Chapter 22    Friends of the Future, Foes of the Past

The little girl was positioned firmly on his lap, her tiny fist gripping a handful of his beard, her small head tilted back slightly so she could look up at him.   A mass of brown ringlets surrounded her small face, framing her tiny, doll like features, and large, sea green eyes.  Wonder and awe lit up her face, and the sparkle in her eyes reminded him very much of Legolas when the elf was up to a particularly mischievous prank.  Hardships and worries had yet to make a mark on this small child’s spirit, and she glowed with life and enthusiasm untainted. 

Gimli was very much aware of the fragile figure he held in his arms, and he was very careful not to make any sudden movements that might harm or frighten the small being.  Tension filled the room, so palpable it seemed to thicken the very air, but Gimli forced his body to remain relaxed and calm so as not to startle the child.

Kenson, however, held no such restraint.  At Del’s soft statement, the mayor of Calembel leapt to his feet, his chair toppling backward to land with a crash on the floor.  His face had drained of all color, and his body was taught with tension.

Both Del and Fandon seemed taken aback by their guest’s violent reaction, and Emnar and Edan moved to rise, their faces showing a mixture of worry and determination as they placed themselves between Kenson and their family.

“What boy?!” Kenson demanded, completely unaware of the new tension he had brought to the room.  “Tell me, what did he look like?  Did he tell you his name?  Was he with the men?  Where…”

“Sit down, Kenson,” Aragorn interrupted, his voice gentle but firm as he slowly rose from his chair. 

Kenson’s wild gaze swung to meet Aragorn’s, and he opened his mouth to argue, but the King did not give him a chance.

“We are guests here, and you are behaving rudely!  Calm yourself Kenson, and I am sure we will receive the answers to your questions.”

Gimli watched as Kenson visibly struggled to get a hold of his emotions.  “It is Dar,” the man whispered hoarsely.  “I know it!”

“Perhaps,” Aragorn said calmly, though Gimli could see the rigidity in his friend’s stance.  “Sit down,” he ordered for a second time, and this time Kenson obeyed, lifting his chair from the floor and sinking limply into it.

“I am sorry,” Kenson said softly, looking earnestly at Del and Fandon.  “I meant no harm, nor did I mean to frighten your family.  I have recently…lost my son, and I thought…well, I hoped,…that perhaps….”  Kenson trailed off slowly, throwing Aragorn a beseeching look.

“We think that the men who robbed us earlier, the men who came to your homestead, might have also taken Kenson’s son,” Aragorn explained quietly, his expression one of sadness.  “We were hoping that perhaps you might have seen him.”

Both Del and Fandon nodded, their faces sympathetic.  “I understand,” Del said softly to Kenson, quickly motioning Emnar and Edan back to their seats.  “No harm was done, and I suspect I would act the same way if one of my babies were taken from me.”

“Kenson looked up and offered a wavering smile of appreciation.  “He is my only child,” he explained in a choked voice.  “And if anything were to happen to him…”

“Perhaps you would care to tell us a little more about this boy?” Gimli suggested, interrupting that desolate thought.  His deep voice caused the little girl on his lap to let out a small giggle.

“Of course,” Fandon replied, “But perhaps Emnar and Edan should tell the story.  They are the ones who found him.”

All eyes turned to the two young men.

“We were coming up the river from the east,” Emnar began.  “Dad had sent us to Pharkson, the town down the river a ways, and we were on our way back.  It was about the same time those other fellows came and bothered everyone here at home.”

“The river was badly flooded,” Edan picked up the story.  “There was a lot of debris floating downstream, and the banks were completely under water.  Emnar and I stopped to water the horses at this one place where the bend in the river forms a slightly sheltered lagoon.  That is where we found him.  It was somewhat dark by this time, and at first we thought he was just a piece of timber swept downriver by the flood and caught in the lagoon.  Emnar was the first one who got close enough to see his clothes.”

