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Hostage of Hate  by Littlefish

Chapter 15    Desperation

Aragorn was weary. 

Sinking down heavily into the large, ornate chair set at the end of the Great Hall, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, a long, deep sigh escaping his lips.  Normally when he sat in this chair, holding audience for the troubles of his people, he would sit upright and attentive, his posture showing proud nobility.  Now, however, he found it difficult not to sit slumped and dejected, his shoulders stooping as if a great weight rested upon them.  The hint of dark shadows appeared beneath eyes that were clouded with pain and exhaustion, and his face was beginning to take on the haggard appearance of a man in desperate need of sleep.

Yet rest was the farthest thing from Aragorn’s mind at the moment.  A slow despair was eating away at him, and it was taking all his remaining strength to fight it off.  Another day of endless searching had passed, leaving in its wake the bitter taste of failure and defeat.  He was now certain that Legolas and Dar were no longer in the city, and this knowledge only served to fill him with a sick hopelessness.  The search would be twice as difficult now, and with the passing of each day the chances of success were becoming more and more slim.

Yet despite this, he had no intentions of giving up on his friends.  He would search for Legolas and Dar until all hope was gone, and even then he would not give in.  No matter how far or how long it might take he would find and rescue his companions. 

At least, this was how his heart told him it would be, how it certainly would be if he were still a ranger.  Yet reality was slowly beginning to set in, bringing with it the horrible truth.  He was King now, and as such he held a responsibility to the people under him.  He was no longer free to come and go in the land as he pleased. 

The time was fast approaching when he would have to choose between the friends he loved and his duty as King.  Elrond had always warned him that with position came responsibility and sacrifice: duty would often call for him to make difficult choices, and honor would require that Aragorn look first to the people and then to himself when making those choices.  Still, he had never before faced a decision that left him feeling so torn and confused. 

“Legolas, where are you?” he whispered softly into the quiet emptiness of the Great Hall, receiving no answer from the cold stones surrounding him. 

‘What if he is dead?’

 Aragorn flinched back from the thought, his breath hissing in sharply.  He could not even bring himself to consider the possibility that Legolas might be forever lost to him, for the idea brought such an unbearable pain.  All the doubts and fears that he had carefully held at bay seemed to crash down on him and it was all he could do to keep from giving in to the soft whispers of despair that sought to drown out all other thought.  He had to believe Legolas was still alive, for if the elf truly was dead…

With a soft oath, he rose from his chair and began pacing around the large room, attempting to shake off the dark thoughts that plagued him.  His fears and doubts were not aiding Legolas, and he had to find some way to break free from them.

‘If you already believe you will fail before you have even begun, Son of Arathorn, then fail you surely will.  Fight your battles one at a time, and when you stand victorious at the end, you will look back and wonder why you ever doubted.’

Legolas’ words, spoken to him so many years ago, caused him to halt his pacing, the barest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.  Unbidden, his mind journeyed back to the time when he had first met the prince of Mirkwood.  He had been young then, even by human standards, and naïve enough to be extremely excited when Elrond had informed him that a party of elves from the eastern realm of Mirkwood would be paying them a visit.

“Have caution, Estel,” Elrond had warned him gently, “The elves of Mirkwood are far different from the elves of Rivendell, or even Lothlorien.  They are led by a King who has very little tolerance or love for any race not his own, and I fear his disdain has spread to his people.  Do not expect them to easily accept you.  The king’s youngest son, Legolas, will be traveling with the company.  I have briefly met him on previous occasions, and though in appearance he is like his mother and is a renowned and honored warrior among his own people, I do not expect he shall be far different from his father.”

It was the only time in Aragorn’s entire life that he had ever found Elrond to be wrong!  Legolas had been the only elf in the Mirkwood party that had not looked at him with disdain and contempt.  Legolas’ eyes had held only curiosity, and that curiosity, combined with an unbroken horse, a foolish young human, and a fierce summer storm, had been the start of what would become a fast developing friendship between the two of them.

