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Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: We do not own the characters. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. We merely take them out for some fun and will return them in good shape… more or less… However, the original characters belong to their respective creators. :) Summary: When Legolas failed to show up at The Last Homely House as promised, Aragorn set out to search for his missing friend, but all that he found was Legolas’ abandoned elven knife. When Elladan and Elrohir realized that letting Aragorn go after their friend alone was a grave mistake, the twins tracked their brother into the forest. To their dismay, they found that the human and the elf prince had landed in the hands of a band of slavers… Note: This round robin story is made possible by a group of wonderful and talented writers. The Moderators of the list (Wanda and Coon) would like to thank everyone for their wonderful contributions, delightful feedbacks and constant encouragements. Wanda would also like to thank Coon for helping her maintain the list and keep track of the authors. Thank you Coon, I couldn’t have done it without you!! :D *hugs* List of Authors (in order of writing appearance): Wanda, Elvensong, Val, PT, Jessi, Cat, Alex, Chianna, Louise, Saber, Ginny, T’Pai, Gilgaladiell, Meril, Iridia, Rhonda, Deana, Karri, Ryoko. I hope I didn’t miss out anyone. If I did, feel free to kick me. LOL! Additional Notes: Special thanks to Iridia for taking the time to beta read all the chapters. :) Feedback: LadyGreenleaf@gmail.com
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Aragorn leaned on the window looking out at the slowly darkening sky. "Where are you, Legolas? What have you gotten yourself into this time?" He sighed softly, not hearing the light footsteps that approached him from behind. Elrond walked silently to the window and wrapped a blanket around his youngest son's shoulders, startling him. Aragorn twirled around and was greeted by a pair of dark brown eyes. "I'm sorry, Estel," Elrond apologized, "I didn't mean to..." "It's all right, Father," Aragorn cut him off in mid-sentence, running his hands over his tired face. "Did Elladan and Elrohir find him?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer, having seen the twins return without his elven friend. Elrond shook his head sadly. The twins had been out in search of the elf prince ever since he had failed to show up at midday as promised; but unfortunately, they had been forced to return by the rapidly approaching storm. The sky had turned dark as night; strong winds assaulted the trees, trying to break them. A gust of icy cold wind found its way through the window and Aragorn shivered, wrapping the blanket a little tighter around himself. "I would have gone with them, if not for that stupid hunting accident," the young human added guiltily, looking down at his heavily bandaged leg and kicking himself mentally for being so careless. "It would have increased the chances of finding him..." he trailed off. "We will find him," the elven lord tried to assure the ranger. "We will send out more scouting parties after the storm breaks." Elrond wrapped his arm around Aragorn's shoulder, pulling him gently away from the window and guiding his slightly limping son to the bed. "You need rest." -------------------------------------------------- Legolas groaned and opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear his blurred vision. For a moment, he didn't know why he was lying face-down on the ground. As he tried to push himself off the rocky surface, a sharp pain pierced through his chest, sending him into a coughing fit, a thin trail of blood running down the corner of his mouth. As the coughing ceased, the elf took a shuddering breath and pushed himself up slowly to a sitting position. He leaned against a large rock, wrapping his left hand protectively around his chest. The prince squeezed his eyes shut and took inventory of the different pains in his body. At least one of his ribs was broken, and he knew that he was bleeding internally. His left ankle hurt, but he realized it was just sprained; but his head hurt... a lot. Legolas reached up with his right hand to touch his forehead above his right brow and hissed in pain. The fingers came away bloody; and the blood continued to flow from the deep cut down his face and neck, soaking into his dark green tunic. Lightning flashed across the sky and the cold wind started to pick up speed. Legolas knew that he would need to find shelter before the storm hit. Pulling himself up painfully, he scanned the area. His sharp elven eyes found an area of thickly grown trees about a hundred paces from where he stood. The injured elf limped miserably towards the closest tree as heavy raindrops began to fall. Within minutes, he was drenched from head to toe, shivering from the pain and cold that assaulted his battered body. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached his haven. Stumbling towards the trees, he collapsed onto the forest floor in a heap, jarring his injured ribs. A small cry escaping his trembling lips, he curled into a tight ball, hoping to minimize the pain--to no avail. "Estel! Help me!" The desperate cry for help turned out to be merely a soft whisper, lost in the merciless storm. TBC... Round Robin Aragorn was thrust back into the waking world by a distant voice. He sat up quickly; there was no choice now. The storm raged with all its force, blowing and echoing its cries through Estel's room; but the man could no longer sit and do nothing while one of his closest companions was lost out in the vast wilderness. Limping to his closet, he grabbed his sturdiest cloak and wrapped himself in it. Looking out the window at the rain and the night, he blew out his candle. "I'm coming, Legolas." -------------------------------------------------- Sleep was the greatest enemy the night presented to one lone Elf, sitting under a great tree. The tree was wise, and ancient. Its voice was deep and powerful; but even it could be of no help. With all its power, the tree called to the Elves who lived in this land, speaking of one who was lost, willing itself to be heard; but none could hear it over the wail of the storm. All the tree could do now was try to protect this Firstborn as well as it could; but with the wind coming seemingly from all directions, this became a task too great even for one so noble. -------------------------------------------------- Unsure of how long he had been there, Legolas tried to keep himself from falling into Elven dreams. Whether he would ever wake from them was be questionable, given his injuries this night. He tried to think of better times, of Mirkwood, and those trees that, for too long, had been silenced by the gathering dark. Memories came back, of playing in the royal court, hiding under tables to startle unsuspecting visitors. He had never actually surprised any Elf of his land, he knew now; but they often played along with the young prince's antics. These memories brought warmth to his heart, but little to his body. As he began feeling the cold of this storm, the knowledge that something was terribly wrong with him seeped into his mind. Last time he had felt the cold had been over five hundred years ago when he lay wounded by the spiders on a hunting trip in the far edges of the forest. Legolas thought of the long, terrible trip back to the Halls of the Elf King. An image of the look on his father's face, full of worry, actually brought him comfort. Thranduil was cold to all outsiders; but to Legolas, he was always Ada. Smiling slightly with memory, Legolas tried to shift his position, but found his body less than willing to cooperate. The cold air caused him to cough and prevented him from being able to breathe deeply. Broken ribs in his side were not at all helpful in his attempts to adjust his legs so that they were under him and able to keep warmer that way. He had stopped bleeding in some places, but even the slightest movement would bring the blood flow back. The Elf worried even more about the wounds he could not inspect without removing the thin clothing that was all between him and the cold. Now his thoughts drifted to his closest of friends, Aragorn son of Arathorn; Estel in the world of Elves. Worry crept into the Elf's mind. In his delirium, he thought he had heard his own voice calling out into the night for his friend to aid him. With the night as dreadful as possible, he prayed to the stars that dear Estel would not do something so overly foolish. -------------------------------------------------- Having gathered everything he would need, Estel reached the exit of the house. Thunder shook the ancient books that lined the shelves and, steeling his nerves, he prepared himself for the rush of cold wind that would greet him. That was when he heard it: the striking of stones that signaled the lighting of a candle. "Estel." Aragorn turned and remained still, letting the next move be made by the figure in the corner. TBC... Round Robin Notes: My awesome beta, Trin, gets credit here. Thanks too to Wanda, who's inspired me to try this new genre, and to this addicting list. -------------------------------------------------- Yet the voice persisted. "Estel." Aragorn sighed and stepped into the shallow circle of light the candle was throwing. The figure also stepped out of the darkness. "You should wait till first light, until the storm fades." "I heard him calling," Aragorn replied, pulling the cloak tighter around his shoulders. "I will leave now. And the rest of you will follow, come daybreak." "You should not go out alone," the voice persisted. "It is far too dangerous even for someone like yourself. You are wounded." Aragorn silently admitted he was right. He knew the dangers of venturing out into the storm. He could feel the chill on the other side of the heavy door. "If I do not go, he will die." "I knew you would try to leave," the figure continued, coming closer. Aragorn recognized Elladan as the twin clasped his shoulder. "If anyone can find him in this, it will be you." Aragorn nodded slowly, realizing the task ahead of him. "I will find him," he promised. "I promise." Elladan nodded and watched as Aragorn opened the heavy door, the cold air spiraling inside with wind-whipped leaves. The heavy door closed, leaving the warmth and the comfort still trapped inside. Aragorn winced as the cold air hit him with a force greater than one he'd faced in a long while. "Legolas," he breathed in silent prayer. "I am coming." -------------------------------------------------- It was almost as if the whisper were carried in the harshness of the wind; for the words spoken by Aragorn a great distance away brought comfort to Legolas beneath the Tree. "Aragorn?" His word was a desperate plea to see past the haze clouding his vision. The Tree swayed with the icy winds blasting still from the north. In the back of his mind, Legolas wondered how the storm could rampage onward so deep into the night. He knew he was close to sleep. The harder he tried to fight it, the more he knew the darkness was taking him. He could hardly see the broad branches before him, protecting him from the fury of nature. "I'm sorry..." his voice trailed off. A chill raced through his body and he shivered, causing the pain to double, nearly rendering him motionless. "I'm trying to be strong." He closed his eyes once. It was almost a relief. He could feel the pain disappear into the comfort of the protective Tree. As his mind eased, a deep feeling of panic set in. He knew his consciousness was coming back and forced his eyes to open. "I'll try to be strong." ---------------------------------------------------------------- The words were like ice in Aragorn's heart. He could feel them; they seemed to carry into his thoughts with a power all their own. "Fight it, Legolas. Be strong." He could feel the will of the elvish prince faltering. Pressing onward out of the village, he set his sights on the hills. A moment later, he paused, fearing the worst. "Legolas!" His mind seemed to shout a thousand words. But the intense feeling of fear in his stomach was enough to let him know that the elf was succumbing to sleep. TBC... Round Robin
"Legolas!" The mental scream pulled the elf prince from the blackness he had almost given in to. "Aragorn," Legolas whispered to the winds. Knowing that, if he sat still any longer, he would fall into the black hole that so desperately wanted to claim him, he prepared himself to rise. Yet his body refused to rise from the ground upon which it sat. Sighing to himself, Legolas began to replay how he had come to be in this mess. He had been heading to Rivendell to go on a hunting trip with Aragorn, though the trip would be set back for a week or two while Aragorn healed from his injury. As he was crossing the Misty Mountains, a pack of wolves had attacked him. He was able to hold them off with his arrows, but too soon, he had run out. And the wolves kept coming. Knowing that he was in trouble, he had quickly turned and run. Pulling out his blades, he slashed at any wolves that came to close to him. Too late, however, he found the wolves had herded him to the edge of a ravine. He turned to fight, waiting for them to make their move. One wolf came at him from the right, and as he turned to defend himself, two more attacked him from behind. With a speed to which most could not compare, Legolas spun and slashed at them as well. However, this move caused him to lose his balance; and the next thing he knew, he was falling. He felt himself hit the ground below--and then nothing. When he had come to, he had found himself in his current condition, and made for the trees. Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he paused as he heard a noise coming towards him. Knowing he could not defend himself against an attack, but not being one to turn from a fight, Legolas once again tried to get to his feet. This time he was able, unable to hold in a cry of pain. Leaning heavily against the tree, he pulled out his blades and waited. Soon someone came into the clearing, and before Legolas could attack, an arrow shot out, hitting him directly in the arm. Crying out, he let go of the tree and fell to the ground. Knowing that this time that he would be unable to stop the darkness from taking him, he gave in. Just before he passed out, he heard words that struck pure terror into his heart: "This one will fetch a fine price on the slave block."
TBC...
Round Robin Author's notes: Cat and I would like to thank Wanda, Elvensong, Val, and PT for their great sections (and some evil twists ::looks at PT::) Without those, this wouldn't be possible. Okay, now on to part five! -------------------------------------------------- The rain continued at a steady pace into the morning, its rate lessening only slightly from the night before. Instead of solid ground, pools of soupy mud ravished the land. The mighty trees above danced in the wind as water trickled down from their glistening leaves, filling pools at their bases. Beneath this swaying canopy, the figure of a man clothed in a dark cloak snaked through the trees. His shoes sank into the mud; and mud clutched at his dark boots, causing him to tumble repeatedly. The constant struggle of navigating through the mud and clusters of fallen branches had quickly worn out the young ranger. He limped, an injured leg throbbing in the cold, wet climate and screaming for him to stop. Aragorn shook his head in silent protest. He couldn't rest now, not while his friend needed him. His breath smoked the air as he let out a sigh. So far, he hadn't found anything. Whipping his soaking hair away from his silver-green eyes, he stopped and touched his aching leg, begging for it to listen to him and stay strong. The thoughts of his missing Elven friend were the only thing that kept his leg from giving in, but even that wouldn't keep him going much longer. He decided to give in slightly and leaned against the bulky tree nearest to him. The ranger had to squint to see through the silver sheet of droplets and towards the clearing right ahead. Glancing down at the dark pools, Aragorn realized that even if Legolas had left a trace it would have been impossible for any creature--even a ranger--to find. All Aragorn could see was the pool of mud and some densely crowded trees a few hundred yards away. The young man's eyes settled on that area as he pushed himself off the tree. His leg began protesting again as weight was suddenly applied and Aragorn couldn't help holding back a soft moan. Settling back onto the tree, he clenched onto his injured leg and shut his eyes until the new wave of pain left. When he opened them again they still faced rippling mud, but there was something strange there that caught the ranger's attention. His eyes suddenly grew wide when a glint of silver sliced its way through the brown muck. Without hesitating, Aragorn reached into the mud and pulled out the glimmering object. He gasped as he held it in his trembling hand. Reaching with his other, he calmed the shaking and had to blink several times to make sure his eyes didn't deceive him. They weren't. "Oh no..." Worry etched itself deeper into Aragorn's already troubled face. He fingered the ivory handle down to the golden leaflet design from the silver blade and the ranger knew that his worst fears were confirmed: His friend was in grave danger. He tucked the knife into his soaked satchel and vowed it would be returned to its rightful owner. Finding new strength, Aragorn stood up and ignored his objecting leg as he slowly made his way to the dark patch of trees. Through the heavy rain he prayed to Earendil that these woods would provide more answers. "Don't worry, my friend; I'll find you. Hold on..." -------------------------------------------------- Two men stood over Legolas' unconscious form. Neither of them looked over the age of thirty. The one that had shot him still had his bow drawn and seemed to be frozen in place. The other moved to kneel next to the elf. "Varan!" the man named Syrill snapped, "Put down that bow and help me!" Varan jolted out of his shock and rushed to help Syrill, who was binding Legolas' hands together. When they were done, Varan pulled the prince to his feet and was just about to hoist the elf over his shoulder, when Legolas regained consciousness. With the last of the energy he had in his body, he struggled against the men's hold on him. Yet it was not to be. Syrill quickly regained his grasp on the prince, and Varan hit him harshly in the head with the handle of his dagger. Just before the darkness took him again, Legolas looked up and saw a figure running toward them. Recognition dawned, but his attempted shout came out as a mere whisper. "Strider..."
