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Hostage of Hate  by Littlefish

Chapter 14      A Gift From the Valar

Arwen had never been so grateful for the comfort of her own bed.  In a time when darkness seemed to rest so heavily upon her, the simple comfort of familiar surroundings was a blessing beyond belief.  She had been well cared for at the House of Healing, but her heart had still yearned for the solitude and reassurance of sleeping in her own quarters with her husband close by her side.  Aragorn must have somehow sensed her silent wish, for yesterday morning he had ordered both Gimli and her to be moved back to the castle where they could rest and recover under the watchful eye of the palace servants.

Arwen sighed and snuggled down deeper into the soft blankets, ignoring the twinge of pain along her ribs.  She was healing quickly and was looking forward anxiously to the time when Aragorn would allow her to be up and about once more.  She disliked being stuck in bed with only her thoughts to keep her occupied.  Especially since her thoughts had become increasingly dark the last several days.  She still mourned terribly the loss of her unborn child, and yet a new fear had taken over her, momentarily distracting her from the pain.  Her child was gone, and there was nothing she could do to change that.  It was concern for Legolas and Dar that now consumed her thoughts, along with worry over her husband. 

She had known Legolas for a very long time and her heart ached at the thought of any harm befalling him.  As for Dar, when he had arrived at Minas Tirith she had personally taken him under her care in the hopes of protecting him.  Yet it had been he that had protected her, risking his own life to save her.  Arwen regretted now that she had never gotten the opportunity to properly thank him for it.

Four days had passed since Legolas and Dar’s disappearance, and in that time Arwen had watched Aragorn become more and more desperate.  After searching the entire city and much of the surrounding countryside without any results, he had slowly begun to despair.  Arwen could see it in his eyes and in the slight stoop of his normally proud shoulders.  He was not ready to give up yet, but each day, each hour, was gradually beginning to wear him down.

If Aragorn was becoming desperate, then it could be said that Gimli was near frantic.  Shortly after being moved back to the palace, the dwarf had requested to join Aragorn and Faramir in their search for Legolas and Dar.  Aragorn had refused, for Gimli was still much too weak, and the ensuing argument had been heated and fierce.  Located several doors down from Gimli’s room, Arwen had nonetheless clearly overheard the quarrel, and had begun to wonder if all of Minas Tirith might not be able to hear it as well.  Aragorn had at last won out simply by refusing to give in until Gimli’s shouts had worn away what little energy the dwarf possessed. 

Arwen sympathized with Gimli, understanding all too clearly the helplessness and frustration the dwarf must now be feeling.  He had lost his best friend, and the fear that the separation would be a permanent one was slowly eating away at him.

Arwen was feeling no small amount of frustration and helplessness herself.  She knew she needed to give her body time to rest and recover, and yet she yearned to be beside her husband, helping him through this hard time no matter what the outcome.  Aragorn needed her, and it tore at her that she could not be there for him.  Instead, she had to trust to both Faramir and Eowyn to help him through it.

A small smile lit her face at the thought of her friends.  Faramir and Eowyn had both been irreplaceable the last several days.  Arwen was unsure what Aragorn would have done without Faramir’s aid, and she herself had rested heavily upon Eowyn.  Her friend had been there for her, visiting her often when the loneliness and pain became too much to bear.

A soft rap at the door drew Arwen from her thoughts, and she carefully straightened in bed, pulling the covers close about her.  “Enter,” she called out softly, expecting one of the servants or perhaps Eowyn.  She was surprised, however, when the door slowly swung open and Gimli stepped tentatively within the room.

“Master Gimli,” she murmured quietly, unable to hide her surprise, “It is a pleasure to see you up and about.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” Gimli mumbled in response, looking somewhat embarrassed and awkward as he stood just within the open door.

“Please, come inside,” Arwen urged, motioning him toward the chair sitting beside the bed.  “I would welcome your company.”

Gimli hesitated, but at last moved forward toward the chair.  Arwen watched his movements carefully, noting how his steps seemed a bit shaky.  When he at last reached the chair, he sank down with a small sigh of relief, his face tense and pale.

“I apologize for disturbing you,” he at last muttered, his eyes rising to meet hers, “I merely came to see how you were feeling?”

