Chapter 5

Ok, so it's actually Saturday for me now (if it's any consolation, it's only 55 minutes into this Saturday as I am writing this). I had such a tiring, awful day, and just crawled into bed and watched Guardians of the Galaxy. But then I think most people who read this are American, and as such there is a time difference, so it's still Friday for you! For anyone who this is late for, sorry! I will try not to end on another cliffhanger, but no promises...

Quick note aside: Belhadron's knife, which is mentioned here, is more of a short dagger than a knife such as the curved knife Aragorn has in the films. If you google 'main gauche' or parrying dagger, it looks like that, only a little more elven (the handle is similar to the handle of Legolas' knives). Also, there is a little time jump here when it switches to Belhadron's point of view, so you can see the fighting from his eyes (plus sarcastic comments when the opportunity arises).

Some violence and blood in this chapter, but no more than the last one (I'm sorry, I forgot to put any specific warnings on that last chapter). This one is also a little shorter. I don't write chapter by chapter- I write the entire story, and then hope I can divide it up into reasonably sized chapters. Usually it works out, but it will mean some chapters are a little short, and some are a little longer.

Anyway, as always, enjoy!

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

0-o-0-o-0

The Rangers were being overwhelmed by the sheer number of Easterlings, though they were the better fighters. Legolas could tell, somehow, that nobody was dead, but a few Rangers were on the floor, and still there were many Easterlings standing.

The loss of blood from his leg was making him a little dizzy now, and Legolas twisted, flicking his wrist out and trying to end his current fight quickly, but the man blocked his blade. Legolas stumbled slightly, taking a few moments to regain his balance.

His head was starting to ring, and he could have sworn he heard the sound of pounding hooves, but that was ridiculous.

The man struck, but this time left his right side wide open, and Legolas took the opening. He flicked his wrist and slashed his knife down the man's right side, before bringing his arm up and smashing it into the man's face. He fell back, dazed, and Legolas used the flat of his blade to knock the man's legs out from underneath him.

The pounding of hooves became louder, so loud that Legolas was nearly sure that it wasn't due to the blood loss. Or maybe it was feet now. He couldn't be sure. Another man came at him and Legolas ducked the swing of the sword, his leg throbbing with protest. The man swung again and the elf threw himself sideways, rolling out of the way as the sword bit into the dust. The sword came down again, and Legolas raised his knife to block it even though he knew the slim blade couldn't withstand the sword.

And then suddenly the man jerked, his chest pushing forwards. His mouth opened, but all that came out was a thin trickle of blood. He toppled to the side.

Faramir stood behind the man, his sword dripping blood. Without a word, he extended a hand. Legolas grabbed hold of it and pulled himself up. "You have no idea," Legolas said with a swift grin. "How glad I am to see you."

Faramir smiled grimly. Around them his men were rushing into the battle on foot, the horses having been left behind when they first heard the clash of swords and sounds of fighting. The tide began to turn in the battle, Mablung's company buoyed up by the arrival of their fellow soldiers. Legolas' hand instinctively went back to his quiver, before remembering he had used the last of his arrows to bring down two men threatening Belhadron. Faramir slung his own quiver off his back and handed it over.

"Take these," he said. "Quickly."

Legolas only paused for a brief moment before grabbing the arrows and putting them in his own quiver. "My thanks," he said. Without another second wasted, he selected an arrow and nocked it to his bow. Sighting, he fired, dispatching another man threatening Beregond.

The fight continued, Legolas nearly dancing as he moved in between the men, shooting or using his knives whenever he got too close. Somewhere along the way he had picked up his other hunting knife, pulling it out of a man's chest.

The throbbing pain in his leg was forgotten as he fought, his focus narrowed to the threats around him and nothing else. Faramir was fighting nearby, skilfully disarming one of the men and throwing him to the ground. Across the clearing, Beregond was duelling another giant of a man. He soon had him tripped up, and a few moments later the man's blood was spilling out onto the dirt floor.

The battle was over all too soon. All of the men that had ambushed them were dead or being tied up with some rope a few of Faramir's men had brought. Legolas wiped his knives off on his cloak and sheathed them, finding his way to Faramir.

Faramir was across the track. He wiped the blood off his sword, sheathing it and slinging his bow back onto his back. He looked around.

Most of the men, both of Mablung's company and of the company that had accompanied Faramir, were up and walking. A few were limping or clutching wounds, but mostly people looked alright.

Faramir watched as Beregond crouched down beside one young Ranger curled on the floor, a gentle hand reaching out and touching his shoulder carefully. A few moments later with no response from the soldier, Beregond carefully rolled him over, catching his torso as the young man flopped over.

There was no visible sign of blood, and Beregond's face showed, rather than despair, relief as he searched for a pulse. Even as his fingers were pressed under the man's jaw, the young Ranger groaned and started to stir.

Faramir watched as Beregond gently shook his shoulder, murmuring softly as the young man came round. He sighed in relief.

He looked around for Mablung, spotted him clambering to his feet nearby and headed over. Upon seeing him, Mablung grinned wryly. "I am very glad to see you, my Lord," he said.