“I about fainted dead away when I realized I was looking at a body,” Emnar broke in.  “He was laying half on shore, half in the water, and when Edan and I pulled him out, that was when I realized he was only a young man, no older than me.”

Gimli felt a horrible twisting sensation within the pit of his stomach, yet when the boys hesitated in their story, he forced himself to ask the question to which he knew Kenson was too afraid to speak.  “Was the boy dead?”

Emnar and Edan exchanged glances with their parents, and some hidden dialog seemed to pass between them.  Gimli frowned, wondering why they seemed so hesitant to answer the simple question.  Kenson appeared to have stopped breathing while waiting for one of the boys to speak, and both Gimli and Aragorn watched him with concern, uncertain what the man would do if the news was bad.  There had been nothing said so far that linked the boy in the river to Dar.  The only indication they had that it might be him was the fact that the men who had taken Dar and Legolas had passed this way.  Still, it seemed as if Kenson was positive the boy was his son, and Gimli could not deny his own strong suspicions toward the matter.

At last Edan turned back to his anxiously waiting guests.  “He was alive,” he said simply.  “We did not believe so at first, but then he moaned, and we…”

“Where is he?” Kenson interjected, leaping from his seat once more, though this time he had enough sense to catch the chair before it fell to the ground.  “Please, tell me where you brought him.”

“We brought him home, of course,” Emnar answered easily, though he kept a wary eye on Kenson.  “It was too far back to Pharkson, and we knew he needed to be warmed up and cared for fast or he would not survive.”

“He is here?” Aragorn asked, for it seemed as if Kenson was too startled by the thought to even speak.

“Upstairs,” Del admitted, jerking her head upwards.  “I have had some experience working under a healer, so I have cared for him the last few days.  Yet he is very ill, and I am not sure I have the skills required to help him much further than what I already have.”  Her tone was regretful and sad, and she looked at Kenson with pity.

“May I see him?” Kenson asked softly, a strange reserve coming over him now that he knew his son, in all likelihood, lay only a short distance away.

Del hesitated only a moment before nodding and rising from her chair.  “I will show them upstairs, Fandon,” she said to her husband.  “Why don’t you remain down here with the children.”

Fandon nodded, and Gimli rose then, effortlessly lifting the little girl in his arms.  Emnar smiled at him from across the table, then quickly moved around to take his sister, ignoring her whines of protest.

Gimli followed his companions to the back of the house, then up a short flight of steps that led to the upstairs hallway.  Del led them directly to a closed door, hesitated for a moment, then swung the heavy wood inward, revealing a small room with a single bed and washstand pressed against the far wall.  A chair had been pulled up close to the head of the bed, and the young girl Eleana, whom they had met earlier downstairs, was seated comfortably upon it.  She rose as they entered, and beyond her a limp form could be seen lying upon the bed, covered from toes to chin with a single, thick coverlet, head turned away from the door.

Kenson stumbled into the room and over to the bed, a small cry echoing from his throat as he recognized his son.  He moved to pull the limp form into his arms, but Aragorn reached out and firmly caught his arm. 

“Easy Kenson,” Aragorn whispered soothingly.  “We do not yet know the extent of his injuries.  You do not want to do him further harm, do you?”

Kenson let out a strangled sob, but he did not fight against Aragorn. 

Gimli moved forward and peered down at the form on the bed.  Dar’s face was gaunt and pale, and his breathing a low rasp heard clearly from across the room.  He appeared very sick, and Gimli casts a worried look at Aragorn. 

“Del,” Aragorn said softly.  “This is indeed Kenson’s son, and you are correct.  He is very ill.  However, I also trained under a very fine healer, and I believe I can help him.  Yet I will need your assistance.  I will examine him, but if you could tell me of the injuries you know of, it would help my attendance greatly.  I will also need to know how you have been caring for him and what herbs and medicines you have been using.”