TBC...
Round Robin
Round Robin The forest was unnaturally quiet. The slavers' passage through the forest had alerted its denizens; most had gone to their burrows, high perches or dens to wait out the intrusion. Aragorn knew that he would need to make a decision soon, so he closed in on the scene before him. The oppressive quiet amplified the sounds and sights not twenty yards in front of him. Legolas lay unmoving on the ramshackle old hay cart the two slavers had converted into a prisoner transport wagon. It was not enclosed, so they had gone to some lengths to ensure that their booty remained secure. A span of chain ran the length of both sides of the cart. As he watched, the apish one that the other had called Varan hauled the elf's arms over his head and secured them to the chain. Legolas' bloodied body lay stretched out on the bed of the cart. Varan proceeded to the end of the cart and did the same to the prince's legs. Anger at his friend's treatment tightened in his chest, burning white hot. His options had narrowed to only two slim possibilities. First, there was no way with the injury to his leg that he could follow a wagon on foot. He could go back to Rivendell, get his brothers and get a horse. They could double back and easily follow the wagon tracks of a laden cart. Almost in the same instant, Aragorn discarded the idea. What if Legolas was transferred to some other vehicle, it rained or they traveled over rocky ground? Too many factors could stop even an elven-trained tracker from finding the sign that would lead to his friend. Strider's only other option was not very appealing either. In his weakened condition, his strength reserves were almost completely tapped. He had the endurance left for a short fight, but he could ill afford any complications. But the slavers seemed to be only armed with bows, short swords and cudgels. Brutes, he thought; the cudgels were probably to subdue hapless victims. If he were able to close more distance before revealing himself, it would be unlikely that either would have time to let loose an arrow; and Aragorn's broadsword would give him an advantage in reach that the short swords lacked. Mind made up, Strider advanced as quietly as his aching leg would allow, using the cover of the trees and brush to mask his approach. His heart leapt, as he saw movement from Legolas in the cart. The two slavers seemed unaware of his approach as they noisily completed final preparations to depart their crude camp. But Strider's approach did not go unattended. Legolas lifted his head and turned it in the direction of the noise that only elven ears could have perceived. His bleary eyes caught a figure approaching and tried to focus. Two steps closer and he recognized his best friend approaching. Just as suddenly, his hopes for rescue turned to despair as his eyes focused just beyond the ranger. He tried to shake his head and yell out a warning. Only a pained whisper passed the elf's lips. "No, Estel. No." Too late, he realized that his friend's attention was already engaged elsewhere. Strider's approach finally gained Varan and Syrill's notice. The ranger's appearance took the two completely off guard. The ranger's already unsheathed sword spun in a graceful and deadly arch to rest pointing at the two as they stepped back to clumsily grab their weapons. Syrill, unquestionably the smarter of the two, knew that graceful flourish signaled that they were probably up against a master swordsman, no matter how young he appeared. The slaver grasped his sword in front of him and knew with no uncertainty that it would only be a matter of time. Clumsily he blocked the first blow as Varan finally brought his sword to bear as well. With a moment's respite, Syrill noted how the ranger was favoring his left leg. He was even further heartened when he looked just beyond the ranger. With a yell, he fought harder, not with any hope to do the ranger injury immediately, but rather to distract him. Aragorn managed to slash the arm of the bolder slaver and knew that they were both tiring as he wove his sword between them. For just an instant, he heard the clank of a chain and stole a look at his friend. His eyes locked for a moment with his friend's bloodied face. Legolas only had the strength to utter one word. "Behind!" As stated earlier, a cudgel is a rather inelegant weapon; but, under some circumstances, it can be used quite effectively. In this case, applied with even moderate force to the ranger's injured leg, it brought the man to his knees, gasping in pain. In that instant, Aragorn knew that he had miscalculated: There had been a third accomplice. In his exhaustion and pain, he had not reconnoitered the area as carefully as he was normally wont to do. Legolas' warning had come too late. Facing away from his attacker, he sensed, rather than saw, the next blow. Trying to swing his sword arm around to attempt an attack probably saved his life. The blow intended for his head struck his left shoulder instead. There was the sound of a sickening pop as the force of the blow spun the ranger around and drove him face-down into the mud. Legolas', hope and Aragorn's consciousness, departed in the same instant. Legolas was helpless as he watched the victor eye his defenseless friend. The cudgel nudged his back once, then twice. Aragorn moved not at all. "Pick him up and secure him in the wagon. He's a mess, but we might get something for him." Syrill approached more brazenly now that the ranger lay unconscious at his feet, one hand holding his injured arm. Syrill ordered Saran to throw the ranger into the cart, "like manure rolling downhill," but not before delivering a vicious kick to the ranger's unprotected back. "That's for the cut, slave! I've only just begun to get back my own from you sorry hide." Varan picked up the ranger's body and unceremoniously dumped it next to the elf. Syrill lashed the ranger's feet to the chain on the opposite side of the cart. Syrill barked to Varan, "Secure his arms as you did with the elf." "But Syrill, his shoulder is dislocated." With sadistic satisfaction, Syrill ordered, "Do it Varan. Fixing it for our young friend when we make camp will give me something to look forward to." With an air of command, the third, and obvious leader, settled onto the driver's side of the cart and took the reins, throwing back at the two bickering minions, "Shut up, both of you. Your dithering earlier would have cost us a hefty payment for the elf if I had not come along." More afraid of his leader than Syrill, Varan pulled the ranger's arms together and fastened them above the man's head, drawing a groan of pain as his tortured joint was moved once again. Legolas eyed his friend. Sweat beaded the man's face that was gray with pain. Legolas was relieved that his friend had regained his senses. "What did you think you were doing?" "I didn't have much of a choice, Legolas...I had a plan." Aragorn took in his friend's many injuries and prayed for them both. For the first time this day, Legolas felt a smile part his lips. "You call this a plan? You've been captured, and your shoulder is dislocated." "Well, it will lull them into a false sense of security." The elf snorted ungracefully at that, as Aragorn added with much less bravado, "And, at least, my friend, you are not alone." "Indeed. And now I have something to live for," the elf added with a crooked grin as Aragorn looked at him quizzically. "Once we are free, I cannot wait to tell the twins that you were felled by a woman!"
TBC...
Round Robin The skies were still dark around Rivendell--a definite reflection of Elrond's stony visage. His anger had unleashed itself upon his sons when he learned of Estel's nighttime flight. Shaking his head, he thought on the pig-headedness of humans, hoping to the Valar that his adopted son was all right. However, from past experience, his senses were laughing at his optimism. Before dawn had broken, and mere hours after Estel had left, the search party headed out. Elrond looked out at the land surrounding him, the smell of the damp earth coming to him in abundance. The serenity of the forests did nothing to calm his spirit. His heart was crying out for the safety of his sons and Legolas. "Estel..." he whispered into the dewy morning. In growing concern for the younger beings, he turned away from the balcony. All he could do now was wait...and worry. -------------------------------------------------- If there was one thing that the young ranger could deduce from this entire experience, it was the fact that a hay cart was not a comfortable bed--especially when one's hands and feet were bound with chains. His head swooned as he attempted to hoist himself upright, trying to look around. The slavers had stopped for the night, and from what Aragorn could tell, it was going to be a lengthy night indeed. Already he was regretting jumping head first into this predicament and letting himself be caught in the first place. His shoulder (and his somewhat-wounded pride) were throbbing. "Enough chastising yourself, Strider..." Startled, the human turned towards the low, hoarse voice coming from beside him. Legolas' fair features were illuminated by splotches of moonlight through the canopy above, the blood and bruises standing out on his pale skin. "Who's chastising?" he retorted. The elf responded with a wry look. Rolling his eyes, Aragorn tried to look towards his hands, the tight chains digging painfully into his flesh. Sighing in defeat, he resigned to flopping his head back down on the coarse wood beneath him. With Legolas in the condition he was in, and his own body protesting his every movement, escaping right now hardly proved to be the optimal choice, even if he could manage to free himself from the chains that held him down. "Legolas?" he whispered. "What?" croaked the elf, his sluggishness due to his injuries reflected in his tone. "I don't suppose you might be able to get free?" A half snort, half cough returned to the ranger's ears. "That's what I thought..." Aragorn grimaced. Things did not look good. Closing his eyes, he thought, 'Where are Elladan and Elrohir when I need them...' -------------------------------------------------- When he thought back on his father's reaction to Estel's flight from Rivendell, Elladan could not help wincing. There weren't many moments in his lifetime that he could say that he had seen Elrond truly infuriated, but this was probably one of those few moments. A whistle from Elrohir jolted him out of his reverie. He and the others with him broke into a run, Elladan's heart thundering at the thought of what Elrohir might have found. Praying to the Valar as he ran, Elladan reached his twin as Elrohir descended from the branches of a massive tree, and was immediately troubled by the look in his eyes. "What is it, brother?" he asked. Elrohir motioned towards the tree next to him. "Come." Ascending the boughs, it wasn't long before they reached the top. From their vantage point, the entire area was visible to the two elves. "We were tracking Estel in that direction," Elrohir said, pointing towards the horizon. "I know that, Elrohir," replied the other, "your point?" After a sidelong glare, Elrohir continued. "Look down there." Following the trajectory of Elrohir's finger, Elladan squinted, searching for what had peaked his twin's interest. "Elrohir, I don't see-" Elladan faltered. "It has to be him," murmured Elrohir in recognition of what he was seeing. Confusion spread over Elladan's face. "Brother, it looks like nothing more than a group of humans in a clearing." "Look again." Heeding his brother's advice, Elladan returned his line of sight to further scrutinize the location. "Elrohir, I don't see anything overly suspicious that would suggest that Estel is down there." His twin sighed. "How can you not see it? It's hidden in the trees, but it's still visible," he said, "look to the south of the camp." "Two wagons of some sort... and one cart..." "You can tell from the look of the camp that they're armed, Elladan. And, last time I checked, farmers didn't go to sell their crops with only one cart." Horror began to creep onto Elladan's face. "Could..." A solemn nod from his twin was all that was necessary. The pair raced down the tree. They had to reach Aragorn before time ran out. TBC...
Note: I'll be away until November and won't have internet access while I'm gone. Hopefully this part will keep you occupied until then. LOL!! Round Robin Aragorn decided that the only thing worse then being chained hand and foot in a hay cart with a dislocated shoulder...was being WET, chained hand and foot in a hay cart, with a dislocated shoulder. The rain had retuned, and with absolutely no cover, the hundreds of cold droplets quickly had him and Legolas soaked to the skin. Gray eyes blinked against the pelting water that made his already blurred vision even worse. He tried to shift his uncomfortable position enough to get a better view of Legolas, but the fiery pain shooting through his shoulder at the simple motion made him grit his teeth and seriously rethink the idea. Aragorn could feel his friend shivering violently next to him and his already potent concern skyrocketed. The ranger couldn't tell just how badly Legolas was injured, but if his heavy breathing and slurred speech were any clue, it was serious. He cursed violently in dwarvish under his breath. This rescue wasn't exactly going how he had planned... The ranger closed his eyes with a heavy sigh and tried his best to ignore the pelting rain along with the pain of his injuries; Legolas' ragged breathing filling his ears. Despite his friend's previous warnings against chastising himself, Aragorn could not help the self-condemning thoughts that raced unchecked about his mind. 'I was a fool to come alone. And now Legolas will pay the price for my mistake.' He was pulled from his thoughts by a sharp blow across his face that jerked his head into the rough wood of the hay cart. Wincing, he opened his eyes to see the face of one of his captors; the female who had given him the biggest headache of his life. She sneered at him, "It's time to take care of that shoulder of yours. I'm sure it must be bothering you, all tied up like that..." Aragorn said nothing. He did not trust himself not to say something that would result in even more pain on his part. The female pulled a key from a leather pouch hanging at her side and undid the shackles on his wrists. Before he could even sit up she pulled up her sleeve to show him the dagger strapped to her arm. "If you try anything, not only will you pay for it...but so will your elf friend." She nodded towards Legolas. When Aragorn nodded his understanding she grabbed his arm and dragged him from the cart. He bit back a whimper as his leg gave out beneath him, dropping him to the ground. The woman impatiently tugged at his arm, which of course with Aragorn's luck was the dislocated one. "Get up," she growled, "I will not carry you." Clenching his jaw, the ranger struggled to his feet. By the time he had limped his way to the smoldering fire where the other two slavers were sitting, he was gasping at the exertion on his injured body. Syrill was grinning wickedly at him. "I've been looking forward to this, boy." The woman pushed him to the ground and Aragorn gratefully collapsed to the muddy earth. Syrill rose and walked to his side, his grin only widening as he took in how the young man cradled his injured arm. Wasting no time, he motioned Varan to hold Aragorn still while he took his arm and began to maneuver it around. Aragorn bit his lip and squeezed his eyes closed as the white-hot fire in his shoulder erupted to a raging volcano of agony. And as the minutes crawled by, he began to realize that these people had absolutely no idea how to properly reset a dislocated shoulder. He could not contain a sharp cry of pain as Syrill twisted his arm too far to the right, his body arching against the abuse. It only served to earn him a round of laughter and a cuff upside the head. After what seemed like a lifetime, there was a sharp pop as his shoulder slid back into its socket. Aragorn tried to keep quiet--he didn't want to give them the pleasure of hearing his agony--but the pain was too great and a scream broke past his lips before he fell limply to the mud. -------------------------------------------------- Elladan stiffened as a scream broke through the night. He pushed back the hood of his cloak and turned to his twin, his unspoken question hanging in the air between. Elrohir brushed his soaking black hair out of his vision amidst the trails of water streaking down his face as he turned blue eyes wide with horror towards the direction of the tortured sound, "Estel..." Face darkening with barely contained fury, Elladan broke into a dead run, hearing the sounds of his twin racing close behind. He swore to himself that if the slavers had hurt his little brother in any way, they were going to pay.
TBC...
