On The Trail
Trying hard to muffle the groan that was welling up inside of him, Estel shifted slightly in his bed. He had fallen to sleep soon after speaking with Elrohir and had just woken to find himself blissfully alone. He was pleased with his lonely state mostly because it gave him some time with his own thoughts but also because it meant that his family was in search of his dear friend.
He lost it then and bit down on his tongue mid moan as the pain shot through his back and shoulder with the minute movement. In an attempt to pull away from the pain in his back, he had inadvertently rolled onto his left shoulder. That action had frozen him in his action and now his fingers were slowly going numb from the pressure he was putting on his injured extremity.
Beginning to curse himself for the subtle pleasure he had felt at waking alone, Estel now wished that Elrond would come bursting through the door at any moment. He couldn’t, however, make himself call out for aid. Partially because he was gasping from the exertion and partly because he couldn’t muster up the strength to swallow his pride.
Attempting to wiggle his fingers and get the blood flowing back through sent another ribbon of pain coursing through his body and realizing that he would not be comfortable in any position that he selected, Estel flopped back onto his back, holding his breath in response to the agony that assailed him.
It was at this time that the door to his sleeping quarters swung open to reveal the most beautiful sight he had laid eyes on in days. Elrond moved into the room carrying a silver tray filled with small bowls and bottles. One of which Estel knew held the blessed pain reliever that he longed for at that moment.
“How long have you been awake?” The Elf Lord’s smooth, comforting voice eased Estel in its own way.
Struggling to force the air from his lungs to form the words, Estel let out the quickest answer he could come up with. “Too long.”
Elrond chortled at the admission and eased himself into the cushioned chair beside Estel’s bed. “Am I to believe that you are outwardly admitting that you would like a little pain easing tea?”
Estel closed his eyes and took another deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. Reasons for his present condition swarmed him and he began to despair over the fate of his friend. Where was Legolas? Why had he not returned to Imladris? Was he safe? Was he well? Was he comfortable?
His stomach began to clench at he possible answers. Surely if he, himself, had returned to Rivendell in the condition that he was in Legolas couldn’t have faired much better. Perhaps that was the reason for his late return. These thoughts made his head spin and his heart race. Had he left Legolas alone, in the forest, possibly with their attackers? Had he abandoned one of his best friends?
“Estel?” Elrond pulled him away from his distress. “That which ails you is more than just your injuries. Do you wish to speak about it?”
Elrond didn’t await an answer and Estel watched him as he prepared a pain leveling tea for him to consume. Sifting a pale yellow powder into a small cup and pouring a small amount of cool water over the substance, Elrond still never removed his eyes from the bed.
“I worry for Legolas. I cannot ease my mind as to his well-being.” Estel tried not to move as he followed Elrond with his eyes. “My mind keeps creating scenarios and they frighten me.”
Elrond gently slipped his long, slender arm beneath the young man and lifted his upper body from the bed. Estel’s vision swam at the pain and motion and his stomach twisted. A new battle began within him, that to keep the contents of his stomach in tact. A cup was placed to his lips and Estel drank all of the contents, knowing that his pain would be eased by the substance it held.
“You will not sleep for several moments so we can continue this conversation if you like.” Elrond spoke as he slowly lowered the injured young man back to his resting spot.
A sigh of relief mixed with a small groan slid from Estel as his back once again made contact with the bed. A bed that was usually soft and comfortable but at this moment felt no better than the cold, hard grown that he had become so accustomed to.
“I keep envisioning him lying, injured and lost with no aid.” Estel’s voice quavered with the statement. “The idea makes me ill, and guilty.” The last word came out barely above a whisper and Estel didn’t know himself if he had actually spoken the word.
Realization dawned on the Elf Lord and he reclaimed his seat next to the bed. He sat quietly for a moment and Estel began to wonder if he would fall back into his desired sleep before Elrond could respond to his confession. As darkness encroached on his vision the image of an injured, abandoned Legolas once again besieged him. His eyes shot open and his gasp seemed to rip Elrond’s attention from his own thoughts.
“I can understand your guilt young one.” Elrond began. “I, myself, feel guilt at Legolas’ loss. But we must remind ourselves that we have done nothing wrong. Nor could we have done anything to change these current circumstances. The Valar presents us with challenges and paths for a reason.” Elrond leaned forward in his seat and placed a cool hand on Estel’s forehead, the coolness of it relaxing the young man’s nerves.