Dell nodded, murmured something quietly to her daughter, then moved up next to Aragorn beside the bed.  Eleana turned and silently left the room

 “His most serious injury seems to be the wound on his side, where I removed the head of an arrow.”  Dell began slowly.  Aragorn glanced at her sharply, but she only moved forward and swept back the blanket covering Dar, revealing a chest bare but for a bandage wrapped tightly around the young man’s side.  “As you can see, he has no small amount of cuts and bruises from his trip down the river.” she continued quietly.  “Those were rather easy to care for.  The arrow in his side came out cleanly, but the shock of being shot, combined with the cold of the river has weakened him considerably.  His fever comes and goes, but I believe the sickness has entered his lungs, for he has trouble breathing, and sometimes he coughs most violently.”

As if to prove her words, the form on the bed let out a soft moan, followed by a short, raspy cough.

“Can you help him?” Kenson asked of Aragorn, crowding in close in an attempt to be near to his son.  He reached out a shaky hand and brushed it along Dar’s forehead.  The boy turned his head into the caress, as if seeking out the touch of his father, yet he did not open his eyes or show any other sign of regaining consciousness.

“I can help him,” Aragorn assured him, then reached out and grasped the man’s shoulder firmly.  “Yet I will need room to work.  Del must remain here to help me, but you and Gimli must leave.”

Kenson shook his head.  “I cannot leave him!” he gasped, seeming almost in a panic.  “What if something should happen while I am gone?  You cannot ask me to leave, Ar…”

“Kenson!” Aragorn said sharply, cutting the man off before he could reveal his real name.  “I will not allow your son to die.  You must trust me and give me room to work.”

Kenson looked rebellious, so Gimli moved forward and firmly grasped the man’s arm, causing him to start in surprise.  “Come Kenson.  The sooner we leave Strider to his task, the sooner he will be finished and you can return to your son’s side.”

Kenson still looked ready to argue, but he allowed Gimli to drag him to the door and out into the hall.  They both had time for one final glance into the room before the door swung firmly shut, blocking their view.

With a small sigh, Gimli led Kenson away from the room and back towards the steps leading downstairs.  Aragorn had a job to do, and he would do it.  In the meantime, Gimli has his own task to accomplish.

******

The barn doors swung open with a loud crack and a burst of icy air.  Captain Jeralk leapt to his feet and reached for the scabbard of his sword, aware of the men around him doing the same.  His hand tensed on the hilt, then just as quickly relaxed as the familiar stout form of Gimli stalked into the barn.

“Master Gimli,” he called out, stepping towards the dwarf.  “I had thought you would be staying…”  He trailed off as he caught sight of the expression on Gimli’s face, and instinctively his hand went back to the hilt of his sword.  “Where is the King?” he demanded.

Gimli did not answer, but without bothering to shut the doors behind him, he stalked forward angrily, his gaze fixed upon the small, bound figure sitting in the far corner of the barn under the watchful guard of two soldiers.

Delran saw the irate dwarf heading his direction and began squirming nervously, pushing himself backwards toward the end wall of the barn.  Where the small little man thought he was going to escape, Jeralk did not know, but he didn’t blame the man for trying.  Gimli looked ready to kill.

“YOU!” Gimli bellowed when he finally reached the man.  Delran let out a terrified squeal as the dwarf reached down and bodily lifted him from the floor, slamming him back against the barn wall with enough force to crack the wood.

“I’ve done nothing!” Delran screamed, wriggling wildly in an attempt to escape from the dwarf’s iron grasp.  “Please, I have done nothing!”

“I want to know who took Legolas and Dar, and I want to know where they were being taken.  NOW!!!”  Gimli continued to hold the thrashing form of Delran firmly against the wall.

“If I tell you, you will just kill me!” Delran argued stubbornly, though he continued to look terrified.

“I am going to kill you anyway,” Gimli growled, his hand tightening around Delran’s throat.

