The Rescue
There was no question in Leandir’s mind as to what the appropriate thing to do in this situation would be. There had always been that niggling in the back of his mind that Locke was innocent of the things that he had been accused of. It was the expectations of his appointed position in the community that had already kept him from acting on this knowledge.
But hadn’t he once previously encouraged the elf to run? And it was the elf who had chosen to stay. But were the elf’s reasons for staying rational? It was fear that had kept the elf there and it was fear that had kept Leandir from letting him go. Perhaps now it was time for both the elf and marshal to take command of these fears.
If Leandir forced Locke into freedom then Locke would have no other choice but to find his real life. And yet, here was one of his own, standing mere inches from him, with the information that Locke needed. And if this elf, who looked an awful lot like Locke, had come searching for him and if Locke was who this new elf claimed he was then Locke’s fears were completely unjustified after all.
The entire time that this new elf had been shouting at him, Leandir’s eyes hadn’t left Locke - except for the time that the wind had blown that strand of gold loose from its hiding place underneath the hood. Even now, as the elf had been entirely prepared for his execution and Torrill had given the final command, his eyes were rooted on Locke.
Then everything happened so quickly and Leandir found himself being sucked into the mayhem that ensued.
From his position directly opposite of Angrod, Elladan was nearly trembling with adrenaline. He had watched the young woodelf take tentative steps closer to the platform that held Legolas and had found himself mimicking his movements. He had seen that Elrohir had done the same, each moving closer and closer to the object of their hunt.
Then the order had been given and the large man’s voice had echoed amongst the surrounding buildings and within Elladan’s head. The gathered townspeople had taken a collective breath at the same time that Elladan had released the one he had been holding. And then he was moving.
He had first seen Angrod break his command and begin sprinting toward Legolas and the platform. Then he had noticed Glorfindel, too, was in motion, flying across the square in their direction. His feet readily flew, pushing him closer, the knowledge that protection for Legolas would be needed once the townspeople realized that the prisoner was about to be set free.
But the townspeople didn’t move to stop the elves. As a matter of fact, they cleared out of the way entirely, running away from the unfolding scene and heading for their homes and places of business. A brief moment of relief washed over the older twin as he slowed his movement and then he saw his friend.
Suspended some five feet above the platform, strung up by his neck, was the elf they had been searching for these past days. Legolas swung from side to side as he struggled against the confining ropes. His face was turning red and Elladan’s heart began to bang, violently against his chest. He screamed at himself to move.
Pushing forward once again, Elladan now encountered his next obstacle. A long, thick blade swung into his path. Had he not had the elven reflexes that he had been born with and had so many years to hone these skills, Elladan would have been looking up at his own body as his head would have been cleaved from his shoulders.
At the other end of the sword, holding tightly to the pommel and smiling malevolently, stood a man of large stature. Dressed almost entirely in browns - whether by design of the material or covered in dirt, Elladan couldn’t tell - and hair disheveled, the man pressed the blade even closer to the Noldorin elf’s neck.
“I would not do that if I were you.” A sneer marred the man’s already homely face. “That elf deserves what he has coming.”
Glancing quickly between his waylayer, Legolas and his hunting companions - who seemed to have found themselves in similar situations as his own - Elladan realized he could wait no longer, Legolas’ lips were turning blue and his struggles had slowed.
Spinning to his left and crouching at the same time Elladan slipped beneath the man’s guard and came up his sword already drawn. He forcefully knocked the man’s sword away and came to a halt in exactly the same position as before, except this time his sword was laid across his attackers throat.
“You are obviously not me.” Elladan swiftly raised his hand and slammed the hilt of his sword against the base of the man’s neck, he was moving again before his assailant had come to a complete halt in a heap in the dirt.
Before even moving another three steps Elladan ran directly into his next attacker. This man had an even uglier expression upon his face. Yet this man carried himself with more confidence and was somewhat cleaner than the other men that had intercepted him and his companions. This man also seemed to have much to say.
“Must be my lucky day,” The man growled. “Gets to see more than one of your cursed race put to death.”
He moved in quickly to Elladan’s right, getting himself behind the swing of the elf’s sword, and kicked out, his heavily booted foot collided roughly with the back of Elladan’s leg sending the Noldor tumbling to the ground, his sword spiraling out of his grasp.
Elladan cursed himself and rolled quickly to his back to face the oncoming attack. “I thought you elves were supposed to be formidable foes, yet two I have sent to there knees in just months.” A deep throaty laugh was emitted after the statement and the sound of it got Elladan’s ire up. “I would just stay there elf. This confrontation will not go your way. My men have already taken care of your companions.”
Elladan’s hands clenched into tight fists and he glanced quickly to his left to see Elrohir fighting off two men from a similar position, one knee on the ground, a small cut on his brow. Further to his left was Angrod in the midst of being pinned beneath three other men, the young Mirkwood warrior seemed to be restraining a scream. He looked even further to see Glorfindel had actually made it to the platform but had been stopped by four men, surrounding him on each side, taking swings, in quick succession, toward the Balrog Slayer.
“It is over. That murdering elf is done for. You should have taken a lessen from him and his friend. I took care of them and I will take care of the four of you”
That was all it took. That this was the man that had seriously injured Estel and kept Legolas from them was enough for him. He was just one man and Elladan was furious with anger and sorrow.
Kicking out violently with his legs, Elladan didn’t even wait to see where his blow landed or what effect it had on the man. He continued to swing his legs around and twisting his body came to stand erect several feet from the man who now seemed to favor his left leg. A merciless scowl greeted him as he glared into the man’s eyes. “Looks like your fight is not yet over with.”