Faramir chuckled slightly, and held out a hand. Mablung pulled himself up. "I am only sorry we didn't get here sooner," said Faramir. "It took us a little while to find you."

"Is anyone seriously hurt?" asked Mablung, dusting off his leather jerkin and sheathing his sword. "I think we have every man that attacked. A few tried to run, but I think they didn't get very far." He gestured with a wry smile at the small trickle of blood down his cheek. "One hit me around the head as he tried to get away."

"We brought down most of those who tried to run, but don't worry about it now," said Faramir. "Let's just get everyone together and then head back." He turned to see Legolas walking towards him, his step unsteady. As Faramir saw him he stumbled, one leg nearly buckling beneath him.

Faramir ran over. "My Lord?" he asked, holding out a steadying hand. Legolas rolled his eyes slightly, and Faramir chuckled. "Legolas?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"

Legolas grimaced as he stood. "I'm fine," he said. Faramir looked pointedly at the cut across his cheek, and then at the blood covering his lower leg and Legolas chuckled, wincing when it pulled on the cut. "Someone got in a lucky blow," he said. "But it can wait. Is anyone too badly hurt?"

"I don't know yet," said Faramir, glancing around. "But it doesn't seem like it." He nodded at Mablung, who turned and began to pull a few men towards him, giving out a few orders and then heading off as they all parted in different directions, beginning the task of cleaning up.

Legolas nodded. "Good," he said. Looking over at one of the men, lying dead. He suddenly turned and, limping slightly, moved over to the body. Crouching down, Faramir watched as he swiftly pulled a small knife from the man's shoulder. Wiping it on his already bloody leggings, Legolas straightened and looked around the clearing.

"Belhadron's knife," he said, absent-mindedly flipping it in his hand. He suddenly started. "Where is he?"

0-o-0-o-0

He knew Legolas had left his side, but now had no idea where the foolish blond elf had gone. Belhadron gritted his teeth in annoyance as he managed a quick glance around the clearing before turning back to the man in front of him.

He was another giant of a man, swinging an orcish blade that already had Belhadron on edge. It was bad enough that he had spent hundreds of years defending orcs wielding these blades. Now he had to defend himself from men stupid enough to pick up the blades once the orcs were gone.

His sword swung in his hand as he parried a blow and pushed the blade away. Unlike Legolas, he had never really liked fighting with two knives. He knew how to, of course. He had been trained to fight with pretty much whatever weapon he could get his hands on. He had just always preferred the longer reach of a sword.

There came a shout from behind him, and Belhadron ducked the stroke of the man in front, kicking out at his legs and making him fall backwards as he turned to face this new threat. Another man was running at him, and Belhadron's hand went to his belt before he remembered that he had thrown his favourite throwing knife at that man threatening Legolas.

He nearly sighed with annoyance, if he wasn't in the middle of a fight with a large man bearing down on him. He liked that knife. Legolas better remember which man it hit, because he had not been paying enough attention, and he wanted it back.

Belhadron adjusted his grip on his blade slightly. He didn't like this. There were too many men, and he didn't know these forests, so there was no way he could outsmart any of them, leading them on strange paths through the forest that ended with them lying dead.

But wishing he knew the forests would do absolutely nothing, so Belhadron merely raised his sword and blocked the man's first blow, ducking down and sliding behind him. To the man's credit he was fast, able to turn around quickly enough to parry Belhadron's stroke.

Belhadron nearly rolled his eyes as the man grinned. Belhadron was down on one knee below him, and apparently the man believed that meant he had the advantage. He was so wrong.

The man struck down with his sword, and Belhadron used his own to twist the blade way, rising up from one knee. The man grunted and fell backwards, swinging the blade in front of him. Belhadron merely leant back as the blade swung by his chest, and his lip curled in disgust as he saw the old dried blood on the edge.

He parried the next blow, and then decided he had had enough. Stepping forwards, the man's next blow went wide and Belhadron, with a flick of his wrist, sent the man reeling back with a gash across his stomach. The gash wasn't deep enough to cause any lasting damage, as Belhadron had judged it to be so, but was still painful.

The man stumbled forwards, one hand moving to press in on his stomach. Belhadron quickly kicked out, his boot connecting with the man's head. He crumpled to the floor.

Belhadron had only a moment to look around before he heard the scuff of boots directly behind him and his elven ears picked up the whoosh of a blade passing through the air. At the last moment he threw himself sideways.

He wasn't quite fast enough. There were too many men around him, too many for him to be able to keep track of all at the same time. Even though he had been in such a situation in Mirkwood many times, it had been Mirkwood, where he had known every bush in the forest. Besides, those situations had never ended very well, either.

The blade cut into his arm, which he had thrown up to protect his head. It bit into the flesh of his forearm before Belhadron yanked his arm away with a hiss of pain. The man raised his sword again, a curved scimitar that looked orcish, but before he could do anything else Belhadron shot up, his sword now in his other hand. The man fell to the floor.