Aragorn smiled, the joy of that memory briefly breaking though the darkness that had settled upon him.  He found it hard to believe that only a few short weeks ago he had been mourning the monotony of his life, wishing that things could be different.  He had been such a fool!  He had been so focused on his perceived loss of freedom that he had failed to notice the other countless riches he possessed, the greatest of these the friends at his side, a wife he loved more than anything, and his baby, then still living within Arwen’s womb.  Now, things had finally changed, and he found himself wishing everything could go back to the way it was.  He had lost so much!  Arwen had lost so much!  First the baby and then Legolas.  He could not help but wonder what would come next…

“My lord…?”

The quiet call from the far side of the room had Aragorn whirling, his hand unconsciously flying to the hilt of his sword before he recognized the voice. 

Faramir stood just within the large double doors of the Great Hall, his stance casual, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked Aragorn up and down.  “You look exhausted, Aragorn,” he finally said softly, his tone and the use of Aragorn’s proper name plainly displaying his worry. 

“I am fine,” Aragorn replied shortly, his tone a bit harsher than he intended.  He had not heard Faramir enter and he disliked being caught by surprise.  It was a testament to exactly how weary he really was.

Faramir gave a short bow.  “I apologize if I startled you, my lord,” he said simply.

Aragorn sighed and shook his head.  “It is I that should apologize to you, my friend,” he replied softly.  “I am indeed tired, and my temper is short, yet I should not have taken it out on you.  Your concern for me is appreciated.”

Faramir simply nodded, accepting the apology without words.

“Have you learned anything since we parted this morning?” Aragorn prompted, anxious to learn if Faramir’s day had been any more productive than his own.

“My men and I searched an area of about three miles surrounding the city,” Faramir replied, his voice taking on a weary, defeated tone that dashed any hopes Aragorn might have had.  “We encountered one farmer who claimed he saw a large group of horsemen headed east into Ithilien, but he could not say whether Legolas or Dar were with them or not.  We searched for tracks, but I am afraid the last several days of rain have wiped out anything we might have found.  We re-searched the area where the abandoned wagon was found, but…”

Faramir was cut off from his report as the doors to the Great Hall opened and a soldier hurried inside.

“My lords.”  He bowed low to both Aragorn and Faramir.  “Lord Kenson has arrived from Calembel and desires to speak with you.”

Aragorn exchanged a startled glance with Faramir.  He had not expected Kenson’s arrival for several more days.  He had only sent out the messenger with the news of Dar’s disappearance five nights ago, and Kenson would have had to ride his mount near to death, without stops or rest to have arrived here so soon.

“Send him in,” he at last ordered the guard, mentally preparing himself for the coming meeting.

“Would you like me to leave?” Faramir offered, his voice sounding almost hopeful.

Aragorn shook his head.  “Stay,” he said quietly.  “I will need you to finish your report.”

Faramir snorted softly, but he stayed by Aragorn’s side, just as he had remained beside the King throughout the last several days.  Aragorn was grateful for his presence.  He had just lost his baby, a child unseen and untouched, and the grief was terrible.  How much more would Kenson’s own grief be for his missing child.

The doors to the Great Hall swung open and Kenson strode through, walking swiftly toward where Faramir and Aragorn stood.  Aragorn frowned as he watched the man’s approach, for Kenson did not bear the appearance of someone fraught with grief or worry.  Nor did he appear particularly weary as his journey might have suggested.  His clothes still bore the dust of his travels, but this was the only sign of haste the man carried.

“My lords,” Kenson greeted, bowing.  “I trust both of you are well?”

Aragorn could find no response for this question, and beside him Faramir merely grunted.

Kenson straightened from his bow and frowned slightly.  “I apologize if my presence here comes as a surprise, my lord,” he said slowly, eying Aragorn carefully.  “However, when word reached Calembel of the Lady Arwen’s attack, I feared I had made a mistake by ever leaving your side.  I know that you bid me return home, but now I have returned, and I hope you will allow me to help you in your troubles in whatever way I can, just as you once helped all of Calembel.  I have left the city in good hands and have warned the people that my return may be delayed.  I have ridden swiftly to be by your side, my lord, and I hope you will accept my offer of aid.”

Aragorn listened numbly to his friend’s speech, a slow dread building up within him.  ‘He does not know!’  It was a horrible thought, but one that was becoming more and more clear as Kenson continued to speak.

