Chapter 41: A Crucible

C/W: trauma, violence

(~***~)

August

The afternoon after the idyllic family evening by the beach, Legolas followed Thranduil a few minutes away, where the older elf had identified a likely source of wood for new arrows. Lossrilleth brought the children foraging in the greenery that followed the bounty of the fresh spring, where she could keep one eye on their fire.

The ellyn had been walking and speaking lightly about how good it was to see the children happy again when, suddenly, Lossrilleth's voice boomed in their minds.

Come back NOW. The Collector is here!

(~***~)

Angharad had been rustling through the thick foliage at the edge of their beach, following a trail of ripe mangoes further into the brush, when the sound of something large crashing through the leaves reached her ears. Angharad jumped down from the tree she'd been climbing and grabbed her sack, fleeing silently back towards her mother. She heard the noise stop behind her, then the sound of liquid splashing. The girl peered carefully through the foliage and caught a glimpse of a large man urinating on a tree. She could only see the side of his face, but she was instantly sure: it was one of the men from the Collector's ship.

The girl raced back to her mother as swiftly as she could. She was about to burst onto the beach when Lossrilleth spoke directly into her mind.

Stay hidden. They are already here.

The girl peered out from behind the screen of leaves, alarmed to be looking over her mother's shoulder at a group of half a dozen men moving slowly but steadily towards Lossrilleth. The elf mother was crouched down near their fire still: she hadn't dared to move when they'd appeared suddenly, spirit knives in hand. Ginnar was nowhere to be seen. The Collector walked behind two armed guards. To his left walked the magic man who she could remembering subduing Xiaoqing, staff in hand.

Angharad grabbed a stick off the ground that reminded her of a fighting staff. She felt an overwhelming urge to rush out and defend her mother, but Lossrilleth bore down on her, insisting: Stay where you are. I have already called the ellyn.

"Well, well," the Collector remarked in cold Westron. "Another elf. Is the girl with you? She's caused me a lot of trouble in the Middle Kingdom. The menagerie was a good buyer of mine, but the Emperor will not even let me past his borders anymore. Perhaps he would feel better if I return his property to him doubled. Did you really think no one else would come by to use this spring, you fool?"

Lossrilleth refused to speak with him. She was assessing her situation carefully. She saw four spirit knives. The man with the staff was doing something strange with his spirit, concentrating some kind of energy around his staff. She considered the pistol hanging from her belt and immediately dismissed it as useless. She could reach her belt dagger and throw it, but who to aim it at?

The men finished their slow walk across the beach and stopped, only the fire between themselves and the elf mother.

"Stand up slowly and come with us and we will not have to maim you, elf," the Collector commanded.

Legolas and Thranduil arrived, staying behind the foliage to take stock of the situation. What Legolas saw made him sick with fear.

Lossrilleth began to stand slowly, appearing to follow their orders. Halfway risen, she moved swiftly and suddenly. She grabbed a pot of bubbling fat she'd been trying to render in one hand, spraying the scorching oil across the Collector and his two forward guards and launching the burning metal pot directly at the Collector's chest. With her other hand she gripped the handle of their fire bucket full of burning coals, ignoring how it burned her hand. She lifted the bucket and launched it at the men with all her strength. The coals burned them a second time and, as she'd hoped, some of the splattered oil on their clothing caught fire. They screamed and dropped to the ground, rolling to try to put the flames out in the sand.

Angharad saw one of the men at the rear throw a spirit knife at her mother and leaped out from the trees, executing a double barrel jump with not a moment to spare before she hit the knife out of the air with her stick, where it dropped to the ground, useless. Legolas and Thranduil leapt out as soon as they'd seen Angharad reveal herself.

Lossrilleth was dealing with the magician. However his magic worked, it required his mind to be open. With all the concentration she could muster she beat at him, mirroring back his own confusion and fear until it amplified and he had to close himself off or be overcome. The magic that had been gathering in his staff faltered.

"Flee, flee!" he cried "She is a witch, I cannot subdue her!"

The uninjured men grabbed their companions and dragged them up and across the beach as swiftly as they could go. The elves dared not follow – they still had three deadly knives with them.

Legolas had grabbed Angharad by the shoulder as soon as he had reached her.

"I am fine, ada! Help nana!" the girl told him anxiously.

Thranduil had already approached the elf mother, an unsheathed sword in his grip while he inspected her burned hands. Legolas and Angharad joined him soon after.

"That was quick thinking, but you will not be able to help with anything for a few days at least," Thranduil told her. She'd been fast; the burns could have been worse, but her palms were both red and blistered.

"We must leave," Legolas said to his company. "Adar let us get the ship in the water and fly. Leave the unfinished food."

"Where is Ginnar?" the elf mother demanded. "We are not leaving without him." The rest of the elves looked all around the beach and could see no sign of the little dwarf.

"What if they caught him in the trees?" Angharad asked anxiously. "I saw one of them there before I came back to the beach."

Thranduil considered their options gravely. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the smoldering remains of their field smoker.