Arwen smiled softly, trying to put the dwarf at ease.  Gimli had always seemed somewhat uncomfortable in her presence, a fact that both she and Legolas had worked to change.  “Please do not apologize, Gimli,” she whispered quietly, “As I said before, I welcome your company.  As for how I fare, I am doing much better this evening, thank you.”

“Good, good,” Gimli responded lightly, his eyes roving about the room distractedly.

Arwen watched him, feeling her heart wrench in sympathy.  More than just a concern for her health had driven Gimli here.  The dwarf was most likely feeling lonely and overwhelmed by his own thoughts, just as Arwen was.  He needed someone to talk to, and it seemed she was the only one available at the moment.  She could see that he was beginning to doubt his coming here, and so decided that it would be her task to bring up the subject that most troubled him before he decided to leave.

“You worry for Legolas,” It was a simple statement, but one that would hopefully open the doors and allow Gimli to speak freely of his fears to her.  It would do him good, even if Arwen could offer him no help but soft words of assurance.

Gimli seemed startled that she had spoken, and his eyes flew back to meet her tender gaze.  He did not respond right away, but Arwen did not push, understanding that her role now was one of listening—to the things spoken and unspoken.  Gimli’s face showed a myriad of emotions, all flashing past in a blink of an eye before he managed to compose himself.

“Aye, I worry for the dratted elf!  He seems to have a way of finding trouble wherever he goes.  It’s not so bad when I am there to pull him free from it, but now…” Gimli trailed off, his eyes taking on a distant expression.

“We must trust to Aragorn to find him,” Arwen said softly, afraid that Gimli would draw away when it was so obvious he needed to open up.  If Legolas were here, he would have known exactly what to say and do, but Arwen knew so little of the dwarf, even after seven years.  Legolas had named him elvellon, and that was enough for her, but the ways of dwarves still seemed so foreign and strange to her.

“I believe they are no longer in the city,” Gimli replied quietly after several long minutes had passed.  “They have been taken elsewhere, though I do not know where or why.”

“Aragorn has come to the same conclusion,” Arwen answered slowly, her eyes fixed on the dwarf.  “Yet he does not intend to stop searching until he has found them.”

“Nor do I,” Gimli stated shortly, his voice full of determination, “Even if I must search this world from border to border and it takes me until my dying day.”

This statement took Arwen somewhat aback, mostly because of the frank honestly she detected in the dwarf’s tone.  Gimli had made the oath in all seriousness, and she had no doubt that he would keep to it no matter what the consequences.  The loyalty she sensed from the dwarf was unlike anything she had imagined.  She knew Legolas and Gimli were close, but the bond she sensed now went far beyond that.  Sometime within the last seven years, Legolas and Gimli had gone from being friends to something more akin to brothers.  When it had happened Arwen was unsure, but the question that truly troubled her was how.  When the two had left from Rivendell the fateful day the quest to destroy Sauron’s ring had begun, they had been distrustful and downright hostile toward one another.  Yet a year later, when Arwen had ridden into Minas Tirith, she had found them an inseparable pair.

“How did you and Legolas become friends?” Arwen asked suddenly, unable to suppress her curiosity.  She had asked the same question of Aragorn many years ago, but his answer had not satisfied her.  He had merely shrugged and told her that he did not know, nor did he think Legolas or Gimli knew.  Arwen could not accept that.  Something had to have happened to create the close bond between the two friends.

Gimli was obviously surprised at her question.  He frowned, opened his mouth, then shut it again just as quickly.  His frown deepened in concentration, and his hands came up to idly stroke his heavy beard.  Several times he looked as if he was about to speak, only to shake his head and remain silent.  At last he lifted his eyes to Arwen and shrugged helplessly.  “I do not know,” he said honestly.

It was Arwen’s turn to frown.  “He did not save your life, or you his?” she pressed, certain that there had to have been something that had sparked the beginning of the friendship.

Gimli merely shrugged again.  “Our journey was long and dangerous.  Many times we guarded each others backs, and many times one of us would have fallen if not for the presence of the other.  However, I do not believe that was the reason for our friendship.  In all honesty, I cannot say what was.  It just happened.”