“I know you already have many friends to aid you, my Lord.  Gimli and Legolas are two formidable allies, speaking nothing of Lord Faramir.  I do not know what I can do, but I am willing to…”

“Kenson,” Aragorn cut the man off, taking a slow step forward.  “I sent a messenger to you five nights ago, did you not receive him?”

Kenson frowned, shaking his head slowly.  “Nay, my Lord.  It is likely that he arrived after my departure.”

“And you did not encounter him on the road?” Faramir asked, obviously puzzled.

“My men and I did not stick to the main road, but cut across country in order to hasten our arrival,” Kenson explained slowly, his voice beginning to sound slightly nervous. 

Aragorn shared a long look with Faramir, attempting to fight down the twisting sensation in his stomach. 

“My Lords?”  Kenson’s voice was uncertain, and hinting at his growing fear.

Aragorn regarded him solemnly for a moment before stepping forward and lightly laying his hand on the man’s shoulder.  “Kenson, I am afraid I have some bad news.”

*******

‘A true gift you have been given!’

Arwen’s words echoed again and again through Gimli’s mind as he slowly walked down the hall from her chambers.  Her simple words had offered him a new hope, and he had been in desperate need of it.  Now, he found the thought of returning to his room and the endless waiting simply unbearable.

‘Legolas will be found, and you will be reunited with him once more.’

Gimli grunted.  When that time came, he would make sure Legolas felt the full force of his displeasure.  The elf had caused him worry one too many times.  The wrath of a dwarf was a fearsome thing, and if that alone could not keep Legolas from trouble, then surely nothing could.

However, if he was to have his desired confrontation, the elf first had to be found.  Two days had passed since Gimli’s argument with Aragorn, and he decided it was high time he confronted his friend once again.  He was feeling much stronger now, his back healing quickly.  True, he was still much weaker than he had been, but dwarves were well accustomed to shoving aside weakness when the situation called for it.  He was determined that this time the argument would go in his favor.  He would not give in until Aragorn agreed to allow him to join the search.  There would be no more days trapped helplessly within his room, sitting idly and allowing his worry to consume him.  No, right now action was the best medicine for his troubled spirit, and if Aragorn did not agree, Gimli would just have to find a way to make him agree.

Feeling fresh strength flow through him from his newfound determination, Gimli stalked down the hall, not even pausing as he passed by the door to his own quarters.  He was suddenly very glad that he had decided to visit with Arwen.  He had felt awkward in her presence at first, just as he always felt awkward when around her, but he was grateful he had put aside his feelings and allowed himself to talk to her.

His companions had never been able to understand his reserve toward the beautiful elven Queen, and Gimli had never cared to explain it to them. Part of this was because he was not sure how to put his feeling into words, and part of it was because he did not fully understand it himself.  The truth of the fact was, Gimli could not look at Arwen without his thoughts turning to her grandmother, Galadriel.  It was not that Arwen’s appearance reminded him of the Lady of Lothlorien, for in truth, Arwen looked nothing like her grandmother.  However, there were other, smaller similarities that caught at Gimli.  Arwen’s smile, her laugh, the bright twinkle in her eyes, all of these things stirred deep memories within him, and he found himself simply unable to completely relax in her presence.  When with Arwen, he inexorably felt a deep longing and sadness rise within him, and try as he might he could not be rid of it.

He supposed Legolas would understand his feelings, for the elf was no stranger to longing, having to deal with the sea longing each day he remained bound to the shores of Arda.  However, Gimli could not seem to make himself speak of it, even to his closest friend.  He was a warrior, strong and proud, and yet many years ago, in the woods of Lothlorien, he had met his greatest weakness, and also his greatest strength.  It was not something he could easily talk of.  He supposed Legolas already suspected some of it, for that was the nature of their friendship, yet Gimli did not care to burden the elf with the full details.

‘How did you and Legolas become friends.’

Gimli smiled slightly to himself as he remembered Arwen’s question.  It was not the first time he had been asked that, nor was it likely to be the last.  He had been honest when he had told her that he did not know, though he suspected it had a lot to do with the fact that it had been a matter of becoming friends, or killing each other.  For the sake of the fellowship and the quest of the ring, they had chosen the first option.  That is how it had begun.  After that, their friendship had merely grown as each had learned to understand and respect the other.