Spinning again, Elladan caught the hilt of his sword with his foot and tossed the weapon several feet in the air. When he came to face his attacker yet again, he held the blade firmly in his strong, slender hand, then lashed out swiftly, catching the man directly across his right cheek. A crimson line was left where the blade had touched the man and Elladan felt a small sense of pleasure at the mark that he knew would be permanently upon the man’s skin.
When the order had been given and the horse had moved out and the rope had tightened around his neck, Locke had resolved himself that this was the end and had accepted it. That resolution had lasted all of ten seconds.
Once his feet lifted off the platform the unrelenting desire to live had taken over. Locke wanted to find out who he was. He wanted to know the reason that he had been traveling alone in the woods that night and more than anything he wanted to know who the elves from his memory were.
His throat closing in on him and the pain that filled his head at the pressure that no air warranted seemed to blur his vision and he had to force himself to keep control of his emotions and focus on the bigger picture. He pulled against the ropes that bound him. Damn you Marshal. If you wanted me to escape then why did you bind me so tightly?
The rope bit into his arms and neck and pulled on his flesh, had the areas not already been numb he would have surely felt the blood that sprang from the wounds that the rough cord caused. He lifted his legs in an effort to pull his arms around them, ending up in front, but the rope would not give way and the only thing resulting from the movement was an intense jarring to the binding around his neck when his legs swung back into place.
Something was happening in the crowd that had formed around platform. Shouts and screams filled his ears, followed shortly by the clanging of metal on metal but Locke could not see, his head was lifted to the sky, tensing against the strangling hold.
Beginning to feel light headed, Locke could not find the strength in him to struggle much more but could not give up. He pulled, weakly against the ropes on his arms again and kicked his feet in a last ditch effort to free himself.
Bright light flashed before his eyes and the edges of his vision darkened. He could hear someone calling out but could not make out the name that was shouted. His lungs screamed and he felt the urge to cough but no air was getting in or out.
Panic set in and Locke could hear his heart pounding violently against his chest wall and in his head. He could feel the cuts on his head and back throbbing with the pressure. The darkness on his vision closed in and Locke quit fighting.
Running quickly across the square in the direction of the platform and the now dangling elf, Leandir shouted to the people fleeing around him, commanding them to remain calm and not panic. It was for nothing. When the square had cleared and all that was left were the five elves, himself and Thad with his men, Leandir pulled his sword and began fighting his way to the platform.
It was an easy trek to the platform for him. None of the Thad’s men wanted to confront him and the elves were too busy to notice him. He mounted the platform then froze. Just beneath him a battle raged on. The elves were vastly outnumbered and it was obvious that, had they not been avoiding killing their adversaries, they would have had a vast advantage.
For years to come Leandir would wonder at what had caused him to freeze on that platform. Had he been so enthralled by the graceful movements of the elves? Or had he been confused by the compassion they held for the men who had caused so much trouble in their lives? It was mystifying. Locke had already intrigued him and this most recent experience had proven to him that there was much to learn of the firstborn.
A quiet grunting ripped him back to reality and Leandir turned to see that Locke had lost his battle. His fighting had slowed and his eyes were clenched tightly closed and Leandir knew that he needed to move quickly.
The Marshal lifted his sword and swung but the height was too great and his swing fell short of the rope holding Locke up. He crouched low, his sword held vertically in front of him, then leapt with all of his might and swung again. Still, his reach was short. He thought to grasp Locke’s legs and him up to relieve some the stress on his airway but he knew that could only help for a short amount of time.
His eyes followed the rope across the bow of the tree and down to where it stopped on an agitated horse. Nearly throwing himself from the rear of the platform, Leandir landed hard, startling the already upset animal. The horse whinnied and the Marshal flipped his glance over his shoulder to the direction of Locke, the elf had ceased in his movements and Leandir feared he had been too slow.
Racing to the horse’s side he sliced through the offending cord and smacked the animal on the rump sending it running into the forest. He turned back just in time to see the limp form of Locke slam into the platform base, unmoving.
Moving quicker than he had previously, Leandir was at the elf’s side in no time. Locke was motionless, his blue lips and now sunken eyes made him appear dead and the marshal’s chest constricted at the thought. He reached out trembling fingers and unwound the bindings from the elf’s neck and arms then lifted a tentative hand to the elf’s throat and placed his fingers there, holding them in place for several seconds.
A quiet sigh escaped his throat and he rose from his hunched position. He turned to the still raging battle and stepped to the edge of the platform the rope still grasped firmly in his hand. “HOLD”. His voice reverberated about him and although the men and elves slowed they did not still. “I SAID HOLD. This battle is over. The elf is dead.”
Man and elf alike ceased their fight. Half the men had been dropped in unconsciousness and each of the elves were decorated with mild wounds. “The execution has been fulfilled. Take him home.” Leandir went to turn back to Locke but paused briefly. “Thad, take your men and leave here. These elves will receive safe passage out of this town. If any further harm should befall them I will allow their people to delve out their own justice.”
Leandir then turned back to Locke and dropped to one knee. He brushed a few stray strands of gold hair off of the elf’s brow and brushed his hand over the pale, cold features.
He didn’t hear the other four approach their fallen friend and it wasn’t until the one dressed in green with dark hair and blue eyes bent to scoop Locke up that he acknowledged them. “I am sorry for what has occurred here. Take him home. He needs to be home.” Leandir then rose and subconsciously descended the stairs. A small smile pulled at the edges of his mouth as he left the fives elves on the platform.