Round Robin
He landed with a small gasp as the pain of his injuries seized him for a moment, but he pushed it ruthlessly aside with the knowledge that his friend needed him. As the clearing fell silent once more, his piercing gaze landed on the people around the fire. His heart sank as he spotted Aragorn on the ground. He launched himself across the clearing toward the three slavers. He was no longer aware of the pouring rain or the pain that was threatening to make him pass out; all he knew was that he needed to get those people away from his friend immediately. To his ears, his movements were distractingly loud, but to human ears, he was still nearly silent. The woman--he didn't know her name--looked up when he was just steps away. She didn't see the blow coming as he swung his wrist around and connected with her jaw. She fell limply to the ground and Legolas' swing carried through into the nearest man. It was just a glancing blow, but it was still enough to get the man out of his way. He turned his attention to Syrill, who was still standing over Aragorn, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Get away from him," he rasped warningly, anger pouring off of him. "And why would I do that?" If you don't, I'll kill you," said Legolas calmly. There was something about the infuriated elf that made Syrill pause. Despite the fact that Legolas was filthy, bloody, and soaked to the bone, there was something inherently threatening about him. Syrill seemed about to comply, and then stopped. "I don't think you will," he said, and nodded slightly. Legolas felt something slam into his already injured ribs and he fell to his knees, gasping for air. He looked up and saw the other man--Varan, his mind thought with ironic clarity--standing above him with a branch in his hands. He and Syrill were laughing. His final thought before he passed out was, 'Now would be an excellent time for Elladan and Elrohir to show up.'
TBC...
Round Robin Elladan and Elrohir had slowed when they heard a foreign voice asking: "And why would I do that?" They could barely restrain themselves from running straight into trouble, especially when they heard Legolas answering. But they knew it would do no good to their little brother or his elven friend if they were caught, too; and they didn't know how many enemies there were--the rain had washed away some of the tracks, and made all the footprints look the same. The twins came slowly nearer, so as not to alert anyone to their presence. They heard the rest of the exchange between Legolas and the other man, and when they heard Legolas gasping in pain, they were near enough to see what was happening. Three people were lying on the ground, obviously unconscious, and two were still standing. The three on the ground were a strange woman, Legolas, and Aragorn. When Elladan saw how his brother and his friend looked, deep anger seeped through him, and Elrohir held him back with a hand on the shoulder so that he wouldn't run to Estel. A look around the clearing, however, showed them no other people, or signs of them, so Elrohir finally let Elladan's shoulder go, and they both drew their daggers. Before the slavers knew what happened, they were both lying on the ground, being pinned down by some really angry elves. The twins hastily took out some ropes, (with the trouble they usually got into they always had some in their travel bags) and bound their prisoners. Then they left them, and Elrohir went to secure the woman--they didn't know who she was and therefore decided better to be safe than sorry--while Elladan looked after Estel. His younger brother was soaked through, and dirty; his pulse was a little weak, and his breathing light; but there was no new wound to be seen. Overall, he wasn't in too bad a condition. Having made sure that Estel was more or less all right, he joined his other brother, who was now examining Legolas. The elf prince was much worse than Aragorn. He had been in that terrible storm much longer, had suffered injuries, and had finally spent all his remaining strength trying to save Aragorn. They had to bring him home, to Elrond; but on the other hand, traveling through this storm with the weakened prince wasn't a good idea; so they carried Aragorn and Legolas into one of the wagons. These, at least, gave them some shelter from the still pouring rain. Then they took most of the wet clothes off the two, and wrapped them in some blankets that they had found. When they were finished, they discussed the possible courses of action. Taking them to Rivendell would get difficult, and traveling through his weather could further harm Aragorn and Legolas; but they sorely needed Elrond to look after them. Finally the twins decided that Elladan would ride back to Rivendell, fetching their father, while Elrohir would wait for them and take care of Aragorn and Legolas. What to do with the slavers would be left for their father to decide, and until then they carried them--not very carefully--to the other wagon, and stored them there.
TBC...
Round Robin Not long after Elladan left, Elrohir heard a wailing sound through the trees. He glanced over at Aragorn and Legolas, who were sleeping, and the slavers, who were tightly bound, before running toward the sound. He was out of breath by the time he reached the source of the sound. A young elven maiden in black sat on the ground, wailing disconsolately. Elrohir walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Wh-what's wrong?" he panted. "Can I h-help you?" She looked up at him through her tears. "Here," she said, handing him a wine skin from her belt. "You're out of breath. Drink this while I explain." Elrohir sipped at the wine as she proceeded. "I lived about twenty rangar west of here..." -------------------------------------------------- The maiden walked into view of the slavers. Quietly, she untied them. "Quickly, take those two and be gone," she whispered, pointing to the sleeping elf and ranger. "The other will trouble you no more." So saying, she pinned a note to a tree and left the same way she had come. -------------------------------------------------- Elrond and Elladan arrived where the others had been left some time later. There was no one there. On one side of the road were signs of a struggle. It was Elrond who found the note: "So, peredhil, you thought I was dead and you were safe from me. How unfortunate for you that you were wrong. The adan and his friend are on their way to Umbar, and your son is even now my prisoner. I advise you to come and claim him from me now if you ever want to see him alive again. Moririme." TBC...
Note: Since chapter 12 is so short, I'm posting chapter 13 too to ward off angry readers. LOL!! Round Robin Author's Note: Thanks to Wanda for starting the story and everyone else who has written. The story is great and there are so many wonderful ideas and writers here. I've had fun adding my bit. Enjoy! -------------------------------------------------- The lady bandit glared menacingly down at her prisoners; they had caused more trouble than two slaves ever should. Once they were healed, she would see they received a punishment they would never forget; for now, she just had to get them to the ships headed for Umbar. Once aboard, she would deal with them properly. -------------------------------------------------- The tall, slender, dark-haired elf walked as though in a trance. His mission was clear: kill the human headed for Umbar in the care of the slavers. If any tried to get in his way--the slavers, the blonde elf (especially the blond elf)--anyone--he would kill them. The dark lady had commanded him; and he felt compelled to obey. He would bring her the proof of his success that she desired--the head of the human. She would be pleased. The smell of her--the scent of overripe fruit--swirled around him. It was always there, always a reminder. An odd feeling was concentrated at the back of his skull, as though someone were trying to break out. It seemed to be saying the fair lady could not be trusted. As he began to question the sensation, her scent once more overrode his senses, and he forgot all but his mission. -------------------------------------------------- Elladan rode silently beside his father, his face etched with grave concern. The news his father shared was not good. "Moririme was once an elf like the rest of us, but she gave her soul to Morgoth in order to increase her power. We met in the first age. We both tried to turn the other; she wanted me to join her in darkness, and I tried to redeem her back to light. Again, in the second age we fought. In a fit of anger, she let her carefully constructed guard down, and I thought I had killed her. But obviously, and unfortunately, I was wrong. She will be waiting for me at Angband." Elrond noticed his son shiver at the name. "We must go there if we wish to see your brother again and hope to rescue the others. I will confront her alone. You stay hidden nearby. I may need you to help later." They continued their desperate ride in tense silence. -------------------------------------------------- The two elves reached the cold and desolate place. They could sense the evil that still lingered in the air, despite the fortress's destruction. "She is near." Elrond paused. The sickeningly sweet smell of overripe fruit permeated the air. Turning to his son, Elrond spoke softly. "Stay hidden now. You will know when the time comes for you to act." Hiding behind one of the great upturned rocks that were scattered over the plain, Elladan could hear everything that went on around him. From the corner of his eye, he watched his father approach the center of the field. "Moririme," Elrond challenged. "I know you are here. Reveal yourself and give me back my son." Suddenly the air filled with a suffocating haze and the bleak sunlight, which had appeared after days of unnatural rainfall, darkened. A lone figure stood opposite Elrond. Her black hair was of an intense ebony, parted to show her delicately pointed elven ears. She was slender, though shorter than an average elf. The black dress that draped her frame revealed every inch of her womanly figure. The familiar, enticing scent that followed her everywhere exploded around the two opponents. She was beautiful, but utterly evil and deadly. What only Elrond could see--for he had faced her before--was that she did not emit the glow of an elf; instead, she consumed all light around her. She had chosen to serve Morgoth long ago, in exchange for the power he could give her. "Elrond, is that any way to greet an old friend?" Moririme's voice was like honey and her laughter was like silver bells, but Elrond was not deceived. He knew her; he knew her deceptions. "Where is my son Elrohir? You told me to claim him from you." "I am sorry, Peredhil; there was a change in plans." Her voice was no longer seductive. That trick and not worked long ago, and it would not work now. Instead, she spoke with a calm voice which affirmed that she was in control. "You see, your son wasn't as good at resisting me as you are. I found out that you had adopted that weak human brat--and that he was more than just a human, a Dunedain. Of course, your son does have some of your blood in him, and wouldn't tell me any more; but he told me all I needed to know. The human is the heir of Isildur. That is why you are hiding him. I really couldn't have him around ruining my plans." Elrond resisted the urge to tense, to show any sign of how true the words she was speaking were. If there was any hope for Elrohir, for Estel--for Aragorn--then he must stay strong. "Well, even if he is not, it doesn't matter, I still want to see him dead." Noting Elrond's seeming indifference, she continued, "Oh, right, your son--the elven one, that is--he is on a mission for me. You see, before I knew of the human's close connection to you, I sent him off with some slavers to Umbar. But once I learned his value, I knew that was too good of a fate for him. I couldn't see to the death of the human myself since I promised to meet you here and not Umbar, so I sent your son in my stead. Hard one to break, but he will suffice. "And now, let the battle of wills begin." Her malicious laughter seemed to cause the sky to become pitch-black, and intense bolts of lightening echoed her laughter. Elladan wanted to scream as he heard what this woman wanted to do--what she *was* doing--to his brothers. She would pay; but first, he needed to save Elrohir and Estel. This was what his father had been speaking of. Elrond's battle against Moririme must be fought alone; it would fall to him to rescue his brothers and friend. -------------------------------------------------- Legolas moaned softly. The ground seemed to rock under his pained body. Disconcerted by this new feeling, he managed to pry his eyes open slightly. Strider lay about a foot from him, bound by the wrists with his arms above his head. Legolas attempted to move his hand, only to discover he was bound in the same fashion. Glancing up, he realized the cause of the swaying motion. They were on a ship. "Strider," he whispered, hoping his friend was all right. "Sut na lle?" A soft moan escaped the ranger's lips. Slowly, he opened his eyes. "Legolas," he murmured. "Where are we?" "A ship, and we are out to sea; but that is all I know. Where are your brothers, or did I just dream they were there?" "I don't know...." Before either friend could say anything else, a tall shadow fell across the bound figures. The one who cast it wore a long cloak, and a strip of cloth was bound across his forehead and tied behind his head. His grey eyes, void of life and spirit, looked on the man with contempt. Despite all this, Strider recognized the figure; hope kindled anew with in him. "Elrohir." A flicker of almost recognition seemed to cross the elf's eyes, but the hardness quickly returned. Another shadow fell on the prisoners. An all-too-familiar female voice broke into the quiet moment. "Excuse me, sir," she addressed Elrohir. "My name is Mailik. These men are my merchandise. May I inquire to your interest in them?" "How much?" The voice was flat and emotionless. Mailik smiled, she recognized a business opportunity when she saw one. "Well, now, these two are worth quite a bit. Strong ones, for certain. The blonde would make a good show piece, if that's your desire. Now, I know they look a little beat up, but that means they have spirit." "How much for the human?" Venom dripped from the elf's voice, tracing the deadness of his eyes. Up to this point, Strider had hoped Elrohir was trying to stealthily aid their escape, but the deadness and contempt in the elf's eyes were not Elrohir's. Something had happened. His brother was definitely not himself. "For the human. Let's see." Mailik carefully examined the situation. Too much, and she might lose the deal, but too little, and she would lose in the profit. "One hundred gold coins." "Fine." The shadow of Elrohir pulled a black velvet pouch from his robes and handed them to the lady. Receiving the bag, she weighed it in her hand. Slightly heavier than 100, but that would be fine. Pulling a piece out, she bit the coin. It was gold. "The human is yours. What would you like me to do with him?" "Keep him tied here for now. I will claim him later." Satisfied with her deal, Mailik left before the man could change his mind. The elf who should have been Elrohir remained behind, examining his purchase. Strider's breath was shallow and faint. His injuries cried out in constant pain, but the pain of his heart was deeper. What had happened to his brother? Why was he acting in such a manner? Where was the light, the joy, that usually shone from his eyes and soul? Slowly, Elrohir drew from his belt one of the finely crafted elven knives, which he always carried with him. Gazing at the razor sharp blade for a moment, the elf stood silently. Lowering the blade, he placed the sharp point under Aragorn's chin and raised it so that each being looked the other in the eye. "Human," he seemed to spit the words out as if they were filthy. "You shall die at the tip of this blade, but not yet. The dark lady Moririme sends me in her stead. She demands a present from you, and will only be pleased with your head, which I shall bring her."
TBC...