“Gimli,” Jeralk said warningly, taking a cautious step forward.  “Where is King Elessar?  Perhaps we should talk….”

Gimli shook his head, his hand tightening even further around Delran’s neck.

“You kill me and you will never see your friends alive again!” Delran gasped desperately.  “You are killing them!”

“He is right, Gimli,” Jeralk said desperately, moving forward and carefully touching the dwarf’s shoulder.  “Only he knows where we can find Dar and Prince Legolas.”

“Wrong!” Gimli said hotly, ignoring the rasping sound coming from Delran and the fact the man’s face was turning a lurid shade of purple.  “We have already found Dar!  It seems the men that took him shot him with an arrow, then threw him in the river to die!  For all we know, they could have done the same with Legolas, which means there is no reason to keep this lying, orc-scum alive.”

“No!”  The cry came as more of a gurgle.  “They wouldn’t have killed the elf.  Maybe the boy, but never the elf.  He was too important!”

Gimli scowled, but he did release some of the pressure on the other man’s neck so Delran could gulp in some air.  “I have no reason to believe you,” he said coldly, his glare deadly.  “You have to make me believe you, and the only way you can do that is to start talking!  Tell me everything, and if I even suspect you are lying to me, or leaving something out, I will kill you right now!”

Delran’s eyes were huge, and he glanced desperately around the barn as if seeking for some way to escape.  But in the end, there was no escape, and apparently he did want to live.  He started talking.

*****

“He already looks so much better.”

Aragorn finished securing the bandage around Dar’s side, then looked up and smiled at Eleana.  Del had left sometime during the night to see to putting her children to bed, and Eleana had replaced her mother at his side.  She was a silent and effective worker, ready and willing to help with whatever task he gave to her.  She was extremely shy, but as the hours had worn away, Aragorn had at last managed to get her to relax enough to talk with him.  She seemed quite knowledgeable when it came to the art of healing, and not once did he have to explain to her which herb he wanted at hand.  He had learned that she had played a large role in caring for Dar, nursing him during the day and night so her mother could devote time to the other children and the tasks of the house.  Eleana seemed to enjoy her role as caregiver, and she had shyly admitted to him that she dreamed of one day becoming a healer.

“He is breathing easier,” Aragorn admitted, “Yet we still must watch him closely.  The wet cloths on his chest need to be re-warmed every hour, and fresh evelsonce leaves crushed into the water basin as well.  This will help his breathing and his fever.  The most important thing is to watch the injury to his side and make sure his coughing does not tear the wound.  You saw how I cleansed it?  And the mixture of herbs I used?” He asked, briskly washing his hands in a basin of warm water.

Eleana nodded gravely.  She had watched his every move during the long hours of the night, and Aragorn somehow doubted she would forget a single detail.

“Good,” he said lightly.  “Use those same herbs on him every time you change the dressing, and if it begins to look infected, clean it the same way you saw me do it.”  Eleana nodded again, and Aragorn smiled at her.   “You and your mother did very well.”

She blushed at his inclusion of her in his compliment.  “He will live then?  You are certain?”

“Yes,” Aragorn said simply.  “He is a very strong young man.  He will live.”

A small moan sounded from the bed as Dar twisted slightly in his sleep.  Eleana dropped a hand to his forehead, and the boy immediately calmed beneath her soft touch.  “I will stay with him now if you like, Mr. Strider.” She offered quietly.  “I don’t mind.  Sometimes he has bad dreams, and it helps if I sing to him.”

Aragorn smiled.  “That will be fine, Eleana.  Thank you for your help.”

She blushed again and quickly dropped her gaze.  Aragorn watched as she moved a chair to the side of the bed then reached out and took Dar’s hand in her own, speaking to him in a low, soothing whisper.  He turned and left the room quietly, content that his patient was under good care.

