Chapter Fifteen

Trees and bushes flew by as Legolas and Aragorn rode away from the troll camp into the dark forest. Every few feet they would move through beams of silver moonlight, only to be swallowed up in darkness an instant later. They and their horses resembled ghostly wraiths appearing and disappearing between two worlds.

At first, Legolas wasn’t sure if he should let Aragorn keep the lead or stay behind. It was a toss up as to which position would offer the best protection. Not only was the elf’s tendency to protect his friend in play, but with Aragorn’s eyes not functioning properly, Legolas didn’t want the man to lose his way. Staying together was the elf’s foremost concern at the moment.

Finally deciding the unknown ahead was the more dangerous, Legolas took the lead, and as he rode past, he leaned over and whispered to Aragorn’s horse to stay close.

Without warning, just as Legolas moved into one of the shafts of moonlight, what resembled a large tree branch shot out of the shadows and hit the elf full across the chest, knocking him from his horse.

Legolas was so surprised, he didn’t have time to stifle a startled cry of pain. He landed hard and promptly fell unconscious, as his head impacted with the ground.

Aragorn was shocked at what he saw, or thought he saw. He blamed it on his blurry vision, because surely no tree would send a branch against one of the Firstborn, and especially not a wood-elf. It was unthinkable, even in hostile territory like this.

Legolas’s horse had disappeared into the shadows but soon came to a stop and stood with nervous anticipation to be remounted. The stallion did not like this place and wanted to keep moving. But, of course, he would not go anywhere unless Legolas told him to. So he waited.

As for Aragorn, even blinking did not clear up the ranger’s perceived misconception of what had just taken place.

The ranger was in the middle of dismissing the unbelievable incident, when two things happened to change his mind. First, his horse jumped over something in his path, and the ranger realized with horror that it was Legolas’s prone body. And second, the same branch he had seen strike Legolas now came after him.

Because his horse was in the middle of a jump, the object hit Aragorn on the thigh. The solid blow was certainly painful, but it did not unseat him.

Aragorn had traveled no more than ten feet farther along, when he pulled his mount to a stop and jumped down. He limped back to find Legolas lying motionless among the tree roots and leaves that littered the forest floor.

Despite being in the center of the shaft of moonlight streaming through the trees, the elf was lying in darkness. Aragorn did not see what it was that was causing the shadow until a deep, gruff voice said, “Leave him be.” The tone in that voice was menacing, to say the least.

It was then that the ranger received his second shock. The voice belonged to Pickett, and he realized that it was the troll‘s huge arm that had knocked Legolas off his horse. Despite the implications, namely imminent recapture, Aragorn was relieved that it hadn’t been a tree that had attacked the wood-elf.

The next thing Aragorn knew, something hard and strong clamped onto his shoulder and shoved him away. The man landed in a heap on the ground a few feet from Legolas. There was a sharp pain in his side, which he realized was caused by the pommel of Legolas’s knife, digging into his skin.

Aragorn stifled the urge to reach inside his tunic and adjust the long knife’s position. Even though Pickett probably wouldn’t notice, he couldn’t take the chance that the troll might get curious and search him.

Gathering his feet under him, Aragorn tried to get up, determined to protect the elf from this angry troll, but Pickett moved between them. His legs were like tree trunks, and there was no chance the ranger was going to move them. He was determined to get to Legolas, so he tried to go around.

Pickett reached down and again shoved Aragorn back. “Stay there,” the troll leader warned, as he kicked out toward Aragorn. He missed but was satisfied the man was going to do as he was told.

Pickett then turned around, grabbed Legolas and swung the elf over his right shoulder like a bag of onions. He grabbed Aragorn by the arm, roughly yanked him up and began dragging him along the path toward the troll camp.

The position Aragorn was in on Pickett’s left didn’t allow him to reach Legolas to determine how the elf was faring. All he could see by leaning backward and looking across behind the troll was the upper half of Legolas’s body hanging down, as his arms and long hair swayed to the rhythm of Pickett’s long strides.