Round Robin
Author's Note: Thanks goes to Meril, who withstood my repeated questions about Elladan's horse, as well as giving me advice and opinions and ferreting out proper words and generally being a very good beta; and Rina, who stayed up way too late to let me write this. -------------------------------------------------- The being that looked like Elrohir did not know why he waited to carry out his Lady's orders. He had no concept of disloyalty; but the heavy sensation at the back of his mind made him hesitate repeatedly, vacillating between returning to claim his Lady's prize, and releasing the prisoner... though that last thought soon slipped away, drowned by the cloying scent of over-ripe fruit. Neither he, nor the inhabitants of the coastal town, saw the true violence of the struggle. All they saw were the unreadable eyes of the tall, thin man wearing the odd cloth headband. -------------------------------------------------- Moririme had chosen her battleground well. The fallen rocks and sunken-in caves of the great ruin that had once been Angband still held the memory of the horrible torment that had afflicted those once held captive in its depths. Very few trees grew here, and those that did were stunted, huddled against more than just the cold. Here, Elrond was at a disadvantage; in this barren wilderness, where little grew and evil lurked, he could not count on any innate connection with nature to aid him. As Elrond watched, the heavy black clouds grew even darker and thicker; and as Moririme laughed, a cold wind whipped the gritty sand and dust into the air. From the clouds, stinging sleet fell, and was caught up in the gale to scour the already blighted earth. "You call yourself an elf-lord?!" Moririme mocked him, driving the winds to even greater ferocity. Now, lighting began stabbing down from the clouds, towards Elrond; but somehow, the lightning always seemed to miss; and though the wind twisted and tore at his now-tattered robes, he himself stood erect and unbowed. -------------------------------------------------- The trail of the cart was easy to follow, though Elladan had to circle far around Moririme in order to avoid detection. Once out of danger, he urged his horse to run. Like any horse owned by elves, this one was able to sense its rider's urgency; and so it was not long before Elladan approached the coastal town--a rough, seedy sort of place that repelled him much more than human settlements usually did. But now, his family needed help; so he ignored his disgust. Elladan tore some cloth from the bottom of his tunic and tied it around his head. He left his horse in the wood on the outskirts of the town, bidding the horse to stay until he returned. -------------------------------------------------- The tall stranger in the harbor finally seemed to make up his mind, and began walking toward the slave ship. He felt strangely--and unaccountably--tired; but the heavy perfume of his lady, ever-present and insistent, was still in his nostrils. She would let him rest, he thought wearily, when his mission was accomplished. -------------------------------------------------- Yes; that *was* Elrohir, sitting straight and stiff in the boat that was being rowed out to the black-sailed ship. Elladan only hoped he was not too late. He started running to the docks. "Sir!" he called, addressing a figure that sat in a boat tied to the docks. "I need to get out to that ship!" A surly-looking bearded man glanced up from his lunch pail and grunted, "You wait until I'm done eatin'. And, mind, it don't come free," he said. "I'll make it worth your while," Elladan said tersely. "Will this suffice?" He pulled the brooch from his cloak; it was set with a large pearl worth many times the price of a ride to the ship. The man's eyes narrowed and he grabbed the brooch, rubbing the pearl with grimy fingers. "Get in," he said, picking up the oars. "An' if you kin afford it, I'll say you weren't never here," he offered. Elladan ignored him. "Just get me onto that ship," he said. A rope ladder still hung down the side of the ship; Elladan climbed it swiftly and quietly, swinging himself onto the deck of the ship unnoticed. Deliberately nonchalant, he began walking along the deck, glancing quickly around for any sign of either his brothers or Legolas. The ship, black-sailed in the tradition of the ships of Umbar, was very obviously carrying human cargo; the moans and shouts for water which issued from a heavily chained hatch in the deck revealed that this particular ship was fully loaded. Elladan's next move would have been trying to find a way into the cargo hold; but as he walked past a cabin door, a familiar voice caught his attention. "Your death," it was saying, "will greatly please my lady." Wasting no time easing the door further open, Elladan peered inside. The occupants of the room did not notice him; but the scene he beheld affirmed his worst fears. Aragorn, his hands tied, lay on the floor, Elrohir's knife at his throat; Legolas, who was still chained to the wall, watched in horror. The elf seemed semi-conscious--not a surprise, considering the many injuries Elladan could see, and probably many more still hidden. "Elrohir..." Aragorn said softly. "This isn't you! Fight it, please, brother..." The shadow of his brother paused for a split second, as though something familiar disturbed his thoughts; but then he growled and pressed the knife slowly into Aragorn's flesh. A drop of blood appeared, trickling down Aragorn's neck and onto the floor.
TBC...
Round Robin Author's Note: This piece is dedicated to Sparx. She's been bugging for a "hurt Elrohir" story so here it is. Sparx is not on the mailing list but once the story is completed, it will be posted on MC, FFNet and/or my personal website (if there are no objections of course). So Sparx, this is for you. LOL! -------------------------------------------------- Aragorn gasped more in shock than pain as the cool blade bit into his skin. The warm trickle of blood that ran down his neck sent a shiver through his body. Would Elrohir really kill him? By the way the elf was acting, Aragorn had no doubt that he would perish under his brother's knife. But why? Why was Elrohir acting this way? Who had such strong power to corrupt an elven mind? "Elrohir..." the man pleaded again as the sharp blade was pressed harder against his neck. "Please... don't do it..." Swallowing a panicked sob, Aragorn scooted sloppily backwards towards the wall where Legolas was chained. The elf prince was helpless to change the situation. His mind screamed out but his body was too weak to respond. All that he could do was watch in horror as Elrohir advanced towards the human, matching his movements in perfect synchrony. Then, a glitter caught his eyes. Something shifted slightly behind Elrohir and Legolas shifted his gaze unintentionally towards the source. The wood-elf regretted his action immediately as Elrohir caught his blunder and twirled around with lightning speed, his knife sweeping out towards the intruder behind him. Elladan gasped as his brother's murderous eyes burned into his own. His usual silver-grey orbs were now clouded over by a dark mist and there were no recognition in them whatsoever. A chill ran down Elladan's spine as his twin took a step forward, his knife outstretched and held in a death grip. Reluctantly, the older elf drew his own knife from its scabbard, the sound of metal scraping against metal sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet cabin. "What in the name of Valar are you doing, 'Ro?!" Elladan shouted as he raised his knife in front of him. The thought of having to hurt his twin to protect his youngest brother tore at his heart, and his breath caught in his throat. He loved them both dearly, and he would rather die than hurt either one of them. But he knew that some evil force was behind this; and if he did not intervene, the outcome would be death--possibly, for them all. Taking a step to his left, Elladan moved slowly to circle his twin, gradually placing himself between Elrohir and the cowering Aragorn on the floor. He could not allow his human brother to die at his twin's hand. Elrohir would never forgive himself. "Move or share his fate!" the younger elf spat out the hurtful words. Elladan winced but held his ground. "Elrohir! Look at me! I am your brother!" the elf shouted desperately at his younger brother. "Fight this evil!" he pleaded, his voice wavered under the stress and the hand holding his knife shook ever so slightly. Elladan could see the inner struggle plaguing Elrohir, but he also knew that the elf standing before him was not truly his twin. Elrohir stood staring at his twin of many thousands of years and a hint of recognition passed through his eyes, but it was only a brief flicker before all hope was extinguished once again. With a quick flash, the younger twin held the knife to Elladan daring his brother to come between him and his destined prey. "Elrohir, I will not let you do this! You are stronger than this. Fight gwador-nin, fight!" However, Elrohir showed no sign of hearing Elladan as he raised the blade to take out the obstacle between him and his intended victim. He must do this. He must, in order to find peace, to find rest. She had told him so. He did not blink as he brought the knife up to his brother. "'Ro, do you not recognize me? Will you take my life? I can not believe this is you..." Elladan said as a tear of hurt and frustration ran down his face. Elladan was a competent warrior but his skills were meant for the enemy and not to be used against his own brother. Torn between love for his twin and duty to protect his human brother, Elladan could not stop the small sob that escaped his lips. Elrohir looked at his brother with vacant eyes. He felt nothing, and his whole being was focused on his task. He needed rest. His body yearned for it, but his Lady would not allow it until he fulfilled his task. All he had to do was kill the human. "Do not hinder me. I WILL kill you." Elrohir said, his eyes as cold as ice and they seemed almost black as they stared down at his own mirror image. Elladan was caught off guard as these words pierced his very soul. He stood his ground, however, not showing any signs of weakness even though his heart bled for the impending fight. His eyes wanted to drift to his human brother and to the elf prince but he dared not let his concentration waver for fear that the evil controlling his brother would take the opportunity to strike. With lightning speed, Elrohir slashed out at his twin. Elladan barely had time to bring his own knife up to deflect the blow and slapped the blade away from his face before taking up a defense position. Unfortunately, his action only seemed to enrage Elrohir further as the younger twin let out a furious snarl and rushed Elladan again. Metal clashed against metal as the two brothers locked in a deadly dance, their movements a complete blur as they fought for two entirely different goals: One, to take a life; and one, to preserve it. Elrohir's moves were swift and deadly, rendering Elladan unable to match him for fear of bringing harm to him. Reduced to defending himself and his helpless brother, who was still huddled against the wall beside Legolas, the elder twin finally resolved to turn his defense into offense. He needed to put some distance between the creature and its victim. Changing his tactics, he drove Elrohir backwards slowly but carefully, trying his best to avoid hurting his brother. The younger twin, however, did not bear this intention in mind. He lashed out violently at his older brother as he dodged a sweeping blade that was aimed sluggishly at his chest--a gesture that was designed to keep him back rather than to draw blood. Elrohir growled and brought his knife down at Elladan without mercy. The older elf tried to avoid the attack but his twin was moving at an unmatchable speed, cutting him off from a safe retreat. So instead of exposing his human brother, Elladan opted to take the blow. The sharp blade slashed down at his right arm, cutting through the thin fabric and sinking deeply into his flesh. Hot fiery pain shot up his arm and he struggled to keep his knife to no avail. The elven blade slipped from his grasp and landed with a loud clang onto the floor as he felt his fingers go numb. Clamping his left hand down hard on the wound, he was dismayed when he was unable to stop the warm blood from seeping through his fingers and splattering onto the ground. But something odd happened. Elrohir winced and clutched at his arm on the exact same spot where he had cut Elladan. The elf froze, his eyes cleared momentarily and he stared dumbly at his injured brother. A flash of hope erupted from Elladan as he witnessed the sudden change in Elrohir's demeanor, but the feeling was quenched when the younger elf's expression hardened once again. All he saw now was vengeful eyes boring into him. Elrohir advanced towards Elladan in one quick step and grabbed him by the collar, shoving his twin brutally aside. Elladan slammed into the wall. The impact sent agonizing pain up his shoulder and across his chest. A loud ringing exploded in his ears and his vision blurred as tears stung his eyes. In the few seconds of Elladan's disorientation, Elrohir had moved in onto Aragorn. The human struggled to stand but his legs refused to obey his command. He scooted backwards until his back struck the wall behind him. The man was terrified. He did not want to go this way--not by the hand of his own brother. "Elrohir..." Legolas gasped out the familiar name, his voice barely above a whisper even in the silent cabin. "You ca-cannot do this..." The barely conscious prince struggled with his words as Elrohir raised his knife preparing for the final kill. "Please... don't do it..." But his feeble attempt remained unheeded. Aragorn took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. This was it. This was how it was going to end. His heart ached for his friend and brothers, especially Elrohir. There was no doubt that Elladan and Legolas would suffer the same fate as he. And Elrohir would never forgive himself. He felt rather than saw the blade descend upon him and waited for the pain but it never came. Instead, there was a gasp and Aragorn felt something landing heavily a few inches beside him. Risking his eyes open, he was shocked to see Elrohir on his knees, a small dagger embedded deeply in his side. Elrohir felt the sting as he was about to fulfill his Lady's wish. The excruciating pain ripped his mind away from the dark spell that was plaguing him and he fell onto his knees, the knife in his hand forgotten as he pressed his hands onto the bleeding wound. The dark mist in his eyes had dissipated to be replaced with silver-grey ones which were now filled with pain and guilt. "I'm s-so sorry..." he ground out through clenched teeth as Elladan made a mad dash on shaky legs towards his fallen twin. Sorrow and pain marred the older elf's face as he laid his brother down on the cabin floor, his own injury forgotten. Without hesitation, he ripped a strip of cloth from his clothing and folded it into a thick pad. With his uninjured hand, Elladan pulled out the dagger and immediately pressed the wad of cloth onto the gushing wound. Tears flowed freely down his face as he watched Elrohir's chest rise and fall erratically. "Ai Elbereth!" Elladan cried, "what have I done?!" "N-Not your fault..." Elrohir whispered. He lifted a trembling hand towards Aragorn who had freed himself of his bindings and was now crouching beside him. "Estel..." he called softly and a pained smile graced his face when Aragorn took his hand. "Forgive me..." All Aragorn managed to do was nod, not able to find his voice at this crucial moment. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled from their rims as the seriousness of the situation finally hit him. Elrohir would die if they could not get him proper treatment in time. And Legolas. The gravely injured prince was still shackled to the wall behind them. As if sensing Aragorn's anxiety, Elrohir pulled the human closer to his face. "Key... pouch..." the younger elf managed to say before his hand slipped out of Aragorn's grasp as the darkness engulfed him. Rummaging through the pouch, which was fastened around his brother's waist, Aragorn found the object he was searching for. Forcing himself to his feet, the ranger staggered unsteadily towards Legolas and with trembling fingers, he prodded at the locking mechanism. The shackles came loose with a small click and the human caught the blond elf as he pitched forward into him, guiding him gently onto the ground beside his brothers. Legolas moaned and shivered despite the warmth of the room. He coughed twice and let out a piteous groan as the action jarred his broken ribs. The elf prince knew that he and Elrohir were too seriously injured to attempt an escape. Sooner or later, one of the slavers would find them and there would be only one outcome. Aragorn and Elladan would be sold as slaves; he and Elrohir would be disposed of.
gwador-nin - my brother
TBC...
Round Robin Elrond let out a breath he had not known he was holding as he noticed Elladan moving away from the battleground. Saying a quick prayer to Illuvatar, the Elf lord fervently hoped that his son would not do anything stupid, before focusing his full attention on Moririme. As the dark Elf laughed maliciously, Elrond raised his hand in a gesture of peace. "Moririme, end this madness now. It is not too late to redeem yourself to the light." He spoke in a slow, clear voice, over the sound of the howling wind. Surveying the scene for anything that could be helpful during the struggle, he attempted to put an end to the fight before it started. Not an Elf or man was visible, nor could he see any possible advantage among the rocks. The evil laughter abruptly stopped and angry gray eyes were directed at the Elf Lord. "Stop with your delusions and hesitations, Peredhil. I've heard your preaching before. Only by handing your soul to Morgoth can your life and the lives of your sons be saved." Elrond shook his and was opening his mouth to retort when Moririme charged at him, sword raised. He barely was able to bring up his own before she was upon him, fighting with speed, strength, and blood lust. As he met her offensive thrusts with parries, Elrond confirmed his prior belief that his opponent was no amateur with a blade; both due to natural skill and from Morgoth's power. Their blades locked as another ray of lighting illuminated the sky. Elrond quickly urged through heavy breaths, "Rejoin the light!" Moririme's only response was to snort loudly and break away. The elves were evenly matched as they moved across the barren wasteland in an intense fight; Moririme's strikes were met evenly by Elrond's defensive blocks. However, it was not fated to remain that way. Moving across the rocky surface, Elrond failed to notice a small rock by his feet. Stepping away from her thrusts, he happened to step on this rock, turning his ankle as well as disrupting his balance. This trip was exactly what Moririme had been waiting for. Barely remaining on his feet, Elrond did not have time to bring up his sword to meet hers. Her blade sliced deeply into his upper arm, and white-hot pain filled his senses as he stumbled backwards away from the offending object. His ankle throbbed with pain as he forced it to support its share of his weight. Elrond gripped his arm where the dark Elf's sword had cut into it. He grimaced slightly, but did not spare a glance at the wound as Moririme circled, watching him with a look of pleasure on her face. Remembering what she had said about Elrohir before the fight, he decided to change strategies from defensive to offensive. He could no longer afford to attempt to persuade one who would not listen. For the betterment of his sons and all of Middle Earth, Morgoth's servant must be stopped by any means necessary, even death. Pushing aside the pain, he plunged toward Moririme to continue the vicious battle. Taken by surprise at this new style of fighting, she only managed clumsy blocks as she backed away. Elrond glared fiercely, and faked a swing at her head. Seeing this, Moririme raised her sword to block the stroke that wasn't there. As her sword met air, Elrond's met the soft flesh of the dark Elf's side. Eyes widening in surprise, Moririme dropped her sword and fell to the ground. A moment latter, the she was dead, and her spells broken. Elrond stared at her dead body with a sense of sorrow. Grief at killing a once-pure elf overwhelmed him. With it came the intense pain from his arm and ankle, protesting from their mistreatment. Putting aside his discomforts, he rose to find his sons.
