Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 23
- 24
- 25
Chapter 24 - On Open Plains

Legolas burst through the main doors of the royal stable, making Eowyn jump out of her skin. Her helm, two sizes too big, fell forward over her eyes, and she scrambled to recover her sight, relieved that it was Legolas at last.
“You went back for that blasted book, didn’t you?” she berated him, “Damnit, Legolas, of all the idiotic, careless—”
Legolas rushed towards her, grabbing her arm and pulling her along with him, “No time to talk about it. We’ll have company soon.”
As she was dragged along the length of the stable, she noticed that he was out of uniform, “Where’s your vest? How do you expect to walk through the city unnoticed?”
“Oh, don’t suppose we’ll be able to take that nice walk now. Grima’s men are on their way.”
“What?!” she exclaimed.
They had reached the opposite end of the stable. It was primarily used for housing extra hay, and there was an open room where equipment hung. Legolas knew there was a back door in the storage room, and he dragged Eowyn in there, stopping to catch his breath. He took a moment to observe Eowyn in her makeshift armor, ill fitting, but done well enough not to raise suspicions. He smiled and lifted the helm from her head, then smoothed her messy hair from her face, “Don’t let anyone find you dressed like this … Dernhelm,” he said, adding the last part with humor in his voice.
Eowyn found nothing humorous about their situation, but Legolas had always been able to switch his behavior much too easily. He did this now as his smile disappeared and his eyes darkened, “Listen to me, Eowyn. You must stay away from Grima, and never allow yourself to be caught alone with him. He’s very dangerous, and he’s playing with magic that he should never be allowed to touch.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked with her brow furrowed in concern.
“Grima wears a ring, a horse’s head with ruby eyes. It’s a vessel of some kind, and contains a white powder that he gives to Théoden. He’s not only poisoning the King, he is assisting Saruman the White. Together they ruin Rohan.”
“Did you see this, Legolas?”
“I saw Théoden speak, but it was not his voice that came from his mouth. Something dark has befallen the King. He is sealed in a spell, one that I am not sure anyone can free him from, unless Saruman can be dealt with.” Legolas paused when he heard a noise from the front of the stable, but it was only a cat knocking something from the windowsill. He turned back to Eowyn and continued, “Grima will know by now that I’ve escaped. Do not let him know you had anything to do with it. I fear what wrath he may set upon you.” He put his hand on his stomach and winced, “I’ve already seen his wrath.”
“Legolas, you must get to Eomer or Théodred. Tell them what you’ve told me,” she said, her words rushing together in haste.
“I already plan on doing that. Théodred will know what to do. I won’t be surprised if all Rohan’s forces are sent to Isengard. One way or another, we’ll get Théoden back.”
There were distant voices, Legolas could hear them with his heighten senses. He looked up and away, listening to their urgency, “They’re coming. I must go, but … Eowyn … I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to return to Edoras.”
Eowyn smiled, but her eyes still held the fear she felt in her heart, “You’ll return. I know you will. Grima’s lies will be exposed, and you’ll be cleared of this wrong doing.” By now, the guards were close enough that Eowyn could hear them, “Go! Hurry!”
Legolas kissed her forehead and turned for the door, but Eowyn called out to him and he stopped, “I almost forgot.” She pulled a small jar from inside her vest and handed it to Legolas, “For your wounds.” She laid her hand over his and looked up into his face, taking in every feature and setting it to memory. Then she released him and he turned to the door, “Oh, and Arod is near the woods, at least I hope he is.”
With all the excitement, Legolas had forgotten about medicine for the slashes across his chest. The blood on his shirt had dried to a dark brown, and the cotton material had stiffened. He took the jar and stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers. Then he tucked his book under his arm and bowed to Eowyn. Without another word, Legolas exited through the door, leaving Eowyn on her own, and hoping she would be alright. Before he got too far, he looked back to find her standing in the doorway, “Remember your training, Shield maiden of Rohan,” he called over his shoulder, and disappeared between buildings.
* * *
“Over there! There he is,” someone shouted from behind.
