Chapter 14

I'm back! I had such an awesome time at Cambridge- met some awesome people and stayed up really late playing cards. We played a rather violent game of Bulldog one night- I think it is slightly similar to Red Rover in the US. Basically one person stands in the middle of the playing field, and everyone else to one side. Everyone has to run across to the other side, with the person in the middle tagging as many people as possible, though tagging can range from touching someone to bodily tackling them to the ground (which I did). Anyway, I accidentally ripped a piece of a guy's shirt- it's ok, he was actually impressed rather than annoyed!

Anyway, it was great fun, but now here's another chapter for you guys! More action is up ahead- the continuation of Legolas and Aragorn sparring, and then back to Faramir and Belhadron. Oh, and well done to those people who picked up on the tragic part of Belhadron's backstory that I hinted at last chapter- a oneshot is in the process of being written.

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

0-o-0-o-0

Legolas rushed forwards first, and the sound of steel on steel filled the yard as he thrust forwards with one knife, the other moving to Aragorn's side. Aragorn twisted and deflected the blow, spinning Legolas' knife away with his blade and dodging to avoid the blade going for his side. He returned with a sideways sweep of his sword, twisting so that it was the flat of the blade that would connect with Legolas' side, and not the edge.

Legolas twisted sideways, moving with the movement of the blade. He used his knives to catch Aragorn's blade and pushed it away from them, sending Aragorn momentarily off balance. Aragorn took a few steps back, and they warily circled each other again.

"How long has it been since we last did this?" Legolas asked with a smile, darting forwards and exchanging a few brief blows with Aragorn before he stepped back again.

Aragorn chuckled. "A long time," he said, feinting with his sword and attempting to disarm Legolas. Legolas' grip loosened on one of his knives as Aragorn's blade pushed it away, but he had not been fighting for hundreds of years to lose his blade that easily. He ducked, sliding out of Aragorn's grip and letting his smaller knife skim along the edge of Aragorn's blade.

At the same time, though, Aragorn kicked out and hooked his foot around Legolas' leg. He tugged and, whilst it was not enough to bring Legolas to the ground, it was enough to unbalance the elf. Aragorn's sword came around to Legolas' neck, and it was only Legolas' elven reflexes that allowed him to slip his knives in between the blade and his neck.

For a brief pause they remained there, Legolas pushing Aragorn's blade away from his neck, Aragorn applying just enough pressure to keep it there. Legolas shifted his weight slightly, and then suddenly threw himself back, flicking out his wrists and twisting desperately to one side to avoid the point of Aragorn's sword. He hit the ground, his elven reflexes not quite enough to allow him to remain on his feet after that.

The point of Aragorn's sword came whistling down and Legolas rolled out of the way, coming up onto one knee and blocking Aragorn's blow with his knives. For a few moments they stood like that, Aragorn's weight on his sword that was only being stilled by the crossed blades of Legolas' knives. Then Legolas suddenly let his knives slip away, throwing himself to the side as Aragorn's sword came down, Aragorn not expecting the resistance to suddenly vanish.

The blond elf rose back to his feet with a swift grin, and spun his knives in his hand. "Your brothers may have taught you that trick, but they taught it to me first." Aragorn chuckled, and merely adjusted the grip on the hilt of his blade.

"Again?" he asked, watching as Legolas put weight on his wounded leg. The elf nodded, and slid smoothly into a ready position, both knives poised.

This time it was Aragorn who made the first move, bringing his blade around in a scything sweep at Legolas' side. Legolas deflected the blow and darted forwards, moving inside Aragorn's guard and attempting to get a knife to his neck. Aragorn stepped backwards quickly, leaning back out of the range of Legolas' shorter knives, and the fight began anew.

After a series of thrusts and parries that grew more and more intense each time, Legolas stepped back slightly, spinning his knives in his hands once again. Both of them were breathing hard, and Aragorn could feel his undertunic beginning to stick to his back.

Legolas darted forwards, knives poised, and Aragorn parried the blow, swiftly turning as Legolas moved around him. That was one problem with sparring with an elf, especially one from the Woodland Realm: they were faster than Aragorn could ever hope to be.

Aragorn parried another blow and twisted, but Legolas was already ahead of him, and suddenly one of Legolas' knives was at Aragorn's throat, hovering close to the skin.

For most sparring sessions, this would have been the point where Aragorn would have dropped his sword and admitted defeat. But he had not passed through years in the wilderness and a war to be outwitted by one elf, so he barely paused when he saw the elegant blade of the knife at his throat.