TBC...
Round Robin "How is he?" both Aragorn and Elladan said at the same time, the human asking about Elrohir, and Elladan asking about Legolas. Aragorn looked down at the blond-haired elf, who wore a grimace of pain on his too-pale face. "Not well," he said simply, not sure yet what the full extent of his friend's injuries were. "Our brother may not be as bad off as I feared," Elladan said happily, his words making the atmosphere a little lighter. "The blade looks to have deflected from a rib, thereby preventing any fatal damage." Aragorn closed his eyes in relief at the news, before reopening them to continue assessing Legolas. "Mellon-nin?" he said, gently feeling the elf's ribs. Legolas' answer was a cry of pain. Aragorn winced in sympathy, quickly pulling his hand back. Legolas groaned again, his breath hitching in his chest as his broken ribs protested the act of taking in air. Aragorn saw the elf's distress, and carefully slid an arm under his back, slowly lifting him up enough to assist his breathing. With the elf in that position, Aragorn had easier access to his head injury; blood had dried around a cut on the right side of the elf's forehead, but it thankfully didn't look deep. What concerned Aragorn more than the blood was the large, colorful bruise surrounding the cut. "Legolas? Can you look at me?" he asked. The injured elf obeyed, his bright blue eyes locking onto the Ranger's, albeit slightly unfocused. Aragorn sighed at the sight. "You have a concussion, Legolas, do not fall asleep." The Prince of Mirkwood groaned at his words. He wanted nothing more than for sleep to allow him respite from the horrible pain and weakness that he felt throughout his body. "Do you have any other injuries?" Aragorn asked, worriedly. Legolas didn't answer, closing his eyes instead as a stab of pain laced through his chest. Aragorn waited for his friend's wince to subside before he urgently asked again. "Legolas, where else are you hurt?" Legolas finally heard him and reopened his eyes. He had to take a moment to register the pain that afflicted the rest of his body, beyond the fire in his chest and midsection. Shifting slightly, he tested his limbs. Most of his body ached, but before he could say anything a tremor suddenly shot through him, leaving him shivering. "I am cold, Estel..." he found himself whispering. Panic welled up within Aragorn at his friend's words; it was a serious matter for an elf to feel chilled. He looked to Elladan, whose expression showed alarm. Having seen no blood on the front of Legolas' tunic, Aragorn hadn't bothered to lift it when he'd inspected his friend's ribs, having not wanted to cause the elf further pain. But now he carefully laid his friend down and removed the belt from around his waist, gently but quickly raising his tunic. What he saw made him gasp. A deep purple bruise covered the elf's midsection, signifying his worst injury of all: internal bleeding. Quickly pulling the shirt back down, Aragorn gently slid his arms under his friend. "Elladan, we have to get out of here NOW!" He stood, but stopped before he took a step. "We're on a boat! How will we--" "Peace, Estel!" said Elladan, likewise lifting Elrohir. "I know of a way. Follow me." Aragorn obeyed, holding Legolas tightly as they left the room. Elladan walked back the way he'd come, praying that they wouldn't encounter any of the kidnappers. They had to hide a few times when they heard someone approaching, but managed not to get caught as they made their way up to the deck. Elladan peered around the door, seeing no one in sight. He nodded to Aragorn before quietly walking over to the rail and looking over the side. Aragorn followed, relieved to see a rowboat attached to the ship's hull. "Now, the difficult part," said Elladan. "Getting them in there." "What?" they suddenly heard. Aragorn and Elladan smiled at the sound of Elrohir's voice. "My brother!" Elladan said, sounding relieved but sad at the same time. "You are awake! *Please* forgive me for inflicting your wound?" Elrohir shook his head, blearily opening his eyes. "Do not apologize, I should be saying that to *you*..." "No one should be saying *anything* until we get off this ship!" Aragorn cut in. "There is only one way to do this," he told Elladan. "I will get into the boat, and you will hand them to me." "I can do it myself..." Elrohir said, sounding hazy. He struggled to get down, and Elladan carefully set him on his feet, leaning him against the ship's rail as Aragorn handed Legolas to him. The half-conscious elf-prince groaned softly at the movement, eyes still closed. "Hush," said Elladan, holding him gently. "We are escaping, mellon-nin; all will be well." Aragorn climbed into the rowboat and helped Elrohir in, setting him down and then holding out his arms for Legolas. Elladan handed him back before climbing into the boat himself and releasing the rope pulleys, allowing the boat to descend into the water. Aragorn removed his cloak and wrapped it around Legolas, holding onto him tightly as he prayed that their escape wouldn't be immediately noticed. Elladan took up the oars and began rowing as fast as he could, steering the small boat towards the dock. So far there had been no outcry from the slavers to alert them that they'd been discovered, and fear for his friend and brother drove him to row relentlessly, not stopping until they were safely onshore once more. Aragorn was surprised at the speed in which they reached the dock, and he and Elladan quickly carried Legolas and Elrohir off the boat. Elrohir protested, saying that he was capable of walking, but his twin brother ignored him as they stood watching the slaver's ship glide further and further away. They had made it. Aragorn sighed in relief, before looking down at Legolas. The elf lay in his arms limply, making no sound or movement, his skin deathly pale. A stab of fear hit the human's stomach as he realized that their main task now would be trying to keep Legolas alive.
TBC...
Round Robin A tap on the shoulder pulled Aragorn's gaze from Legolas to Elladan's hand, pointed at a small, single-masted fishing boat tied up not far away. His brow furrowed questioningly, the ranger turned to face the elven twin. "It will not take them long to notice their merchandise has fled," Elladan observed. Aragorn sigh, wearily, in agreement. "And once the search begins, we are as good as found?." Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, but his brother raised a silencing hand. "Look at us, Estel. Neither Elrohir nor Legolas are conscious, and you and I are both injured." Aragorn frowned. His gaze dropping, he observed that Elrohir had, indeed, lost consciousness. His eyes moved back to Elladan, and his frowned deepened as he studied the deep cup on Elladan's right arm. "It's deep enough, I grant you, but hardly worthy of attention just now," the twin stated, matter-of-factly, before the Ranger could ask. "My point, little brother, is that I cannot carry both, and you can barely hobble along beneath your own weight, let along bear the weight of another long enough for us to evade our hunters. We need an alternate means of transport, and we need to disappear very quickly. That," he redirected the human's attention to the fishing boat, "should serve both needs adequately enough." Aragorn looked more closely at the shabby fishing boat. It was of a size to be manned by no more than two--perhaps even one, in a pinch--yet large enough to sport a small cabin in which Elrohir and Legolas could be both sheltered and hidden while he and Elladan set the sail and maneuvered the diminutive vessel through the fleet of corsairs and away. That was assuming, of course, that none of the swift ships took chase, for they could not outrun a corsair with a single small sail. Yet such an innocuous vessel was hardly likely to warrant the attention of the slave-traders. A tickle of hope spreading through him, he turned to grin at Elladan, only to discover that as he pondered, the elf had already gathered up his twin and was moving stealthily toward the small boat. Gingerly cradling Legolas in his arms, Aragorn followed, keeping low to the ground. The awkward position increased the strain on his injured leg, but it wasn't far, so he bit his lip and focused on his surroundings, instead of the flares of pain shooting up his limb and spine. Tucking into a shadow close to the hull, Elladan waited for Aragorn, needing to catch his breath. The blood loss from his wound, though not life-threatening, wore at him. He also preferred to have backup, should they encounter the owner of the seemingly unmanned vessel. The ranger nodded to his brother as he reached the edge of the shadow. He's leg screamed at him to let him rest, but Aragorn ignored it. There'd be plenty of time to rest once they were out of immediate peril. Elladan returned the nod before rising up to ease over the side and onto the deck. Still clinging protectively to his brother, he turned to watch Aragorn's progress. Once both ranger and prince were safely aboard, the twin turned toward the small cabin. Shifting his weight to move forward, his eyes met a pair of silver-green eyes, staring with a mixture of wonder and trepidation. Elladan froze, a swell of panic and frustration washing over him. They were so close! The eyes moved from the twins to Aragorn and Legolas, then back to the twins. They met Elladan's again briefly, then moved to his ears and grew wider. Putting a finger to his lips, the eyes' owner waved them onward. Elladan turned slightly to meet Aragorn's eyes, and the Ranger saw his own thought reflected back at him. Trusting this man was a risk, yet what else could they do? If he chose to raise the alarm, it would matter little if they jumped over the side and fled. They could not get far enough or fast enough to escape. Nay! They would take the chance--and pray that the Valar were not playing some cruel joke. Crouching, the fugitives advanced warily until they reached the small door. The fisherman motioned for them to move toward the rear of the cabin. Elladan frowned, and Aragorn scowled, neither liking the idea of having their only exit blocked. But, as there was little choice, they shuffled onward. There was a sturdy-looking cot secured to the back wall. Simultaneously sighing in relief as they deposited each of their bundles to lie side by side, the two turned and, of one mind, squared their shoulder to confront their would-be savior. "Mae govannen, son of Elrond Peredhel." The fisherman bowed, first to the twin, then to Aragorn. Aragorn's scowl deepened, even as Elladan raised a brow in question. "Leithand fisherman of Belfalas at your service, my lords," the man continued, his brow creasing anxiously at their continued defensive posturing. "I assure you I mean you no harm! Long has it been since any of the fair folk have passed through my lands, yet twins are not so common, nor my people so unheeding of the tales of old that I cannot guess who it is that stands before me." Elladan and Aragorn relaxed slightly, neither fully ready to trust this stranger, but daring to hope. "Good, good!" Leithand grinned, as their postures eased. Moving forward gingerly, he was careful to keep his hands in plain sight as he studied the two elves lying upon the cots. "Their wounds are grave, I fear," he sighed, his smile dimming. "And am of little use in tending the injured." Elladan nodded grimly. "Perhaps I would be of more service tending to the boat," the fisherman suggested. "I venture to guess that a quick departure would be most expedient." Elladan nodded, again, bowing slightly. "Our thanks to you, Leithand of Belfalas. Your kindness is a blessing unlooked for." Leithand grinned, abashedly. "Your pardon, then," he bade, before turning abruptly. "I will go and keep our fisherman company till we are away. You stay here and see what you can do to aid our brothers," Elladan muttered under his breath, as their newfound 'friend' strode energetically toward the door. Aragorn nodded, his lips set in a tight line, as pain mingled with weariness and doubt. He watched the elder twin disappear onto the deck, before moving to Elrohir. Of the two injured elves, the ranger suspected his brother's wound would prove more manageable. Indeed, he feared there would be little he could do for Legolas, and wished to postpone confirmation of that painful truth a little longer. Biting his lip, Aragorn examined his brother's stab wound. It had begun to bleed freely again, and was grave, indeed. Yet, perhaps, he could only find a way staunch the flow of blood...? Looking around the cabin, his gaze fell upon several oil-filled lanterns and an assortment of knives of various size and function. The ranger grinned, in spite of himself. Cauterization! Yes, that might just do the trick! Pondering whether or not the Valar had indeed decided to intervene on their behalf, he hobbled towards the implements.
TBC...
Round Robin The oil lamp was still blazing with soft light as Aragorn seized one of the knives in a bloody hand. He held it over the flame, waiting for it to glow with the heat. The room was becoming increasing hotter. Outside the thin walls of the cabin, Aragorn could hear Elladan speaking with the fisherman over the sound of the rise and fall of waves against the dock. The tip of the knife began to shine pink. He pulled it away and tilted it, trying to catch his thoughts as to what to do next. They had two severely wounded elves on board; and if they did not get away cleanly, they had maybe hours before they were back in the hands of the traders. Legolas needed immediate help and he needed it quickly. As for Elrohir, cauterization would work well, if only he had more than a hot knife and a pair of red-hot pliers. Elladan walked back in, face terse. "There's a ship upon the horizon." Aragorn's blood froze as he jerked the knife away from the lamp. "Is it--" "I am not certain," his brother replied in a tired voice. "It seems to be going parallel, so perhaps another fishing vessel." "We can only hope," Aragorn replied, turning toward Elrohir. "I am going to use this to attempt to slow the bleeding. Could you look about on the deck and see if there is any netting?" Elladan nodded and swept back out. Aragorn laid the knife down on a patch of dead wood and then turned to Legolas, who was still unconscious, his pallor nearly translucent in the darkening light. "Hold on, Legolas," he said, squeezing the Prince's hand. He turned back and ripped the bottom of his top into a long shred, then pulled up Elrohir's own tunic and began to clean off the wounded area. Elladan returned a moment later with an armload of fish net. Aragorn quietly asked him to pry apart to netting to make a suitable hold. He then turned with the knife and set to work. After several minutes, he began to see that whatever the heat from the knife had done, it was mostly futile. Several warm knives lay scattered about, and Aragorn was covered from shoulders down in the blood of his brother, but the bleeding had finally slowed. He sat back, glancing at the hot blade in his hand. "That might have done it," he said under his breath, turning to once more heat the knife over the open flame. Elladan had returned to keep a lookout for the ship and returned a brief moment later frowning. "Our guide has decidedly left us," he announced. Aragorn looked up and pulled the knife from the flame and returned it once more to the unconscious elf's wounds. "What does that mean?" "He felt the need to take our oars as well," Elladan replied, his voice without humor. Aragorn set the bloody blade aside and stared at his older brother for a moment before a deep laugh came from well within him. In seconds the cabin was filled with the sound of laughter. "At least he received payment for tending to our boat," Aragorn said, letting the tears in his eyes subside as the seriousness of their situation came over them. "I believe Elrohir's bleeding will stop for now." Elladan nodded, his eyes falling onto the blonde elf. "What of him?" "We will have to keep him as warm as we can," Aragorn replied, his voice not hiding the anxiety he was feeling over the fact the elvish prince hadn't yet gained consciousness since they'd taken the boat. "I refuse to perform another operation," Elladan said flatly at the look in Aragorn's eyes as he absentmindedly handled his knife. "I do not plan on it," Aragorn finally said, kicking the blades toward the center of the cabin. "Night will fall soon," Elladan said, glancing at the space of white light. "It will not change our circumstances," Aragorn said in his dark voice as he rose, crossing the small cabin and placing a bandaged hand on his elder brother. "We have to hold out tonight and then come up with a solution tomorrow. As long as we sail tonight, there is little chance we will be found." Elladan nodded. "Fair enough. Now that you have tended to Elrohir, I am going to look at your leg." Aragorn sighed and limped out onto the deck, where the remaining sliver of sunlight did little to warm him. He sat on the edge of the deck, his leg able to dangle, granting Elladan ease of use to treat it. "It is not that badly injured," Elladan said, frowning slightly. "Perhaps we should use this... cauterization on your joints as well." He tightened the cloth around his leg, knotting it with the shredded bits of netting he'd managed to find. Aragorn's eyes widened until he saw the teasing glint in his brother's eyes. It was not long before Elladan saw a figure approaching them along the shore. It was a man; he splashed into the water next to their small craft and hailed them. Still wary, Elladan pulled him up the side of the boat, while Aragorn kept his hand on the knife he was carrying as a weapon. "Who are you?" Elladan called out. "Identify yourself." "I'm Leithand's brother," came the reply. "You can call me Captain. He sent me to guide you; I know these waters far better than he."
