Chapter 12      Fate held in the hands of another

Legolas and Dar were gone, taken within the blink of an eye. 

Aragorn leaned against the side of the building where he and Legolas had left Dar, his eyes fixed on the young soldier’s sword lying abandoned in the street before him, the edge of the sharp blade stained a dark crimson.  He had been hoping that Dar had escaped, had gone to get help, but the discarded sword told him otherwise.  Dar had been taken just like Legolas.  The truth was hard to accept, and it left in its wake a burning pain that made the throbbing in his head seem trivial. 

He squeezed his eyes shut against the waves of anger, despair, worry, and most of all, guilt.  He had been such a fool!  He had allowed his rage and emotions to take control, something that he had learned long ago to avoid.  In his eagerness to bring to justice those who had hurt the ones he loved, he had charged in blindly, throwing caution to the wind when caution was most important.  He should have sent for the soldiers the minute he and Legolas had spotted the men entering the storage compound.  Yet he had allowed his impatience to rule his actions, and it would be Dar and Legolas who would pay for his foolishness.

‘And what about Faramir?’  A small voice in the back of his mind questioned. Had the Steward been drawn away from them merely to fall into a similar trap?  Had he been taken as well, and Aragorn simply did not know it yet?

Aragorn prayed that it was not so.  He needed Faramir.  Especially if he was to have any hope of finding Legolas and Dar again before it was too late.  Gimli would want to help, but the dwarf was still too weak to be of much aid.  It would be extremely difficult for Aragorn to attempt to locate his friends on his own while still caring for Arwen and seeing to his duties as King.  He would do it if he must, but he hoped desperately that it would not come to that. 

Opening his eyes, Aragorn slowly pushed himself upright, keeping one hand pressed against the wall to steady him.  The fate of Faramir was only one in a whole slew of questions, and Aragorn knew he would find no answers while he remained here.  He would first go back to the House of Healing and assure himself that Arwen and Gimli were safe, and then he would set about to locating Faramir.  After that, he could decide how best to go about finding and rescuing his missing companions.

Bending over and picking up the discarded sword, Aragorn set off down the street, his steps not quite steady.  The bright lanterns that lit up the street flickered and wavered in the cold night wind, and Aragorn carefully kept his cloak wrapped tightly about him, the hood pulled up to hide his face despite the fact that the streets were mostly deserted.  Each step he took aggravated the throbbing in his head, and his vision occasionally blurred, causing him to stumble. 

Anyone observing him now would probably assume that he was headed home after one too many drinks at a tavern.  They could not see the sword he clutched beneath his cloak, or the dried blood that caked one side of his head.

Aragorn had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when he noticed a large group of soldiers heading down the street towards him.  It was obvious from the soldiers’ actions that they were searching for something; constantly pausing to peer down dark alleyways, or sending several of their numbers into the lighted doors of taverns.  The men were all heavily armed, and their faces were grim as they slowly and methodically moved down the street in his direction.

Aragorn felt a flare of hope ignite within him.  The soldiers were most likely searching for him, and if that was the case, it meant that someone had noticed his absence and ordered a search.   Faramir was the most likely one to have done this.  He would have grown worried when Legolas and Aragorn failed to meet with him, and beginning a search would have been one of his first actions. 

The first ranks of the soldiers had already come abreast of him.  Aragorn quickly reached up and pushed back the hood of his cloak, calling out softly to the captain who led the large group.  The man had already passed him by with no more than a glance, but upon Aragorn’s soft call, he swung around swiftly enough that the soldiers behind him had to stumble out of his way.  His face registered confusion for the split-second it took to recognize Aragorn, and then intense relief took its place.  Hurrying forward, he bowed low to Aragorn.

“My lord,” he gasped, “We have been searching the entire city for you, and feared something ill had befallen you!”  The man’s gaze carefully swept Aragorn up and down, a worried frown appearing as he spotted the dried blood on the side of the King’s face.

“I am well,” Aragorn quickly assured him, noting the way the captain’s hand immediately went to his sword, his eyes searching up and down the street as if to find the ones who had dared harm his king.  “Tell me, who sent you on your search?”

The captain looked slightly confused at the question.  “Lord Faramir was the one who sent us,” he answered.

It was Aragorn’s turn to feel relief.  He had been right, Faramir was still free.  Returning his attention to the Captain, he quickly gave the order for an immediate search for Dar and Legolas to begin, starting with the storage compound and sweeping out through the surrounding area.  He doubted his friends could have been taken very far.  The quicker the search began, the more hope there was of finding them. 