Arwen stared at Gimli hard, hearing the frank honesty and confusion in his voice.  Slowly she began to shake her head, her eyes widening in wonder.  “A true gift you have been given,” she whispered softly, tears springing unexpectedly into her eyes.  “The Valar have surely blessed you Gimli son of Gloin, and they do not give out blessing lightly.”  She lifted herself more firmly upright in the bed.  “Nor do they take those blessing away once given,” she added gently.  “Legolas will be found, and you will be reunited with him once more."  This last was said with firm conviction.

Gimli stared at her, silent for several long minutes, his face unreadable.  At last, a slow smile spread across his rough features, and a soft glow entered his eyes.  “Thank you, Arwen,” he whispered softly.

Arwen beamed at the use of her name, feeling an unexpected lightness settle across her spirits.  “You are most welcome, elvellon,” she replied just as softly, reaching out to grasp Gimli’s hand in her own.

The dwarf squeezed her hand tightly before quickly releasing her and rising from the chair, coughing loudly to cover his embarrassment.  “I should be going now,” he mumbled, head bowed to cover his blush.  “The servants guard me like an eagle guards her eggs.  They won’t be pleased if they find me out of my room.”

Arwen nodded, carefully hiding her smile at the dwarf’s embarrassment.  “Then I wish you pleasant dreams, Gimli,” she called out as he hurried to the door.

Gimli turned and dipped a slight bow.  “And pleasant dreams to you, Arwen,” he answered before turning and disappearing down the hall.

Not bothering to hide her smile now that he was gone, Arwen sank back against the pillows.  Several minutes later she had drifted asleep, for the first time untroubled by dark dreams.

******

The river Poros crashed and churned on its journey west toward the Bay of Belfalas, its turbulent water coiling and snapping forward like an agitated serpent.  The banks of the great river seemed to recoil from the angry, frothing giant, and the constant white caps of hungry waves rushed forward, ready to sweep away anything that dared stand in their path.  A deafening roar lifted from the depths of the rushing river, not unlike the piercing snores of a sleeping dragon, the sound reverberating off the nearby canyon walls, magnifying into a thunderous crescendo. 

Standing over half a mile away from the river, Tervanis could still clearly hear its angry voice, daring him to approach and test his meager strength against its supremacy.  However, Tervanis was no fool.  He knew only too well of the river’s awesome power.  Poros had been here long before the assassin had ever been born, and the river would still be here long after his flesh had turned to dust.  It was an unbeatable entity, and from the thunderous boom of its voice, it appeared that today, at least, Poros intended to show no mercy.

Tervanis stood atop a tall hill, his gaze fixed in the direction of the river, his hand idly toying with the hilt of the knife he wore on his belt as he waited for the return of his scout.  Behind him, at the base of the hill, a few of his men were already hard at work preparing the meager afternoon meal, their mumbled curses drifting clearly up to Tervanis on the brisk wind.  Above him, a pair of eagles circled lazily, their piercing cries rising above the din of the river, their shadows lost in the dark silhouette of the Ephel Duath.  The world seemed to be frozen in a still peacefulness that even the noise of the river could not completely destroy.

A loud oath from behind him, followed by a sharp yelp of pain caused Tervanis to turn and glance down the hill, a slight frown marring his normally emotionless features.  Kiesco was standing over the huddled form of one of his men, his face a mask of rage as he delivered a rather thorough tongue lashing, accompanied by several rough kicks, over what appeared to be a spilled mug.

Tervanis sighed inwardly as he watched the unfortunate man attempt to scramble back out of reach.  Ever since the incident with the elf thee days prior, Kiesco’s temper had become increasingly harder to control.  His pride had been wounded, and he had perceived that the respect that the men had had for him had been shattered.   He was determined to win back that respect, even if it was born entirely from fear. 

Tervanis had worried that Kiesco would seek revenge on the elf, and he had kept a close eye on his captain, ready to intercede should Kiesco decide to do anything foolish.  However, much to Tervanis’ surprise, Kiesco had kept a careful distance between himself and the prisoners, throwing them an occasional glare, but otherwise ignoring both of them.  Whether this action was born from wisdom or fear, Tervanis did not know, though he rather suspected the latter, much to his silent amusement.