As Elladan finished getting the man aboard, he could see the resemblance between Leithand and this man. He was older; and there was a hard look in his eyes, as though he did not trust people easily; but the resemblance between him and Leithand was unmistakable. He wore a worn shirt over canvas trousers, now wet to the hip, as well as a pair of salt-rimed sea boots. Elladan and Aragorn exchanged a glance: Leithand's brother, yes; but could they trust him? But both of them knew they had very little choice in the matter; unless they wanted to leave Legolas and Elrohir--both of them in a fragile state--to sail the boat. Finally, Elladan nodded, and Aragorn said, "Thank you. We would welcome the help." They both rose and after waving to their new Captain, they re-entered the cabin and sat on either side of Legolas. "He needs water and warmth." Elladan gestured toward a large pile of blankets in the corner. Taking the bundle, he returned, using several of them to cover Legolas, and taking two for his own twin. Aragorn meanwhile scrounged the cabin in search of water and located a canteen underneath one of the cots. Pulling it out, he approached Legolas' bedside and recoiled in horror at the color of his skin. This time, there was a blue tint about his lips. "We may not have until tomorrow," Elladan said, speaking the thoughts in Aragorn's mind as he glanced at the blonde elf. "We need to get him medical attention as soon as we can." "Can you go and speak with the captain?" Aragorn asked lightly as he uncapped the canteen. "I am going to make them both drink." Elladan nodded and swept out. Aragorn turned to Elrohir first, who began to wake up when Aragorn tipped the canteen toward his mouth and edged his weight to sit his elder brother upright. "Easy," he advised as Elrohir choked down the water. After the elder elf lay back down, Aragorn turned to Legolas. After tipping up his blonde head, he leaned the canteen down and with his other hand opened up the elf's bluish mouth. The water he gently poured in came flowing out and dribbled down his chin and cloak, but Aragorn didn't care as long as Legolas swallowed some water. Even though his frame was limp and was steadily getting colder, he could tell that he was taking in some water, because less came out than was going in. He let out a sigh of relief as he gently settled Legolas back onto the cot and wrapped him tightly in blankets. Elladan returned at that moment, calm and unblinking. "He says that we will reach a small port village come daybreak." "That will have to do," Aragorn said with a tired sigh as he dropped down at the foot of Legolas' cot. "If we do not do something soon, he will die." There was a dark light in Elladan's eyes he didn't quite understand. "What is it?" Aragorn asked softly. "This is all too convenient," Elladan muttered, standing against the doorway. "Our rescuer happens to come about when we are attempting to escape a ship. We have two nearly dead elves in our care and suddenly he comes to us. This is just a bit too perfect." "I can sense nothing evil of him," Aragorn finally said after his thoughts began to dwell on it. "But if he slits our throats when we sleep, then we will no longer have to concern ourselves with the matter at all." Elladan grinned into the darkness. "Never have you been more right, my brother." With a silence between the two, they gathered what blankets they could and sat on the floor. Elladan was punching into shape a stack of fishing net he had decided to lie on. Aragorn rolled over on his back, pleased that they had finally stopped Elrohir's bleeding but anxious over Legolas' worsening condition. Knowing that they couldn't help him more than they could help themselves, Aragorn closed his eyes and fell into a troubled, light sleep.
TBC...
Round Robin It was as though he were swimming through a sea of darkness, made up of some kind of thick suffocating substance rather than water, his body refusing to cooperate as he tried desperately to escape its confines. Pain seared through his mind and penetrated every inch of him, inside and out. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt like he was emerging from unconsciousness, the sensation of pain still lingering. From what Legolas could tell in his befuddled state, they were on a boat again. He could hear neither of the twins nor Aragorn, and, helpless as he was in the first stages of regaining consciousness, that was not very comforting. Opening his eyes proved to be something of a hassle. Being an elf, he certainly wasn't used to sleeping with his eyes closed, even though the number of times he had to do so because of injuries of some sort were beyond his count by now. When he finally managed to pry his eyelids open, his blurry vision confirmed his suspicion that they were indeed onboard a ship again. Looking around seemed like a good idea. First thing on the agenda was to locate his companions. Legolas slowly moved his head to one side, testing his neck's current range of motion. Wincing, he quickly closed his eyes again--that lamp in his field of vision did nothing to help his eyesight, and looking directly at it wasn't one of the smartest things he had ever done. 'Don't look at the bloody light,' he scolded himself. His next attempt at looking around proved to be much more successful. To his relief, Aragorn was asleep nearby, as was Elladan. But, he didn't see Elrohir. Concerned, turned his head a bit further, ignoring his protesting body. Another bed. Another elf. It was Elrohir.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Legolas returned his head to a comfortable position. What in the world had they gotten themselves into now? Thinking about their predicament, Legolas couldn't help but smile. Heading to Rivendell on his own wasn't at the top of his list of dangerous activities. Estel's futile efforts to come and rescue him with his one-man force was nothing new, and the two of them falling into some kind of predicament was nothing new either. Now they had dragged the twins into this mess as well. What should have been a grave and serious matter made Legolas' smile grow into a soft chuckle, as loud as his injured body would allow. "Will we ever have a normal, pleasant outing together?" Legolas whispered in his mirth. "Legolas?" Elladan's voice floated to the blonde elf's ears. The shuffling of netting and footsteps indicated to the bedridden elf that the twin was heading towards him. "How are you feeling?" "Wonderful. Shall we go swimming while we're out on the open water?" Legolas replied, a grin still on his pale and battered face. Elladan laughed softly. "I am glad to see you in a brighter mood, but what could possibly be amusing about the situation that we're in right now?" "The situation itself." The older elf's features furrowed in confusion. "Think about it- how many times have we seen ourselves in situations such as this? I know I've lost count," he croaked out. "You're not doing so bad in looks either," Elladan commented. A snort from Legolas put another smile on Elladan's face. "Where are we?" Legolas asked softly. "We're on a ship heading towards a small village. We need to get you and Elrohir some attention." The twin gazed down at Legolas' abused face. "You certainly seem like you're doing much better," Elladan mused. He moved to look at Legolas' injuries. "I don't know how much better I am, but I very much prefer not having chai--" he inhaled sharply as Elladan gently touched the prince's abdomen. His expression darkening, Elladan lifted Legolas' tunic, as Aragorn had done earlier, and his features did not brighten by even the slightest degree. "How bad?" "Bad enough. You're definitely bleeding internally." "I already guessed as much." Silence followed as Elladan continued to check over Legolas. From the conversation between the two elves, Aragorn stirred. Looking over to Elladan over Legolas, he panicked- the earlier state that he had last seen the elf in fueling his fear. "What's wrong?" Estel leapt up as fast as his own injuries would allow. "Easy, Estel. It appears that Legolas may not be in as bad a state as we feared," Elladan said. "It could just be a reprieve from earlier," Aragorn said, concern dripping from his words as he joined his brother beside Mirkwood's prince. "True, but I much prefer him talking of something besides being cold," Elladan murmured softly. "Are either of you looking to see how Elrohir is doing?" a soft, raspy voice came up from the bed before the two brothers. Elladan put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder and rose to do just that. "You really scared me there, Legolas," Aragorn said. "Sorry..." breathed the elf. Though he was able to speak now, and wasn't as overcome by pain as he was earlier, Legolas still didn't look good. "How's Elrohir?" Estel asked Elladan. "He looks all right. Better than Legolas, anyways." "I do hope you're speaking in terms of wounds only, son of Elrond," Legolas commented hoarsely. "Fear not, son of Thranduil, none of us dare dispute your superior looks." Elladan retorted. The color still hadn't come back to Legolas' already-fair skin. His outward improvement didn't convince Aragorn that he was out of danger. His injuries were as severe as they had been earlier; and there was no telling how much worse he was going to get before they could get him to a healer's care. "You're in no condition to be making smart comments like that, Legolas. Better you focus your energy on getting better," Aragorn voiced his worry again. "I agree. We should be just about to the village by now, so rest for now," Elladan agreed. "Perhaps one of us should check on our captain," Estel said. His elven brother nodded. "I'll see how close we are." After Elladan left the cabin, Aragorn looked down at Legolas again. "Are you really feeling better?" "Comparatively, yes," Legolas gazed at Aragorn's face. "I should like to know how we've managed to find ourselves in a relatively safe position." "I bet you would," Aragorn said with a grin. "Estel?" "Hm?" "Would you put my shirt back down?" Blinking, Aragorn realized that Elladan hadn't returned the prince's tunic to its proper place. "Don't like showing skin, eh?" "Not when it's cold," Legolas whispered. Aragorn's eyes hardened in worry yet again and he pulled the blankets up over his friend once again. Hearing the door open behind him, he saw Elladan returning. "How much longer?" the human asked his brother. The dark expression from the elf made Aragorn nervous. "We've got a problem," Elladan said.
Round Robin "I should be moving faster, making better time. Valar only knows what is happening to my sons while I hobble along..." To any casual observer, Elrond was making very good time and 'hobbling' would have been the very last word chosen to describe his gait. However, it was painfully obvious to the elf that his steady mile-eating lope was being seriously hindered by the injury his ankle had suffered. Every step sent white-hot fire racing up his leg. His sons, skilled healers all of them, would have recoiled in horror at the strain he was putting on it when obviously something had torn. It was the heart-rending thought of his sons in danger that made Elrond smother the inner healer that violently protested against his actions. He was a father, first and foremost. There was no room for concern about his own well-being, only for that of his children. His imagination was working furiously to supply him with every possible horrific scenario they could be in at this very moment. Elrond almost would have welcomed the pain knifing through him if it would help to drive away those unspeakable images. His palms were sweaty, Elrond noted with a detached sense of surprise. He hadn't sweated in a very long time. Absently he wiped his hands on his tunic and kept running. Deep inside the elf lord, hidden in an almost forgotten and studiously ignored corner of Elrond's spirit, dwelled a warrior. Now reawakened after so long lying dormant, it granted him the focus that he so desperately needed and allowed him to push past the pain and exhaustion and call upon strength he'd forgotten he even possessed. And if he was brutally honest with himself, Elrond wasn't only racing to reach his sons-- though that was the undeniable force that drove him. His soul also ached to leave the ruins of Angband far behind. An evil that could never be cleansed clung to the land and it made the elf lord lightheaded if he allowed his senses to linger on it too long. The earth was long past crying out against it. It had simply withered under the oppressive darkness. The destruction of the ancient stronghold had rent the terrain wide open in some places, pushing the rocks up in small mountains in others. Long jagged cracks that belched superheated jets of steam split the rocky ground. It was mind-boggling to consider the power that had been leveled against this place. Distracted by the moisture once more gracing his palms the elf wiped his hands again and spared a moment of concentration to shoot a blistering glare down at the traitorous appendages. Elrond stopped running and stared at his hands. He wasn't sweating--he was bleeding. His startled gaze followed the crimson trails up his arm to the makeshift bandage hastily wrapped around the gash Moririme had dealt him. It was soaked. Blood steadily dripped through the cloth and ran down his arm. Elrond growled an irritated oath. That cursed she-elf had probably nicked a vein. He hadn't even noticed, automatically tuning out the throbbing pain in his arm. The elf tore the sleeve off his uninjured arm and quickly set about wrapping it tight over the other makeshift bandage (the remains of his other sleeve), knotting it with his teeth. The wound needed stitching but there was nothing to be done about that here. Elrond just hoped that the bleeding would not worsen--he needed a clear head. Just as he finished tying it off the ground under his boots gave an ominous rumble. Elrond froze, straining his oppressed senses to detect any danger. The tarnished earth did not speak to him as it would have anywhere else; and almost too late the implications of the steam jets he had passed before and the small crack he now stood over clicked into place. The ground shook again and Elrond launched himself to the side striking the rocky ground hard as a small geyser of scorching hot steam shot out of the crack, searing his leg... his already injured leg. Elrond sighed even as he curled in on the limb, battling this new wave of pain. Thank the Valar for small mercies--at least he wasn't further debilitated by the injury of his still hale leg. The elf lord took a few more precious minutes to find his center. In his mind's eye all the pain and worry, everything, faded into a hazy darkness until the only thing left was a picture of his sons and Legolas, safe, healthy, smiling and laughing as they rode their horses through Imladris. It burned bright against the darkness with his desire to make that vision a reality once more. An almost animal-like scream of rage jerked him out of his reverie and in a flurry of startled motion Elrond rolled onto his stomach, wide blue eyes darting back and fourth. He listened for a moment and when the odd cry did not repeat itself Elrond hesitantly crawled up the natural incline that the broken rocky ground created and peered out across the barren land. And he could not believe what he saw. Gripping the course rock hard enough to cut his hands the horrified elf choked out a series of obscenities that would have made an orc blush. "This can't be...the blood loss must have been much worse then I thought...I'm hallucinating..." But if that was the case then, this was an elaborate hallucination; and he doubted very much even his imagination could come up with something like *this*. Though still a ways off, Moririme was walking towards his hiding place, very much alive.
TBC...