Legolas had been weaving his way between houses and stores, trying to make his way out of the city. He had stopped behind a baker’s shop, but had stayed too long, and someone glimpsed him. Off he went, dashing behind another store, stopping, checking his surroundings, and sprinting to the next refuge. The guards were catching up. There were several men flanking left and a few to the right. They were trying to cut off his path and corner him. It seemed to be working too. Legolas’ chest was bleeding again, though less than before. It still hurt tremendously, and slowed him down, but he must keep going.
He was running once more, this time between thatched houses. There were more obstacles in his way, fences, wood pilings, hay stacks. More obstacles for his pursuers too, he thought, and more places to hide when the guards got too close. Legolas was hiding behind a stack of hay bales, listening as booted feet ran past him, but he misjudged the timing. When he jumped out of his hiding place, he ran right into one of Grima’s men. They locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity, neither one sure what to do. Legolas noticed that the man had olive skin, thick black eyebrows, and he was missing several teeth. Dunlendings, the elf thought. So that’s who Grima was able to sway into joining his cause. Of course, it all made sense. Ancient enemies of Rohan, they still held a grudge for something that happened generations before. Similarly built, they could easily blend into Rohirric society and pass as men from the Westfold.
The man opened his mouth to shout his findings, but Legolas butted him with his head, and the man stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.
“Hey!” someone shouted, and Legolas looked up to see another guard rushing towards him, sword in hand.
Legolas took off once more, and didn’t look back. He knew the men were following him.
He finally made it to the storage area of Edoras where a row of feed sheds stood close to the protective wall of the city. He was almost there, to that secret place where he, Théodred and Eomer used to come to escape city life … where he used to bring Lúta so they could disappear from suspicious eyes, and find refuge within the small stand of trees. He’d never thought it would mean his escape from certain death.
Legolas could hear the men behind him, shouting to each other as well as anyone they passed, recruiting some of the villagers along the way. Escapee, they shouted. Stop the prisoner, others yelled. Legolas ducked behind one shed to catch his breath. He looked around, spotted the board with the giant knot missing, and counted ten over. That was it! That’s where the loose board was. That was his escape.
He made a mad dash for it, reached his arm out as he approached, but he was suddenly hit in the head and knocked to the ground. He saw his book skip across the ground and come to rest beside a large barrel. His head was spinning, as tiny sparks flashed before his eyes, and he was afraid he might black out. Was it a guard then? Had they managed to catch him?
The sun was high and shining down upon him, but now he was cast in shadow. All Legolas could see was the black silhouette of a man blocking out the sun behind his broad form. He could tell that the man wasn’t in uniform. He wore a loose shirt and field pants … a farmer, not one of the armed guards.
Legolas shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium. The guards were close.
“You’re that prisoner they’re shouting about,” the man stated, his voice low so no one would hear.
Legolas nodded. There was nothing else he could do. His fate was in this man’s hands, “They’ll kill me on the spot if they reach me. Will you have my blood on your hands, Sir?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I got my hands dirty,” the man said grimly. He shifted his weight, and cocked his head to one side, “Why should I help you?”
“I don’t ask for help, Sir, just that you not interfere,” Legolas pleaded.
The farmer said nothing, nor did he move an inch, but his black silhouette hovered above the elf like a Doomsman. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I’ve heard all the talk, heard what they say about what you did. I have a daughter, you know, and I couldn’t help myself thinking. What if it had been her? What might I do to a man who’d molested her? I’ve never had to think of that before now. Rohan has always felt safe for me and my own. Now, it feels that the evil that dwells beyond these walls has seeped inside, and none of us are safe.”
There was more truth to that statement than the man could know, but it was not Legolas who had brought the evil. However, he would not say it aloud. The farmer was not concerned about anyone but Legolas at the moment. He could claim is innocence, but would that matter? It was his word against the beliefs of a whole village. The odds were against him.
“You have one thing in your favor though,” the farmer continued, “I know a few things about your kind. I’m not ignorant to other races, and I know that it should not be within you to do such blasphemy. But then, the same thing could be said about murdering your own kind, and as legend has it, murder has happened between elves. Kinslaying they called it, and because of that, I know that the elvish heart can be subject to corruption.”