Tervanis suddenly became aware of a gaze resting upon him, and his eyes automatically shifted to the far side of the camp, where the prisoners lay bound and carefully guarded.  Several times in the last few days Tervanis had suffered the feeling of being watched only to turn and find the steady gaze of the elf fixed upon him.  Tervanis had managed to shrug it off the first couple of times, but though he was loath to admit it, he was slowly becoming increasingly unnerved by his prisoner’s unblinking stare.  There was something disconcerting about the elf’s gaze, almost as though he were looking right through Tervanis, his eyes piercing deep into the man’s very soul.  Tervanis often found himself unable to meet the elf’s eyes, a matter that caused him no small amount of anger and shame.  Never before had a simple stare so disturbed him in this manner.

Tervanis shook his head at his own foolishness.  The elf was indeed watching him, and it seemed that even the distance between them could not dim the intensity of the gaze.  His frown deepened as he casually turned and resumed his watchful stance, pretending not to feel the eyes boring into his back.  It took a concerted effort of will to avoid shifting his feet nervously, and he suddenly found himself understanding exactly why Kiesco had decided to avoid confronting the elf.

The angry shouts in the camp below at last died away, and a few minutes later, Kiesco stomped up the hill to join Tervanis, his scarred face still contorted into a mask of anger.

“Where is the scout?”  He demanded hotly, his eyes roaming over the rolling hills that led up to the river.  “He should have been back by now.”

Tervanis did not offer a reply, but instead chose to ignore the large man.

Kiesco resorted to mumbling curses beneath his breath until, several minutes later, the scout appeared, riding hard in their direction.

“Well, what have you learned?” Kiesco demanded the minute the man pulled his sweaty mount to a halt in front of them.

Tervanis sent a warning glance at his captain, and Kiesco acknowledged it with a small grunt and a nod.

“I am afraid you were correct, sir,” the scout answered breathlessly, slipping from his horse and facing Tervanis after sending Kiesco a wary glance.  “The crossing is completely flooded, the water much too rough to attempt fording it.  Much of the Harad road has been completely washed away by the flooding.”

Kiesco swore loudly at this news, but Tervanis merely nodded, his face calm.  He had been expecting as much.  The last several days of travel through South Ithilien had been accompanied by torrential rains, and he would have to have been a fool to believe the river would be unaffected by the heavy downpour.

Still, a part of him flinched at the news.  If the Poros crossing was indeed impassible—and he had no reason to doubt it wasn’t—it meant at least a day’s delay, perhaps more, as they waited for the river to subside.  If all had gone according to plan within Minas Tirith, the delay would be inconsequential, a mere minor nuisance.  However, Tervanis had no way of knowing what had transpired within Minas Tirith after he had departed.  The King of Gondor and a whole army of soldiers could be directly behind him, in which case, a delay would be disastrous. 

“What do we do now?” Kiesco asked, his voice no longer angry but now sounding slightly worried.

“We remain here,” Tervanis replied, glancing down at the camp below him.  “Tomorrow morning I will go down to the river myself and see when it might be safe to cross.”

“And what about the supplies?” Kiesco asked.  “We are quickly running low.  We do not have enough to last us to Norvil as it is, and with this delay, we will have even less.  We can send out hunting parties to provide for us, but what about the horses?  If we encounter snow once we are past the mountains, we will need grain with which to feed them.”

Tervanis nodded, for he had already considered this.  Winter was sneaking up on them faster than he had anticipated, and though he had packed a large amount of supplies in preparation, it seemed now that it wasn’t going to be enough. 

“Sir?” the scout broke in hesitantly, swallowing hard when both Kiesco and Tervanis turned to regard him.  “There is a small homestead about three miles west of here where I am sure we can pick up some more supplies if we have need.”

Tervanis frowned at this suggestion even as his mind mulled it over.  He had been careful to avoid any farms or villages up until now, unwilling to leave behind any trail that could be followed.  However, as much as he disliked the idea of showing himself to any curious farmer, he disliked the idea of sending his men out each day to hunt for food even less.  There was danger in that tactic, along with the fact that it would serve to slow their journey considerably, something he was now unwilling to do.

“I can take five men with me and be back before nightfall,” Kiesco offered, obviously liking the idea.

Tervanis shook his head and began walking down the hill toward the camp.  Perhaps paying a visit to the farm was the best idea, however, sending Kiesco, while his temper was so short, was not!  Tervanis wanted to get in, get the supplies they needed, and then get out without leaving any reason for the farmer to remember them the next day.  However, if he refused to allow Kiesco to go, the large man would consider it a personal affront and would be completely unbearable to live with the rest of the way to Norvil.