He was not surprised to find Kenson and Gimli awake and waiting for him in the downstairs dining room, though it was nearing the early hours of dawn.  Fandon was slumped in a large chair in front of the hearth, the book he had carried earlier resting atop his chest.  The low rumble of his snores occasionally echoed through the room.  It was obvious he had felt uncomfortable leaving his guests unattended, yet at the same time been unable to keep himself awake.

Kenson leapt to his feet as Aragorn entered the room, and only some quick maneuvering on Gimli’s part kept the man’s chair from crashing to the floor and waking everyone in the house.  Gimli glared up at him, but Kenson was paying no attention, intent upon only one thing.

“How is he Aragorn?  May I go and see him now?”  The mayor of Calembel demanded anxiously.

Aragorn motioned Kenson to keep his voice down so as to not wake Fandon, then replied in a low whisper.  “He is doing well Kenson.  He will be fine.  Yes, you may go and see him, but try to let him rest.  Do not try to wake him.”

Kenson nodded his agreement, then darted past Aragorn and up the stairs.  Aragorn shook his head wearily, then sunk into a chair next to Gimli.  “You should have tried to get some rest Gimli,” he admonished the dwarf softly.  “The next few days promise to be very long and tiring.”

Gimli snorted.  “You think Kenson was about to lay down and sleep.  Someone was needed to keep him from breathing down your neck every few seconds!  I am telling you, the man has lost all sense.”

“Can you blame him?” Aragorn whispered, wondering how he would react if it were his son lying upstairs.  This only led to thoughts of his lost baby, and he quickly forced his mind to other matters.

“No,” Gimli said quietly.  “I would most likely act the same way were it Legolas up there.  Still, it is quite exasperating!”

Aragorn let out a mirthless laugh.  “So what do we do now, my friend.”

Gimli regarded Aragorn calmly, then shrugged his shoulders casually.  “I suppose we go on to Norvil, find the man named Servius, rescue Legolas, and end this nightmare once and for all!”

Aragorn jerked upright, staring down at the dwarf in surprise.  “What have you learned, Gimli?” he asked excitedly, ignoring the smug twinkle in his friend’s eyes.

“Everything,” Gimli replied smugly.  “At least everything that stinking pile of orc guts, Delran, knew.”

“Tell me,” Aragorn demanded, leaning forward and remembering to lower his voice only at the last moment.  He listened intently as the dwarf spoke, feeling his anger growing within him.  By the time Gimli finished speaking, Aragorn’s hands were shaking with a mixture of frustration and rage.

“So they never intended to take Dar,” he murmured disgustedly.  “He was only a tool to be used to control Legolas.  And obviously they decided they didn’t need him any longer, so they just rid themselves of him.”

“Perhaps,” Gimli said quietly.  “Yet I find it more likely that he was injured while trying to escape.  If they had wanted to kill him, they could have easily slit his throat before throwing him in the river.  The arrow to his side indicates he might have been hit while on the run.”

Aragorn nodded.  “Still, I do not like it.  In either case, Legolas would not have sat idly.  He would have tried to help Dar. I dread to think what methods they would turn to in order to control him once Dar was gone.”

Gimli’s face darkened, and his hands balled into tight fist, yet he said nothing.

“Did you find out anything more on this Servius?” Aragorn at last asked, pushing down his own rising waves of anger and fear.

Gimli shook his head.  “Delran knew very little about him.  Only that he was a Guildmaster who was paying them a lot of money to bring Legolas to him.”

Aragorn swore softly.  “Well at least we know they aren’t going to kill Legolas if we don’t make it there exactly on time.  Now we merely have to plan how we are going to go in and rescue him.”

“It will be just you and me,” Gimli pointed out quietly.  “We cannot ask Kenson to leave now, after he has finally found his son and the boy is so grievously injured.  He will still come if you ask it of him, but I am not sure if he would be more hindrance than help at the moment.  He is extremely worried for Dar, and though you assure him the lad will be fine, he will not be convinced until he sees for himself.”