Legolas’ head was not swimming anymore, and he got to one knee, but he did not stand. He remained subservient to the farmer. Meanwhile, the shouts of the guards were closing in on him, “I have played witness to corruption, though it has not bent my will. I am of strong mind. I know the truth of my convictions, and should you hand me to the guards and I’m hung, then I will die knowing I will be judged properly before my own.” Legolas remained on his knee, and bent his head, “You see me as a threat, and I am not sure that I can convince you otherwise, Sir.” Legolas gave an audible sigh, “Alright then, my life in exchange for the assurance that your daughter might be safe.”
They remained silent as the shouts of the guards came closer. Finally, the man reached out a hand to Legolas. The elf looked at the offered hand, seeing the years of callouses upon the worn palm. Then he took it, and the man helped him to his feet. With the sun no longer obscuring his vision, he could see the man better. He was aged, though probably not as old as he looked, with deep set lines across his forehead and around his mouth and eyes. His skin was brown and leathery from years of working beneath the open skies. But it was his eyes, that Legolas noticed most, and the one thing he concentrated on now. The man had a look of honesty and pride about him, and he hoped he would judge Legolas justly.
“Did you do it? Did you rape that woman?” the man asked bluntly.
Legolas did not look away from the man’s weathered eyes. He did not blink and barely breathed as he answered, “No, Sir, I did not,” he answered, each word stated precise and clear.
After another long silence, the man nodded his head once, “Go on then. I’ll tell ‘em you’ve not come this direction.”
Legolas never broke his stare with the man, and it was the farmer who turned first, walking away as if they’d never spoken to each other. Legolas wanted to thank him, to do something for sparing his life, but he knew the man wanted no such gratitude. Instead, he retrieved his book, turned to the wall and sprinted to the loose board.
“You there, man, have you seen him?” Legolas heard a guard shout to the old farmer, but he never heard the answer. The man spoke softly, but he knew what he’d say. The sound of men running, their armor clanking as they went, moved further away.
Legolas pushed the board aside and slipped through the wall.
* * *
There were no guard towers in this area of the wall, and as they were positioned, a person could not be seen if they stayed close to the wall. Venture out towards the plains, and someone would definitely be spotted.
Legolas cautiously made his way along the outer wall of the city, remembering what Eowyn said about Gamling ‘taking care of the wall guards.’ That plan might have been ruined once the news of Legolas’ escape was known. Security would double for sure, and he had taken longer than accounted for. For now, he just concentrated on getting to Arod. The horse was somewhere close to the small forest, packed and ready to go. Legolas knew he had one of the swiftest horses in Rohan. If no one was right on his tail, he could ride off quickly and get some distance between him and the guards who would no doubt come searching for him.
He thought about that a moment. Eowyn had told him to go to her brother. Legolas was beginning to think that wasn’t a good idea. Surely, Grima would send his men out to Aldburg, thinking that Legolas would naturally go there to hide or ask for help from Eomer. For the same reasons, he shouldn’t go to Théodred’s station at the Fords of Isen either. But they needed to know what was happening to Théoden. They needed to know what he saw … the horse ring and the powder, the strange possession by Saruman, and the warrant on both of their heads, should either Eomer or Théodred step foot in the city again. Eowyn said she had sent Gellír—the young boy she employed at her uncle’s house—with a message of warning to Eomer, but he’d never returned. Legolas paused his thoughts a moment to say a word of protection for the boy, and then resumed his planning.
Perhaps he shouldn’t go straight to either camp. He could instead hide on the outskirts and see what was happening within. He was blessed with the stealth of the elves and could easily observe without being seen. He’d move by night, take refuge by day. He needed to know that his friends’ minds weren’t overridden as Théoden’s was, or that they were still in command of their armies. No use walking into a trap that he was sure he would not be able to get out of.