‘Of course, I could always kill him now and not have to worry about it,’ Tervanis thought dryly, a small smile appearing at the thought as his hand unconsciously went to the hilt of his knife.  Yet as much as the thought appealed to him, Tervanis never truly considered it. Despite how annoying Kiesco could be at times, Tervanis still had use for the man.

“We will take five men and leave immediately,” Tervanis finally replied as they stepped into the camp.

“We?” Kiesco replied, obviously startled.

“I will be accompanying you,” Tervanis replied shortly, turning to face his captain, “To make sure that everything goes smoothly.”

Kiesco shook his head, sending a pointed glance toward where the prisoners lay bound.  “And what about them?” he asked softly.

“You do not believe that seven guards are sufficient?” Tervanis asked with a raised eyebrow.

Kiesco merely shrugged.  “I simply had thought you would not wish to leave them.”

Tervanis turned to regard the prisoners, his eyes narrowed slightly.  The boy looked to be asleep, while the elf was peering off in the direction of the river, his face unreadable.  Tervanis had had no more problems with either of them since that first day, and he was at last finding himself able to relax slightly.

“As long as we have the boy we need not fear the elf,” he replied simply.  “He will behave himself for fear of causing the young man harm.”

“I have seen how well he behaves himself,” Kiesco answered shortly, reaching one hand up to rub along his jaw.

Tervanis shrugged, hiding his smile.  That particular instance had been a test for both he and the elf.  They had been feeling each other out, learning how far they could push without being shoved back.  It was true that Tervanis could have used the boy to force obedience, but he had not wished to do that at the time.  Instead, he had wanted to show his prisoner that his control went beyond a couple of whispered threats.  It had been a lesson for both of them that day.

“Come, we are wasting time,” he replied simply, ending the discussion abruptly as he turned his back and headed toward the horses.  “Tanon, Mirch, Ganth,” he called out, causing each man to jump.  “You will be riding with us!  Ran and Jesil, you two as well.  Prepare your horses so we may be on our way.”

The five men immediately jumped up and set about their tasks without question.  Tervanis turned his attention to Mastano.  “You are in charge of the camp.  Keep a close guard on the prisoners at all time.  If anything should happen to them, or if they should escape, I will personally rip a hole in your stomach and use your entrails to feed the wolves.  Have I made myself clear?”

Mastano swallowed hard and nodded.

“Good.  We shall be back shortly before nightfall.”  Tervanis turned and headed toward his own horse, but abruptly stopped and whirled to face the prisoners.

The boy was now awake and looking curiously about him, but the elf continued to merely stare in the direction of the river, showing no indication that he was even aware of the stir in the camp.

Tervanis frowned, feeling the slight pinprick of apprehension, but he quickly shook it off and moved to his horse.  The elf and boy were well secured.  Nothing was going to happen.

*******

Legolas was running out of time.  The sun was moving swiftly toward the western horizon and still he had not managed to come up with a plan of escape.  Each day of travel brought them nearer to their destination and nearer to the time when Tervanis would no longer have a need for Dar and would turn him over to Kiesco.  Legolas was not about to allow that to happen if there was anything he could do to prevent it.  However, after considering and then discarding well over a dozen desperate plans he was close to despair.  Tervanis and Kiesco would be returning soon, and it was not likely that he would be offered another opportunity.  The time to act was now, he knew that, and yet it seemed such an impossible task.

Legolas sighed inwardly, his hands idly twisting against the tight ropes that bound his wrists behind his back.  Beside him, Dar slept soundly, worn out by the long days of travel, his body curled up into a tight ball to ward off the chill evening air.  He looked extremely young and vulnerable, and Legolas felt fear clench tightly at his heart as he looked down at him.  Dar’s life had just begun, and it tortured Legolas that should he fail to come up with a plan of escape, that life would soon be over.

“But Tervanis ordered us to remain here and watch the prisoners!”

The sudden exclamation of anger from across the camp drew Legolas’ attention.  In his desperation to come up with a plan of escape, he had been completely ignoring the conversation of the men left to guard him.  Now, however, he was quick to give it his full attention, listening carefully without turning his head in the direction of the men. 

