Chapter 20 - Urgent Haste
Aragorn was elated to finally be doing something. Moving closer to Harad was generally something that most people, in their right mind, tried everything in their power to avoid. Those who were actually headed toward the South lands were rarely happy to be doing so. But the King of Gondor was quite pleased with idea of pushing toward the desert, in fact, he was ecstatic.
So it was, with a small smile upon his face, that he had set about gathering together those who would be accompanying him on this personal mission. A mission that he had been eager to embark on for several weeks now.
He had been hesitant, at first, to ask any of his men to accompany him toward Harad. Mentally he had run through a list of men he thought might be willing to escort him. It had come as quite a shock when the first man approached, a young guard by the name of Tineth, had nearly jumped at the opportunity.
"You are not afraid of the South Lands?" Aragorn had asked out of curiosity.
"I would be a fool to not be afraid My Lord." Tineth answered without hesitation. "But I am honored that you have selected me to accompany you on such an important mission and I am sure you will find the same of others you choose to join you. Prince Legolas is well liked and respected. His loss weighs heavily on you, therefore, it weighs heavily on us all."
Legolas had become a regular visitor to Gondor and the Elf Prince had been with Aragorn on many a hunting trip or diplomatic mission since the fall of Sauron. It hadn’t taken long for these trips to develope the habit of turning into more of a "bachelor’s weekend" where the ale flowed and wild joking was ensured. Each member of the royal guard had been enlisted for such journeys on one occasion or another and they had become an increasingly popular means of relaxation while still in the service of the King.
Aragorn smiled as he remembered some of the various practical jokes which had been played on unsuspecting members of the Royal Guard then turned his attention back to the young guard. "Thank you Tineth. Perhaps you could select several more guard members who you think might be up to the task." He paused long enough to note a nod of Tineth’s head. "Order them to dress in their regular hunting wear, uniform will not be appropriate for this mission. We will meet in the stables in one hour."
Aragorn gave one final bow to the guardsman then turned on his heel. It was time to find the dwarf.
Gimli hadn’t been too difficult to locate at this time of morning. The dwarf had been in his sleeping quarters, lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Aragorn obviously hadn’t been the only one to have sleep elude him these past weeks.
Aragorn had saved himself the trouble of knocking to gather Gimli’s attention, rather he flung the door open and strode across the large room, stopping at the foot of the dwarf’s bed. "Well, what are you waiting for Master Dwarf, we have an Elf to rescue."
Gimli flew from the bed so quickly that Aragorn could have sworn some of Legolas’ reflexes had worn off on the stout creature. "Wha? Me? Why you!" His gruff voice echoed through the near vacant room as he hurriedly moved about collecting his axes and gear. "Let’s get a move on!"
The pair raced through the halls of the citadel gathering items needed for their journey and shouting orders to aids and maids. So engrossed in their work were they that the appearance of Eomer and Faramir caught them entirely off guard.
"Leaving without us?" Eomer’s deep, commanding voice brought Aragorn from his work.
Both had immediately volunteered to join the troupe and were eager to do so. Eomer was readily accepted, but Aragorn had asked Faramir to stay and look after the city in his absence. Faramir was not happy with this request, he wanted to go after his friend and ensure his safety and it was with a heavy heart that he agreed to the King’s demand.
The trio had barely approached Angrod’s quarters when his door swung open to reveal the dark elf. He was packed and dressed for travel. Aragorn could see that he had been anticipating a visit that morning and assumed it was due to the absurd amount of noise that was being made within the Citadel.
"It is good that we leave soon, for I grow tired of waiting." His words were not meant to be sharp, nor were they perceived as such. All of those riding out toward Harad felt the same as the dark elf and the hour of preparation seemed to take as long as the proceeding weeks of waiting that had already passed.
The group of seventeen men, one dwarf and an elf had departed Minas Tirith before dawn. The two kings, dwarf and elf lead the men but were flanked on either side by members of the Royal Guard. If one were to see the group, they would not suspect an important mission or the presence of royalty there. The troupe had the appearance of a normal hunting party.
They had been on the road barely an hour when Aragorn was approached regarding his change of mind.
"What happened Aragorn? Yesterday you reiterated the need for patience, yet today you wake us before the sun even rises."
Aragorn wasn’t sure which of the three asked the question. Since departing the White City his dream had been repeating within his mind. "I dreamt of Legolas last night." He explained to three intent faces. "He had pleaded with me to come, that he could hold on no longer." He paused, his voice catching in his throat. "I could not reach him. I could only hear him."
"You think he lives?" Angrod’s melodic voice pulled Aragorn’s attention, so like Legolas’ was it and the King found himself straining to maintain eye contact with the dark elf. How to answer such an impossible question?
