Apostate’s Ruse by Calenlass Greenleaf

See the previous chapters for the disclaimer and the like.

A/N: I don’t know when Aragorn received the name “Strider,” therefore I am taking some liberties here.

Chapter Five: Delays

He had traveled alone for nearly two weeks - long and exhausting days of walking, foraging for food, and isolation. The rains continued to fall in torrents, the ground had become slick and soft. Mud frequently splashed onto his clothes; even the continual rains could not wash the stains out. But he did not care. He was determined to reach Lothlórien, even if it took him many months.

When night finally came, he stopped to rest under a tree. As it was too wet, he could not even start a fire. Estel leaned against the tree, closing his eyes and sighing. He fingered the bruise on his cheek, wincing at its soreness. Opening his eyes, he stared out miserably into the rain. Can it get any worse? he thought, weary with the cares of the sorrows he endured. "It must be fate that I cannot seem to find any luck at this moment." He raked his fingers through his soaked hair. How he hated this rain! He refused to think about the day he had left his home. It hurt too much. The recurring nightmares of Elrond slapping him in his face did not help. Ever since leaving, he had not had a decent night of sleep. Estel pressed his hands over his eyes, willing the tears not to fall and prove his childishness. By the Valar, he was sixteen! He should have better control over his emotions. Squeezing his eyelids tightly shut until they hurt, he turned and let his head fall against the trunk of the tree. As much as he wished it would, the dull thud it made did not drive out his dark thoughts.

On foot, there were still fifteen or more days before he would reach the Golden Wood, as he followed the course of the Silverlode River. He still had some provisions he had taken from Rivendell, but they were dwindling fast. He had forgotten to bring his bow in his haste, and he was left with only his dagger and knife. Now he held his knife in his hands, turning over and over in his hands as he mused. He could always make himself another bow, and also a few arrows. But it would take time. Time he did not have. Sighing once more Estel slumped down, fatigue overcoming him. As he pulled his cloak tightly around himself, his eyes began to close. He hoped there would be no more nightmares to disturb his sleep.

---------------

Two days went by. Estel continued to trek through the lands at a steady pace despite the fact he had a headache. It was not severe, just annoying. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand when he stopped to rest at night, but the rains had ceased, making the traveling less arduous. He found a tree suited to him and nimbly climbed up. Resting his arms on a branch, he laid his head on his arms and closed his eyes, intending to sleep. He was awakened a few hours later by a number of voices. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he peered through the branches. A group of men had gathered below him; apparently they were also resting for the night. The boy observed them quietly, his eyes missing little. He tightened his hold the branch and leaned slightly forward, straining his ears in hopes of overhearing the conversation.

Their talk was mainly of the weather and their travels—naught of importance to a boy fostered among the Elves. He guessed they were hunters by their speech and mannerisms. At last Estel judged them to be of no danger, and he carefully slipped down the tree. Immediately, he was surrounded by the men. Holding his hands away from his knife, he spoke softly. “Good evening,”

“Good evening?" one man laughed loudly. "What speak of you?"

Estel shrugged. “What else would I say?” he quietly asked, "if not 'good evening'?” He crossed his arms and stood a bit straighter.

“You got a name?”

The boy hesitated. He was no longer Estel, son of Elrondion, but he could not remember his blood father’s name, so he replied, “I call myself…Strider.”

“Strider? That’s not any name.”

He shrugged as casually as he could. “I never knew my father, and I was thrown out of my home. I have no horse or friend to help me. Therefore I walk.” He smiled to hide his real feelings.

Much to his surprise the men laughed. “So you call yourself Strider, eh? How much have you traveled?”

“Not much. I am headed south at this moment,” Estel replied. “Which way are you headed?”

“Down to one of villages near this place.” he lied easily, glad that the dark hid his flush cheeks.

One human who had been sitting unobtrusively stood up.

“So we are headed the same way,” he stated.

The boy nodded. “You would not mind if I joined with your company, would you?”

“Why would I not?” The man surveyed him. “You’re like someone’s who’s been well-brought up.” He stuck out his hand. “Hadrel,” he said.

Estel hesitantly shook the hand.

They made room for him by the fire. The boy did not talk much during their meal. Afterwards, Hadrel asked him where he was from.

“Up north,” he replied.

“Why did you leave?” The man ran one hand though his light brown hair.

“I was forced to.” Estel absently tossed some twigs into the fire. “My family no longer wanted me - I was adopted,” he added.

“I see,” Hadrel replied, taking the hint. The boy was clearly unwilling to elaborate.