 “Wrong, Mastano, Tervanis ordered you to watch the prisoners, not us.”

 “Don’t be a fool, Jorlin,” the man named Mastano shot back, his voice hot with anger.  “Of course he expected all of us to stay and watch them!  If something happens and…”

“Nothing is going to happen!” Jorlin interrupted.  “Neither of the prisoners are going anywhere.  They’re both firmly tied, and not needing seven of us standing guard over them.  Kiesco promised us a chance to hunt up some fresh meat for tonight’s sup, and I don’t see how any of that has to change just because he and Tervanis have gone.

A loud chorus of agreement went up at this statement, and Legolas shifted slightly so he could watch the men from the corner of his eye. 

“You don’t understand,” Mastano shouted, his face turning a deep shade of red.  “Tervanis will be returning soon, and if he finds you gone, there is no telling what he will do.  The prisoners…”

For a second time, Jorlin rudely interrupted Mastano.  “You can remain here and play nurse maid if you wish, but I am not!

“Tervanis will slit your throat when you return,” Mastano warned darkly.

Jorlin only laughed in response, pushing past Mastano to move to his horse.  “More likely he will thank me for providing him with a tasty meal after his long trip.  I know Kiesco will appreciate it, and he is the one I am more fearful of angering.  His temper has been mighty short lately, and perhaps we can get back in his good graces, eh boys?

Another shout of agreement went up from the other five men, but Mastano only shook his head, a look of disgust crossing his face.  “You are twice the fool!”  He spat darkly.  “You fear the garden snake five yards off when there is a viper wrapped around your legs!”

“Then a fool I am,” Jorlin retorted, “but at least I won’t be a hungry fool!”  With this statement, he swung up on his horse, motioning for the other men with him to follow suite.

“You can’t leave me alone with them,” Mastano pleaded, his voice beginning to sound slightly desperate.  “You saw what the elf did to Kiesco.”

“Mor and Kalan will stay with you,” Jorlin stated, causing the two chosen men to fall back away from their mounts with small groans of disappointment.  “Don’t fret so, Mastano.  That leaves three of you to two of them, and they’re both tied.  Besides, I think the elf is sick.  He’s done nothing but stare toward the river all day!”

Legolas sensed the men’s gaze switching to him, and he quickly relaxed in his bonds, slouching down and putting on a distant expression, his eyes staring dully in the direction of the river. 

“I’ve heard that elves get extremely sick whenever they get near water,” one of the men offered loudly.  “I’ve heard they can even die just at the sight of it.”

Legolas wasn’t sure whether to roll his eyes or laugh out loud at the statement, but instead he did neither, keeping his face carefully blank and showing no sign that he had even heard the absurd comment.

“You’ve listened to too many wives tales, Mor,” Jorlin said disgustedly. 

“He does look a mite sick.” Mastano interrupted. “Tervanis won’t like it.”

“You worry too much, Mastano,” Jorlin scoffed.  “Come on boys, let’s get going, there’s supper out there to be caught.  We’ll take the extra horses if you’re still so worried,” he called out to a grumbling Mastano.  “That way, the prisoners will have no where to run even should they somehow break free of their binds and defeat you!”  Jorlin’s words were dripping with sarcasm and condescension.

“Leave us one,” Mastano replied, his voice taking on a note of defeat as he at last realized that he would not be able to convince his companions to stay behind.

“Very well,” Jorlin called out, already moving his horse away.  “We won’t be long.”

Legolas listened to the retreating sound of horse’s hooves, new hope springing alive within him.  Only three men remained behind as guards.  There had to be something he could do to escape, and he would need to act quickly, before Tervanis and Kiesco returned.

The beginnings of a plan began to etch itself in his mind, and Legolas had to force back a small smile of triumph.  The guards believed him sick.  He had only to act upon their fears.  It was a risky plan, but any course of action he chose now would carry risk, and he was out of time.  Dar was out of time.

Legolas glanced over at the young man sleeping beside him.  He briefly considered waking Dar and warning him of what was coming, but quickly discarded the idea, realizing Dar’s role would be much more believable if he truly did not understand what was happening. 

His gaze then moved to the three men left as guards, watching as they argued over a pouch of pipe weed.  They were paying him little heed, but Legolas was about to change that.  With a small ghost of a smile, he set himself to his task.