The Gap of Rohan, where Théodred patrolled, seemed to be the wisest choice about where to go first. He was, after all, the Prince, and notifying the King’s son seemed of utmost importance. Word could be sent to Eomer once Legolas found things well at Théodred’s camp. It would be easier to hide there too, while he made his assessments before exposing his whereabouts. There were rocky outcrops scattered here and there that would offer better harborage. Besides, Eomer was often absent from Aldburg, taking to roaming the countryside in search of orc armies. The possibility of finding Eomer at his camp was slim, and Legolas needed to relay his information. Théodred, however, had once said that his own men were under assault often, and therefore, he would not venture far from his post.
By the time Legolas reached the stand of trees, he’d made up his mind to go to the west and seek out Théodred, just as soon as he found his horse. It did not take long, though. Arod was standing along the edge of the trees, grazing on a patch of wild grass. His ears twitched and lay back as he listened to the sound of approaching feet. Legolas gave a familiar whistle, and the horse raised its head.
“Arod,” he called, but not too loud, “Na vedui!” At last!
Arod whickered softly, nodded his head up and down, and stomped his front foot on the leaf littered ground with joyful reception.
Legolas smiled and patted the horse’s neck and shoulders, “I’ve missed you too.” He looked over the saddle and the bags; it was just as Eowyn had said.
“Packed and ready, I see,” he said as he checked the saddle’s straps, finding them secure. He opened one of the bags and found his elvish attire all neatly packed, and wondered whether he should dress first, but decided not to. Instead, he put his book, which he managed to keep safe during his escape, into the bag and buckled it back. Legolas was still partly dressed in Rohirrim attire that might help disguise him as he made away from Edoras. Once he was within sight of the wall guards, though, he would be exposed and would deal with the results later. Had Gamling succeeded in getting the guards to look away as he rode out? Only time would tell—that and any shouts that his exquisite hearing might pick up.
He mounted, but not as gracefully as was normal for an elf. The wounds on his chest burned and itched now, and he feared septicity. Elves healed quicker than humans did, but they were susceptible to infection without the aid of medicines, especially wounds that had gone long without care. No time, he thought to himself. He would just have to suffer the pain until he thought it was safe to stop for a reprieve. For now, all he could think about was getting as far from Edoras and Grima as possible. With that thought, Legolas took up his bow and quiver, carefully attached to the saddle gear, as well as his two long knives, and strapped his weapons to his person. He had no doubt he would put these to use before too long.
Legolas looked around the small forest, finding the large old oak with the makeshift ladder rungs nailed to its trunk. He looked up into the tree’s canopy, knowing the old flet was still up there, somewhere well hidden from sight. He gave a quick thought of Théodred, Eomer and himself as youths, hiding in the tree with their lot of stolen goods, usually dried meats and ale, or better beverage … if they happened to be lucky. Those were such good days with his adopted brothers, free of worry and war. Their only concern was getting out of the tree without breaking bones after consuming their loot and feeling gloriously inebriated.
Then, his thoughts turned to Lúta, and their precious time spent alone together in the safety of the tree, seizing the joy of desire and young love, satisfying curiosity and craving.
Legolas found himself, yet again, on the verge of another journey. Well, he thought, he could not stay in Rohan forever, now could he? He would have liked to leave on better terms, but—
Before his thoughts turned dark from recent events that led to his current situation, Legolas turned his vision from the tree, to the open plain that lay before him. He took a deep breath, said a silent word to Béma that he might watch over him, as well as his friends, and gave Arod the signal to move forward. Horse and rider charged out from the tree line, a spray of dirt and grass in their wake.
* * *
Legolas was not surprised to hear shouts in the distance, but glanced over his shoulder anyways. He was too far away to make out faces, but he could see silver helms glittering in the sun, and see guards pointing in his direction before calling to other men. Word spread like fire through dry grass, and figures rushed back and forth. Grima’s men would follow soon. Legolas could see in his mind, the men flying from the main gates in pursuit. He leaned forward, feeling as though this made Arod run swifter, “Hortho!” he commanded in his native tongue. Hurry!
He felt Arod’s muscles tighten and his speed increase. There was nothing for it now. Legolas was out on the open plains with no protection, save his own. He seethed as he thought of Grima and all he had done to ruin him. Yet, like a coward, the witless man left it up to others to fight for him, to chase him down and kill him. Had Grima ordered them to bring his lifeless body back as proof or perhaps a fresh scalping of long flaxen hair that the old worm would display to the villagers as a means of dissuasion?
