Hunted
Well, look what I found after thorough editing...another chapter! Hurray!!!!
A special thanks goes out to the randomer, Viresse, Alanic, hardcoreninja (I love the penname!), StrangerToTheWorld, and FaithfulPureLight (just kidding - I'm updating much, much sooner than I thought I would!) for reviewing. Thanks again!
Chapter Seven
Silver eyes cracked open and blinked once. The sunlight was weak, but it burned his eyes nonetheless. His lips were parched and his tongue felt thick and swollen and, above all else, dry as a bone. I want water.
He blinked again, but a sudden pounding in his forehead made his eyes snap close. He could even feel the stickiness of blood matting his hair at his temple. He reached with his left hand to touch the deep cut, but before he raised it past his shoulder his wrist gave a screaming throb. His breath caught.
A small groan made Elladan realize where he was. Weakly he shifted and his good hand suddenly bumped against his brother's, eliciting a sharp hiss from the still body next to him. "Oh, Valar, Elrohir…" he whispered, turning his head to the side to look at his twin.
Elrohir shifted to look at him as well and eyed him ruefully. "I'm not sure I can say we have been through worse, brother," he said hoarsely, cracking a sad smile. Legolas was suddenly bending over them, gazing at them worriedly.
"Elladan…Elrohir…how do you fare?" he asked anxiously, touching them each on the shoulder gently. Concern swam in his sapphire eyes. He saw Elrohir cough quietly and swallow painfully. "I am sorry," he murmured, "but the afternoon sun has dried the dew off of the nearest leaves and plants, or I would offer you a little moisture to alleviate your throats. Believe me, you are not the only one in need of something cool."
As if in confirmation of his words he swayed on his knees and sat back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
"Legolas?"
Elrohir was at his side in an instant, groaning softly at his body's protests. All he could do was sit up and his leg throbbed painfully even with that small movement. He calmly took the prince's face in his bloodied hands, mindful of his left wrist and wincing when he moved the swollen appendage too far, and studied Legolas silently. "You are feverish," he murmured suddenly, eyes widening. The Elf's eyes were indeed slightly glazed and he was terribly white. "Look at me," he instructed softly, and the sapphire-eyed Elf met his gaze tiredly. The son of Elrond was silent for a while, touching his face and looking into his eyes deeply with a furrowed brow.
Legolas suddenly moaned and turned aside, pulling from Elrohir's grasp and kneeling on the ground. He was clutching his stomach, breathing deeply, keeping his eyes closed. But then he swore abruptly and jerked forward, beginning to retch.
"Damn it, Legolas! Why did you not tell us something was wrong?" Elladan swore angrily, grunting softly as he pulled himself with his one good arm to the prince's side. There was very little to expel from Legolas' stomach, so it was within seconds that he collapsed limply to the ground, gasping and leaning against the tree heavily. Sweat beaded his forehead and he wiped sick from his mouth with his sleeve. He shook his head weakly.
"N-nothing's wrong…" he whispered, shivering. "There c-cannot be anything wrong…"
"There definitely will be when we get done with you," Elrohir said darkly, and he and his twin pinned equally angry glares on the prince. "Now, what is happening? How long have we been unconscious?"
"About three and a half hours," Legolas answered quietly. His breath was shallow. "I…I have been ill for maybe an hour now."
"Ill?" Elladan looked at him, astonished. "You cannot possibly be ill, only Estel-" He stopped. Eyes wide, he looked at his brother with dread.
"Poison," the prince murmured, closing his eyes weakly as he confirmed the twins' deepest fear.
The Elves' hearts stopped.
"It-it cannot be-"
"You were perfectly healthy at dawn-"
"My people have found two poisons that are undetectable until the first symptom," Legolas explained, his eyes glimmering sadly.
If he is poisoned…we do not have an antidote, Elladan began to panic. It could blind him, injure him further, destroy his bodily functions, dehydrate him, stop his breathing, complicate his heart…
Or even kill him…Elrohir moaned to his brother. And all we can do is sit here and watch him! We cannot walk, we both are suffering from mild blood loss, we are hungry and weak, and someone has to care for Alassiel…
This cannot be happening! What twist of fate brought us here and damned us like this?! How could this be happening to us?!
Elladan began scrutinizing the Elf before him anxiously. "Legolas, tell me about this poison!" he demanded desperately. "I need to know everything. Is there an antidote? What are the symptoms? How long do we have until you are disabled? What is the mortality rate-" he suddenly stopped and swore. "We cannot do this…we are all going to die here!" he moaned helplessly. "Legolas is poisoned, Elrohir and I are extremely handicapped, we have a child to care for and protect, we haven't eaten or drunk anything in over a day, it will take days for Estel to bring help-"
"And I will die without the antidote."