Shifting his body slightly he brought his knees up to his chest then hunched his shoulders down low, as if trying to ease a pain in his chest.  Taking a quick breath, he let out a low moan, filling the soft sound with as much pain and suffering as he could manage.  The quiet sound was picked up and carried easily by the cool wind, and immediately the argument on the other side of the camp ceased.  Legolas could feel the eyes of the men coming to rest on him, and he allowed several long seconds to pass before releasing another, louder, moan.  Beside him, Dar began to stir, but Legolas ignored him for the moment.

“It looks like Jorlin was right, the elf is sick,” one of the men muttered, his voice tuned low and obviously not meant for Legolas to hear.

Legolas controlled his urge to smile and let out yet another loud groan as if to punctuate the man’s words.  He began to slowly rock back and forth, as if trying to shake of a consuming pain, his head bowed and his hair falling in a curtain around him, hiding his features.

“It’s what I was telling you before, Mastano,” the second man spoke up, “It’s the sound of the water that’s doing it to him.  I’ve heard all about this.”

“Just stay away from him,” Mastano shot back, his voice a mixture of anger and fear, “it could be a trick.”

Legolas groaned a fourth time, and with a start Dar came fully awake beside him.

“Legolas?” the boy called out hesitantly, sliding closer.

Legolas decided it was time to play this to its fullest.  Flinching inwardly at the thought of Gimli ever learning of this, Legolas flopped down to his side and began to writhe pitifully, his moans gaining in pitch and occasionally choked off by heavy, rasping coughs.  He drew his knees up tight beneath his chin, as if troubled by a deep pain in his chest, his hands discreetly slipping down low behind him.

“Legolas, what is wrong?” Dar sounded alarmed, his voice taking on an edge of panic.

“He sounds like he’s dying,” one of the men across the camp commented softly.

Legolas decided to go with it.  Abruptly ending his fitful moans, he collapsed fully onto the ground, his body going completely still in a way that only an elf could achieve, his knees still pulled tightly up to his chest.

“Help him!” Dar cried, sounding completely terrified, “He’s not breathing.  You have to help him!”

Mastano swore violently, and a second later Legolas sensed the man’s hesitant approach.  Tervanis had threatened to kill Mastano if anything should happen to Legolas, and it was obvious that the man had not taken the threat lightly.  He reached out with a booted foot and nudged Legolas’ legs roughly, and then a second time, harder.  Legolas did not move or give any indication he had even felt the man’s kick.  Mastano swore again.

“Mor!  Take the horse and ride toward the homestead.  Find Tervanis and tell him the elf has taken sick!  Hurry!” Mastano’s voice had just raised several octaves in his fear.  “Kalen, get over here and help me!”

Legolas waited until he heard the sound of the horse galloping away at breakneck speed before he acted.  Both Kalen and Mastano were bending over him, and Legolas’ next move took them both completely by surprise.  Without any warning, and faster than the blink of an eye, Legolas brought his bound hands down and around his feet, and then a second later, up, to smash forcefully directly into Mastano’s throat, crushing the man’s windpipe in one brutal blow.

Mastano didn’t even have a chance to cry out as he crashed backward, a horrid gurgling sound rising from his ruined throat.  Kalen stared at his fallen companion in horror, and then attempted to jump to his feet, his hand going to the hilt of his knife.  Legolas swept his legs up and out, knocking the man off balance, but not managing to completely bring him down.  Kalen stumbled backward, but a moment later, pitched forward as Dar’ bound legs connected firmly with his backside.

Legolas rolled to the side to avoid the man’s fall, then just as quickly rolled back, ready to end the fight.  With a muffled curse, Kalen twisted around to his back just in time to have Legolas’ elbow connect firmly with his nose.  With a horrid crack, the bone broke and drove upward, piercing the man’s brain and killing him instantly.

The fight ended just as quickly as it had started.  The only sound left in the camp was the last gurgling gasps of Mastano and the heavy breathing of the two prisoners.  Dar was staring at Legolas, his face showing a mixture of relief and horror.  Legolas met his gaze evenly, despite the sick twisting in his stomach.  He hated killing, and even the knowledge that it had been necessary did not ease the pain of taking another’s life.  However, now was not the time for remorse. 