His arm was throbbing, but Belhadron paid it no heed as he parried another blow from yet another man. Apparently being an elf drew a lot of attention to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Legolas fighting about five men at the same time. But he could not do anything to help, and had to turn his concentration back to the men around him.

He definitely didn't like this. When fighting even large numbers in Mirkwood, when it had been called that, he had always been with elves. He knew how they fought, and years upon years of training had taught all of them how to work with each other in a fight. Now, he was pretty much alone in this fight. The Rangers were good fighters, of course, but they were not the same as the elves Belhadron had spent hundreds of years fighting alongside.

Belhadron ducked one blow, and one of the other men swung his blade. As Belhadron came back up, twisting to one side, the flat of the blade connected with the side of his head.

There was an odd ringing sound in his ears as he fell sideways, catching himself at the last minute so he didn't fall face-first onto the floor. Belhadron's instincts were screaming at him to move, that he was in danger, and he rolled sideways, keeping his eyes open despite his head also screaming at him. He could feel warm blood trickling down the side of his face.

His hand was still gripping the handle of his sword as he came up and slashed out; putting all the force he had behind the blow. One of the men fell down from the cut of his blade.

Belhadron blocked another blow, and felt that cold anger and focus that he was all too familiar with settle over him. He danced amongst the men, unheeding of the others around him, until a sound that he could not ignore cut into his concentration.

Not cut, as such. You could not survive in a battle without some attention to what was going on around you, and details like this, the pounding of feet, loud to his elven ears, could be important. Belhadron turned just enough to see another twenty or so men run into the fight. He recognised Faramir at the head.

The men around him cursed, and then one tried to take advantage of Belhadron's momentary distraction to knock him down. That was a mistake. Belhadron spun around and rammed his elbow into the man's face, before sweeping his legs out from underneath him. He didn't really want to kill them, if he had the choice. There had been enough of that already.

There was only one man in front of him now, the others having been drawn off and taken on by the Rangers running into the fray. The man's eyes darted around, and then finally settled on Belhadron.

Belhadron grinned.

The man seemed to suddenly realise he was standing in front of an elf, on his own. After a second he turned and ran, crashing through the trees.

Belhadron was set to follow him when another man crashed into his path, apparently now running from one of the Rangers. The tide of the battle had turned. Belhadron used the flat of his blade to trip the man up and then was off into the surrounding forests.

The man's trail, the one who had run, was easy to follow and soon Belhadron took to the trees, swiftly catching up. From above he could see the man charging through the forests, trying to force the low-hanging branches out of the way as he ran. A few of them snapped back in his face, and Belhadron held back a laugh at the man's muffled curses.

After a few minutes of following him, the man staggered to a stop, his breathing harsh and erratic. He collapsed back against the trunk of a tree, one hand going to his shoulder. Belhadron could see the dark red beginning to drip through the man's fingers.

Belhadron shifted in the trees, and his hand went back to his quiver. He had two arrows left, two he had not realised that he still had in his quiver. Without making a sound he drew one out and nocked it to his bow.

Belhadron dropped from the branches of the tree, the arrow aimed unflinchingly at the man this entire time. The man jumped about two feet in the air as Belhadron dropped, his eyes wide enough so that his eyebrows disappeared under the thick mass of tangled hair on top of his head.

Belhadron let his face remain completely stone cold, and moved closer to the man, the point of his arrow aimed at his throat. The man gulped, and tried to back up before realising there was a tree behind him.

To Belhadron's mild surprise, given there was an arrow pointed at his throat, the man snarled at him.

"You'll kill me anyways, you filthy elf!" he half shouted in defiance at Belhadron, who supposed this man had not gotten here without being rather defiant, given that Aragorn had granted the Easterlings pardon, if they laid down their weapons and returned to their own lands.

Belhadron took a moment to tease out the words from the guttural accent of the man, and then allowed a small smile to play across his lips. "I won't," he said softly. "Now move." He tilted his head; indicating the hastily made path the man had already made, back to the other Rangers and Legolas. "Drop your sword and move."

The man hesitated, and Belhadron narrowed his eyes, drawing back the string of his bow a little more. "Your hand?" he asked. "Or your ear. Or you move."

Finally the man seemed to give in, dropping the blade he had clutched in his hand on the floor and turning to walk back down the path. Belhadron followed him, close enough to be within reach of him if needed, but far enough away so that the man could not spin around and grab his bow, if that was even possible.

After a few minutes, Belhadron pushing the man to walk faster and faster, they came within earshot of everyone else, Belhadron able to hear the sounds of the Rangers cleaning up. The man shifted path as they pushed through the last of the bushes to the slight clearing where everyone else was, and Belhadron adjusted his aim. His arm throbbed, the gash making itself known yet again, but he merely grimaced slightly and kept the arrow sighted on the man's back.

"Move," he said again, and the man stumbled forwards through Ithilien.

To Be Continued...

And I'm going to be mean and cut it off here... Otherwise this chapter would be insanely long. I've gone into quite a bit of detail with all of this section, so it is taking up a few chapters, but they're beginning to sort things out by next chapter, which will be up on tuesday. As always, reviews are very welcome.