Aragorn pushed his weight back and ducked down, whilst his right hand swept the flat of his blade sideways, catching Legolas' legs. With his left hand he reached up and grabbed Legolas' upper arm. In one swift movement, Aragorn threw the blond elf over his shoulder.

Legolas twisted in the air, and managed to land on his back, both knives still in his hands, but he stilled when Aragorn put one foot on his chest and rested the point of his sword on the elf's throat.

"I win," he said with a grin. "Drop your knives."

Legolas raised one eyebrow, but eventually sighed and placed his knives on the ground. "Fine, you win," he said. He swatted at Aragorn's foot half-heartedly. "Now let me up. I happen to like this tunic, and I don't want you getting dust on it."

Aragorn laughed, and took a step back, sheathing his sword. Legolas sat up with a slight groan; being thrown over someone's shoulder hurt, even if Aragorn had only used enough force to get him on the ground. Aragorn held out a hand and Legolas grabbed it, pulling himself to his feet.

"You didn't learn that from my brothers," Legolas said with a chuckle, bending down and picking up his knives.

"The Dunedain," said Aragorn, wiping down his sword and pulling off his overtunic, leaving him in just leggings and a light blue tunic that was sticking to his back with sweat. "Elladan and Elrohir taught me some hand to hand combat, but they were the ones to teach me things like that."

Legolas laughed again, dusting himself off. "It was certainly unexpected," he said. "I'm just glad you didn't accidentally break my shoulder or something similar."

"Let me guess," Aragorn said. "Belhadron?"

"Belhadron," Legolas confirmed. "We were sparring, fairly recently after I made him my second, and he tripped me. I fell down wrong and managed to throw my shoulder out of its socket." Legolas chuckled. "He was incredibly guilty about it, but I've managed to repay the favour over the years."

Aragorn chuckled. "If the stories I have heard from my brothers are anything to judge by, I am sure you have." He ran his hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face.

Legolas grinned, wiping down his knives with the corner of his tunic and then balancing them in his hands. He knew there was little chance of him being able to defeat Aragorn and get him on the floor, unless he resorted to what Aragorn would undoubtedly call trickery. The man was a better swordsman than he was, and had always favoured the blade, whereas Legolas' knives were just a back up for when he ran out of arrows.

Aragorn unsheathed his sword. "Have you had enough for the day?" he asked.

Legolas grinned. "Of course not," he replied, spinning his knives in his hands.

Aragorn held up one hand. "Wait," he said with a smile. "I shall make it fairer; ask Geron if he has a good pair of hunting knives. I haven't fought with such blades for a long while." He turned to look over to where the boys were training, and chuckled slightly.

"It seems that we had quite an audience," he said with a smile. The boys were all standing watching, Geron at one side. As both Legolas and Aragorn looked towards them the boys began to shift nervously and then turn away.

Aragorn looked at the small pile of their cloaks, his overtunic and Legolas' bow and quiver. "I have an idea," he said with a smile.

Legolas sighed. "Of course you do. What is it?"

0-o-0-o-0

The boys had gathered to one side of the training fields, their sparring swords forgotten by their sides. In front of them stood their King, idly tossing a small clay ball from a bag he held from one hand to the other. Geron stood off to the other side, a similar leather bag in his hands.

Legolas finished adjusting his quiver, pulling the strap tight across his chest. He reached swiftly for an arrow, checking the quiver was where he wanted it, before dropping his hands to his sides and nodding at Aragorn.

"Ready?" asked Aragorn, looking first at Legolas, and then at Geron. His gaze moved over to the boys standing safely to one side. "Watch closely," he said.

Legolas' hand twitched around his bow, but other than that, he stood perfectly still, his gaze on the clay ball in Aragorn's hand. Aragorn tossed it from hand to hand a few times, and then, without any warning, suddenly threw it high in the air.

Instantly Legolas moved, stepping back to keep the ball in sight whilst one hand went back to his quiver. In a smooth movement he pulled an arrow free, nocked it to his bow, sighted and loosed the arrow. There was a sharp snick, and then small pieces of clay rained from the sky.

Legolas chuckled slightly at some of the faces of the boys watching. He turned back to Aragorn, who had another ball in his hands. Aragorn grinned.

Soon one ball after another was flying through the air, some from Aragorn, some from Geron on the other side of Legolas. At the most, there were about three in the air at the same time. Nevertheless, each one burst mid flight, shattering into fragments as another of Legolas' arrows pierced it. The elf was constantly moving, reaching back again and again for an arrow, until eventually his quiver ran empty.

"Hold," called Legolas, and Aragorn stopped, dropping the ball in his hand back into the now nearly empty bag. He walked over to Legolas as the blond elf ran his hand down the string of his bow, smoothing out any quirks that may have appeared.