Round Robin "A problem?" echoed Estel and Elrohir in dismay. "We were blown off-course during the night. We're a good three hour sail from the village and our captain says there isn't one closer," said Elladan. "So we sail back to the village. No big deal," said Estel, trying to calm his pounding heart. He'd feared Elladan was going to say their attackers were upon them or something else equally dire. "We can't stay on open water," said Elladan. "If they are looking for us, our lone fishing ship might catch their attention. Truly, any ship at all may be searched if they are determined enough to find us," added Elrohir, seeing where his twin was headed. "What are we going to do then," asked Estel. Their adventure was catching up to him, his worry for Legolas and his brothers was eating at him; he simply wasn't in the mindset to figure out what their next move should be. He should have been; he was a Ranger, after all; but his trust in his brothers superceded that for the moment. It was Legolas who answered. "Head for the nearest cove and hope they don't find us." Elladan nodded even as Aragorn snapped. "No...we're not. We can't. We don't even know where we are!" "We have to, Estel," said Elrohir calmly. "If they find us, they'll kill us all. Our only hope is that we survive the day to sail back to civilization tonight." "Our captain says we're near Angbad. Not any place I'd like to stay for long, but it will do for today," said Elladan. "Legolas needs help now," the ranger fumed angrily. "He may not have all day to hide. How can you even think about hiding?! I've never seen you run from an enemy before-- why now?" "Why?" repeated Elladan, his temper close to fraying. "Look at us. Legolas is in no condition to be out of bed, let alone fighting. Elrohir is not much better. You're injured. I'm injured. None of us is in peak fighting condition. What do you want me to do, Estel? Seriously? We have an unarmed fishing boat, and little else. There is nothing we can do at the moment." "This isn't right," grumbled Estel. "Yes, it is," returned Legolas. "I like foolish risks as much as the next person, but I'd rather not openly flaunt our position to our would-be captors." Aragorn looked from Legolas to Elrohir to Elladan and sighed. "I don't like this. But I won't fight it." "None us do, brother," said Elladan, hugging him around the shoulders. "Thank you." -------------------------------------------------- Elrond watched, appalled, as Moririme advanced on his hiding place. He had nowhere to go. The sea was several hundred yards to his right, at the bottom of a short cliff, but he didn't know how he'd use that to his advantage. He was on higher ground than she; but he wasn't sure that would be enough of an advantage. The sun was just beginning to rise, but that could impede either one of them. How could she be alive? He was sure she was dead. There had been no pulse! As she drew closer, she screamed at him. "Thought you could kill me, did you, Peredhil? Don't you understand what gift my master has given me? My heart beats for him and I live because he says so. Always! I am no worse for the wear from our encounter. I will kill you!" His alarm grew at her words as his mind raced to come up with a plan. Moririme had to be stopped. She seemed to be fine, but as he watched, he noticed that she would stumble or sway for no reason. Perhaps she was not as healed as she'd like him to believe. He bided his time and waited for her to come to him. -------------------------------------------------- Elladan and Aragorn stood on the deck, watching as the captain steered them to land as the sun came up. They had left Elrohir watching over Legolas below, which also gave him time to rest himself. "Are you sure we can trust this man?" Aragorn asked his brother softly. "He says he is Leithand's brother, and I believe him; the resemblance is too much for him not to be. He told me his brother sent him to guide us because he knows the surrounding lands better than Leithand." Aragorn nodded. "Elladan?" "We have no choice, Estel. I sense no evil from him. That will have to do." Aragorn nodded again and they fell silent. "Is that a person?" asked Aragorn suddenly, pointing toward movement he could just barely make out. Elladan followed his brother's finger, his Elven eyes allowing him to see much clearer. At first, he thought he must be mistaken. Surely it could not be who he thought he was. "Ai Elbereth," he cried softly. It was Moririme. What did this mean about their father? He looked to where she was heading and saw another figure emerging from the stones. "Ada!" he gasped.
Round Robin Elladan and Aragorn watched the unfolding scene in horror. There were two elves battling on the barren shores of Angband. The two mighty forces clashed with the strength of battling gods, shaking the earth in their duel; and yet, they did not move. The battle pitted will against corruption, protection against antagonism. Elladan locked eyes with Moririme, feeling the evil surrounding her soul. This woman was neither elf nor mortal nor even of this world. She was being created by darkness and chained to evil, a shell moving with the force of deception. Aragorn stared in horror as the demon Moririme advanced on his father. Down on his knees, ankle and burned leg sending pain lacing up his psyche, Elrond forced his body to rise. He would not give Moririme the satisfaction of seeing him kneel. Elrond raised his sword before his body, blackened sunlight arcing off the blade, sending red light fragmenting off the blood taken from Moririme. The elf lord's eyes blazed in fury and righteous vengeance. He had wished to save her soul; but now, all that kept her tied to this world was her hatred. She was but an empty shell, bound to the will of the dark lord, moving as he moved and dying as he wished it. There was no shame in killing to free. And now, with his sons on a boat in the distance, coming to the near cove, he would not falter. "Do you honestly think you can win," Moririme crowed, "against the mighty lord of all things!?" "I know I'll win." Elrond said with deadly conviction, "My sons are counting on my victory. If I lose, they lose." Moririme jerked back at the sheer force of his rage. Though he never shouted, the force of his anger and conviction swept over her like a wave, stifling her will and sending the pain returning to her body in a hot blaze. Elrond rushed forward, sword over one shoulder and leading to the right. His blade caught the light, illuminating the deadly dance between the children of war and peace. Moririme shook aside the force of Elrond's mind. She would not give in to him again! She reached for her sword to deflect the blow, but it was too late. Elrond's blade swept through her heart, cutting out the essence Morgoth had placed in her in order to bind her to his will. As the corruption left, so, too, did her hatred. As the pain flooded her slender form, Moririme gazed up at the sky, her eyes clearing and lightening to their original sky-blue color as the curse of the darkness lifted off her mind and soul, leaving her will free to accept death with outstretched arms. Elrond stood over her, gazing down at the elf who, in payment for a moment of weakness, had toiled in the Dark Lord's service for an eternity. His sorrowful eyes gazed down at her as her life left her body, this time never to return. And Elrond stared up at the sky, watching as her spirit flew to the Halls of Mandos; and yet, he felt no sorrow. She was free, and the Dark Lord had one less servant to enslave and torture. Turning to the boat, Elrond sprang into a run, ignoring the pain the shot up his leg in spikes; that was nothing compared to the joy of seeing his sons, and the lithe prince of the wood elves, alive. Looking out onto the turbulent waters, Elrond's eyes widened in horror. The man, obviously the captain of the small fishing vessel, stood over the unconscious and bound bodies of Elladan, Elrohir and Aragorn. Elrond felt their presences as weakened but in no immediate danger. However, what turned his blood to ice was the sight of the obviously grievously wounded elven prince dueling with the captain for the safety of his sons. Legolas struggled to remain standing, glancing down at the brothers. While watching the fight, Aragorn and Elladan had brought Elrohir and himself out to see the epic clash as well. However, they had been correct in thinking their captain was less than trustworthy. He had attacked from behind, bringing Elladan and Aragorn down with a swift pair of blows to the backs of their skulls. Already weak with exhaustion, the two fell easily to the blackness. Elrohir had fought against him; but he too succumbed to the man's skill. Though seeming quite harmless, the man was quite skilled with the chain and sickle, swinging them in a deadly dance to the lustful refrain of war. Legolas fought against him with the elven knife Elladan had had on his back. However, as Elrond watched in horror, trying valiantly to reach the boat, Legolas faltered, injuries allowing him no more leeway. Legolas watched with a detached air as the sickle arced toward his face, sunlight glinting off the sharpened surface. 'I'm sorry, my friends....'
TBC...
Round Robin On the shore, Elrond just stared in horror as the sickle in the man's hand made its way down to Legolas' face. But then, just an instant before the impact, the course of the weapon changed, and instead of the tip cutting through the blond elf's face, its handle landed on the prince's shoulder, knocking him down. The elf lord had concentrated so completely on Legolas' face that he hadn't seen exactly what happened; but he did see that, seconds after Legolas had went to the floor, his attacker fell, too. Later, he would realize that the fisherman had slipped on the blood that had dropped from Legolas' and Elrohir's wounds onto the blank polished wood of the boat, making it quite slippery. For now, he was just grateful that something had saved Legolas; and he didn't spent time on wondering just how that could have happened. The only important thing in his mind was reaching the boat before the man could get away from the shore and him. He knew that he was in no condition to follow the boat once it had started its way up the river with its captives. So he hurried his way down to the water, climbing and slipping, trying his best to ignore the jolts of pain from his foot whenever he managed to put it into an especially awkward position. Fortunately, the captain, once he was back on his feet, didn't look in his direction. If he actually knew that the elf lord had been on the land and fighting--and that seemed highly probable considering his sons had come onto the deck of the boat to watch him--the captain obviously thought that he was either still fighting with the she-elf, or too far away and not a threat to him. It really didn't matter; either would work to his advantage. When Elrond was finally by the water, he had to quell the impulse to swim directly to the boat. But he could already see the man move; from the looks of it he was chaining his captives, so it was just a matter of time until he would look for their father. Instead, Elrond ran some paces along the shore, to get to the boat from another side, before he plunged into the water to swim. The moment his arm made contact with the water, he had to bite back a scream. In his haste to get to his children, he had completely forgotten that it wasn't a river he was going to swim in, but the sea. The burning of the salty water in his wound painfully reminded him of that fact. Well, he didn't have much of a choice but to swim there. Concentrating on his sons with all his willpower, and thus ignoring his foot and arm, he made his way through the small waves to the boat that lay still on the water. When he was nearing his goal, he decided to further swim around it, so that he would reach it from the side that was to the sea. And his plan worked. Climbing up the side of the boat, he came up behind the captain, without alerting him. The man had just finished securing his prisoners, and was now making the boat ready for the way back. One look to the bound prisoners, and Elrond didn't think long about how to get the captain out of the way. He took the chain the captain had left where it had fallen after his fight with the elves, tied it around his hand, and hit the captain on his head. Safe in the knowledge that the captain wouldn't disturb him anymore, he moved to untie the prisoners. Taking a closer look at them, he paled, and prayed to every god that might listen that he had come in time.
TBC...
Round Robin Beta: Iridia...major thanks to Iridia...she's a life saver when it comes to beta-ing. She makes sure my fragments of thoughts actually make sense to others and made sure I said what I really wanted to say. -------------------------------------------------- Elrond knelt beside his sons and the Mirkwood prince. Their injuries were grievous, though even "grievous" felt like an understatement. He checked their vital signs and examined them for evidence of internal injuries and bleeding. Legolas appeared to be in the worst condition; it could only have been the prince's will to protect his friends that had permitted him to keep on living this long. Worried about the effects of Moririme's mind control on Elrohir, he moved to the younger twin. Carefully Elrond lifted the closed eyelids and peered into the grey eyes. The fiendish spell had been broken--hopefully sometime before Moririme's death--but the elf lord could still see an evil miasma on the whites of the young elf's eyes; the curse would linger on, if only in the form of memories. The emotional and mental injuries the young elf had sustained would take longer to heal than the physical ones. If he did not let the others help him, the idea that he had been forced to turn against his brothers and ordered to kill them could very well eat at his soul and bring him to the point of destruction. Elrond felt a wave of relief overcome him as he examined the other two. Thankfully, while painful and somewhat debilitating, Aragorn and Elladan's injuries were not as life-threatening as the others'. With his evaluation finished, Elrond began to carefully unwind the chain which bound his sons and their friend. The hairs rose on the nape of his neck as he thought of the treacherous captain who had caused the last bout of injuries. Even though Elrond knew he had knocked the man unconscious and the head wound was bleeding freely, Elrond did not trust the man to stay down. Too many unexplainable events had occurred recently for him to expect what *should* happen to actually happen. Taking the chain, Elrond securely wrapped the captain so he could not escape. Then he searched the man for weapons and removed a small smelly knife used for gutting fish, a ring of keys, and the man's thick, salt-encrusted boots. While they did not immediately appear to cause any harm, Elrond thought it would be better if he took these precautions. Finally free to tend to his sons, Elrond turned from the man. The four unconscious forms lay still and pale on the deck. Yet his concern increased as he looked up and beyond them--the ship was drifting towards the shoreline. Angband was not a good place for a ship to run aground. Besides, he had hoped that the ship's relative speed (faster than walking, at least) and smooth travel could quickly bring them to a haven where they could heal safely. He was glancing around the deck in search of anything that might be helpful when he spotted an old bucket near the cabin. With some effort, Elrond fetched the bucket, attached the chain he had used to knock out the captain, and dropped the bucket over the side of the boat, bringing up a bucketful of salty water. It was not the best, but it would have to do. Elrond dipped his hands into the liquid and captured a handful of the water in his cupped hands. Carefully he began to wash Elladan's face with it. Elladan woke with a stifled cry as the salt entered his open wounds. "I'm sorry, ion nin," Elrond spoke softly as Elladan blinked at the pale light above. "How are you feeling?" "Ada!" A weak smile formed on his weary and injured face. Despite being grown, Elladan felt like a little boy, safe now that his father was here. He attempted to sit up, propping himself up on his left arm; but the movement caused a wave of pain and nausea. He raised his right hand stiffly to feel the back of his head. "Ow." "I'm afraid you were knocked out by that man over there." Elrond pointed to the bound man. Elladan glanced over and groaned, he recognized the traitorous captain. "Can you stand? I need you to pilot the ship if you can." With a nod, Elladan struggled to his feet. Shakily he managed to find his way to the sails and began to trim them. "Where are we headed?" "Anywhere safe," Elrond mumbled. He shifted his attention to his adopted son, hoping to wake him. Elladan would need help with the boat and the others were too injured to help. -------------------------------------------------- A lone horsewoman rode her mount at a quick pace. The mare, sensing her mistress' need for haste, pushed on though she was weary. The elven maiden had left the Golden Woods only a few days before in search of her brothers, father, and beloved. Arwen had been troubled by foreboding dreams concerning her remaining family. Long ago, she had sworn she would not let any more of her family die if she could in any way prevent it--and she would keep that promise. She had not needed the Golden Lady's mirror to tell her of the danger her loved ones were in. The notes of their lives as they touched her heart sounded the sour chords of danger. She had filled a satchel with bandages and healing herbs, and, leaving the sanctuary of Lothlorien without giving notice to anyone, she had set out to aid her family in any way she could. As she left, only the March Warden and his brothers saw her, but they did not try and stop her; for that, she was