“Lord Gimli!”

Gimli winced and hurried his pace, pretending he had not heard the servants call from behind him.

“Lord Gimli, you should not be out of bed!”  The servant was giving chase, and Gimli cursed when he realized he could not hope to outrun the young woman.

“Please, my Lord!  The King will be most upset if you…”

Gimli suddenly stopped in his tracks and whirled to face the approaching girl, his face darkening.  “I am in search of the King now, and if he becomes upset at me, he can tell me himself!” 

“But my Lord, you must…”

“I am NOT returning to my room,”  Gimli bellowed, releasing all his pent up frustration in one loud cry, causing the young servant to jump back in alarm.

“Gimli.”

The calm voice behind him caused Gimli to turn, his eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of Eowyn standing in the hall behind him, a slight disapproving look marring her beautiful features.

Gimli scowled at her and opened his mouth, but she did not give him a chance to speak.

“I can understand your frustration, master dwarf, but you hardly need take your anger out on the servant sent to care for you.  It is not her fault, and I should think you will later regret your harsh words.”

Gimli’s scowl deepened, but he did turn back to the servant girl and bowed slightly, ignoring the twinge of protest from his back. “My apologies,” he said gruffly, shooting Eowyn a sidelong glance. “However, I shall not be returning to my room, so you need not waste your breath trying to convince me!”

The servant looked past Gimli to Eowyn, her eyes clearly beseeching the Lady for help.  Gimli turned in time to catch Eowyn’s slight shake of her head.  With a sigh of defeat, the servant bowed, then turned and left.

“So, you are in search of Lord Aragorn?” Eowyn asked as soon as the girl had departed.  “Is aught wrong?

Gimli shook his head shortly.  “Nay.  I simply have a matter I wish to discuss with him!”

Eowyn nodded slowly. “In that case, perhaps I can be of aid to you.  The King is presently holding council within the Great Hall.”

“My thanks, Lady,” Gimli replied, once again bowing slightly before starting off in the direction of the Hall.  To his surprise, Eowyn fell into step beside him.

“I hope you will not mind my company,” she said lightly, “but I see a fire in your eyes and do not doubt that you go to do battle. A healer’s touch may be needed after.”

Gimli scowled and shook his head.  “I will be in need of no healing, my Lady, for I do not intend to loose this particular battle.”

Eowyn laughed softly.  “It is not to you I will offer my aid.”

“Aragorn then?” Gimli scoffed.  “I hardly believe he will be in need…”

“My husband currently holds council with Lord Aragorn,” Eowyn interjected.  “If an argument begins between the two of you, I have no doubt but Faramir will attempt to intercede.  It is his hide that I go to save.”

Gimli blinked in surprise at this response, looking up at Eowyn to see if the lady was jesting with him.  Eowyn’s expression was perfectly serious, but a slight twinkle in her eyes belied her merriment.  Gimli snorted, but could not hold back a slight chuckle.

“It pleases me that you seem to be doing much better, Gimli,” Eowyn commented, studying him carefully as they walked.

Gimli grunted, glancing up at her and sharing a brief smile.  He liked the Lady Eowyn, finding her light spirit and sense of humor greatly refreshing.  “I grow stronger by the day and my back is healing nicely,” he answered briefly. ‘Now if only I can manage to convince Aragorn of this, perhaps he will let me help in the search for Legolas and Dar.’

Eowyn nodded, but sensing Gimli’s dark mood she remained silent as they made their way in the direction of the Great Hall.  They reached the large double doors leading into the Hall quickly, but slowed their steps as they approached, watching as the two soldiers guarding the entrance argued with a small, scrawny man.  The argument seemed to be quite heated, and Gimli frowned as he drew nearer.  

“I demand to see the King immediately,”  the small man shouted, seemingly not intimidated by the two armed soldiers towering above him.  The impatient tone of his voice suggested that it was not the first time he had made this demand within the last several minutes, and the guard’s response confirmed this.

“We have already told you!  The King is presently meeting with the Mayor of Calembel and has asked not to be disturbed.  You will have to come back tomorrow!”

“I do not wish to come back tomorrow,” the small man spat back, his voice seething with anger.  “I carry an important message that must be delivered tonight.  He will be most displeased with you when he learns you have turned me aside.”