"I have not done such a thing in years," said Legolas with a grin as he shouldered his bow, the string coming to rest over his chest. Behind them, the boys moved off as Geron shouted something, and soon the clatter of sparring swords could be heard once more. "Belhadron just used to throw the clay balls at my head."

"Of course he did," said Aragorn with a wry smile. His gaze softened. "You trust him with your life," he said quietly, noting the expression on Legolas' face.

Legolas raised one eyebrow. "I trust a lot of people with my life," he said with a dry grin. "It was sort of necessary in Mirkwood, mellon-nin." After all, they had been at what was basically war for hundreds of years before the actual War.

Aragorn was still looking questioningly at him, and so Legolas smiled softly and elaborated. "I trust a lot of people with my life," he said softly. "I trust very few people, namely Belhadron, my father, Gimli and you, Aragorn, with…with everything else."

0-o-0-o-0

"We have five minutes, and then our cover is gone."

The words were murmured in Faramir's ear as he crouched in the thickets surrounding the final camp in Ithilien. They had been in the forests for about a week now, and so far Yarban's information had held true, and three of the four groups of men had been quickly captured and sent back to Minas Tirith. Just one camp was left, something those already captured, who had actually talked, had confirmed. And Faramir currently had thirty nine men surrounding it.

It wasn't enough. Nine men had already returned to the city after sustaining wounds in the fighting when bringing in the Easterlings, though nothing had been too serious. But there were fifty-two men in the camp in front of them by Belhadron's count, and Faramir had seen how vicious they could be when they thought they were cornered. If they hadn't been fighting his men, it would have been something to respect.

"My Lord?"

Faramir turned his head to see Beregond crouched beside him. "I know," he said softly. "But remain in position for now. We don't have enough men for a smooth capture." He was holding out hope that Mablung was close enough to come and reinforce their position. He turned his head as their was a slight rustle behind him and then Belhadron came into view.

"Can you locate Mablung in the woods?" Faramir asked, his voice soft. Belhadron shook his head.

"The woods are not used to me," he said. "It takes too much time. But he is not very near, I know that." His dark eyes scanned the camp they were watching, and his hand twitched back to his bow. "Our…cover will go soon."

Faramir nodded. The men in the camp were beginning to pack up. Soon they would leave, and run straight into the Rangers surrounding them. Either Faramir issued the command to head in, and risk his men, or he told his Rangers to retreat and hide, letting the Easterlings pass, and risk loosing the last group in Ithilien.

He gritted his teeth, and then nodded. "We'll head in now," he said softly. "Spread the word, and then wait for my command." Beregond nodded, and turned to signal to the Ranger next to him. For a tense moment there was complete silence, and then Faramir pursed his lips and let out a high whistle.

Rangers erupted from the undergrowth, swords in hands, and the Easterlings spun around in surprise. Faramir rose from where he had been crouched and darted forwards as weapons appeared in the Easterlings' hands, and then the clashing sound of steel on steel began to ring out across Ithilien.

An arrow zipped past Faramir's ear, and he jerked sideways to see it bury itself in the thigh of an Easterling in front of him. Belhadron appeared briefly at his side, his bow nocked, and grinned swiftly at Faramir before releasing another arrow and moving away to the edges of the battle, where he could get clearer shots.

An Easterling charged him and Faramir raised his sword, parrying the first blow and sliding under the Easterling's broadsword. He turned and twisted his wrist, and the edge of his sword sliced through the Easterling's shoulder. The man howled in pain, and Faramir struck his legs out from underneath him, causing him to fall to the floor. One more blow, this time to the Easterling's head, and the man was knocked out.

The fighting continued around him, the Easterlings quickly getting over their surprise and launching themselves at the Rangers. Yet the Rangers had all fought through the war, had been fighting for years, and though a large part of some of their survival might be down to luck, as it so often could be, Faramir trusted them.

He continued to fight, watching his men out of the corners of his eyes when he had the chance. Slowly the Easterlings were being subdued, and Faramir felt a little bit of pride when he saw the number of Easterlings unconscious on the floor.

But he barely had time to think such things before he was drawn back into the fight, parrying a fierce blow that nearly sent him to his knees, before he pushed back and pushed the Easterling's sword away from him. The Easterling struck back with a series of intense thrusts, and the power behind them made Faramir unable to do anything else but parry and back up, waiting for an opportunity.

