She was wincing in pain, very nearly groaning.
"Stop! Stop it!" Legolas yelled aloud, hating to see her in pain. Behind Omarom and across the camp, he could see several men taking turns hitting an unconscious Gimli. "Stop, Omarom! They are neutralized! Stop!"
"What in the name of heaven—" began Vilyath who just burst through the brush, hair soaking wet. It took her half-a-moment of disbelief to register what had happened in the camp while she had been bathing. Seeing so many dead and a dwarf on the ground, it was clear there had been an attack on the camp. "Sons of Morgoth!" she swore, shocked, "I thought they were dead!"
"We should never underestimate the power of friendship," came that cool, haunting voice from beside the dwarf. Legolas lifted his head and stared at Bragolaur angrily, as he brought his fist down against Gimli's face again.
"Stop!" he yelled. Bragolaur raised his head and began walking towards Legolas.
"Of course, my liege…whatever you demand," he said snidely, and then he noticed Omarom's captive. "What do we have here?"
It was those softly spoken words of intrigue that broke through the fog of Enguina's pain and tightened like a noose around her heart. Oh god...oh god...pleasepleaseplease have mercy! Have mercy! There was no way…there was no way possible…in all the realms of heaven and earth and hell…that it could be…that it was possible…that the voice she heard was…that she could have fallen unconscious into such a nightmare…that she could be returned to her own personal hell…
She had been struggling slightly, but now, all struggling had ceased. She was shaking from head to toe, trembling with fear, struck dumb by the sudden appearance of the very thing that had haunted her every step for nearly fifty years. Unable to move away, her breathing quickened, her knees began to give way and the pressure on her elbow and injured shoulder increased ten-fold. Her heart raced within her and she found that no amount of breath in her lungs was enough.
"Can it be?" Bragolaur asked, and he leaned over to brush the hair from her face.
Just the brush of his fingers along the skin of her forehead lit her up; fire swept through her body from head to toe, washing her in absolute terror. And when he moved her hair, it was far too easy to meet his eyes and get lost in the disgust of his hideous face. It was nothing like the handsome elf she had remembered in her nightmares; the deception of Bragolaur had always been in his good looks, which hid a far more sinister personality. No, when she turned, she could not keep the disgust from her face as her eyes were trapped around the grotesque scarring on his face from cheek to chin. But no matter how different he appeared, there was nothing she could do to stem the flood of memories and anguish she had suffered at his hands. She struggled with retching, her stomach roiling in sheer panic. What could she do? How could she get away? She needed to run…right now…but her knees were not functioning and Omarom still held her elbow. There was nothing she could do...
Oh god! Deliver me!
"It is you," Bragolaur said in utter disbelief, staring at her sweaty features, seeing the terror plain in her eyes. He dragged his fingers lazily now along her forehead, seeing how frozen she was. "I would never believe it if I had not seen you with my own eyes."
"Stop touching her!" Legolas shouted, throwing himself against his bounds and growling. "Get away from her! Guin!"
It was this word from Legolas, her name, the name he had given her, that shook her out of her absolute terror so that she could react to the stroking of his fingers on her face. She revolted, wrenching away from him…and nearly tearing her shoulder out of the socket at the same time.
"S-s-stop!" she whispered, barely able to breathe, gasping between the pain and the sickness in the pit of her stomach, but she could not stop trying to pull away.
"I have a remedy for your fidgeting," he said nastily, and dropping his hand behind her shoulder, he wrapped his hand around the shaft of the arrow and twisted it in the wound. The pain drove her to her knees, Omarom releasing her elbow as she screamed, and she heard other screaming mixed with hers.
"Noooo!" Legolas shouted, but pleadingly, wrenching forward against his restraints. "Stop it, please! Have you no mercy?!"
"Ah, please...stop," she gasped, her breath catching, tears forming in her eyes. She could hardly breathe for the pain.
"Stop?" he questioned. "Why? Consider it payment for murdering my men."
"And what about your payment for taking me?" Legolas snapped. "When will you pay for that?"
Bragolaur turned towards Legolas and stared at him, watching as he strained forward, trying to reach the gasping elf that knelt on the ground at his feet. He gave him a very wicked smile. Then, looking over his shoulder, he called to another of his men and nodded toward the dwarf, "Tie up that filth."
"Do not touch her again," Legolas insisted. "Leave her alone!"
Bragolaur turned back to Enguina, ignoring Legolas's shouts, and rotated the head of the arrow a little bit more. She tried to hold her breath. "You think that you can just walk in here, you and that miserable dwarf, and do whatever you like? I need him, and you cannot have him back, fair love—"
Her head snapped up as a shudder ran through her, and with gritted teeth she hissed, pain in her eyes, "Do not call me that!"