"Angharad help your father pack everything we can into the ship quickly. I will launch the three of you to move down the coast a mile in the other direction. I will search the forest for the dwarf and spy on the men's camp if I need to. Lossrilleth, could you stay with me so I can speak with you if need be?" the old king commanded.

"Yes, I can," Lossrilleth said with determination. If her hands were going to be useless to her company, she would give whatever else she could offer in the meantime.

The elves threw everything they had spread out on the beach into their ship unceremoniously, including what food that had already been packed into containers. Legolas used the oars to move the boat down the coast to another inlet, where they sat still and quiet, anchored in the dark while they waited for a signal from Thranduil.

"Angharad, you should not have jumped out like that," Lossrilleth whispered.

"I knew what I was doing. The knife did not hit me! I could not let it hurt you, nana, I could not!" Angharad whispered back, crouched as close to her parents as she could get.

"They could have thrown another and hurt you," her mother protested.

"Your mother is right, Angharad, that was too dangerous. But I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you are safe. The Brothers of Temple Mountain have my endless gratitude – their training saved you both. That was good improvisation, meleth nin, even if you did get injured" Legolas commented as he carefully wound Lossrilleth's blistered hands with a length of clean cloth. As strategic sacrifices went, he thought this one had been worth it. He'd seen worse battlefield injuries on fellow soldiers – for an elf, this would heal with time. For her efforts, she'd stopped the men's advance and disabled their captain.

"Oh, but Ginnar," Lossrilleth groaned, leaning her head towards her loved ones. Angharad wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. Legolas let her rest her forehead on his shoulder, giving both ellith a comforting squeeze.

"Grandfather will find him. I know he will," the girl said fiercely. He had to. They could not leave her friend after all this!

(~***~)

Thranduil waded through the greenery of the oasis, looking for any sign of the little dwarf. He could see no tracks, nor could he hear any disturbance among the trees or birds that might point to a hiding child. He thought he knew what this meant, and it was not good.

Thranduil moved silently in the direction the men had run until he could hear the sounds of their camp. He crouched and peered into the loud, disorganized group of men, looking for any sign of the boy. The Collector and his two bodyguards had been badly injured by the boiling oil and coals; the rest of the men were arguing about what to do. Some wanted to go after the elves and collect the price for their sales themselves. Others wanted to flee, not the least the shaman, who felt entirely in over his head with the mind-battering witch in play.

Off to the side, the three injured men lay groaning on the sand. The collector's face was a raw, pink mask. Half of it flickered in torchlight, the other half was dark in the gathering shadows. He appeared to be unconscious. Ginnar was halfway across the sand, tied to the men's dinghy. He had a rough cloth gag in his mouth. His hands were tied in front of him. It was as Thranduil had feared – the boy had been captured.

Thranduil inched around the beach until he was as close to Ginnar as he could get without leaving the safety of the foliage. The old king looked at the group of men. They were distracted, as their argument was growing heated. They were up the beach from the dinghy, pointing back towards the beach the elves had been on. Thranduil took a risk, angling his sword to flash a few times from the tree line, hoping to give the boy some comfort knowing he was not forgotten.

Ginnar whipped his head around and stared at the foliage. He hoped beyond hope it was the elves. He was sure they wouldn't abandon him without trying, but the situation was dire. Assuming it was them, Ginnar lifted his hands and began to sign. Lossrilleth had taught him some of the elven hand-sign language when he'd continuously had trouble hearing over the sound of the surf. If the adults were on the other side of the ship, one or the other would have run to each other for him to be able to speak with them. So Lossrilleth had shared some signs with him that they could flash across the deck to each other quickly. And the alphabet.

Many knife stay far, he signed. Some of the rest he wanted to say he had to spell, for he didn't know the words. S. The dwarf motioned towards the side of his own belt, trying to show what he'd noticed: the Collector, passed out, half in the darkness and near to the trees, had the keys to the prisoners' bonds tied to his belt.

Thranduil watched the signs carefully and glanced at the evil man. There on his belt was looped a large ring, covered in keys and some odd-looking talismans. He already knew the dwarf had a good tactical mind, but he didn't understand the idea yet. Thranduil looked at the men again – all their backs were towards him. He lifted one hand into the dim light, relieved when he could see the dwarf noticed, for the boy shook his head in alarm. Explain, Thranduil signed, then pulled back.

Shi help, Ginnar tried again. Now Thranduil thought he understood. He looked out at the black hulk floating in the distance. The men had taken other peoples captive. Steal the keys, appeal to them for help facing the spirit knives. Perhaps some of them were mortal and immune.

Understand, he flashed to the boy. Calm stay, he commanded. Ginnar breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't tell whose hand it was, but it was one of the elf-men. He would take help from either now, gladly.