Later that night, Estel had curled up beside the fire and fallen asleep, along with most of the men. But Hadrel had pulled another man, Kedirn, aside. “You believe what he says?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Not a word.” Kedirn shook his head. “Those clothes are a nobleman’s, and his speech is much too refined.” He lowered his voice. “Did you see that dagger of his? Looks as if it’s made of the best metal-I swear it’s better than any of our weapons! I think he’s just some rich person’s boy who found that life was dull and ran away for an adventure.” He quietly chuckled. “If so, we could-”

“You don’t know yet. Maybe you’re right and maybe you’re wrong. Time’ll tell.” Hadrel looked across the fire at the sleeping boy. “We’ll watch him for a few more days. After that I’ll decide what to do with the likes of him.” For a moment his eyes glittered in the light of hte fire before he turned his head away.

---------------

During the next few days, Estel stayed with the group of men. He still did not speak much, preferring to listen to their conversation. He walked behind everyone else when they traveled, keeping a distance and quietly observing them with sharp eyes. Unknown to him, Hadrel and Kedirn also had their eyes on him, noting all his mannerisms. They felt surer that their guesses were right. One night, they decided to act upon their speculations. They had stopped at an abandoned cave for the night. Estel was sleeping when someone shook his shoulder. “Hadrel wants to speak to you. He’s just outside the cave.”

Groggily, Estel rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and walked with the man out into the open. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the evening, he could make out Hadrel’s and Kedirn’s forms. “You wished to speak with me?” he asked, leaning against the wall of the cave.

“Aye.” Hadrel had a knife in his hands, and was spinning it between his fingers in a rather clumsy way.

'I could do better,' Estel idly thought as he folded his arms and unconsciously touched his own knife with his right hand.

“Where did you say you lived again?”

“I lived many miles north of here,” the boy replied, wary of these men and their possible motives. “In a relatively quiet…settlement.”

“Your father?”

“I do not remember him well. He died when I was only two.” Estel answered, as cautious as a treed cat.

“Then who did you stay with?”

“Another person who took me in. Then he threw me out.” Estel bit back a chuckle when Hadrel accidentally cut his finger on the knife. Blood had welled up in the small cut; it looked more like black ink in the night.

The man cursed under his breath and shoved the knife into his belt. He ignored his bloody fingers. “Why did you leave?”

“Because he told me to leave; he said I was no longer welcome.” As the subject was still sore, Estel’s voice sounded defensive. “Why are you asking me all this?”

Hadrel gave a nod to Kedirn, who moved to stand beside Estel. The movement did not escape Estel’s notice. “Why?” he asked again.

“To put it simply, I don’t believe anything you said.” Hadrel also began walking closer to him. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“What?” The boy had a hand on his knife; his knuckles white.

Hadrel’s voice dropped a notch. “You’re a brat of some wealthy man who you think you hate,” he laughed. “And you’ve run away from your home in the hope of escaping him.”

Estel shook his head. “Nay, I speak the truth!” he protested. “My family no longer wants me, I tell you.” He unsheathed his knife and held it out in front of him. “I swear by the Valar.”

“For me, the gods don’t exist,” the brown-haired man told him, “so why should I believe you?”

The teenager set his face, trying not to show his apprehension. “What do you want with me, Hadrel?”

“Money,” Hadrel chuckled, “I imagine your family is looking everywhere for you, so if I show up with you in tow, demanding things from them, they’ll give it to me gladly.”

Dismayed, Estel pressed against the hard rock, gripping his weapon tighter. “Don’t you understand that they hate me?” he nearly shouted. “I left about three week ago. My foster father’s last words to me were, ‘Go. Before I drive you out.’ He longer wanted me to stay.” His eyes began to sting. “Don’t do this.”

Hadrel shrugged. “Sorry, boy. Money is money.” With that, he lunged at Estel.

Instinct taking over, Estel crouched low and threw himself to the left, the other human nearly crashing headfirst into the side of the cave. He began running away. Hadrel picked himself up and glared at Kedirn. “You idiot, get him!” The man caught on and ran after Estel.

The boy saw a small copse ahead of him and blindly ran towards it. Unseen things snagged at his clothes and branches scratched his face. He could hear Kedirn stumbling behind him, swearing all the while. “Come back, you little whelp!” he panted as he chased him.

Estel tripped over a hidden tree root. Pain shot up his ankle, but he limped on nonetheless. When he was finally out of the copse, the man was close behind him. He looked back, then forward, and gasped. He was standing on a cliff, with no way of escaping the man, who by this time had caught up with the terrified boy.