“Do not blame yourself for what has occurred Estel. Legolas would not want you to. I have a feeling that he would actually reprimand you for doing so.”
Estel smiled at this revelation, he knew that Elrond was right in his assumption but it didn’t ease matters in the least. His heart ached to know that Legolas would return hale. It ached to know that his friend was safe.
With these final thoughts Estel allowed the pain easer to do its job and he slipped into sleep, images of his blond friend playing in his head.
Four ethereal beings rode swiftly upon horse back. Dodging trees and downed limbs. They moved almost as one, seeming to have no need to communicate verbally their next move or action. Their mission was known and their determination solid. They were closing in on their quarry and the need for urgency was climbing.
As though the spell encompassing them were suddenly broken one stopped. Instantly the tall dark being, dressed almost entirely in dark green was off of his animal, his hand pressed to the trunk of a near by tree.
“He has been here.” Angrod’s smooth voice announced with near certainty.
The trio of remaining riders turned as one and followed the other’s earlier action of sliding from their respective horses. One golden head stood out amongst the rest and it was this one who moved forward instinctually.
“Are you certain?” Glorfindel queried..
“Almost. They seem confused and anxious for one who has been nearby. It could be Legolas.”
“And it could be another.” Elladan spoke up from where he stood next to his twin brother.
Elrohir moved closer to the tree that Angrod communed with. “Why do you think it may have been Legolas?”
His chin falling to his chest resulting in his dark hair falling around his face concealing his frustration, Angrod whispered. “I only hoped.”
Glorfindel placed a sturdy, comforting hand upon the younger Woodelf’s shoulder. “It is okay to hope young one, but we must be certain.”
“Legolas always had a stronger connection than I.” Angrod continued as though the other hadn’t spoken. “That is why I thought it might be him. Few other elves could leave such a strong impression. The trees might speak of another but they seem as though they connected with this one.”
Three elven heads nodded in acceptance and understanding. It was the younger twin that finally spoke up. “We should investigate this, but let us not get too hopeful, we do not know for sure if this was Legolas.”
Each remounted their horses and continued in the direction they had been heading before the disruption. It was mere moments later when they entered a clearing with a small, log house set off to the side. Pausing to scan the property, it was the loud bray of a donkey from nearby that prompted them to move forward.
Only midway across the grounds another noise stopped them in their tracks. “What do you want?” The voice was loud and gruff and slurred as though the speaker had been drinking. A strange action for so early in the day.
“Good day. We come in search of one we have lost.” Glorfindel addressed the dirty man with respect and politeness. “Have you, by chance, seen a young elf in this vicinity as of late?”
A sneer marred the man’s already unpleasant features and his next words came out in almost a growl. “I should have known you were looking for that murderer.”
Angrod flew from his horse and walked briskly toward the man, the action sending him stumbling back a few paces. “You have seen him? Is he well?”
“Had he never come here my father would still be alive. He deserves the punishment he will receive.”
With these few words Glorfindel was swiftly on the ground and next to the young woodelf. “Of what do you speak?”
Stepping back even further and almost in shock as though he had just barely noticed the arrival of the golden elf the man raised his hands in supplication. “Do not come any closer.” Small beads of perspiration appeared instantly on the man’s brow and his outstretched hands began to tremble slightly as be shuffled further away from the group of elves.
Angrod moved to follow but Glorfindel quickly raised a restraining hand. “Hold. We do not want to frighten him anymore than he already is.” Slowly shifting the angle of his arm so that his own palm faced the scared human, Glorfindel inched forward. “Do not be scared. We mean you no harm. We are just looking for our friend and feel that you might be able to tell us how to find him. His name is Legolas. Have you seen him?”
Seeming to ease somewhat, the scruffy human lowered his arms and shifted so his feet came together. His posture relaxed substantially and he tilted his head in curiosity as he took in the golden elf. “I have met no one by that name.”
Glorfindel’s hand mimicked the man’s and lowered to this side. Behind him Angrod and the twins held perfectly still, becoming almost unnoticeable. “You mentioned something about another elf. A murderer?”
“Locke? His actions resulted in my father’s death. He deserves to hang today.”