Thranduil snuck through the trees until he was as close to the collector as he could get without revealing himself. From the shadows the old king looked upon the man who had visited such terror and evil on his granddaughter and her friend. He was tempted to slit the man's throat when he tried to steal these keys. He glanced at the other men. They were in a lose circle, slapping and yelling at two men who'd started swinging at each other. Chances were good they would notice their leader in a pool of blood faster than the missing keys alone, and Thranduil needed time. Thranduil darted out to the Collector, slashed the man's belt with his sword, and was back in the forest in less than a minute, keys in hand. The Collector lived, for now. The next thing Ginnar noticed was something pale bobbing in the dark water, farther and farther from the beach.

(~***~)

When Thranduil cracked open the hatch of the bulky ship, his rage flared anew. The air the rose out of the hold was full of the stink of too many people, unwashed and crowded together. That Angharad had spent months trapped in such a place… Thranduil was ready to rain death down on someone. More death: he hadn't hesitated to slay all four watchmen that he'd encountered when he had climbed over the gunwale, swiftly and without mercy.

He refocused himself and climbed down the ladder into a small space that held nothing but some coiled rope and other tools. He opened the door in front of him catiously and stepped into a sea of cages that stretched into the dark on either side of him.

"Who here speaks Westron?" he asked when no one jumped out to assault him. "I'm not one of your captors. I'm here on behalf of my granddaughter, who was once his captive, like you."

A dozen voices competed for his attention.

"Has anyone seen how the keys are ordered?" he asked again into the dim room, trying to orient himself.

"There's a torch next to the door, and flint in a box on the floor," a rough voice told him. Thranduil found the torch and lit it as he'd been told. He shifted the torch from side to side, first looking for signs of any other guards or other dangers. When he found none he looked into the cages. A dozen dwarfs. A woman with brown skin, dark eyes, and many arms protruding from her back. One of the bat-winged people Angharad had spoken about hung from the bars of its cages, hissing at the light of the torch. The cages reached all the way back into the hold. Thranduil could hear all the people shifting and breathing.

"Your captor has been badly injured. His men are in disarray. I've stolen his keys and will release you if you won't harm me. For those that will, I ask for your help. My company and I have been escorting a young dwarf home: he is our charge. The men recaptured him and it's my duty to free him again. But my kind are vulnerable to those spirit knives and I cannot do so alone," Thranduil explained. A hiss echoed back through the hold at the mention of the hated blades. Thranduil approached a set of dwarfs in cages, thumbing through the keys with frustration. There had to be a hundred here. How would he ever tell which went where?

"If it's one of ours you're going after, I'll help," a young dwarf warrior offered. The other dwarfs murmured in agreement.

"Here, show me the keys," an old dwarf told Thranduil. "We made these cages decades ago, not knowing what they were for. See, look they're numbered. The markings will match the locks."

Thranduil peered at the keys beneath the torch, searching until he found one that matched the old dwarf's and unlocked the cage.

"If you know how this works and we can agree to be allies, I leave this to you, master dwarf," Thranduil offered courteously. He made an effort to address this person before him, focusing on all the things about the dwarf that were different from those he could remember destroying the city of his youth.

"We will split them… elf?" the old dwarf said in amazement as he took in the tall stranger. "Is it true? I thought you'd all gone West ages ago."

"It's true," Thranduil confirmed, offering the ring to the old dwarf to split as he saw fit. "And we did. But this fiend managed to get his hands on my granddaughter, and we had to come to her aid. She became friends with your kin. We owe it to him to return him to his own people."

"Huh," the dwarf muttered, handing some keys back to Thranduil. "I'll let you deal with your own sort, then, elf. The demons and others those knives can harm are all over that way – you let them out, if you dare."

Thranduil nodded once and turned to his task while the dwarf freed his own kin and set them to unlocking other's cages and bonds. The old king stood before the enclosure of an Eastern looking man who passed him over with a flinty stare. If Xiaoqing had been any guide, Thranduil was pretty certain this was also a demon. He had the same kind of feel as the green snake. How to play this?

"I ask nothing of you or any demon or spirit here in exchange for your freedom, except your oath not to cause harm to me or my kin. Help if you wish, or don't - but do not hinder or harm us. Do you understand?" Thranduil offered calmly.

The demon looked him over, flicking out a forked tongue. "I agree to your terms, tree spirit. No harm or hindrance to you or your kin in exchange for my freedom."

Thranduil found the key to the demon's door and let him go. Then he shifted through the talismans until one of them worked and the choke collar released from the demon's neck. A low murmur passed through the cages in this section of the hold. The demon sauntered out and disappeared.

"The terms are the same for all. Give your oath or stay captive," Thranduil told them when they'd seen the snake demon depart and knew he was good for his word.

"I agree," hissed the bat-winged man, crawling down to the ground from his perch. Thranduil sought his key. A chorus of assents began to float towards him as he worked on freeing the bat demon.

"Me as well," the many-armed woman said. "But I will also help you if you are going to destroy those wicked fools. With a sword in every hand," she spit. Another quieter wave of assents echoed through the cages of the spirit peoples.

"Good," Thranduil agreed, turning to her next. "Perhaps you can locate the armory for us, then. No one will need more weapons than you." The woman let out a low, threatening laugh.

(~***~)