“My Lord, the men will begin the search as you have commanded, but first, please allow me to provide you with an escort back to the palace.”

Aragorn nodded briefly to the captain.  “An escort will be fine, but I am not going to the palace.  Send one of your soldiers with a message to Lord Faramir to meet me at the House of Healing.”

The captain nodded, then turned and hurriedly gave the command to one of the soldiers.  The man bowed to Aragorn, and then turned and raced up the street toward the palace.  Aragorn watched him go, and then motioned for the remaining soldiers to move forward.  They fanned out around him, flanking him on all sides as they made their way up to the House of Healing.

The trip took much longer than Aragorn would have liked, for his steps were still somewhat unsteady, and it was impossible to walk with any amount of speed while surrounded by a group of anxious soldiers.  He used the extra time to try and sort through his thoughts and come up with at least some answers to all the questions haunting him.  However, he had made little progress by the time they finally reached their destination.

Aragorn was extremely relieved to find Faramir already waiting for him outside the building.  The Steward looked both relieved and worried as he came forward to meet Aragorn, but he remained silent as Aragorn thanked the captain and dismissed his escort back to their search.

“Aragorn, what happened?” Faramir asked quietly as the last of the soldiers bowed and departed.

Aragorn slowly shook his head, then simply motioned toward the door.  Faramir nodded reluctantly, and the two quickly entered the warm building, escaping from the cold night wind.

“Gimli’s room,” Aragorn ordered softly, motioning toward the dwarf’s closed door.  He didn’t know whether Arwen would be awake or not, but he did not want her to see him in this condition.  He would get cleaned up first, and then go and see her.  The news he carried was bad enough without worrying her further about his own health.

Faramir moved forward and opened the door, standing to the side and allowing Aragorn to enter the room first.  Gimli was lying partially upright in the bed, a large tome resting in his lap, his brow furrowed in concentration as he read the book.  He didn’t look as if he was particularly enjoying himself, but Aragorn knew the dwarf needed something to do now that he was not sleeping all the time, and one of the healers had suggested reading.

Gimli glanced up as Aragorn entered, a look of relief flashing across his rough features.  “It’s about time,” he mumbled , closing the book with a thud.  “I was beginning to wonder when you would…” The dwarf trailed off as he looked at Aragorn for the first time and noted the blood on the side of his face.  His frown disintegrated into a full-blown scowl when Faramir entered and silently closed the door behind him, his face grim.

“Where is Legolas?” Gimli questioned, struggling to push himself further upright within the bed.

Aragorn moved forward and sank down into the chair next to the bed with a grateful sigh, his eyes drifting closed in his weariness.

“I will go and fetch a healer to look at your head,” Faramir suggested softly, the worry in his voice evident.

Aragorn nodded without opening his eyes, listening as the door opened and closed behind the Steward.

“Aragorn, where is Legolas?!”  Gimli demanded again, a note of what might well have been described as panic entering his voice.

Aragorn reluctantly opened his eyes and looked at the dwarf, the heavy weight of fear and guilt settling heavily down on his chest.  “I do not know,” he answered simply, wishing he had better news for the dwarf.

“What do you mean you don’t know?  Wasn’t he with you when you left?  So what happened?”  Gimli’s voice was slightly shaky, but his tone still demanded an answer.

Aragorn was saved giving that answer when the door opened and Faramir reentered with a healer close behind him.  Aragorn glanced toward Gimli, his expression begging the dwarf to be patient.  Gimli stiffened slightly, but to his credit he remained silent as the healer worried over the gash on the side of Aragorn’s head.  Faramir remained near the door, also silent as he watched the healer clean and bandage Aragorn’s wound.

“How is Arwen?” Aragorn asked the healer when the man finally finished his task and began gathering up his supplies.

“She is well, my lord,” the healer responded quietly.  “She is sleeping now.”

Aragorn nodded, then dismissed the man with a quiet thanks.  The door had barely shut behind him when Gimli ran out of his patience.

“Aragorn, what has happened?” the dwarf asked firmly, the earlier desperation in his voice now replaced with a cold calm.

Faramir took a step forward, his gaze fixed on Aragorn.

Aragorn glanced between them, and then let out a slow sigh.  “Legolas has been taken,” he reported softly, his voice filled with weariness.  “Dar as well, for we charged foolishly straight into the enemies trap.”

Gimli and Faramir both looked dismayed at this news, but it was Faramir who recovered first.  “Tell us,” he pleaded.