He grabbed her chin and pulled out the arrow with the other hand. She cried out, and he leaned close into her ear and whispered nastily, "You are mine. You have always been mine, and I will do with you what I please and say whatever I desire." He made sure that only she could hear him. She shuddered as he released her chin, and Omarom reached over and grabbed her shoulder so she could not run from them, keeping her on her knees. She could not take her eyes from him, even though she was terrified, and she more felt than noticed how his eyes roamed down over her body, stopping at her breasts. She could have whimpered in terror, so great was her sudden despair—Legolas remained tied, Gimli was unconscious, and she…she had never thought to be in this place, with this evil again.
Legolas had been straining to hear what was said, but he could not. All he knew was that something in the dynamic had changed; there was something in Enguina's face that worried him...that reminded him of her nightmares. Her chest was moving as though she could not catch her breath, as if she were in a panic; he wondered if she was thinking back to her capture a few months before. He did not know if he could help her, give her peace; she was staring up into Bragolaur's face with fear written on hers, unable to look away. "Guin…" he called softly, "Guin, look at me."
She lowered her head and looked to Legolas, trying to stabilize her fear with his gentleness. For the first time, Bragolaur listened to what Legolas was saying, and he turned with surprise to look into the Prince's battered face as two of his men flanked either side of him. "'Guin?'" he quoted. Then he glanced back to Enguina kneeling at his feet as she stared through him, looking towards Legolas like a light in a raging storm. The scarred elf burst into wild laughter and the rest of the camp fell silent in surprise. "Oh no, this is too much! Tell me the truth; tell me the two of you are lovers. Ugh, that disgusts—" He glanced down into Enguina's face and suddenly caught sight of her left hand, his bloodshot eyes widening even further. "You cannot be serious! Enguina, you are to be wed to this?"
"Shut your filthy mouth," she growled out, the anger in her heart festering so near the surface she could hardly prevent it.
He laughed again. "You are going to tell me what to do? I cannot believe that you, of the Wood Elves of Lórien, are going to marry refuse from Mirkwood!"
"You do not know him! Stop it! Look what you have done to him!" she cried, furious at his condition. Her fury overrode her fear and she lashed out. "You bastard! He is wounded, bleeding, and tied to a tree, and you stand there and belittle him!"
"I will do worse," Bragolaur sneered, and he leaned back and made a quick jab into Legolas's side; the wound immediately began to bleed freely, and Legolas jarred against the ropes while Enguina cursed at Bragolaur. He laughed and raised an eyebrow at her. "My…temper, temper. Your father would be shocked at your language."
Lifting his head, Legolas began coughing but forced out, "You have spilled her blood…and I will kill you for it…stop it now…and perhaps I will let you live…"
The elf turned back to him and caught him square in the forehead with the hilt of his sword. Legolas dropped forward, hanging in the ropes and Enguina began screaming. "Son of Morgoth! I hope you rot in hell for what you have done to him! Poisonous monster! Hideous beast! You are the Spawn of Melkor himself who—"
Anger glinted in his eyes as he whirled back to her, grabbing her chin in an iron grip, the very same one that had nearly broken her arm so many years ago. She could almost feel her jaw cracking, and she could not help but stare into his eyes. "Stop spitting out your sentiments! Enough. You will silence yourself, or you will suffer the same as him, fair love." He released her and stepped away for a moment, turning to face his men.
"You will hear my words whether you want them or not! I will not be silent! You will suffer for what you have done to him, for making him ill, wounding him. When I am free," she snarled, "I will hammer your head and the heads of your men, and I will not stop until every last one of you is broken and the soil turns red with your—"
There was a sharp crack and Bragolaur whirled back around to watch as Enguina dropped forward against the ground, unconscious herself. Behind her, one of the Gondorian men stood with his shield in hand. He sighed. "Finally, some quiet," he laughed.
Suddenly, the same man found himself unable to breathe, a dagger plunged into his throat. As the man fell back, gurgling, Omarom stared around, searching for the attacker. His eyes came to rest, however, on Bragolaur who stood with fury written in every line of his face. He stared around at his men, snarling, "If any one of you so much as touches her again without my permission, you will suffer the same death. Do you understand?" There were numerous nods, and Bragolaur looked to Omarom. "Tie her up over there; just bind her hands. The rest of you…begin cleaning up camp. The bodies of our comrades need to be taken care of. When that is finished, get some rest. We need to be ready near dawn for our next ride, and it has been a long night." He caught Omarom's arm as the elf picked her up. "Wake me if she wakes."
As Omarom moved away with Bragolaur's new prize, it was Vilyath who stood nearby, watching everyone standing about get back to work. Because of the elf and dwarf, there were only eighteen men left in the camp; many of their men had died battling them. But it was Legolas and Bragolaur who consumed her thoughts. Legolas continued to show resilience, even though he should be dying at this moment. And who was this woman who had come to rescue him? There was something in the way Bragolaur looked at this elf; might she be an old lover? That did not matter…what should matter was that he had not acknowledged her or spoken to her since he had recognized the other woman. She was not sure where this whole ordeal was headed…but none of it seemed to be for good. Worry was taking her; could everything they had worked so hard for come crashing down, now when they were so close? She did not know, but she did have a job to do as well as everyone else.