Elladan's anguished cry echoed in the clearing but was barely heard over the hustle and bustle of the Orcs. They, at least, seemed to ignore them, but the Elves had not noticed the increase in their activity in the past few minutes…
Elrohir closed his eyes, alone of the group to have not voiced his desperation or sadness. "Legolas…the symptoms…what are they? And how long do we have?" he whispered, voice laced with regret and dismay.
The prince swallowed and curled up gingerly, beginning to shudder with chills. His eyes were bright with fever when they met the grieving twin's eyes. "I have around fourteen hours left – 'til roughly dawn. The first sign," he spoke calmly, almost as if he had already accepted his doom, "is that the infected wound will not appear to be healing, followed by random periods of fevers, chills, and vomiting for several hours."
"You already experience those," Elrohir breathed, glancing at the oozing 'x' marring his friend's side, the sick that stained his clothes, the cold that racked his thin frame, and the fever that clouded his eyes. The wound was still as gruesome as ever, blood caking his exposed skin and drying over the dead flesh and cloth. Legolas had been unsuccessful in re-wrapping it without the help of one of the twins. Elladan set about helping bandaging him.
"What is the next symptom?" Dare I ask?
"Convulsions," Legolas shivered. "over six to seven hours, progressively worse, longer, and closer together. Then there is agony. If the pain is not enough to kill you, then-"
"-the last symptom will," Elladan breathed, closing his eyes. He had heard rumors of this poison. It was called Guruthos.
Elrohir glanced back and forth between his brother and friend, wide-eyed. "Why? What is the final symptom?"
"Asphyxiation. Suffocation. Lack of air. Death," Legolas hissed angrily. "Only preventable by suicide, death by a friend's hand, or the antidote I had in my pack."
A plaintive voice cried weakly, interrupting the dark conversation. "Legolas?"
"Ai, Alassiel…" Legolas coughed and rolled stiffly to his stomach and pushed himself up slowly. He winced and groaned as his wounds were stretched, but he crawled to Alassiel nonetheless. He was pitifully weak, moving on his hands and knees so at a snail's pace and shivering uncontrollably, clutching his side with a grimace. And he was only transpiring a distance of three feet.
Alassiel was crying again. Silver tears slipped down her pale cheeks, dampening the fine strands of her buttermilk hair that hung astray. Her little fingers were stuffed in her mouth as she sobbed.
"Hush, ai, hush child," Legolas comforted her, drawing her close carefully. His voice was weak. "What is wrong, tithen-iell? Has something frightened you?"
She only gave a little sob and pointed over Legolas' shoulder, trembling.
Foul breath was hot against Legolas' neck as he turned to greet Olog with silent dismay. Alassiel scampered out of Legolas' lap, finding haven in the twins' arms. "Your turn," the Orc growled. Suddenly he had Legolas by the throat and was dragging him away, taking special care to grind him against the tree and any rough stones that lay on the ground as they went. The Elf's eyes were wide as he franticly tried to pull away, reaching for the twins anxiously.
"Help…me!" he gasped as Olog's thick, slug-like fingers tightened around his throat.
"Baw! No! If you take him…he will die!" Elladan shouted, dragging himself after Legolas helplessly and racking his brain anxiously for ways to stall. "He's poisoned, he will be no use to you dead!"
Captain Ologûk suddenly stepped out of the mass of Orc bodies, grinning devilishly. "No use to me dead, eh?" he sneered. "Who said I wanted 'im alive?"
Elladan's brow furrowed. "To bargain against our fathers, to use us as ransom," he answered immediately, but he suddenly doubted his answer. He felt his twin's heartbeat quicken. There is something we are missing…
"Ransom?" Ologûk cackled. "A fine idea, das to be sure! But would it work?" He shook his head and bent to scrape Elladan's cheek with his razor-sharp gauntlet. A swollen drop of blood left a thick red line on the Elf's cheek. The Orc smirked. "Nah. It wouldn't work. 'Esides, they ain't my orders. My orders," his voice dropped to a low, heavy whisper as he jerked Elrohir's head close now. "are to do what I want wit' ya. Then make sure that all that's left here are yur cold, dead bodies."
A cold stone settled deep in the pits of their stomachs as the Orc captain turned away with a snicker. "Now," he began fiendishly, looking with lust over at the still struggling form of Legolas, "I do love 'em when they struggle and act so pitif'ly weak. Shall we begin?"
I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I
Seven hours earlier: a little after dawn…
He had been running for countless hours now with little time to rest. He was almost completely lost; only his feet were sure that he was still on the path that headed west. He would have to be running for maybe another twenty hours to reach the palace halls. The twins and Legolas had forgotten one major factor; Estel's endurance and speed were the best for leagues around.
For the first time ever Estel was grateful for all his boredom as a child. Nearly every day he would simply go race through the forest; it was the quickest way to get away from something or someone or to simply explore. He had incredible muscles now, and incredible strength.