“Hang? Why would they hang this elf?” Glorfindel took another tentative step forward.
“Why are you concerned? Is he your relation? He did look like you.” The man’s eyes scanned over Glorfindel, sliding over his hair and shifting down to his soft boots. “He is being hung today in town for killing a man and stealing his horse.”
Elladan, Elrohir and Angrod shot back atop their horses, ready to move. This elf, whom the man had perceived to be Glorfindel’s kin had to be Legolas, the coincidence was too great. Glorfindel moved to mount his own horse, continuing his questioning in the process. “What time today?”
“Midday.”
Shifting his eyes to the sky he was alarmed to see that the time was nearly upon them. He had to move. “Where is the town?”
A subtle look of confusion crossed the young man’s face and he slowly raised his finger and pointed due North. The four elves were gone, leaving nary a trail of dust, before the man’s hand was back to his side once again.
Locke’s head felt glued to his knees. He wanted to sit with his head up, both literally and figuratively, but his despair was overtaking him.
Having all but forgotten about the arrow wound to his back, Locke was stunned when the pain from the wound seemed to flare up after his trial with the Town Council. Pressure from his head wound built and he fought to keep himself from ripping the bandages from his head. Constant sitting did nothing for any of his injuries but Locke didn’t have the desire nor inclination to move.
Leandir had come in on several occasions, bringing food, clean bandages and, at times, just to look. Not once had Locke acknowledged his presence. Not once did Locke remove his sight from where it was trained on the cell floor.
He had chided himself for such unelf-like behavior but had quickly scoffed at himself because he couldn’t really recall what elf-like behavior was. Perhaps sulking was very elf-like. He doubted it.
But it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like something that he should be doing or would be doing typically. However, Locke was having a very difficult time pulling himself out of it. It didn’t really seem to matter considering that by the end of the day he would be dead.
His punishment had been declared. He had been found guilty and perhaps he was. Perhaps he had attacked a party of men unwarranted and killed one of their party. Perhaps he was dark, evil and cruel. Maybe he could overpower Leandir and escape. He didn’t think it would be hard to do. He had a feeling that the Marshal actually wanted him to escape. He could simply give him a good shove and make a run for it.
But where would he run to.
Locke had absolutely no idea where he belonged or where he would go. Could he just wander into the first elven settlement that he came across and hope they would take him in? What if he were an outcast? What if he were hunted by his own people for crimes he had committed against them? Could he be a criminal of men and elves?
No, he would stay and accept his punishment. If he had wronged the people of this town then it was only right that he accept his punishment.
Clanging of the cell door startled him for the third time since the sun had risen that day and Locke, again, ignored the arrival of Leandir, his chin staying put on his knees.
“Master Elf.” Leandir stepped tentatively forward. “It is time.”
This got Locke’s attention and he slowly lifted his head to look the Marshal in the eyes. Pain shot through his back and head at the sudden movement but he hid his pain from the man.
“Come, the townspeople are waiting.” Leandir moved toward the elf and held his hand out. Locke ignored the offered aid and pushed himself to his feet. Ever so slowly he straightened out trying to ignore the dizziness that overcame him.
He took a shaky step toward the cell entrance but was stopped by a gentle hand. “Forgive me but I must bind your hands.”
A slight bob of the head confirmed his acquiescence and Locke casually slid his hands behind his back. Pain intensified somewhat and he felt confused by the new flare up that had only recently returned. Leandir was gentle with the binding ensuring that the bonds were tight but not uncomfortable. Locke tested the rope briefly, out of curiosity, and found that he was held tight. There would be no escaping his punishment even if he wanted to.
Gliding across the room, Locke felt as though he were floating in a dream. Objects seemed to shift in and out of focus. Strange images of people and places flitted into the places that were held by the office doors and furniture. His head throbbed with each step. Only the firm, supportive hand upon his arm seemed steady.
Locke urged himself to wake up from this nightmare. Encouraging his eyes to open and his mind to cease this facade. Reality seemed so blurred and he told himself that these past weeks couldn’t have been factual. They must have been a cruel hoax.
As he stepped out into the bright sunlight all became clear and he knew, for a fact, that he would not be saved from his predicament with the simple opening of his eyes. They were open and they were seeing and what they were seeing was the dusty street lined by small wooden buildings leading to the center of town where a large platform stood, beckoning him.