“Kenson will not be coming with us,” Aragorn agreed.  “We will have Captain Jeralk and the men, but they must follow from a distance and under disguise once we cross the border.  Gondorian soldiers will not be welcome in Khand.  Nor will they be able to enter the town with us.  I am afraid you are right.  We are on our own.”

Gimli sighed.  “The snow has already died down a bit.  With any luck we will be able to leave here sometime today.  Emnar and Edan have offered to guide us to a good crossing a few miles downstream.  The believe the Harod Crossing will be impassible.”

Aragorn nodded.  “We were lucky to find them,” he said sincerely, glancing over to where Fandon still slept peacefully.  “They have helped us in so many way, and will continue to help us.  You must help me think of a proper repayment for them when this is all over.”

Gimli only smiled, and the two sat in companionable silence for several long minutes while outside the snow continued to fall.

*******

Everything was dark.

Whether Legolas closed his eyes or kept them open, the blackness remained the same, pressing in on him like some unwanted lover forcing attention upon his battered body.  He could not escape it any more than he could escape the strange illness that had laid claim upon him, and his spirit quailed beneath the fierce forces of fear and despair.  The iron bars of the cage held him prisoner as his own mind turned against him, conjuring up nameless horrors that flitted through the darkness outside his cage, laughing and taunting him for his terror.

He had managed to free his hands from their bonds, leaving his wrist chafed and bleeding, and now he gripped the bars of his cage and fought the urge to weep.  The pain in his body refused to recede or relinquish its grip upon him in the slightest, and his form trembled violently in the onslaught of inescapable agony.  He could no longer control the shaking of his limbs nor did he have the strength to try.  It felt as if he had been trapped within the dark cage for days, and try as he might he could not force his tortured mind to believe otherwise.  His captors had forgotten about him, had left him to slowly die alone within this horrible darkness.  Brief thoughts of his companions, Gimli and Aragorn, offered him some semblance of peace, for he had faith that they would come to rescue him.  Yet these thoughts were slowly being overcome by the shadows dancing around him, and despite his desperate attempts he could not keep hold of them.

‘Greetings Prince Legolas.’

The familiar voice drifted from the shadows somewhere to the right of his cage, and Legolas’ entire body flinched in terror.

‘It has been too long since I have had the pleasure of tasting  your pain,’ the voice whined cruelly.  ‘Let me taste your blood, Prince.’

“No,” Legolas whimpered softly, attempting to squeeze his eyes shut and will away the new demon who had come to haunt him.  “You are not real.”

‘Aren’t I?’  The voice mocked coldly. 

Legolas’ breath was coming in sharp gasps, his hand clutching wildly at his chest where the faint traces of a scar, faded but not gone, marred the smooth flesh.  His stomach heaved, attempting to empty itself of contents it did not contain, and Legolas gagged repeatedly.

Malek laughed at him from the darkness, stepping closer to the cage to better view his misery.

‘I brought you some friends, Legolas,’  the creature taunted, black shadows shifting all around him.  Orcs stepped from those shadows, brandishing whips and sharply curved daggers, their grins eager and hungry.

“NO!” Legolas cried, flinching back against the bars of his cage.  “Ai, Elbereth, not again! Please not again!”

A whip cracked, and Legolas’ body jerked in pain.  The scar on his chest began to burn fiercely.  His mind swam in panic, and all thoughts that this was not real, that he was in fact dreaming, faded like water under a scorching sun.  More whips cracked, and Legolas fought against the screams building in his throat.

‘I have to escape!’

The desperate thought flittered through the shadows of his mind, filled with desperation and a hint of something else: madness.

‘You are ours now, Legolas.  There is no escape!’

This time, Legolas could not stop the scream.

TBC

I must offer special thanks to Ithilien (my beta :)), Thundera Tiger, and M.N. Theis, whose works never cease to inspire me, and who never hesitate to offer me encouragement.  And also Mari, who makes me fly!  Thanks guys!  You are the greatest!