“You can’t get away, boy!” Kedirn’s voice taunted him. “Turn around.”

Estel did as he was told. He swallowed hard as the man stalked toward him with sure steps. Backing away slowly, he decided to try a tactic Elladan had taught him. “You have me where you want me,” he said softly, in a vain attempt to hide the tremor in his voice, “but I amm not going back without a fight.” Reaching down, he pulled his dagger from his boot and held it in his left hand. He knew he was not as efficient when it came to fighting with two weapons in his hands, but neither did he do poorly at this. Taking a few deep breaths, he straightened his stance, though favoring one foot as he waited for Kedirn to move. As he had expected, Kedirn began by lunging at him with his knife.

Metal clanged against metal as Estel easily blocked the blow that had been aimed for his side. With a shove, he loosened Kedirn’s grip on his blade. They circled each other until Estel saw that Kedirn was facing away from the cliff. The man took a step backward before he swung his knife again, trying to overpower his opponent. This time, he aimed for Estel’s head. The boy crossed his knife and dagger together just as the Kedirn’s blade hurled towards him, catching it forcefully between the two weapons. Nimbly, with one foot, he sent the man sprawling on his back. Arm flailing, Kedirn let go of his knife. The weapon sailed through the air and over the edge of the cliff. Estel placed the point of his dagger at the man’s neck, breathing hard. “Let me go, and I will not kill you,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Kedirn glared at him, but did not answer. Instead, he grabbed Estel by the ankle, and pulled them both over the edge of the cliff. The boy gasped at the pain as his injured ankle was yanked. He scrambled desperately, but Kedirn was much too heavy. Though hen had lost his knife, he still had a grasp on his dagger. For an instant it felt as though they were suspended in midair. Then, as Estel slammed onto the ground, his last conscious thought was, “So this is what it is like to fall from a cliff,” before he blacked out, his hand still gripping his dagger.

---------------

He could taste the salty tang of blood. He heard voices above him.

“Kedirn…broken neck….”

“Boy’s out cold…wake him up.”

He opened his eyes, feeling disorientated. Sunlight streamed in and he shut them. It must be morning, he thought, grimacing. His head ached, as did his right arm and ankle. Someone prodded his side. “I know you’re awake. Get up, boy.”

Hadrel. Estel bit back a sigh.

“Open your eyes.” More prodding. Slowly, he opened his eyes, squinting up at the form of the man. Hadrel stood looking down at him, grinning.

With an effort the boy pointed his dagger at him. “Stay…away…from me,” he rasped.

Hadrel knelt down. “You’re in no position to talk. Now let go of the dagger.”

“N-no.”

He looked scornfully down at the boy. “You’re outnumbered, Strider,” he said flatly. His men moved in, blocking more of the sun from his view.

Estel’s hand trembled, and his control slipped. Before he knew it, Hadrel had grabbed his arm and wrenched the weapon out of his hand. Defeated, Estel let his head drop onto the ground and closed his eyes. But not for long. Someone kicked his side. “On your feet!” He heard Hadrel shout at him.

Slowly, he rolled over onto his side, and saw Kedirn. The man’s eyes were still open, but flies buzzed around him.

“You caused him to fall to his death, boy. Broke his neck.” One man spat on the ground. “Look at you; you’ve already become a murderer at such a young age!”

“I didn’t!” Estel protested, “I defeated him fairly but he pulled me down with him!”

“A likely story,” Hadrel snorted, “just like the fact you were thrown out?” He seized Estel by the collar of his shirt and shoved him towards another man. “Take him back to the cave where we stayed last night. We aren’t going anywhere today.”

Estel struggled until someone slapped on the side of his head. “Stop moving!” a man hissed into his ear as he roughly tied his hands. “Now move.” He gave the boy a shove.

He allowed himself to be led. Hobbling, he tried to ignore the pounding of his head and the tightness of the ropes, to no avail. When they reached the cave and dragged him in, he was wavering on his feet, clearly exhausted. He was pushed unceremoniously onto the grass by Hadrel. He did not look up, as he was caught up in his thoughts. Hadrel jerked his chin up with the edge of his blade, drawing blood. A flash of pain could be seen in Estel’s eyes as he looked up at the man.

“I’ll say you’re scared to death,” The man told him. “That you wish you were anywhere but here.”

The boy’s grey eyes flickered toward the right, breaking his gaze on Hadrel. A slap to his face brought him back to reality. “Tell me, Strider,” Hadrel ground out, holding Estel by the hair, “where did you live? Who took you in?”

