Chapter Twenty Eight

Tack sat on his lumpy, filthy bed and pondered the escape of the two captives that had so recently been firmly in the group’s grasp. He had been stewing about them ever since he and the others had returned to their camp, shortly before the full force of the storm hit.

It infuriated him that after he had finally achieved his goal of becoming leader, he had lost the prize. That did not sit well with him. Of course, it had been Scron’s fault. And Tack spared no amount of blame for Hatch and Picket, as well, even though they had been dead when Legolas and Aragorn made their way to freedom. In Tack’s way of reasoning, they had been the leaders during the time the captives were in camp, so they had to share the responsibility for the group now being empty handed. So angry was he that he even blamed them for getting themselves killed, even though that worked in his favor.

The huge creature couldn’t get the vision out of his head of the dark-haired captive being swept past him in the river, so close and yet so far out of reach. He never saw the golden-haired one, but he knew that he must have been in the river, as well. Tack slammed his fists against his thighs in anger.

To him, it wasn’t a strange notion that he wished the two had not drowned but had somehow survived their ordeal. He wanted them back. He wanted them back in the worst way. Like the other leaders before him, he thought that his position would be more secure, if he could give the rest of the group a reason to think him smart, powerful and worthy to be leader. It was easier to control a group of contentious trolls if they thought he was the best one to follow.

It wasn’t often that strangers came into their territory, so they needed to capture and keep those that did. That usually wasn’t a problem. Few ever escaped. In fact, none had done so in Tack’s lifetime. Now was not the time to start letting captives get away.

The intensity of the rain pelting down on Tack’s ramshackle hut increased. The wind, which had also increased, drove sprays of water through the gaps in the slats, which was probably the only reason the rickety building was still standing. A solid wall probably would have been blown down long before now. The roof was leaking in several places, some dripping hard enough to cause water to puddle on the bone-littered, dirt floor. None of that bothered the troll, who could just as easily have been out in the storm with no ill effects. The entire group of trolls was tough and robust enough to withstand and all of Nature‘s extremes.

It was a loud clap of thunder directly overhead that jerked Tack out of his thoughts. The troll leader stared toward the lopsided door. A strong gust of wind slammed into the hut at that exact moment, shaking it and sending the precariously hinged door flying backwards. It landed at Tack’s feet. Rain lashed inward but did not come far enough to reach the troll or his bed.

It wasn’t long before the creature’s thoughts strayed back to the escapees. At first, he grinned, thinking that the captives didn’t have a hut to keep the worst of the torrent off of them during the storm. Then the troll frowned. If those puny beings got sick and died, it’d be the same as if they’d drowned.

Having convinced himself that Legolas and Aragorn were still alive, because he wanted so badly for it to be true, Tack stared up at the ceiling and shook his fist. "Don’t you kill ’em," he shouted to the raging tempest. "I want ’em, and I’m gonna get ’em."

*~*~*~*

Aragorn sat with his back to the rock wall behind him. His eyes were closed. He had slept for most of the night, exhaustion having won the battle over the loud fury of the storm. However, the ranger was not asleep now. He may have slept but worry and pain had kept him from truly resting as he should and had finally driven him back to the conscious world.

Last night Aragorn had spent his time listening to the brunt of the storm raging all around the tiny shelter that he and Legolas had managed to find.

Before succumbing to slumber himself, the ranger had tried to keep his friend awake, but was not able to do so. Legolas’s body had needed to cocoon itself in a deep sleep so he could begin the healing process. It had been hard, at first, for Aragorn to allow that, because of the elf’s concussion, but in the end he had had no choice in the matter. He had finally gone to sleep trusting that the archer’s elven healing ability would take over, and Legolas would be better when he woke up.

When he first awoke, Aragorn had glanced down and saw Legolas’s head resting against his shoulder, his still damp, disheveled and unbound blond hair cascading around his own shoulders. He was glad to see that Legolas still slept.