There was nothing Aragorn could do to help himself or Legolas, and his frustration was mounting. He hated being manhandled like this, or rather ‘trollhandled’, he amended to himself with a grim smile. It was obvious that Pickett wasn’t going to slow down for anything, and he either kept pace with the troll on his throbbing leg, or risked having his arm broken. The grip was so tight, he couldn’t be sure that wouldn’t happen anyway.

As they moved down the path, they came across several other trolls who had been searching that area of the forest for the escapees.

The creatures howled in glee when they saw Pickett hauling the captives back. They fell into line behind the three and followed, continuing to howl, laugh and grin at each other. It didn’t take much imagination to tell that they were anticipating another round of ‘fun’ with the two captives.

Pickett paid them no mind. All he cared about right then was getting the newly-found captives back to camp and then dealing with them there.

When the leader entered the large clearing, Scron, who had arrived in camp moments before, narrowed his eyes. He cared nothing about the captives. They provided entertainment, but that was not what was on his mind. He stared at Pickett with both envy and anger.

A challenge for leadership could be issued at any time, but the rest of the group had to back the winner, or he wouldn’t stay in power for very long.

Scron had not mounted a direct challenge to Pickett, though he had talked big against Tack after Hatch had been killed and disposed of. He had waited to see how successful Tack’s challenge would be, so he could judge Pickett’s strength.

Scron had been disappointed when Pickett had taken supreme power over the group. The troll had then pretended to accept Pickett as leader to avoid having done to him what Hatch had always done to Pickett. He had suffered enough as it was. However, he still felt the urge to be the leader. Scron wanted to be the one to tell others what to do and to hand out punishment when anyone didn’t follow his orders.

Now Pickett had made an even stronger case for remaining the leader, and Scron was not happy about it.

Pickett marched across the clearing, looking neither to the right nor the left. He didn’t seem to care that he was being cheered on by his followers. The troll had one goal in mind, and he wasn’t going to let anyone distract him.

Aragorn was prepared for him and Legolas to be taken back to the cages, where they had spent most of their time since they first arrived in this awful place. He was in for a shock. When Pickett showed no signs of heading there, the man couldn’t help but ask. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out,” was the only answer the ranger received, and he didn‘t like the sound of it.

He wasn’t sure if not going to the cages was a good thing or a bad thing. Somehow he felt the latter was going to be the case.

The ranger’s assumption proved correct, when Aragorn saw Pickett heading straight for one of the huts. It wasn’t until they were closer to it that Aragorn saw it was the leader’s hut.

The only other time he and Legolas had been in that hovel had been when they went there to search for their weapons. That meant that his sword and Legolas’s bow, which had not been successfully retrieved due to Hatch’s arrival, might still be there.

Then the thought struck the man that Pickett wouldn’t be taking them there unless he had cleaned the place of anything the captives might use as weapons, including large bones or boards. Surely even the dim-witted troll wasn’t that dumb.

Before Aragorn could think on the matter further, they reached the entry and crossed into the almost pitch black interior.

Pickett took a few steps and then shoved Aragorn back against the rear wall. There was just enough moonlight coming in the doorway to allow the ranger to see Pickett lower his right shoulder and let Legolas slide unceremoniously to the floor.

Aragorn lunged forward with outstretched arms to try and cushion Legolas’s head before it hit the ground, but he was too far away.

For the second time in less than twenty minutes, the elf’s head impacted the ground.

“Move out of here and you both die.” The statement held more than just a threat. It held a promise, and Aragorn didn’t doubt it.

The ranger crawled over beside Legolas and pulled the elf into his arms and then scooted backwards, not wanting to stay out in the middle of the room.

At one point he had to stop and reach behind him and pull out a bone that he had run into. He tossed it over into the pile of bones near the side wall. They clanked dully, as the thrown one hit the others.

Still clutching Legolas, Aragorn continued moving backwards until he could rest his back against the rear wall.