The boy closed his eyes, feeling sick. Valar help him; what should he say? Even though Rivendell was no longer his home, he would not betray its people to a man who lived on greed. At last, he answered, “I choose not to tell.” He readied himself for what he knew would come.

Hadrel let his knife draw a thin line of red down the boy’s pale cheek. “So you say.” He nodded toward his men. “It’ll go better for you if you tell me now,” he threatened him.

Estel glared at him. “Make me,” he challenged him. His fingers dug tightly into the palm of his hand. He hope that there was no fear on his face, even though he felt it inside.

“Very well. If that’s how you want it,” he sheathed his knife, “that’s the way you’ll get it.” He turned around with something familiar in his hands. With one hand he pushed him down so that his forehead was pressed against the wall of the cave.

The boy sucked in his breath sharply, his face white, but he managed to calm himself. “Nothing you do will make me say anything, Hadrel. You are wasting your time.”

His answer was sound of leather belt falling across his shoulders.

Estel hissed in pain and pressed his forehead hard into the rock, his fingers clenched on his arm. The wounds that Elrond had given himself were still healing, and this assault on them stung more than if the skin was not already marred. For some moments there was nothing, only the sound of Hadrel sounding beating the boy. Estel held out as long as he could, biting his lips until they were stained with blood.

Abruptly the man stopped. Estel sat up, his breath coming in gasps.

“Will you tell me now?” the man asked.

He repeated his answer. “I choose…not to tell.”

The belt struck him again. And again. Finally he could no longer hold his emotions in. Tears ran from his eyes and down his face, falling to the ground. Hadrel only laughed at this. “Tears so soon?” he asked scornfully, jerking the boy around to face him. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”

He shook his head, vision blurring from both his tears and from fatigue. “Avon…” he mumbled.

“What? Speak up?”

“I won’t.” Estel sucked the blood from his bottom lip and spat it out at Hadrel’s feet. “Find out for yourself.”

Hadrel’s eyes darkened, but he only said, “We continue this tomorrow. And you’d better have something good to say by then.” He shoved a man out of his way, “See that he doesn’t escape,” he snapped to him before stalking away.

The boy could not help the sigh of relief that escaped from him as he gingerly eased his bloody body so it was almost, but not quite against the wall. He let his chin drop to his chest. His looked the picture of one that was overcome. And perhaps he was. With some difficulty Estel tried to wipe the red stains on his face by rubbing it against his shoulder. His head still ached, and his thoughts ran aimlessly. Unbidden, scenes of the past crept into his mind.

…Elrond teaching him…

…His father caring for him when he was injured…

…The peredhil comforting him when he had nightmares…

“Ada,” he whispered softly. He wanted nothing more than for his father to hold him and comfort him…to soothe the pain that was both physical and emotional. But there was no one there to help him. Completely worn out, he soon fell asleep despite his pain.

---------------

He awoke, feeling somewhat dizzy. His lips were dry and his eyelids were stuck. Blinking to clear the sensation Estel peered around the cave. It was quite dark; night had fallen. He glanced at the men. They seemed to be sleeping soundly. One man was snoring rather loudly, and another was talking something about rabbits and how good they were to eat. Estel allowed himself a smile at that. He tested the ropes that were wound around his wrists. As tight as ever. Reaching blindly behind he tried to find something to help him escape. His nail suddenly scraped against something pointy. A sharp rock protruded from the wall. Wincing as he moved, he began rubbing his bonds against the rock.

One man mumbled in his sleep. Estel gave him a glance before he continued with his task. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of his face and down his neck. He gritted his teeth, straining. The rope finally gave away. As the last few strands fell free he rubbed his arms, feeling the abrasions in the dark. Sitting there, he tried to think of a plan. Where was his pack? All his belongings, along with the strange letter, were still in it. Curse this darkness! Supporting himself with his hand he slowly got to his feet. The world around suddenly tipped, and he found himself leaning the rock for support. He shook his head and moved away. As quietly as he could, Estel began picking his way through the men sprawled all along the floor until he reached Hadrel. The man lay in his side, his arm curled around Estel’s pack. The boy bit back a sigh, knowing he would only be able to retrieve the most important of his belongings. Bending down on one knee he stretched a hand out, grey eyes fixed on Hadrel’s eyes. He carefully lifted the clasp on the bag and reached his hand in. His fingers picked their way through, and he soon found the letter. Pulling it out he quickly stuffed his down his boot, and began looking for his weapons. He found his dagger lying beside Hadrel, and he quickly slid it into his other boot. As he tried to stand, he suddenly froze.

Hadrel’s eyes were open.

TBC…

Avon - I won’t

Ada - Daddy