“You’ll not get Rohan,” Legolas murmured into the rushing wind. “I’ll come for you, Grima.”
He allowed another glance back at the shrinking city, and was struck with awe at the sight of the gilded roof of Meduseld shining under the bright cloudless sky. Edoras still looked strong and proud from a distance. From this view, it hadn’t yet tarnished, not like the hearts and minds of some of its people. Most people still held out hope for the return of their ailing king. The glittering of that thatched roof filled Legolas with need to see things set straight.
Something else caught his eye, before he turned from his adoptive home, a cloud of dust that soon elongated and moved in his direction. Grima’s men had been sent out, and they would chase him until he was caught. Legolas released his bow from its holder and grasped it tightly in his hand. The pursuit was on then.
The first arrow almost went by unnoticed. The rushing of wind in Legolas’ ears nearly drowned the sound of the arrow whizzing by. It had gone far to the left though, and he caught sight of a brown fletching as it passed. Legolas reached over his shoulder and brought one of his own arrows to his bow, twisted at the waist, and looked behind. Before firing, he counted heads. There seemed to be about eight men behind him. Only eight, he thought. That must have been all that Grima could spare. Legolas laughed to himself as he brought his bow up and aimed, “Eight who will not return to their master.”
He stood in his stir ups and steadied his upper body as he’d been taught. Firing a bow was difficult. Firing a bow while riding horseback took skill and expertise, and Legolas was an accomplished bowman. He proved that by lodging an arrow in the neck of his first victim. The man slipped from his ride, the lifeless body tumbling, arms and legs tangling as he rolled and came to a stop. His riderless horse veered away from the group, slowed and fell back. The rest, he could see, urged their horses to quicken and began slowly closing the distance.
Legolas turned to the front, laid his hand upon Arod’s neck and calmly gave him orders to be swift. The horse’s ears tightened down, and Legolas felt him adjust his breathing in time with his quickening steps. The elf hunched down, contouring to the horse’s back and neck to lessen his resistance to the wind, and felt themselves pull away from their enemies.
Rider and horse were feeling the advantage, quite sure they were gaining ground, when suddenly, Arod’s whole body shifted, almost throwing Legolas off. The animal began to slow, favoring his right side. He had stumbled for some reason, and Legolas thought he had picked up a stone in his foot. Arod was a determined horse, though, and tried to keep up his pace. There was no use running him to further injury, and Legolas spoke again, in his elvish voice, “It’s alright, Arod. Let them catch us up. I’ll just have to deal with them.” He looked back and could see the remaining men closing the distance. Arod continued to run as best he could, still favoring his injured foot, but slowing.
Legolas prepared his bow, nocked an arrow, rose in his stir ups, turned and fired. Another man down, tangled in the straps of his saddle and dangling from his horse, limp as a dead fish.
“Six to go,” Legolas said to himself, and he aimed again. The next few shots missed their intended targets. Arod was not running as well as before, and his movements made it difficult to aim straight. The next arrow seemed to hit someone in the upper arm, but the man merely pulled it free, and continued the pursuit. More loosed arrows and more missed shots. He was running out of ammunition, and the guards were catching him. Legolas made the decision to let them do just that. Better to fight them now with his knives and save his last few arrows. Just as he made his decision, there was a stinging sensation along the outside of his thigh. An arrow had narrowly missed him, slicing through his skin. His pants were cut and blood formed along the ragged edges. He turned to see one of the men raise his bow, determined not to miss his next shot. Legolas grabbed one more arrow, and with lightning speed fired before the armed guard could shoot, knocking the man from his horse. That made five now, better odds.
There was one man who seemed to be the leader of the guards, dressed all in black … nothing resembling Rohan. These were Grima’s men though, and they dressed as they liked. Legolas could see the man’s long black curly hair flowing as he raced towards him. All of these guards looked similar with black hair and beards. The elf wondered how Grima managed to lure these foreign men to do his bidding. He was sure they were Dunlendings educated by Grima and possibly Saruman, to blend in with the Rohirrim, maybe pose as refugees from the Fold.
