Chapter 25 - Under the eaves

It was a starry night above the woods of Lothlorien, but the hulking forms of the Orcs impeded his view of the beautiful trees. Aragorn spat blood from his mouth as an Orc pulled his arms behind his back and tied them with strong rope. Being on his knees made his wounded leg pain savagely; he could barely formulate coherent thoughts.

Turning his head slightly, he took in the positions of his companions. The Hobbits were slightly behind and to the left, their faces pale in the moonlight with horror and fear. Aragorn cringed, and wished they did not have to see him like this. At least, he thought, the Orcs seemed to have no interest or knowledge of the ring. In this there was a faint hope.

Faramir was in the same position as himself, on his knees with his hands bound behind his back. The man had his head down, his hair shielding his face from Aragorn's gaze. By singling out the two humans of the Fellowship, Aragorn gathered the Orcs must have seen which one of their party had wielded the power of Wizards against the Balrog, though they seemed unable to distinguish between himself and Faramir.

Legolas and Gimli were being held beside him. Gimli's face was red and scrunched in anger, and the Dwarf still struggled against the Orcs that held his arms. Legolas stood very straight and tall, his face betraying nothing. Suddenly, as the moonlight slanted in that direction, Aragorn caught a glimmer of something sharp concealed within the sleeve of Legolas' cloak.

Aragorn swallowed in alarm. He would have been relieved, if it were not for the crossbow directed at his friend's back. Aragorn could only pray he would make no sudden movements.

Aragorn quickly redirected his attention to the Orc that stood before them, shifting its sword between the faces of the two men.

"You longhairs didn't expect this!" it grinned, "but we tracked you all the way. You thought you'd escaped into that cursed wood, but the Orcs of Moria never allow the death of a leader go un-avenged!"

Aragorn grimaced. He knew something had been wrong. Why had he not heeded his own feelings?

"One of you struck down our leader! For that you will watch your companions perish before you!" The Orc was overconfident, obsessed with its own power to give orders. Aragorn suspected it had recently been promoted to the position it now occupied, and suspected many things had changed in the mines after the death of the Balrog.

Faramir was obviously thinking the same thing, and muttered under his breath, "should he not be grateful? If we had not destroyed the creature he..."

Unfortunately the Orc overheard. Aragorn flinched as the hilt of the Orc's weapon struck Faramir across the side of the head.

"Which one of you did it?" the Orc asked, shifting its attention back to Aragorn. The ranger kept his face impassive. He knew two things. One, all knowledge of the ring must remain hidden at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing their lives and leaving the Elves of Lorien to discover what Frodo had carried. Two, as long as the Orcs remained at a loss as to the identity of the one who had felled the Balrog, there was hope. Somehow Aragorn could not stop himself from believing help would come.

"Look at this," one of the Orcs to his right said, bending down over something hidden behind the long grass. Aragorn strained his neck to see in the darkness, fearing the worst. The Leader of the Orcs moved to the spot, bending down to recover the object. As its callused fingers made contact, a small blaze of light streaked upwards. The Orc swore viciously and pulled away.

Now Aragorn knew the identity of the object. It was not idly named Foe-hammer, the bane of the Goblin kind. Gandalf's ancient blade had severed more Orc necks than Aragorn cared to think of. He could see it now, to Faramir's right, glowing slightly in the dusky light.

The Orc turned back towards Aragorn and Faramir, triumphant in its discovery. It noted Anduril, resting on the grass before Aragorn, with a smile. Making a silent sign to one of the other Orcs, it moved to Aragorn's side, and lifted its sword so it rested beneath the ranger's chin. Aragorn repressed a shudder, and tried to block the cries of dismay from Pippin and Merry from his ears.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Faramir hauled to his feet and brought around to face the fellowship. Everything was moving so swiftly he could not even think of a way to stall his execution!

"You were the one who used wizard powers to crack the bridge?" the Orc asked Faramir, never letting the blade waver from Aragorn's throat. Faramir was given no chance to answer as the Orc rushed on. "Then you shall see your companions die before you!"

Aragorn held his breath and briefly considered closing his eyes. He saw images in that moment - Elrond, his foster father, his brothers, the fellowship, Frodo with the ring, the white tower of Minas Tirith, and lastly, Arwen . . .

There was a moment of indecision, as if the fate itself was choosing its course. Then the blade was lifted . . .

Suddenly, Aragorn felt the hold on his arms loosen. Without thinking he threw his body to the side, hearing the blade cut deep into the earth where he had been kneeling. The blade stuck fast, and it seemed to Aragorn as if the leader of the Orcs was leaning over him, leering closer. But in truth the Orc had lost the power to hold its sword, and Aragorn could barely believe his eyes when the creature toppled forwards almost upon him, blood leaking from the arrow wound in the back of its neck. There was a guttural cry from his left, and Aragorn whipped his head around to see Legolas retrieve his concealed arrow from the dead Orc that had been holding him.

The Orcs were yelling in fear now. The one holding Gimli fell with an arrow to the throat, and Faramir's captor let the man sink to his knees as it too fell with an arrow to the heart.

The stench of death was now thick upon the air, the cool grass beneath their feet stained with blackish blood. But Aragorn hardly noticed, and could only rest his chin upon his breast in relief as Legolas swiftly cut through the ropes holding his arms.

Then, as Legolas moved away to aid Faramir, Aragorn looked up. He saw a figure standing over him. In the dusky light it almost seemed to glow; the golden light on the horizon highlighting the Elf's blond hair. After a moment Aragorn recognised the Elf, and forced himself to his feet.

"Son of Arathorn," the Elf said formally, extending a strong arm for the man's support.

"Haldir," Aragorn breathed. "Well met, indeed! But how come you here, so far from the gates?"

"Yrch," the Elf replied, a frown appearing on his brow. "Times have grown dangerous, and there is now a need to watch the borders of this land."

"It is well for us that you were near! We are forever in your debt."

Haldir dismissed the comment without emotion. "We will take you to the safety of the trees. There we can treat your wounds."

Aragorn had hardly noticed his leg up till then, but all of a sudden he felt a wave of pain rush over him. He tightened his grip on Haldir's arm, and the Elf looked earnestly into his face.

"Come."

It was some minutes before Aragorn noticed the other two Elves who now accompanied them. Both were similar in looks to Haldir, yet seemingly younger in years. "My brothers, Rumil and Orophin," Haldir explained. "They came with me to guard the borders, though they speak little of your tongue."

Aragorn regarded them for a moment, one helping Faramir, and the other walking close behind Gimli, as if suspecting the Dwarf to turn on them at any moment.

Someway into the fringe of trees, Haldir stopped. "We can go no further tonight, and I am undecided about our course."

The reason for this, of course, was Gimli's presence. Aragorn sighed in frustration as Legolas argued with the three elves over the Dwarf's necessary part in the Fellowship. He was feeling rather light headed, and felt strangely cold all over. In the midst of the discussion Frodo came up to him.

"You seem pale, Aragorn. Are you unwell?" Aragorn tried to smile reassuringly, but a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead and his vision was blurring. It was many years since he had been inflicted this way, but he knew the signs of a poisoned wound.

Frodo seemed to be able to sense this new danger and the Hobbit called Legolas over to see to his friend. Aragorn protested to being fussed over, but appreciated the Hobbit's concern. He felt his vision growing darker, and stumbled just in time to have Legolas catch him. He felt himself lowered to the ground as a cold numbness came over his body.