"I pray to the Valar that he is. I do not feel that Alcandir has had enough time to locate our friend, but I fear he is running out of time."
No verbal response followed Aragorn’s explanation. He noted that Gimli, who was seated behind Eomer, tightened his hold on the King of Rohan’s arm and shifted his dark gaze to the southern horizon.
Angrod’s eyes bored into the King, searching deeper for something within Aragorn. The elf then urged his horse into a gallop and was followed shortly by Eomer and Gimli. Aragorn hesitated for a mere moment, watching his friends ride toward danger. Toward rescue.
Hold on my friend. We are coming.
****************************************************************************
Alcandir had ridden well into the morning before deciding to take shelter from the sun. He had inwardly debated this decision. He knew that he needed to get as far from Marek as possible but he also needed to render aid to Legolas.
The elf had not stirred since Alcandir had found him. He had ridden quietly in front of the bounty hunter, nestled safely against his chest, motionless. Several times Alcandir had felt for a pulse, checked for breathing and tested the temperature of the elf’s skin. There seemed to be no change and he was anxious to get Legolas back to Gondor.
When the sun had risen well into the sky, Alcandir stopped his horse and dismounted. He then slowly slid the elf down off of his horse and carried him away from the animal.
He marveled, once again, at the light weight of the elf and found himself standing, staring at the pale face of the damaged being. He looked not like royalty at this moment. Disheveled and marred, how could this be the same elf he had heard stories about? How could this be the same Prince who held such a large place within the King and Queen of Gondor’s hearts? Gently he laid Legolas onto the sand and stood, hovering over the frail creature. How could this be the one that he had been ordered to risk his life for?
Alcandir shook his head harshly and forced the doubting thoughts from his mind. There was much to be done and he would not allow himself to be swept away by his uncertainty.
The walls of the tent were easily removed by unfastening several buttons and Alcandir set about doing this. He wanted to have a clear view in all directions of the desert so that he could see any approaching parties and threats. Legolas was well shaded beneath the roof of the tent and Alcandir set about making a fire as far from him as possible. He would need to warm water for teas and cleaning bandages but knew that any additional heat would do the elf no good.
Setting a pot of water over the flames, he then turned his attention to the unconscious elf. In the light of the day Alcandir was able to better see the elf’s state. Legolas’ skin was pale and although Alcandir knew that a common trait of elves was fair skin tone, the elf prince looked almost transparent. The elf’s legendary golden hair was blackened by dirt and blood bringing out the paleness of his skin even more. Dark circles encompassed his sunken eyes and his lips were cracked and tinted brown by dry blood.
How can you be the one I was sent to retrieve?
Alcandir dripped water into Legolas’s mouth and was pleased when he responded with movement of his lips, it was the only movement he had seen from the elf thus far and his normally impassive heart leapt. He then pulled a small pack of berries from his larger pack and placed them into a bowl. Using the hilt of his knife he began to smash the berries.
He paused several times during his task to drain the juice and place a berry into his own mouth. The sweetness allowing a slight smile to appear on his usually stoic face. He then dripped a small amount of the juice into the elf’s mouth, once again allowing the movement to fill his heart with hope. He continued alternating between water and berry juice as he waited for the water to boil.
He didn’t want to overwhelm the elf’s system after such a long period without sustenance, but he knew that Legolas would not heal without the nourishment. When the water finally began to boil, Alcandir poured the liquid over some herbs that he had brought with him. He knew when he had accepted this job that there was a great chance that the elf would be battered when he found him. He did not, however, expect his condition to be as dire as it was.
Alcandir spent the next couple of hours cleaning the elf prince’s wounds and dripping the three liquids into his mouth. He was not shocked to find two more serious wounds in his ministrations. There was a long, infected slash across Legolas’ lower back that had been neglected for some time. There was also an interesting knife wound to his right shoulder blade. This wound had turned a grayish, almost black color and the discoloration was spreading from the wound creating tentacles of discoloration across the elf’s back.
He has been poisoned, but by what? Will you not wake and tell me?
"Tell me what has happened to you. Tell me that I have the correct elf in my possession. Please tell me something." The bounty hunter pleaded quietly.
After thoroughly cleaning the open wounds and re-bandaging the swollen knee, Alcandir lay down next to the elf and tried to get some rest of his own. He hadn’t planned on sleeping, just settling down and resting his muscles and mind. He felt comfortable that no one would approach during the peak hours of the day so he allowed his eyes to close and his body to relax.