But now his breathing was ragged, his heart pounding. He would have to rest soon. Pace yourself, he reprimanded himself, a dead-tired Man is no way to help your companions.
The forest was blacker than night. The trees were twisted and curled, and above the sound of his breathing he could make our dark rustles and distant shrieks from their gnarled branches. Yellow and red eyes glared out at him, blinking once, and then vanishing before he could blink himself. The monsters that lurked in this forest were watching him. Night was a dangerous time to travel in Mirkwood, though daytime was just as terrible the night held creatures that did not lurk underneath the sun. Spiders were more prone to launch their bloated bellies on unwary travelers, and all black, shrieking monsters that could wreak havoc darted in the underbrush. Black snakes, black rats, hungry crows and all sorts of remorseless creatures slithered and scattered and cawed from all points and places. In short, the forest was no longer the Greenwood the Great it once was. In fact, it was far from it.
Estel focused on breathing to keep himself from remembering his lack of weapons. His luck had held out wonderfully so far, and he was terrified it would not last. Breathe, that's the key. In, out, in out. Nice and smooth and even. Keep breathing…
But he was so focused on breathing and not on where his feet were going that Estel had no clue he was about to run head-on into a rather large and painful obstacle. His boot slammed a thick piece of flat wood abruptly but his body kept moving forward, so in a split second and before he could cry out he smacked into the wooden bottom of a box of sorts, his nose making first contact as he slammed face-first into the moldy-smelling beech wood.
"Ti tállbe Orch, you stupid piece of-" Estel's swearings trailed off as he wiped his nose gingerly on his sleeve. In the extremely dim light of the moon he saw a dark stain on his shirt arm. Great. Perhaps a broken nose. Just what I needed… He sat up slowly but whatever he was in suddenly rocked side to side, and he heard the light splashing of water.
"The Enchanted River," he breathed when he realized he was sitting in the ferry boat. By the Valar he was lucky indeed – a little bit to the left or right would have left him sprawled in the river and in a deep sleep that would probably be enough to cause him to drown. Hastily he untied the beautiful Elven rope that held the ferry boat anchored to this bank of the river. As if on its own accord the boat immediately floated straight on across, smooth and calm though the river rippled around him. Within minutes he reached the other end and clambered out of the old boat. Time to start running again…
He got no more than a mile before his luck ran dry.
A twig snapped just on his right side, far closer than normal. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings when suddenly a red flag shot up in his mind. Something was not right here. He slowed only a little to clam his breathing so he could hear better, but he dared not stop. He screamed internally. I have no weapon! I am defenseless! I have no weapon and I am miles upon miles from civilization!
Another twig snapped, followed by an all-too familiar hiss and a rustle in the trees above him, and another hiss answered from three feet away, and another from six feet to his left, and another up ahead…
The spiders had found him.
With an angry curse he began to sprint. Help me! He screamed in his mind. I am defenseless! I NEED HELP!
He dared not cry out yet, any noise might attract more spiders. He moaned aloud, though, when the air filled with hungry hisses and squeals of the spiders. He got no more than one hundred feet before the first giant, swollen spider landed in front of him with a bloated thud. He backpedaled and wheeled around, leaping for the side of the path. Another leapt at him from that side. With a cry of dismay he turned around and headed for the north side of the path, but it too was blocked.
No…
He backed up hastily, running backwards but did not make it far before he tripped on a vine and fell heavily into thick, white, sticky cords. I am about to be breakfast, he moaned. They advanced on him as he struggled, shouting and screaming for help. The closest one hissed hungrily, brandishing its stinger proudly.
"NIN DREGO! GWANNO EREB NIN! RHAICH! GWANNO EREB NIN!" His shouts echoed and bounced off the dry trees around him, but were answered by no one. "SAES! HELP ME, SOMEONE!"
But his desperate cries went unheeded, and the spiders slunk closer.
I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I
Consciousness evaded him, but he did not mind.
But obviously someone did.
Someone had seized him by the shoulders and was shaking him persistently, calling his name and speaking in a fair voice. He recognized it but couldn't remember how. He tried to open his eyes, but the blaze of a torch blinded him and he moaned softly.
"Hush…Come back to us, you may sleep no longer…"
Estel pried open his eyes and found a pair of emerald-eyes smiling back at him. "Greetings, young friend," King Thranduil of the Wood Elves greeted him warmly, his face an unreadable mask, as ever, "I had hoped we would not meet under circumstances such as these. But alas, I also hoped that I would not live to see visitors attacked by inhabitants in my own kingdom, however unwanted." The Elven-king smiled sadly to himself as he reached down to help Estel into a sitting position. The Man blinked in the bright light that the torches cast out on the path. He saw a party of maybe twenty elves before him, some cleaning their white blades or unstringing their bows. Others kicked black bodies of spiders off the path. He saw that their black blood had stained the ground, and remnants of a spider web still clung to his clothing as well as a red streak on his shoulder where a spider had jabbed her stinger. He groaned softly, a headache – and nose-ache – beginning to overcome him.