“And what is this important message?” Gimli demanded, making his presence known as he finally reached the doors.

The two guards and the small man turned to him in surprise, obviously so caught up in their argument that they had not heard his approach.

“He will not tell us, my Lord,” one of the guards spoke up quickly.  “We told him we could not admit him unless he let us know, but he refuses to speak.  He will not even tell us his name.”

Gimli turned to find the small man watching him with an intense gaze that immediately made him feel ill at ease.  “Is this true?” he demanded, allowing his annoyance to slip into his voice.  He did not have the time or the desire to deal with an unreasonable petitioner at the moment.

“My message is for the King and the King alone,” the man replied coolly, his gaze never leaving Gimli, his expression one that prickled the hairs on the back of Gimli’s neck .

“Then I am afraid it is a message that will have to wait for tomorrow,” Gimli answered dismissively, trying to push away his feelings of unease.  He must be sicker than he thought if he allowed the gaze of such a small man to so unnerve him.  Turning away disgustedly, he headed toward the large doors, the two guards quickly moving out of the way and Eowyn only a step behind.

“I know where your friend is.”

The simple statement caused Gimli to pull up short, Eowyn nearly running into him as he whirled around to face the small man, his stomach doing an odd lurch inside him.  “What friend?”  he demanded, already knowing the answer.

The small man’s smile was mocking.  “You know what friend I speak of, and if you turn me away now, you shall never see him again.  Alive that is.”

A sudden horrible rage, accompanied by a deep fear suddenly swept through Gimli, and he took a step toward the small man, suddenly wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look from the human’s face.  His mind had not even completely computed the man’s words, but his body was already instinctively moving, his action one of violence.  Seizing the small man by the front of his tunic Gimli heaved him viciously against the corridor wall, his own body pressing close and pinning the man a full foot off the ground.  His wounded back screamed in protest, but Gimli ignored it in his rage, noting with grim satisfaction the fear that had replaced the haughty look on the man’s face.

“Where is he?!” he shouted, his face pressed close to the man’s.  “Where have you taken him, you stinking son of an orc?!  If he has been harmed…”

“If you kill me now, your friend is dead,” the small man squeaked, obviously finding breathing difficult with Gimli’s death hold on him.  “Release me, or he will pay the price.”

It was the wrong thing to say.  The rage continued to grow in Gimli, and at that moment he might well have done something he would have later regretted if the two guards and Eowyn had not leapt forward and pulled him back.

“No, Gimli!”  Eowyn cried out desperately, struggling to hold him back.  “This is not the way!  We will find Legolas!  He will tell us where he is, but not this way.  Please!”

Gimli at last allowed himself to be dragged back, the rage still boiling hot, but a new fear beginning to take hold of him.

The small man remained leaning against the wall, his face pale and a single hand raised to his throat.

Eowyn turned hard eyes on him, one had still holding tightly to Gimli’s shoulder.

“We will take you in to see the King,” she said stiffly, her voice cold enough to freeze stone.  “Yet if this proves to be some trick, you will greatly regret it.”

The man pushed himself to his feet, his eyes regaining some of their cool confidence, though he kept a careful eye on Gimli.  “I assure you, my lady, it is no trick.  I know who has your friend and where they have taken him.”

Eowyn simply nodded, then motioned for the guards to open the door.

Still seething, Gimli allowed the man to pass him, then fell in step directly behind, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.  It was time they learned the truth.  It was time they found Legolas!

*****

Tervanis felt as if he was trapped in some kind of dream.  He sat frozen atop his horse, watching with fascination as all nine of his men struggled vainly to bring down their single opponent.  The elf danced around amidst them, his movements lightning swift, his fair voice constantly calling out taunts and challenges as he dodged and ducked his attackers’ clumsy blows, his knife always in motion.  Whenever the men believed they had finally managed to trap him, the elf would casually slip past their defenses, then turn and attack their backs.  Next to him, Tervanis’ men appeared nothing more than novices, their movements extremely slow and clumsy, their blades and widely thrown punches never even nearing their target.