grateful. How could she explain this unnerving feeling to anyone? Arwen broke from her reprieve at the sight of carrion birds--aptly, the only life in these forsaken and barren lands--circling approximately fifty meters to her left. She feared that, at the center of their focus, might be the swift and sad end to her journey. Morbidly curious, Arwen urged her bay mare towards the body. The mare shied and refused to move closer. Ignoring the horse's alarm, Arwen dismounted and led the nervous animal. As she reached the body and did not recognize it, relief flooded over her. Checking her emotions, Arwen examined the corpse--a female elf with long sable hair and rich black clothing. The corpse appeared to have been killed recently--the fresh blood still vibrantly stained the naked dry ground, a moist mix of bloody mud--but the body appeared to be long dead. The skin had shrunken to the bones, which were withering to dust. The smell of rotting flesh filled the stagnant air. Despite the decay, Arwen could tell the body had once possessed a sinister voluptuous beauty, though marred by a depravity reaching beyond the soul. She shivered as she felt the lingering presence of a dying evil that emanated from the remains. This whore of Morgoth could do no more harm. Arwen had lingered long enough; this corpse was only a clue. Arwen had seen her before--in the dreams which haunted her every step. She had seen the woman fight Elrond, possess her brother, and curse "the Peredhil and his spawn". Arwen knew she was near her goal. Walking to the edge of the low cliff on which she now stood, she gazed down on the narrow inlet. There, a small stream fed into the estuary, mixing salty seawater with the fresh streamwater. In the estuary was a small fishing boat. It staggered and swerved like a drunken man unable to control his movements; but the familiar presence of family radiated from it. True, their essence was weak and fading; but they still lived! -------------------------------------------------- Aragorn looped the rope around his good arm, attempting to make the sail taut. His bad arm sent spasms of pain through his body. The crudely set shoulder, aggravated by the constant fighting, caused that arm to be of little to no use. A breeze caught the sail; it buckled and jerked the rope, which was not yet tied down. Aragorn cried out in pain and attempted to release his arm from the entangling mess of ropes. As he looked up in frustration, Aragorn glimpsed a figure standing on the shore where Elrond had so recently been fighting. He could not make out any more details. Concerned that this figure might want to cause trouble, but not wanting to alert Elrond yet, Aragorn made his way to Elladan at the rudder. "'Dan, look up at the cliff and tell me what you see." Elladan looked up to the cliff at which Aragorn was pointing. A lone cloaked figure stood beside an unbridled and unsaddled horse. An errant breeze caught the hood, tossing it back to reveal long, dark hair, pointed ears... and a familiar face. "Arwen!" he exclaimed. Without another word, both elf and man worked with renewed vigour to reach the shore. By the time they had brought the boat as close to the shore as they could manage, Arwen was waiting for them. Unable to bring the horse aboard the ship, she had sent her away. If the mare remained unharmed, she would find her way home. Then she waded out into the water, swimming the rest of the way to the boat, careful to keep her satchel dry. Aragorn dangled a rope over the side of the boat for Arwen to climb. He winced as pain shot through his arms; even Arwen's lithe frame was too much for him. Expertly, he hid the pain before Arwen reached the deck. She greeted him with a hug. "I'm so glad to see you," he murmured. "And I you." She smiled at him, and he felt warm for the first time since entering these forsaken lands. Once her embrace was finished, Arwen turned to Elladan and hugged him. "How are you, 'Dan?" she inquired. He shrugged. "Better than the rest, I guess." She raised a very Elrond-like eyebrow. "And how *is* 'Ro?" This time he grimaced. "Not good. Ada's taking care of him." She gave him another hug. Arwen knew her brother shared an empathic bond, and when one was injured or in pain, the other felt it just as keenly. Elladan was the only one of the twins conscious; as a result, he felt all his own wounds--and his brother's as well. "Come on, take me to Ada." Arwen placed a hand on her brother's arm and let him lead her to the part of the ship where Elrond tended his severely wounded patients. Upon seeing her father, Arwen gasped. His face was ashen and his breathing shallow; yet he seemed oblivious to this. He sat beside Elrohir, appearing to feel the pulse at his wrist. "Ada," she admonished. Elrond smiled faintly at his daughter. "Thank Illuavatar you are here. These two..." As he spoke, Elrond stood to greet his daughter; but once on his feet, he only stayed there because Elladan rushed forward to catch him. "'Dan, set Ada over there." Arwen pointed to a spot beside Elrohir. Going to her father, she opened her satchel and pulled out cordials, healing herbs, and bandages. "I’m fine, daughter. See to your--" "No, Ada; you're *not* fine. Haven’t you always told us a healer needs to care for himself in order to care for others? Now be still." Arwen tenderly unwrapped the bandage around his ankle. It was swollen and turning myriad shades of blue and purple; but as she felt along the bone, Arwen only felt a sprained joint and a hairline fracture, which, while painful, would heal quickly and cleanly. There were also some superficial burns on the same leg; they would probably heal with no trouble. Only then did she notice the blood-soaked, makeshift bandage around Elrond's arm. She carefully removed the bandage and gasped as she saw a deep, ragged wound, still bleeding freely, its edges encrusted with dirt. The skin around the wound looked inflamed—no wonder, given the foreign matter imbedded in it. "How long have you ignored this, Ada?" she demanded. He groaned an inaudible answer; his head dropped to the deck. "That’s what I thought." Taking a bandage from her satchel, she laid it over the wound, attempting to slow the bleeding. "Elladan, hurry; get me some water."
TBC...
Round Robin Arwen was glad her father was semiconscious; otherwise, the process of cleaning the wound would have been excruciatingly painful. As it was, Elrond seemed to be unaware of much around him, though she did notice he held his arm quite still--much more so than she could expect of any semiconscious patient. On some level, perhaps, Elrond remembered his own struggles to hold still those he tried to help. Even now, those healer's instincts stayed with him. She finished cleaning the dirt and dead tissue away from the wound, and began wrapping a bandage, previously impregnated with healing salves, around it. If all went well, the wound would heal; though, as deep as it was and ignored as long as it had been, it might take a while--strong elven constitiution or not. The others, Arwen saw, had already been tended by Elrond. Legolas did not look well, but she worried most for Elrohir: Around her brother, she could feel the same lingering evil she had felt on the corpse of the dark-haired elven woman. For now, Elrohir slept; and she allowed him to continue sleeping; but his closed eyes and uneasy aura worried her. "Elladan," Arwen called. "Who was this?" She pointed to what she thought must be a dead fisherman who lay on the deck nearby, a long chain wound around him. Elladan looked back at her. "That's the son of an orc that tried to kill us," he said. "Think he'll be out for a while yet. If he ever wakes up." Elladan, usually quite conscientious about preserving life, was at the end of his rope and had absolutely no pity for the traitorous sailor. Arwen looked more closely at the fisherman and realized--yes, he *was* alive, though he hadn't looked it at first glance. That cut in his forehead, though... if he didn't die from the blow to his head, the blood loss would eventually kill him. Already, the man's head lay in a puddle of blood. She didn't blame Elladan for his anger; but her conscience demanded the man be given the care he needed. Beyond that, she had no plans; her father would bring the man to justice. Kneeling down again, Arwen re-opened her satchel of bandages and began none-too-gently cleaning and stitching the man's forehead. "So you've gotten yourself into trouble yet again, my brother," she said. "Before you do anything else, let's hear the whole story." Elladan complied, with Aragorn offering comments and filling in his part of the story. Before long, Arwen looked as though she was trying to decide just how to kill the slavers who had caused so much harm to those so dear to her. That would have to wait, though; they were in no condition to go chasing after anyone--especially a well-armed slave ship--now. "I think," she said to them, "that our first priority will be to get to a safe place, where we can hide. Legolas is in no condition to travel, and I don't like the way that leg of yours is healing--no, don't try to deceive me, Estel." Aragorn sighed. He had been trying to hide that. "They'll be looking for us, and there's not much we can do about it," said Elladan. "We can't hide forever on the open sea, not when they're so much faster than we are, and possibly, if they've gone in the right direction, not far behind us." "But there's no reason we should try to hide on the open sea," Aragorn pointed out. Arwen had been thinking the same thing. "Exactly. We don't have to. I don't like this country--" she swept her hand out to indicate the desertlike landscape-- "but it can't go on forever." "It doesn't," said a voice. The group looked back; there was Elrond, looking pale and tired, but standing. "Not too many leagues ahead, there is a forest, and quite possibly some human settlements, if they have not moved or been abandoned since I last saw this land." "Then our problems are solved," Elladan said. "We can hide forever in the trees, if we need to; and the forest will provide at least some of the herbs we'll need." Elrond nodded, smiling slightly, as though he were a teacher whose pupil had finally happened upon the right answer. "Indeed," he said. Most of the rest of the day was taken up with sailing along the shore; Arwen and Elladan were now doing most of the work, while Elrond and Aragorn took up the care of their two still-unconscious patients. Legolas seemed to be holding steady; a bit of color had come into his formerly pale cheeks, an indication that whatever bleeding he had been suffering had stopped; but Elrohir remained unchanged. His injuries, Elrond thought worriedly, were not severe enough to keep him out this long; but as the sleep seemed natural, he did not attempt to wake his son. -------------------------------------------------- Unseen by anyone, the little boat's unconscious captain woke. His head hurt terribly; and he found himself unable to move due to the chains which bound him; but he was a shrewd man and did not let anyone know that he was awake. Carefully testing his bonds, he found them secure. He was lying in a sticky, slippery substance that had the coppery smell of blood; from this, he deduced that he had been injured. But the blood, alarming as it was, also gave him an idea. From his travels with the pirate captain, he remembered the story of the attempted escape of a very resourceful slave: The man had used blood from an injury to wet the ropes that bound him, making them slippery and easier to slip out of. Mailik, of course, had caught the man before he had gotten very far; but the slave's ingenuity gave the wily fisherman an idea. Dipping his bound wrists into the pool of blood beneath his head, he began twisting them back and forth; and presently, the chains loosened just enough for him to slip one hand out. From there, it was just a matter of slow, silent work, careful not to rattle the chains, to free himself. When he stood up, he *did* rattle them; but Elladan, who had been trimming the sail and could not immediately come to see what was wrong, only assumed their bound prisoner had woken, not escaped. As it was, a full two minutes passed before the elf checked on the erstwhile captain; and that was plenty of time for the man, a strong swimmer despite his injury, to make his escape. As he swam swiftly away from the boat, his thoughts were of the bounty Mailik had promised for capturing her runaway slaves, and whether he could salvage any of it in exchange for the information he now possessed. -------------------------------------------------- In early evening, they sighted what looked, at first, like a gray patch of shoreline, but then resolved itself into the outline of a forest that came up to the beach. They made for it, and arrived just as the sun was setting. The trees were mostly young; but some grand old oaks and walnuts towered over the rest. It was in one of these--a big oak that Aragorn, had his leg not been injured, would have loved to climb--that Arwen built them a shelter. Aragorn watched with fascination as the beautiful maiden swung herself up into the tree and crafted a platform constructed of tree branches. It was, he knew, a skill she must have learned in Lorien, where the guard often used such shelters to sleep in the trees. When it was finished and properly camouflaged, the flet was almost invisible from the ground, even to elven eyes. It was night, and the stars had come out, when Arwen finished. Netting from the boat made good stretchers; with these and the ropes, they carefully hoisted Elrohir and Legolas up into the tree. Aragorn, with an injured leg and arm, was in no shape to climb anything; but if it had not been for Arwen's warning look (so much like her father's!), he would have attempted the climb anyhow. As it was, he submitted to being hauled up on the end of a loop of rope. That done, they stripped the little boat of all its supplies and set it adrift, its sails full and rudder tied fast, for the slavers to find (and, they hoped, fruitlessly chase). The next few days were spent resting; and during that time, Aragorn came to appreciate Arwen more than he ever had. She tended their wounds, brought back food scavenged from the forest, and, when that failed, even made her way into the nearby human settlements (she had happened upon these while hunting game) to buy what they needed from her little store of coins. Those of the group with lesser injuries--Aragorn, Elrond, and Elladan--quickly found themselves recovering thanks to Arwen's competent skills. Elrohir awoke soon after their first sunrise in the little hideaway, and seemed to be recovering; but he ate little and said even less. And, though he could tell the woods comforted his brother; though he had told Elrohir many times that he had done nothing wrong; Elladan still worried for his twin. Even after he recovered completely, Elrohir still seemed morose and downhearted, though they all tried their best to support him. He refused to talk to anyone--even Elladan, with whom he usually shared all secrets--about his memories of Moririme. And, at night, Elrond could see that Elrohir's light was noticeably dimmer than usual. Not wanting to worry anyone, Elrond kept this to himself. Legolas was much more light-hearted; but for him, the physical recovery took much longer. It was a week before he could sit up, and another before he managed to stand. His spirit, however, seemed unaffected; two days after Aragorn had supported him for a few shaky steps, they woke up to find him sitting comfortably at the base of the tree, singing softly to himself and watching the sun rise. "You climbed down here by yourself, didn't you?" Aragorn scolded. Legolas smiled. "No, I flew down," he kidded. "Elvish magical powers, you know." Aragorn grunted something that sounded suspiciously like "reckless elf". Legolas only grinned broadly, obviously glad to finally be getting better. In not much time at all, Legolas was ready to travel; and the little group set off to take the journey back to Rivendell. They kept off the roads and away from the towns, in case Mailik and her crew might still be looking for them. Elrond privately doubted it; but you could never be too sure. It was a long journey, but, for the most part, an uneventful one; and they returned to Rivendell safely. -------------------------------------------------- EPILOGUE Mailik was annoyed. The fisherman's boat had been found; but the ones she sought were not in it, and the fisherman himself had been of little help. She was not angry, she told herself; no, anger was for those who could not plan, would not think, and ultimately, would not succeed. No; Mailik thought of herself simply as a businesswoman; and the escape of two valuable pieces of property was simply not good business. Slaves were stubborn creatures, she thought to herself; anything could stir them up, and nothing did so quite as quickly or thoroughly as the knowledge of an escape. Already, the slaves had killed one sailor, and wounded another. Any slave who had struck a blow had, of course, been killed; but now that she had lost the money they represented, Mailik would be hard-pressed to make much of a profit from this voyage at all. None of her slaves had ever escaped before; and she was not about to give up that record. If she could re-capture these two, and make an example of them... yes, then the slaves would behave. Word would spread--it always did, among slaves--and none would ever dare to cross her again. Yes, she thought, that would be a good plan. With a bit of luck, she might never have to deal with troublesome rebellions again. In fact, if things went right, Mailik could turn this to her advantage; her name would strike fear into any slave who heard it, and losses such as those she had recently suffered might never happen again. Now *that* would be good business.
THE END (or is it?)
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