Aragorn nodded slowly, then quickly began to relate in detail the event of the evening, starting before Faramir had split from them for the benefit of Gimli.  The two listened without interruptions, and when he had finally finished, silence stretched for several long minutes.

It was Gimli who once again broke the silence.  “It does not make sense,” the dwarf mumbled slowly, his brow furrowed in a way that reminded Aragorn of Gandalf when the wizard was puzzling over a particularly difficult question.  “I thought they were after you, Aragorn?  So why did they take Legolas and Dar and leave you behind?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” Faramir answered shortly, his voice tight.  “They are playing with us, with Aragorn.  They want revenge for some wrong they have perceived he has done, but they want to make him suffer first.  They know the best way to do this is to hurt the ones he cares for the most.  Thus, the attack on you and Arwen, and now the capture of Legolas and Dar.”

Aragorn nodded, for he had come to this same conclusion.  “Yet there is more,” he added softly.  “If they truly only wish to torment me, I believe I would have woken to find both Legolas and Dar dead.  Instead they took them.  There is something more planned here, though I cannot figure what it might be.”

“Perhaps they wish to use them as bait to lure you to them?” Faramir suggested.

“That does not make sense,” Gimli broke in.  “Why would they need to lure Aragorn to them when they already had him in their grasp?  It is more likely that they would have killed both Legolas and Dar, and then taken Aragorn.  I cannot understand their actions, but I fear their purpose is dark.”  

Aragorn clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists.  He knew there was something that he was missing, but no matter how hard he tried he could not figure out what it might be.

“What of you, Faramir,” he finally asked.  “What did you learn this night.”

Faramir shook his head in disgust.  “It was a dead end, Aragorn,” he admitted.  “The man I followed was at the weapons shop picking up a cork knife for his uncle!”

Aragorn sighed and ran a tired hand along his forehead.  “At least you are safe,” he whispered quietly.

“Have you come up with any idea of who might be behind all this?” Gimli asked hopefully.

“No,” Aragorn answered shortly, all his frustration and worry escaping in the single word.  “Yet I sense whoever we are dealing with has had this planned for a very long time.  We must be prepared for anything!  From now on, I want guards posted on both Gimli and Arwen’s doors.  And Faramir, you shall go nowhere without an armed escort.”

Both Faramir and Gimli frowned at this announcement, but Aragorn leveled them with a stern look that forbade any argument.

“The search for Legolas and Dar has already begun.  Yet if nothing is found tonight, tomorrow every inn, tavern, boarding house, or abandoned building must be thoroughly searched.  It cannot be easy for them to hide an elf, and I know Legolas will attempt to make things as difficult for them as he is able.”

“Do you believe there is a chance they could have left the city?” Faramir asked.

“It is possible,” Aragorn answered slowly, “However, I still believe they are after me, and as long as I remain in the city it is likely they will remain as well.”

“Unless that is why Legolas and Dar were taken,” Gimli spoke up.  “To lure you away from the city.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, mulling over that possibility.  “We will question the gate watch and see if they noticed anything suspicious.  We can extend the search to outside the city as well, and perhaps we will discover something.”

Both Faramir and Gimli nodded in agreement, and Aragorn rose.  “We will find them,” he promised his friends gravely.

“I will not stop searching until we do,” Gimli agreed softly.

Aragorn smiled grimly, then turned to Faramir and gave the order he had been dreading all night.  “Faramir, we need to send a messenger to Calembel.  Kenson must be informed of what has happened immediately.”

 ****

“Legolas, where are they taking us?”  Dar fought to keep his voice steady and calm, free of the fear that was coiled tightly in the pit of his stomach.  He had woken only a few minutes before to find himself tightly bound to the base of a large tree next to Legolas, his head pounding, and his wrists aching from where they had been tied.  He had no idea where they were, or how they had gotten there. 

Legolas glanced over at him, his expression sympathetic.  “I do not know,” he answered truthfully, shaking his head slightly.  “Yet from the amount of supplies they are loading onto the horses, I doubt the journey shall be a short one.”

Dar frowned, turning his attention to the dozen or so men milling around them saddling horses and loading up supplies in preparation for what appeared to be imminent departure.  He had not noticed the amount of baggage being loaded onto the horses until Legolas had pointed it out, but as he watched he found himself agreeing with Legolas’ observation and the queasy knot of fear in his stomach lurched. 

“What do they want with us?” he asked softly, trying to search through the crowd of men to find Kiesco.  He didn’t like not knowing where that man was.