It was a spectacular fight.  Tervanis was even loath to describe it such, for ‘fight’ seemed too rough and crude a word for what he was witnessing.  It was more a dance.  A beautiful, fascinating, and deadly dance.  His men truly did not stand a chance against the elf, and watching them slowly fall one by one to his blade, Tervanis felt a sudden odd sensation throughout his chest.  Never before had he watched such deadly grace in action, and he felt a sudden longing to swing down from his horse and face the elf himself!  He was a man who lived for a challenge, and before him he was watching the perfect challenge.  The ultimate challenge.  It seemed to him that this was what he had been waiting his entire life for; he would face the elf alone, and in a fight to the death they would prove who was the best warrior!

Yet despite this sudden desperate desire, Tervanis sat frozen, unable to tear his eyes from the terrible beauty before him.  He knew what the elf was doing: buying time for the boy to escape.  At first he had considered sending men on to re-capture the young man, but now all thoughts of that had fled in the face of the battle before him.  He wanted the elf, and beyond that, nothing else mattered.

“Tervanis?!”  Kiesco’s urgent call from beside him jerked Tervanis from his trance.  Before him, another one of his men fell to the blade of the elf.

Tervanis shook his head, attempting to shake free of whatever had come over him.  His task was not to fight the elf, but to bring him to Norvil and hand him over to Servius.  The man had paid him greatly to accomplish this task, and another fat purse of gold and jewels awaited him upon its completion.  Still, he felt himself hesitate, torn by his newfound desire to prove himself as great a warrior as the one he watched before him.

“Tervanis, we must stop him!”  Kiesco pressed urgently.  Yet despite his insistence, Tervanis noted that his captain seemed in no hurry to ride forward and join the raging battle.

Sighing in soft regret, Tervanis lifted his bow in his hands and reached back for an arrow. ‘Another time.  Perhaps I can convince Servius to hand the elf over to me when he is finished with him.’

With this hopeful thought, Tervanis fluidly strung the arrow, pulled back the string, sighted, and then released. 

Legolas had just danced outside his circle of attackers, his blade flashing out to cut deeply into the nearest man’s arm.  The arrow hit him high on his left leg, sending him stumbling forward with a small cry of surprise and pain.  The men took no time in taking advantage of this, charging forward wildly, shouting with their anger and frustration.   In an instance, the elf was taken down, buried beneath the frenzied rush of his attackers.

“DO NOT KILL HIM!!” Tervanis screamed, booting his horse into a fast gallop toward the pile of men wildly pummeling the fallen elf. 

The men reluctantly backed off as Tervanis and Kiesco reached them, swinging off their horses.  Tervanis saw that the elf had been disarmed and now lay on his back, two men half lying atop him in order to keep him down.  His face was bruised and bloody, but a look of satisfaction lay deep in his gray eyes.

Tervanis glanced around at his men, noting how most of them sported some sort of injury.  Three of the men lay still upon the cold ground, never to rise again, and a fourth lay huddled in a small ball, moaning as he tried to stem the flow of blood from a deep gash across his stomach.  Kiesco was cursing the elf loudly, his face flushed a deep red.

“Bind him,” Tervanis ordered coldly, then turned to face Kiesco.  “Take three men and go after the boy,” he instructed, reaching out to hand Kiesco his bow as he un-slung his quiver of arrows. 

Kiesco nodded as he took the proffered weapon, then turned and quickly swung up on his mount, calling to three of the men to follow him.

“Kiesco,” Tervanis called just as the man was turning away.

Kiesco turned back questioningly.

“Don’t bother bringing him back,” Tervanis said softly, his meaning clear.

Kiesco’s face broke out in a wide grin, and he saluted Tervanis with the bow, his eyes shining.  “Come on boys, let’s go hunting.”  With this cry he booted his horse in the direction of the river.

Tervanis turned back to the elf, looking for a reaction to his latest command.  Instead, he found the prisoner staring back at him calmly, his face revealing none of his emotions.  The men binding him were being none to gentle, but the elf made no sound, even when his injured leg was cruelly bumped.  One of the men reached for the arrow still embedded in the elf’s thigh, but Tervanis stopped him.

“Leave it!” he ordered.  “I will take care of it back at the camp.”  He then turned, his eyes scanning the men until it came to rest on Jorlin.  “What happened?” he demanded coldly, approaching the man slowly.