"Drink this," King Thranduil offered kindly, holding out a small container of liquid. The amber liquid was sweet and warm on his throat, and immediately his aches and pains faded to a minimum. Thank the Valar for Elven healing…
He looked up at Thranduil, watching the king as he moved to retrieve a small amount of food for the starving Man. The elder Elf's hair was pale gold, smooth as silk as it hung in a chest-length curtain about his slender face. His emerald eyes were unlike his son's own sapphire but mirrored the trees of the kingdom he loved. He was incredibly strong and incredibly powerful, his presence alone radiating energy and nobility. He was fit, strong, healthy, unscarred, worthy of his own kingship but plagued with pain and worry. His kingdom was in disarray and slowly crumbling at his fingertips and he could do nothing to stop it. He had even lost a good part of his family to the enemy. Estel admired the Elf for his strength and bravery. He apparently had proven his courage, too, thousand times over in battle, earning his battle plaits when he was young and had barely come of age. He had the same warrior plaits as Legolas had, braided over his ears and down the back of his head…
Legolas.
"Lord Thranduil!"
The Elf spun around, his hand flying to the blade at his waist instinctively. "Estel, what ails you?" he cried, seeing the horrified look on the Man's face.
"Your son…he has been captured! He is in terrible danger, he has been wounded terribly-"
Thranduil stopped Estel's anxious cries with a saddened glance. "I know," he interrupted quietly. He turned away. "I felt Legolas' pain and fear in my heart. Our faers are uniquely bonded. I readied a small force, ready to set out, but we lacked a location. It was several hours later that the forest brought information from you," he turned back and smiled gently and waved away Estel's words. "You wonder how it happened, do you not? You are one of the only known mortals to have heard the Song of Ilúvatar, a gift normally reserved for the Firstborn. Children of the Sun were not meant to hear it, but we are all a different harmony in the world's song, whether immortal, mortal, or nonliving. The trace of Elven blood in your veins, I think, is what enabled the trees to connect with you in your moment of need. It will probably never happen again." He touched Estel's shoulder at his crestfallen look. "But do not despair; you do not need to be immortal to love the earth or the forests on its face, nor to be loved by your friends and families."
Thranduil put his arm around Estel's shoulder, and as muscular as it was it still was as light as a child's. "Now, tell me what has happened to my son and your brothers."
Estel grimaced and let the king guide him in a circle slowly and explained painfully of what had transpired. He was, however, grateful for Thranduil's choice of words; referring to Elladan and Elrohir as his brothers. He felt Thranduil stiffen at his description of Legolas' injury. "Has he been bleeding?" Thranduil asked suddenly. "Has he begun to heal?"
"…Yes, he has been bleeding rather badly for many hours now. But he also pulled a piece of scimitar from his side several minutes before I left…"
Thranduil froze. "Was he ill?" he murmured. "Did he have a fever?"
"No, he was perfectly fine-"
"Did he seem to be in a lot of pain?"
"Aye, he did-"
"More than you have ever seen?"
"Aye, well, I think so; I do not think he was hurting as much when he was shot with an arrow through his-"
Thranduil abruptly turned and spoke rapidly in Sindarin, demanding a bottle of Nimfaun.
Cloud of Light? What sort of draught is that…"My Lord," Estel began, starting after him. "What is wrong?"
Thranduil slowly turned, raising his suddenly-sad emerald eyes to the man's with hesitance. "I…I fear Legolas has been poisoned," the king murmured darkly. An attendant led his horse over, a beautiful great white stallion gently clopping to his master's side. Thranduil mounted quickly and offered a spare chestnut to Estel. "If so, he only has hours left if your reckoning is correct."
Estel mounted the beautiful brown horse he was offered, stroking its mane gently but never breaking Thranduil's gaze. "Legolas? Poisoned? How? When? He was fine before, perfectly healthy-" Estel began in a rush. His heart was pounding, drumming out the very beats that would cease to sound in Legolas' chest all too soon.
Thranduil nodded tightly. "Aye, but this poison is undetectable," he explained bitterly, "until his symptoms begin." There was a flash in his bright emerald eyes and they fluttered closed briefly, and Estel wondered if it was resentment or pain for his child that he saw… "Valar, his faer is weak already…" Thranduil dimly murmured, and slowly he opened his eyes once more. Determination glittered there now, a spark of courage that made Estel sit taller in his saddle. Have hope, have courage, have strength…
Those emerald eyes glinted sharply with vengeance and his lips curled in a devious grin. The king was suddenly wild and cunning and yet in control, looking so much like his only son…
"It's time to hunt," he hissed.
To be continued...