The Easterling growled something unintelligible and swung his sword towards Faramir's head, the edge of the blade whistling through the air. Faramir ducked, and twisted his sword, parrying the blow. In a move he had known since he was young, he stepped inside the Easterling's guard, and a few moments later the man's sword was lying on the ground. A well-placed blow from the hilt of Faramir's sword sent the Easterling toppling to join his sword.

Faramir paused briefly, breathing hard, and adjusted the grip on his sword. The battle was raging fiercely around him, and all too soon he was drawn back in. Belhadron appeared at his side at one point, his quiver empty and his sword in his hand. Beregond was never far from him, and Faramir got the feeling that the man was watching him whenever he had the chance.

He intercepted an Easterling who had gotten inside the guard of another Ranger and forced the blade away from the man. The Ranger scrambled to his feet in a hurry, nodding his thanks at Faramir. Faramir barely noticed, busy parrying another blow from the Easterling. The man held an orcish sword, the blade dulled and rusted with dried blood and other things Faramir didn't recognise, and didn't particularly want to know about.

The Easterling was faster than most, and Faramir felt a small quell of worry as he tried to move around him and inside his guard, only to find himself blocked by the man's blade already there. He moved again, feinting left and then allowing his sword to swing around and slice to the right, aiming for the Easterling's unprotected side. The Easterling wasn't fast enough for that, and Faramir's blade cut into his side before the man responded and twisted out of the way, bringing his sword down towards Faramir's arm.

Faramir jerked his sword back, narrowly avoiding the blade that was coming down on his arm. He parried the blow and twisted his wrist, the Easterling's blade sliding along his, Faramir forcing it down. The Easterling growled and with his other hand, swung his fist at Faramir's head. Faramir jerked back and avoided the worst of the blow, but he lost his hold over the man's sword and the Easterling jerked it free.

Around him Faramir could sense that the battle was dying down, some of the Easterlings dead, some subdued and on the floor. The man in front of him thrust forwards again, his blade coming too close to Faramir's side for his liking, and Faramir's full attention turned back to him, stepping swiftly to the side and parrying the blow.

The Easterling seemed to sense as well that his men were losing the fight, and he became more desperate, swinging wildly at Faramir and pushing the man back across the campsite. Faramir could barely do anything other than duck and step around the blows as they came.

He was being backed up into a corner and he knew it. Faramir ducked under a blow and managed another blow to the man's side, slicing through the thick leather until he felt the give of flesh beneath his blade. The man grimaced in pain but thrust at Faramir again, the blade twisting close to his neck.

A small part of Faramir idly wondered where Beregond was, but the thought soon vanished from his mind as the Easterling lunged forwards again and he parried the blow, again. Faramir moved quickly and managed to get inside the Easterling's guard, tripping him so he fell down to one knee. Yet as he did so the man struck out, and the flat of his blade caught Faramir around the ankle, unbalancing him. A second strike sent him down to the floor.

Faramir quickly rolled out of the way and came up to one knee just in time to block a ferocious blow from the Easterling. The man, teeth bared in a soundless snarl, leant all of his weight onto his sword, and Faramir felt his arm give slightly against the pressure.

There was a sudden jerk from the Easterling, and then the man toppled forwards. Faramir lunged to one side, pulling his sword out of the way as the Easterling fell to the ground, lifeless. The ash hilt of a knife protruded from his back.

Glancing up, Faramir saw Belhadron standing across the camp, lowering his arm. The elf nodded, a grim smile on his face, before he suddenly turned and slammed the hilt of his sword into an approaching Easterling. The elf, as usual, had drawn plenty of attention from the Easterlings, but seemed unhurt.

There was the pounding of feet from nearby that caught Faramir's attention, and then he turned back, falling back into the familiar rhythm of battle.

To Be Continued...

Still some action to come, and actually a rather important plot point, so the end isn't in sight yet!

I would just like to point out what I meant by Legolas' comment, that he trusted few people with 'everything else'. We always say that trusting someone with our life is the ultimate trust we can place in them, but that's not true. We trust plenty of people with our lives. The obvious ones are doctors, paramedics, the police, etc, but it probably extends to more than that: I know that if, God forbid, I was to collapse or something in a public place, I would trust in the complete strangers around me to do something. As it is said in the recent trailer for The Martian (which looks awesome), 'human beings have an innate desire to help each other out'.

Anyway, I would trust quite a lot of strangers with my actual, literal life. But there are very few people- namely my immediate family (and not even some of them) and a few close friends, that I ever trust with anything else, really- my emotions and thoughts and ideas (e.g. I don't actually trust a huge amount of people with the fact that I am a complete nerd and obsessed fangirl). So yeah, that is my reasoning behind it.

Next chapter will be up on Tuesday. As always, reviews are very welcome.