Jorlin took a fearful step back, his face draining of all color.  “Please, sir,” he mumbled fearfully.  “We did not know.  We thought the elf was sick, we never suspected…”

“What happened?” Tervanis demanded a second time, not interested in listening to the man’s excuses.

Jorlin swallowed hard.  “Me and some of the boys decided to do some hunting,” he whispered hesitantly.  “But Mastano said he could take care of…”  Jorlin cut off with a scream of agony as Tervanis’ blade whipped free from its sheath and slashed forward, neatly severing the man’s ear from his head.  Jorlin fell to the ground, his blood spraying a neat arc across Tervanis’ face

“Did you not hear my command to you upon leaving?” Tervanis asked coldly, ignoring the man’s whimpers of pain and desperate pleas for mercy.  “Consider yourself lucky, Jorlin.  I have already lost too many men this day to end your miserable life.  However, if you ever fail me again, I will gladly kill you.  Slowly!”

Turning away in disgust and wiping the blood from his face, Tervanis faced his prisoner once more.  The elf had been hauled to his feet, two men standing on either side of him to support him and prevent escape.  “Take him back to the camp,” Tervanis instructed.

“He will be more trouble now, without the boy to control him,” one of the men nearby commented softly, his eyes following the elf as he was pushed back in the direction of the camp.  “I can see it in his eyes.”

Tervanis narrowed his own eyes, silently agreeing with the man’s comment.  Still, he did not regret his order to Kiesco.  He would merely have to find another way of controlling the elf. 

An idea slowly began forming at the back of his head.  Walking to his horse, he flipped up the flap to his saddle bag and pulled out a small, green vial.  Opening the top of the vial, he jerked back from the strong smell, his eyes watering.  However, smell was the least of the effects of the strong liquid within the small container.

It was time to teach the elf some respect.

******

It was hard to breathe.  Gasping air into his aching lungs was becoming a difficult chore, and the heavy pounding at the back of his skull was beginning to cause his vision to blur.  His legs ached, and a burning pain in his side had him clutching at his ribs.  Still Dar ran on, Legolas’ urgent cry echoing within his mind.  He had to reach the river.  It was just a little farther!

He did not know when or how, but he had somehow lost Legolas.  The elf no longer ran behind him, and Dar felt a sick feeling flooding the pit of his stomach.  He wanted to stop and search for the elf, but it was as if he no longer had a will of his own.  Fear and desperation kept him running, and he could only pray that he would find the elf waiting for him at the river.

He was racing through a heavy clump of trees, the roar of the river sounding directly ahead of him.  Dar knew enough about rivers to understand what he was likely to encounter when he finally reached the banks of Poros.  From the sound reaching him, the river was probably flooded, and he would find it difficult managing its raging currents.  However, it was his only choice and his only hope.  The river was his chance at escape, and he had to get free.   He had to find a way to get back to Aragorn and inform the King of all that had happened.

The sound of pounding hooves behind him caused Dar’s heart to skip a beat.  He tried to push more speed from his aching legs, fear and desperation building up and choking off his already depleted supply of oxygen. ‘Please, oh please don’t let them catch me now.  Not when I am so close.  Oh Legolas, where are you?  Father please help me!’

Breaking free from the cover of the woods, Dar stumbled forward, then just as suddenly skidded to a halt in horror. He had come to a dead end!  The path he had been following ending in a jagged cliff, the raging waters of the river echoing from far below him.  A cold despair washed through him, and he could only stand, staring before him in horror.  Behind him, the loud sound of hooves drew near, then suddenly halted.

‘It is too late,’ Dar thought numbly, staring down at the river churning far below him.  ‘I have failed.’

Yet he would not go down easily.  He would fight, just as Legolas would fight.  Just as his father would fight if he were in this position!  Determination washed over his despair, and pulling the knife free from his belt where he had placed it earlier, he turned to face his pursuers.

He was too late.  The arrow came from nowhere, slamming into him and bringing with it an icy numbness.  Dar stumbled back, the knife slipping from his suddenly nerveless fingers, his mind blank with horror.

“No!” he whispered softly, before his feet slipped from the edge of the cliff and sent him plummeting down into darkness.

TBC 

 





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