The pain in Aragorn’s swollen foot hadn’t abated much this morning, though now it was more of a throbbing ache. He wanted desperately to take his boot off to relieve the pressure but knew that if he did, he would never get it back on again. That would be a hindrance he could ill afford, since sooner or later, they would have to begin walking again.

Injuries or no injuries, they couldn’t stay where they were for much longer. Legolas had said they were still in troll country, and that was definitely not a good thing. Aragorn had no way of knowing whether the trolls would come after them again or if they had simply given up, but it was too risky to assume the latter was the case. He had a nagging feeling that they hadn’t seen the last of the trolls.

The wind had died down with the retreat of the storm, and now all that could be heard was the constant dripping of water from the nearby trees as well as the little rivulets that still ran down the face of the rock wall. Even under the slab, Aragorn could smell the fresh air. However, in the wake of the storm, the temperature had dropped noticeably, making the ranger shiver.

He looked down at Legolas again, now able to make out the elf’s form more clearly as dawn was breaking. Even though he couldn’t see the sky from where he sat, Aragorn knew the day was going to be a beautiful one - cold, crisp and clear.

*~*~*~*

Half an hour later, sunlight was filtering through the trees, and Aragorn knew it was time to leave their shelter. He sighed heavily, but didn’t move. His mind was willing, well most o fit anyway, but his body just didn’t want to cooperate. It actually wanted to go back to sleep. ‘Not yet,’ he told himself. Further rest would just have to wait.

This time when he said move, his arm, which was still grasping the elf, shook back and forth. When no response was forthcoming, he shook the elf more forcefully.

A small groan from the archer told Aragorn that Legolas was close to the surface of the waking world. He shook the elf’s arm again, this time adding a verbal stimulus. "Mellon nin, it’s time to wake."

The elf opened his eyes, blinking several times in slow motion. It took his vision a moment to adjust to the light and focus on what was straight ahead. Then it took another moment for his mind to catch up. "Where are we?" he asked in a slightly husky voice.

Aragorn had already prepared himself for the idea that Legolas’s memory might not have returned, though he knew it would stab at his heart, if it hadn‘t. "We’re in the shelter we found last night." He waited anxiously for Legolas’s reaction.

The elf straightened up, moving his bad shoulder as much as he dared to try and get the stiff muscles stretched out a bit. He winced when the shoulder protested the effort. He finally replied, not realizing that his friend was sitting on pins and needles waiting for his answer. "Yes, I remember. The storm."

Aragorn was so happy that his whole body sagged in relief. "You do remember."

Offering the man a puzzled frown, Legolas asked, "Why do you think I would not?"

Not wanting to upset his friend, Aragorn simply said, "It was a long, difficult day yesterday." When those words were met with the same frown, he shrugged. "I’ll explain later. Right now we need to get going. I have the feeling that those trolls will be out looking for us again."

"I also feel that they will be searching," Legolas agreed. "We were too good a prize for them to just give up."

Aragorn groaned inwardly. He was hoping Legolas would say he thought the creatures would leave them alone. He wasn’t surprised, though, that Legolas had agreed with him.

Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew would come when he stood up, Aragorn used the wall to aid himself as he rose to his feet. He kept most of his weight off of his bad foot, not wanting to get the sharp pain stirred up until necessary. He then reached down and helped Legolas to stand.

The two companions made their way out from under the rock slab. They were quickly pelted with rain drops that were still falling from the tree branches above, but considering what had been falling the night before, they were hardly concerned.

Legolas stood very still. "I remember something else," he said sadly, his gaze staring into the forest. "The trees do not talk."

Aragorn had hoped that the silence of the trees was one of the things Legolas wouldn’t remember, although it was impossible to keep something like that a secret, when they were surrounded by trees. "You told me that you thought they had been exposed to the cruelty of the trolls so long they had more or less retreated from communicating, even with each other."

The elf nodded. "I will try to come back and help them, if I can."