It was with great shock and self-reproach that he was awoken shortly thereafter by the mumbling of the unconscious elf. The prince was speaking incoherently in a language Alcandir could only identify as some type of elvish. He had heard it spoken on several occasions but could not speak it himself.
He replaced the cool cloth over Legolas’ brow and managed to drip some more of the herbal tea between the elf’s cracked lips. The ministration seemed to help and Legolas quieted again, falling back into a deep slumber just as the sun was beginning to slip below the horizon.
"Well Prince, I think that we will be safe for the night. Get some rest. You are in good hands now." The elf didn’t respond to Alcandir’s words and with a heavy sigh the bounty hunter resettled himself for a long night. He wouldn’t allow himself to rest again, night was not a safe time in the desert and his eyes would not leave the southern horizon.
****************************************************************************
Nolir rode back into the courtyard at a fast pace just after midnight. He was angry and frustrated. He had managed to catch up with the slave trader but was dismayed to see that his friend had not accompanied him out of the city.
It hadn’t taken much encouragement to get the man, known as Medero, to disclose to him that his friend was actually from Gondor, on a mission to rescue the golden elf. Nolir had been angered by this revelation and had taken his frustration and displeasure out forcefully on the slaver.
The Captain of Marek had been holding in much anger and disdain over the past several weeks. He had been frustrated by Kalen’s denial of his wish to force information from the Elf Prince. It was information that they had both been seeking for many years. Research and study had begun to reveal to them the endurance of the elves and the possibility of great income from the mysterious creatures. To have the information they needed so close and unattainable had tormented the man both day and night. Kalen’s seeming, sudden lack of interest had incited fury.
So, when Nolir was presented with a method of venting his frustration, he did so thoroughly.
Medero had held on a lot longer than Nolir had expected of one so easily turned, but in the end the traitorous man had succumbed to his beating and his battered body was left to the mercy of the rising sun. Nolir hadn’t been easy on the slave runner though, and if the man were lucky enough to make it back to Sadral alive, he would not do so without permanent disfigurement. It was no worry of his however, Medero had told him what he needed to know, what happened to him now concerned Nolir very little.
When he arrived at the palace, after spending a day in search of the two men, he was shocked to find palace staff and guards rushing about frantically. He jumped from his horse and stared, in shock, at the disorganization and frantic nature of the courtyard. Nolir pulled himself together and grabbed the first person who had the mishap of passing by him.
"What is going on here?" He shouted to the distraught aid.
"Lord Kalen is missing sir. He has not been seen since early this morn. One of the maids claims that he was taken at knife point. A man was seen fleeing the city soon afterward" The aid was speaking in rushed panic and Nolir had to concentrate to pick up everything he was being told.
Taken at knife point? Who in their right mind would...?
His thoughts stopped short. "ARGH! I should have suspected!" He shouted over the commotion in the courtyard.
Those rushing around him stopped momentarily to investigate the source of the outburst, then hastily returned to their search for the Lord of Marek.
Nolir grabbed the unfortunate aid tighter by the arm. "Imbecile!" His fist then slammed into the man’s jaw sending him tumbling to the ground. He lay there, huddled in a ball as Nolir stared down at him, searching his mind for any possible ideas.
It was as though a light went off in his head. "Of course." came the whispered response to his own query. He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what was going on.
The tall Captain flew across the courtyard, shouting at staff to get out of his way as he moved. His destination was clearly in sight and he knew once he reached the sweatbox all of his suspicions would be confirmed. He ripped the chain from the elf’s box, adrenaline surging through him as he yanked the door open. Nolir knew before he even looked inside what he would find and he called for two guards standing nearby, ordering them to remove Lord Kalen’s body.
To his surprise, the large man had survived his stay in the inhospitable dwelling. However, the man’s great weight combined with the heat of the box was too much for the Lord of Marek to bear and he lay unconscious.
"HEALER!" Nolir’s shout radiated about the courtyard once more and the hurried footsteps of those around him increased their pace, many to a run.
Nolir was angry by the harm done his lord. Despite their recent disagreements regarding the elves, he was a loyal servant to Kalen and had been rewarded handsomely for his many years of employment. More so, he did not take kindly to being misled. He was humiliated that this deception had resulted in the injury of his liege.
The palace healer rushed up while Nolir checked over Kalen. Sweat poured from the large man and his extended stomach rose and fell quickly with panted breaths.
In one fluid motion, Nolir spun on his heel and rose from his crouched position, heading back in the direction of his horse. "Mount up men. We have a murderer to hunt and an elf to retrieve." Thanks to the slaver, Nolir knew which direction the man would be heading. He swung up on his horse and kicked the animal into motion. "We head North!"