Legolas broke the gaze and quickly rolled over to Kalen, reaching out and drawing free the dead man’s dagger.  Holding it awkwardly in his bound hands, he reached down and swiftly cut the binding on his legs then looked back up at Dar.

“Turn around,” he ordered softly.

Dar obeyed immediately, and Legolas set to work cutting the boy’s hands free.  “We make for the river,” he directed quietly as he worked.  “How well can you swim?”

“Very well,” Dar replied shakily, and Legolas nodded in approval.  Dar’s city was located directly beside the river Ciril, and it was likely that the boy had learned how to swim shortly after learning how to walk.

“The river is our only chance of escape,” he continued, finishing with Dar’s wrist and then handing the knife over to the boy so he could finish cutting Legolas loose.  “We must move as swiftly as we can, and should we get separated, you must keep going.  Do you understand?”

Dar hesitated briefly, and Legolas let his voice harden.  “These men need me for some purpose of which I do not know.  However, they do not need you.  Do you understand what that means?”

Dar flinched slightly, his face paling, but he nodded.

Legolas’ face softened.  “Once we reach the river…”  He cut off abruptly as the distant sound of horses’ hooves moving swiftly in their direction reached him.

“What’s wrong?” Dar asked as he finished freeing Legolas’ hands.

“Cut your legs free,” was Legolas’ only answer as he leapt to his feet and hurried to where Mastano lay.  Bending down, he relieved the man of his knife, then turned just as Dar cut through the last of the ropes binding his ankles.  The lad moved to hand the knife back, but Legolas shook his head  “Keep it,” he ordered softly.  “You may find need of it before all of this is over. Run for the river.  Do not pause for any reason.  Now go!”

Dar stumbled forward, breaking into an awkward run with Legolas directly behind him, urging him on.  They mounted the crest of the first hill, and then sped down it, picking up speed as they raced ever onward. 

Legolas kept half his attention on the path before them, and half behind, where the steady pounding of hooves was growing ever louder.  He almost cursed in frustration, realizing the river was still over half a mile away.  The men would be upon them well before they reached their destination.  Still they had to try.

“Faster,” Legolas called, pushing Dar to greater speed.  They raced up yet another hill, and before them lay a long, open plain, ending at a large clump of trees, the silver of the river shining brightly just beyond.  Behind them, distant shouts marked the discovery of the camp and the escaped prisoners.  “Make for the trees!  Quickly!”

Dar raced forward, Legolas easily keeping pace but remaining slightly behind.  They reached the plain and began to sprint across it just as several riders mounted the last of the hills behind them, their shouts echoing in the still evening air.

“Keep going,” Legolas called, as Dar attempted to glance behind them.  “Do not look back, just run.”

Dar obeyed, somehow managing to pull more speed from his tired legs.  Legolas let him pull ahead, his eyes locked on the stand of trees on the far side of the meadow.  There was no way they would make it in time.  The men would catch them long before they reached the trees and the river beyond.

Legolas knew he could not allow Dar to be recaptured.  The boy, at least, had to escape.  “Run,” he called out one last time, before allowing his own steps to slow, and then eventually stop.  Dar continued to run ahead, unaware that Legolas was no longer behind him.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Legolas turned to face the riders surging towards him, Mastano’s dagger held tightly in his hand.  He knew the men would concentrate first on him, and then, once he was firmly in hand, they would go after Dar.  He intended to buy the boy as much time as possible.

The five men Kiesco and Tervanis had taken with them to the homestead had now been joined with Jorlin and the other hunters, and all nine of them charged forward, aware that the wrath of their leader would fall heavily upon them should they fail.  Several yards behind them rode Kiesco and Tervanis, the latter drawing his bow from his back and reaching for an arrow.

Legolas glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Dar was out of range before turning back to face the swiftly approaching riders.  He did not fear Tervanis shooting him, for he knew the man wanted him alive. 

The nine men slowed as they drew near, dismounting and drawing their weapons as they moved to form an arc around him.

“Surrender, elf,” one of the men shouted, his sword raised threateningly in his hand.

Legolas merely smiled and raised his own dagger in response.  “Come and take me,” he challenged softly, a second before he leapt forward, knife outstretched before him.

TBC 

 





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