When several moments passed without a reply, Dar glanced back over at Legolas, surprised to find his friend with his head bowed and his eyes closed.  One of the elf’s braids had slipped from behind his ear and now dangled loosely down his face, contrasting sharply with the deep bruise left on his cheek by Kiesco.   For a moment, Dar thought that Legolas had fallen back into unconscious, but then the elf raised his head and opened his eyes once more, his gaze sweeping across the preparation going on before them.

“I know not,” Legolas finally responded, obviously not happy with this answer.  “I had believed them to be after Aragorn, but now…”  he trailed off slowly, his brow wrinkled slightly in thought.  At last, he shrugged, then turned and met Dar’s worried gaze.  “I still believe that to be correct, but I know not the purpose behind their actions, or what intent they have concerning us.  I merely hope they did no further harm to Aragorn.”

Dar sighed and leaned his head back against the tree.  Legolas appeared to be more worried over Aragorn than their present situation.  Dar wished he could have that kind of courage, but instead, the fear continued to grow steadily within him, making him feel slightly sick.  He knew that Kiesco wanted to kill him, and that he had been spared only as a means to control Legolas.  How long would that last though?  How long before they decided he was too much of a burden?

“Dar?” 

Legolas’ quiet voice pulled Dar from his dark thoughts.  He turned to Legolas, meeting the elf’s concerned gaze with a soft shrug.  “I do not like being a prisoner, Legolas,” he admitted shakily.

Legolas chuckled softly, though his eyes remained serious.  “Nor do I,” he answered simply.  “I have lived for thousands of years, young Dar, and yet I can count the number of times where my fate was held in the hands of another on the fingers of one hand.   None of those experiences are ones I would wish to repeat.”

Dar grunted, understanding exactly what the elf was saying.  He had been a small boy at the time when Legolas had been captured by a group of orcs led by the evil creature Malek.   He knew little of the tortures Legolas had been forced to endure then, yet he did know that it had taken the elf a long time to recover from that event.

Legolas’ thoughts must have also traveled back to that time, for a shadow flickered briefly across his expression, and his jaw tightened.

“Kiesco, prepare the prisoners to ride out,” a voice suddenly called out from across the camp.  “I wish to be well away from here before dawn.”

Dar’s gaze flew to the owner of the voice, a slight shiver running down his backbone.  He was not sure who the man was, but it was quite obvious that he was the one in charge.  He gave off an air of tightly controlled violence, and even the temperamental Kiesco was quick to obey his commands.  The man moved with a smoothness and gracefulness that reminded Dar of Legolas in a somewhat sickening way.  Yet there was nothing pure about this man, and he radiated the smell of danger.

Legolas was also studying the man, his eyes narrowed and his expression one of disgust.  “There is much blood staining the hands of this one,” he murmured softly.

Dar was not given an opportunity to respond, for Kiesco and three other men were approaching, weapons in hand and faces warning against resistance.  Dar sensed Legolas tensing beside him, but a second later the sharp sting of a blade pressed against his throat stole back his attention.

“Try anything, elf, and I will gladly slit the boy’s throat,” Kiesco growled threateningly, motioning for his companions to cut the rope binding them to the tree.

Dar was careful not to make any sudden movements as the blade pressed uncomfortably close.  The ropes fell away from around him, and he was jerked to his feet and pressed back against the uncomfortable girth of Kiesco as the other three men pulled Legolas up.  It wasn’t until the elf’s hands were rebound behind his back and a blade was placed threateningly between his shoulder blades that Dar was released and the procedure was repeated with him.

The prisoners were pushed forward to where two saddled horses stood waiting patiently.  Dar was bodily lifted from the ground, and practically tossed into the saddle, almost slipping off the other side as he fought to gain his balance with his hands bound behind him.  A second rope was tied tightly around his left ankle, then passed beneath the horse to connect with his right, securing him tightly to the horse.  Then, a long leash was attached to his bound hands and passed to a rider directly behind him.

Dar glanced over to see the same process being done with Legolas.  The elf was frowning down at the saddle beneath him, his expression one of disgust.  He glanced over and caught Dar’s eye, then shrugged his shoulders.

Dar sighed and turned his attention back to his own mount.  The horse’s reins had been passed to another mounted rider who gave Dar an evil smile. 

“Ready to go, boy?” the man asked in mock friendliness.

Dar wasn’t given a chance to answer, for the man turned and kicked his horse into a fast walk, jerking Dar’s mount along after him. 