Aragorn wasn’t going to broach that subject again, even in his own mind. Legolas was his own person and would do what he wanted, and in truth, the ranger wouldn’t want it any other way.

"We should go back toward the river and try to follow it out of this Valar forsaken territory," the ranger said. "We really have no other choice. We can’t cross the river, we can’t go back upriver, and we certainly can’t go off that way." He indicated the forest to their right where the troll camp was located. He grimaced, because he hated not having more than one choice in any given situation. It was all too close to making him feel trapped.

As the two started off, having agreed on their route to the river, they were happy that neither had to lean on the other. Aragorn was limping but was otherwise unhindered. Legolas’s head still hurt but neither that nor his bad shoulder was a detriment to his progress. It was a far cry from the condition the two were in last night when they reached the shelter.

Legolas and Aragorn had gone no more than twenty yards when the elf suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked, though he was sure he knew the answer. His guess was confirmed when Legolas said, "Trolls."

This deadly game of hiding and seeking with the hideous creatures was getting entirely too old, but unfortunately, it wasn’t getting any less dangerous. It also was showing no signs of ending any time soon.

The elf and the ranger increased their pace. This time Legolas put his good arm around Aragorn to aid the man as he tried to move on his bad foot as fast as possible.

"I hope we do not have to go into the river," Legolas said. "I do not think we would survive it." He didn’t understand why Aragorn laughed the way he did.

"If you only knew," the ranger remarked barely above the soft sigh of a breath.

Legolas, of course, heard it clearly but couldn’t figure out what that remark was supposed to mean. Aragorn had made it sound as if they had been in the river already. "Did I miss something?" he asked his friend.

Another laugh made the elf shake his head. Either he was reading something in Aragorn’s words that weren’t there, or the man was losing his senses, which wasn’t too farfetched considering everything he had suffered.

Since he knew he wasn’t going to get any enlightenment on the subject, for the moment at least, Legolas kept silent and concentrated on their forward progress.

By that time, they had reached the river, which, to their dismay, was even fuller and more violent than when they had first seen it. They looked at each other, and both sighed at the same time. The storm had made its wrath apparent on more than the forest.

Aragorn thought back to Legolas’s remark earlier about not being able to survive the river. Looking at it now, he was sure the elf had been right. After this last storm, it was doubtful that anyone, even a troll, could survive in that wild, raging water. Timing, it seemed, was everything. Bad timing that the river was up when they reached it the first time, and good that they were swept downstream yesterday.

Then Aragorn realized that they were at the exact spot where Legolas had pulled him from the current the day before. Most of the tell-tale signs had been washed away by the rain, but there was still a faint impression of the two ruts made by Aragorn’s boots being dragged onto the bank.

The fact that the ruts were parallel and had been deep enough not to completely wash away caught Legolas’s attention, and It didn’t take him long to ‘read’ those signs on the ground. Now Aragorn’s remark made sense. "We were in the river," Legolas said with a tone that said he knew it but didn’t really remember it. "So who pulled who out?"

The ranger was only mildly surprised by the question, but he realized he shouldn‘t have been. Legolas’s memory may still be a little spotty, but the elf’s mind was as nimble as ever. "You pulled me out."

"Let me guess. You’ll explain it all later." There was a hint of humorous sarcasm in the wood-elf’s tone.

"I wish I could, but the truth is that I was unconscious after smashing into a rock, and I wasn’t aware of a thing until I woke up here with you unconscious beside me." His tone turned serious. "I feared you were dead."

It wasn’t the first time the ranger had told Legolas that. It wasn’t the second, or, he suspected, even the tenth. He was sure he had said the same words to his friend just as often. It was a fright that seared both of their hearts each time there had been cause to make such an assumption.

A shout coming from the nearby forest reached the two, and they turned as one to look into the trees. It was immediately obvious to both of them what that shout meant. Trolls were coming!

TBC