Between his blurry sight and the dim light inside the hut, there was no way Aragorn could properly assess his friend’s injuries. So he used his fingers to feel around Legolas’s scalp. Before long he encountered a large bump on the back of the elf’s head, which he could tell was covered with a small amount of dried blood. A second, smaller bump was located just above his left ear but did not appear to have any broken skin.

“I am sorry, mellon nin,“ the man whispered softly, “I can do nothing to help your injuries.” All Aragorn could do was hold Legolas in a comforting embrace and hope it would be enough for now. He held the elf against his chest, being careful not to disturb his swollen shoulder. The man took a deep breath and closed his aching eyes.

Pickett was sitting on his bed, looking at the two beings on the floor near his feet. His stare was intense, as he tried to decide what to do with these two brothers. Keeping them in the cages had not worked. Tying them up had led to Hatch’s death, and he had no intention of putting himself in a position to have the same thing happen to him.

The troll was still deep in thought about his dilemma when Legolas finally woke up.

Since Aragorn was the first to become aware of Legolas’s rising consciousness, he quickly leaned his lips down to the elf’s ear and whispered, “Be still and quiet, Legolas. The troll is near.” He dared not say more, hoping those few words would be enough and that his friend would be aware enough to understand and follow his instructions.

Legolas’s head felt like a dwarf was inside hammering to get out. Through the pounding he heard someone speaking. Was it the dwarf, demanding to be set free? He would have shaken his head at such a ridiculous notion had he not feared it would have fallen off his shoulders. His chest also ached mercilessly and made simple breathing more difficult.

‘It is Estel speaking to me,’ he suddenly realized. Legolas almost asked his friend to repeat what he had said, when the meaning of the words finally penetrated the pain-induced fog in his mind. ‘Do not worry, Estel,’ he silently said, ‘I do not think I could move, if I wished to.’

The archer lay still and listened. All he could hear was the steady rhythm of Aragorn’s breathing and... much harsher breathing from nearby. He finally understood. The troll. That was why Aragorn wanted him to be still. A troll was with them.

The elf turned his thoughts inward and began sorting through his recent memories. He and Aragorn had escaped on their horses. when he remembered feeling a sudden pain in his chest and then one in his head. Everything went dark after that.

He and Aragorn were certainly not on their horses. He wasn’t lying on the hard ground but rather something relatively soft, though he knew it wasn’t a bed. It was Aragorn. How familiar that feeling was. Whenever he was hurt, the ranger often held him in a gesture of comfort. So it was now, he was sure. After all, he was definitely hurting.

There was no way to know what had happened until he could talk to Aragorn. He could not sense being among the trees, nor could he hear the sounds of the forest close by. Did that mean they weren’t hiding from the trolls? Worse yet, did that mean they had been recaptured?

It was then the stench of the rotting flesh and bones in the hut registered with him. The one place that he remembered smelling like this was... Hatch’s hut. He and Aragorn had indeed been recaptured, and for some reason, they were now in Hatch’s hut, or rather the one that now belonged to Pickett. It must be the troll leader who Aragorn didn’t want knowing the elf was awake. His spirits sank.

Both Legolas and Aragorn were startled when Pickett said, “Wake him up.”

In a defiant tone he could not for all the life of him avoid using, Aragorn said, “I’ll tell you what I told Hatch. It’s not something I can make him do. He can’t wake up until his body is ready to let him.”

Pickett stood up and moved to stand at Aragorn’s feet. “I don’t know what Hatch said, an’ I don’t care. Wake him up.” His tone was menacingly demanding.

Knowing the truth about the archer’s state of wakefulness and fearing that Pickett might do one or both of them immediate harm, Aragorn shook Legolas gently.

The elf, who had been about to rouse himself after hearing Pickett’s threat, quickly opened his eyes. Though Pickett’s back was to the moonlight, casting the front of him in shadow, Legolas could still clearly see the frown of impatience on the troll’s ugly face.

Aching body or not, it was time to face the trolls yet again.

TBC