The leader called to his left and then to his right. Two men fell out of formation and broke from the remaining guards. Legolas kept his eye on them, turning frequently in the saddle to see what they were doing. To his surprise, they flanked to the left and kept heading westward. Why, Legolas wondered to himself. They had been running for some distance, and he hadn’t paid much attention to which direction he had been going. Then he realized that, during the pursuit, they distracted him and forced him to take a more northerly path than he wanted. Of course, they knew he was heading towards the Gap of Rohan, and they purposefully chased him off course. The two men who broke away were traveling in that direction. They would get there before he could, and alert any more spies of Grima’s. There was no way he could get to Théodred without first encountering the Dunlendings first. It was at this point that Legolas realized they never meant to capture him and bring him back to Rohan. Their instructions were to kill, insuring that Legolas would not get to Théodred or Eomer and tell them about the things he had seen. Well then, where would he go? He was too far north to turn and head for Aldburg, and the Fords would be teaming with Saruman’s men, including orcs, no doubt. He would have to take his chances and fight off the three men following him.
The remaining riders discarded their bows and drew their swords. Legolas fastened his bow to its place on the saddle and pulled both of his long knives from their sheath that hung next to his quiver. A sword would have been better. His knives, though very deadly, did not have the reach of a sword, and he wasn’t too inclined to getting close enough to one of the guards in order to use his weapons. If anything, he could deflect their attacks. He would just have to make the best with what he had to fight with.
The first guard moved alongside Legolas, and brought his horse close. He struck out with his sword. Legolas evaded the man’s swing with one of his knives, and metal scraped metal. He felt like his movements were unnaturally slow because of his injuries, but he fought with everything he had, and blocked every move. He finally saw his chance to strike, and as the man lifted his sword, Legolas slashed at his leg. The guard yelled out in agony, but his sword continued on its downward path and sliced along Legolas’ arm. The cut felt deep, but the elf ignored it as best as he could and struck again, this time thrusting his knife into the man’s side. The guard slumped forwards and grabbed onto his horses mane, which made the horse veer away from Arod.
The leader called to the second man, who moved up and took the place of the injured guard. His eyes trained on Legolas and he smiled wickedly, with yellow teeth set in an evil sneer. Legolas’ left arm was weakened because of the cut, but it wasn’t useless. Still, he could feel his chest wounds opening, scabs tearing once more. He regretted not using the last of his arrows, but was in no position to retrieve his bow now. Again, the second guard laughed and struck out, narrowly missing Legolas’ neck. Arod, thank Béma, had flanked to the right, and the man’s sword caught one of the saddlebags. This gave Legolas an idea, and he glanced down to the saddle straps of the second guard’s horse, and then back to the man. Both horses and riders moved towards each other once more. Legolas waited until the man was within range, and had his sword positioned to strike. The elf sat up straight, making sure that he seemed a suitable target. The guard swung at Legolas’ neck for a second time, but the elf ducked and leaned partly out of his saddle. Very quickly and with precision, he reached out with his long knife and sliced through the strap. He looked up to see the shock on the second guards face as he started to slip, saddle and all, from the horses back. He hit the ground quite hard, rolling as dirt and rocks sprayed up around him. Then he came to a stop and did not move.
Legolas laughed, pleased with his method of ridding himself of another one of Grima’s men, but took a little too long with his victory. He hadn’t seen the leader fall back and reemerge on the other side, but he knew something was not right when he heard the thunder of hooves to his right. He spun around just in time to find the remaining man leaping from his horse and launching himself at his person. Legolas tried to bring his long knives around in time to stick the last guard through the chest, but was too late. Strong muscular arms latched on to Legolas, pinning his arms to his sides. He felt himself slipping from Arod’s back, and tried desperately to grab the horn of the saddle or his horse’s mane, anything that would keep him from falling. It was no use, and both man and elf fell. With only one option left, Legolas let go and stopped struggling, which insured that the man, who was clamped on tight, fell first.