****

Midmorning found the group of riders many miles east of Minas Tirith, moving at a steady pace toward the high peaks of the Ephel Duath.  A cold wind blew down from the mountains, smelling of snow and hinting at an approaching storm.  The wind howled and danced around the riders gleefully, nipping and catching at their cloaks and whipping the horses’ manes.  Altogether, it was a miserable morning that promised only to get worse.

Legolas, however, barely noticed the foul weather.  He leaned forward slightly in the uncomfortable saddle, his head cocked slightly to one side as he fought to hear the conversation going on several yards before him.  Kiesco and Tervanis were talking, their quiet voices too low for any man more than a couple paces behind them to overhear.  However, Legolas was not a man, and his sharp elven hearing was picking up the conversation clearly.

“I still do not understand why we brought the boy, Tervanis,” Kiesco whispered harshly, his gaze flickering back along the line of horsemen to Dar. 

“I do not require that you understand,” the man named Tervanis answered shortly, his voice so low that Legolas had to strain to hear him.  “It is enough that I know the reason’s behind my actions.”

“He will slow us down,” Kiesco argued softly.

“On the contrary,” Tervanis replied coolly.  “It is the elf that I fear will slow us down.  We know too little about his kind.  With the boy, we have a tool with which to control him.”

Legolas frowned at this pronouncement, but it was the man’s next words that caught his attention the most and sent a shiver down his spine.

“Have no fear, dear Kiesco.  As soon as we reach Norvil and I deliver the elf safely to Servius, you may do whatever you wish with the boy.  He will be yours to toy with until you decide to kill him.”

This promise seemed to please Kiesco, for he laughed cruelly.  “I will look forward to that.”

The two men fell silent then, and Legolas relaxed back in the saddle, his mind mulling over the information he had just learned.  Tervanis had just told him where they were going, and who they would be meeting.  Legolas had to admit the information meant very little to him at the moment, for he had never heard of either Norvil or Servius.  However, anything he learned now could be used once they escaped and reunited with Aragorn.  And they had to escape.  Dar’s life depended upon it. 

Legolas’ thoughts were interrupted as one of the scouts Tervanis had sent out earlier came galloping up, his mount lathered in sweat.

“Sir!” the man called out, pulling his horse to a halt before Tervanis.  “There is a large group of riders heading in our direction from the east.  They appear to be heading toward the city, but they will arrive within sight of this field in only a few minutes.”

Legolas straightened, swinging his gaze to the east in the hopes of spotting the horsemen, yet the rolling hills obstructed his view in that direction.

Kiesco swore loudly, his face taking on a somewhat panicked expression.  “They will see us with the elf and boy!” he exclaimed worriedly.  “This could ruin everything!”

Tervanis’ face remained calm, and Legolas could almost see the man slowly and methodically thinking through all his options.  “How many men do they have?” he asked the scout evenly, throwing Kiesco an annoyed scowl.

“About three dozen!” the scout replied immediately.

“Too many to fight,” Tervanis said calmly, his gaze sweeping around in all directions.  “So we must hide, then,” he added, pointing toward a large copse of trees several hundred yards to their right.  “Ride hard!”

The group immediately turned their horses, kicking them into a fast gallop toward the haven of the trees.  Legolas twisted in the saddle to glance behind, desperately urging the unknown group of riders to greater haste.  He could now make out the dust rising from their horses, yet as the cover of the trees drew ever nearer, he knew they would not make it in time.  He began calling out loudly, doubting his cries could be heard over the thunder of hooves, yet desperate to try something.

The man behind him yanked hard on the rope connected to his hands just as the one holding his horse’ reins jerked forward, causing his horse to stumble slightly.  Legolas fought to regain his balance, his knees tightening reflexively on the sides of his mount.  The man behind him gave another yank, and this proved to be Legolas’ undoing.  As he jerked forward to regain his balance, he felt the saddle suddenly slip beneath him, shifting to the side.  Legolas cried out in alarm as he suddenly found himself slipping slowly but steadily to the side of the horse, his bound hands making it impossible to stop the saddle’s slide.

His horse automatically attempted to slow its pace as it felt him slipping from its back, but the rider in front was dragging the animal forward.  Legolas closed his eyes tightly, realizing that the rope binding his legs together would make it impossible for him to fall free.  He would be dragged beneath the horse and trampled to death!

He heard Dar’s cry of alarm from behind him, and then the ground was rushing up to meet him.

TBC