It might as well have been a fall from a cliff, Legolas noted, as they seemed to fall forever in slow motion. They both hit the ground violently, Legolas using the guard as a buffer against the sudden impact with the hard ground. Then he was free from his captor, and rolling in the dry dirt. He did his best to remember his arms and legs, and tucked himself into a ball, though he still felt he was flailing about. When he finally came to a stop, he laying on his stomach, and could feel all of the new scrapes and bruises that added to his previous wounds. He didn’t move right away, afraid that he might not be able to move at all. But when he heard a moan, he forced his arms to move and raised himself up to look. The last man was struggling to his feet, though he was stumbling and fell twice before he could stand. Legolas took a quick look around, scanning the scene. Arod was some distance away, but he had stopped running. The other horse hadn’t stopped and was running on without his rider. There was nothing around, as they were still out on the wide open plains. Nothing but dry dirt and the occasional outcrop of rocks surrounded them. His knives were lost somewhere, and he hoped the same could be said for the man’s sword.
Legolas looked at him again. He was on his feet now, limping badly, but making his way towards Legolas. The elf willed his body to get up from the ground. Everything throbbed, from his head to his feet, with old and new wounds, bruises, bumps and a possible sprain to is left ankle. But he stood and anchored himself, watching to see what his enemy had in mind to do. Even badly beaten as he was, Legolas was still a force to reckon with. He was an elf after all, and could find strength to draw on that which he did not know existed.
The man stopped and straightened his back, looked Legolas directly in his eyes and smiled, “You die now, Elf,” he said with a heavy accent. Dunlending to be sure, Legolas noted.
“If I die, it will not be by your hands,” Legolas answered with a sinister tone, “Nor by the hands of your master.”
The guard laughed, which turned into a flinch of pain, “Maybe not, but there are more on their way, and for sure they will see you dead.”
Legolas recollected the two men who stopped their pursuit and headed towards the Gap of Rohan. If this was true, there wouldn’t be much time for the elf to make an escape and put distance between him and the next wave of enemies.
Something caught his eye to the right of him, a flash in the sun … one of his knives. It was too far to retrieve. Then he heard the cry of a horse … Arod. Legolas gave a short sharp whistle and smiled arrogantly to the man, “At least I still have a horse.”
The man reached into his black boot, and pulled out a small dagger, returning a smile, “And at least I still have a weapon. You’ll be dead before your mangy horse can get close enough.”
Legolas kept his gaze on the man, but could still see beyond him. Arod was running in their direction, coming to the aid of his rider. The elf cocked his head to the side and stared at the tall man dressed in black, “I still have a weapon too.”
The Dunlending looked in the direction of Legolas’ long knife shimmering in the light of the sun. Then he looked at Legolas’ ankle, which he seemed to be favoring, “You’ll never make it that far before I cut your throat.”
“Oh no, not that weapon,” Legolas replied.
The man looked at the elf, confused by his meaning, “What—”
Before he could finish, Legolas shouted, “Arod, Sí!” Now!
The man turned in time to see the great grey horse towering above him, and rearing up on its hind legs. The guard cried out with alarm and raised his hands, as if to ward off his equestrian attacker. Arod’s front hooves were thrusting out at the man, who fell to the ground. The horse stomped on his victim, cracking ribs and fracturing other bones.
“Enough!” Legolas yelled, and Arod stopped his attack, though he was still quite agitated, whinnying and thrashing his head about.
The man was curled up on his side, moaning and cowering. Legolas walked up to him, and stood there a moment, watching him, “Tell Grima he has not seen the last of me. I will return to Rohan and see him cast from Edoras for committing treason.”
Legolas left the man lying on the ground and went to Arod. After checking the horse’s feet, and indeed finding a stone wedged uncomfortably into one of his hooves, Legolas was ready to set off again. He usually would have leapt onto his horse with hardly any effort, but his body was beaten and bruised. Instead, he carefully climbed into the saddle, and with a light whickering from Arod, they started out, stopping to retrieve his belongings that had been scattered from the fight. Legolas found both of his long knives, and the contents from the spilled saddlebag, which was mostly his food supply. With everything gathered and put away, he paused and looked towards the west. Legolas knew he could not go to Théodred now. Scouts had been sent in that direction. Grima’s men would be looking for him, and he could not fight them off alone. What he needed most now, was some descent rest and time to heal. He knew he had a reasonable head start, but still, there was no time to linger. He urged Arod into a gallop, and rode northward without any idea of where he was going.
* * *
It was late when Legolas came across what he thought was an outcrop of rocks covered in dry grass. It turned out to be an ancient cottage with a thatched roof, long since abandoned by its previous owners. This seemed as good a place as any for him to rest, and he carefully dismounted. Arod, too, seemed exhausted having traveled all day at a steady speed, especially after their altercation that morning. Legolas led his horse around to the back of the small stone building, and discovered that the house was actually built part way into an outcrop. It was a clever design, to be sure, and looked like part of the scenery. No one would know of its existence until they came upon it. There was a door, or an entranceway that used to hold a door, and nothing else. The building looked sturdily built with stones of different shapes and sizes that all fit together like a completed puzzle. The roof, in which Legolas thought was thatched, was actually the top of the rocky outcrop, and the grass covering it was brown, gone dormant for the winter months.
Legolas slipped inside, ducking so as not to hit his head. There was plenty of space inside and he straightened and looked around. It was just one room, no dividing walls, and empty … spacious, but barren. In the back corner, Legolas saw what looked to be a ladder running up the wall to a small hole in the roof. At a closer examination, he could see rusty brackets that would have held a wooden panel of some kind. Perhaps there was a crawl space above the house, or just another way to exit the cottage. It would seem understandable that there would be another way out, in case the main entrance was blocked. That was good to know, he thought to himself. Although Legolas had traveled quite far, he was still wary of those that might be searching for him.
He sighed deeply, spread out his bed roll and collapsed upon it, only to feel the shock of something hard pushing into his thigh. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the jar of healing cream that Eowyn had given him. How could that have been just this morning? Now, the sun had set and night crept in.
“It seems like a hundred years ago,” he said aloud, as he opened the jar and sniffed. He could pick out a few of the herbs used to make the salve, and it wasn’t an unpleasant scent. Legolas carefully set the jar to the side and searched through his bag, finding a piece of flint. Of course, Eowyn would have thought of everything to make his journey as easy as possible. So far it had not been, but at least now, he had a slight reprieve … long enough to nurse his wounds and let Arod rest.
Legolas gathered enough material to make a small fire in the cottage’s hearth. He knew it was dangerous, for the smoke would be scene billowing from the chimney, but he needed to see in order to treat and bandage his injuries. He unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it, tossing it in a heap on the floor. It was ripped, torn and bloodied. He wouldn’t need it anymore, since he had a fresh change of clothes in his bag. The cream instantly cooled his hurts and eased the pain. The slashes on his chest from Grima’s whip, were blackened with scabs that had dried, reopened and bled, and then dried up again. Where there weren’t welts or cut marks, the skin was purple with bruises from the fall off his horse. The cut on his thigh from the passing arrow was only a scratch, but the slash on his arm from the guardsman’s sword was a bit deeper than he thought. He spread an extra layer of salve on it before fixing it with a cloth bandage, and tying the loose ends into a knot.
Once he was all fixed up, Legolas discarded the rest of his clothes, and put on his elvish attire that Eowyn packed. At first, he took comfort in the mere feeling of clean material against his battered body, but looking at the pile of Rohirric clothes gave him a pang in his heart. There was nothing of him now that spoke of Rohan. As he shed the remnants of the uniform, he felt he was shedding himself from another identity.
“I never really was one of them,” he admitted aloud, “Perhaps Lúta was right when she said I didn’t belong with them.” But he had been one of them, one of the strong and proud Rohirrim, fighting for a young country, for its people, and for those loyal to its King. And he was not through with that part of his life, not yet. Théoden must be freed. Grima must be dealt with … by his own hands if at all possible. Théodred and Eomer must be warned. There was still much to be done.
“Just an hour or two,” he whispered as he lay down on his makeshift bed, “and then I’ll ride out and—” But he did not finish his sentence as he fell quite exhaustedly into elvish sleep.
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The Last Wood Elf