Between Darkness and Dawn

Chapter 3: The Jaws Close

by Cassia and Siobhan

First > Previous > Next

The night was not nearly as dark as Aragorn would have liked.  The full moon overhead illuminated the landscape dully, making hiding places fewer and farther between.  The ranger hunched lower in the bushes, his dark clothes blending into the foliage.  He kept his face turned down so as to not let his skin catch and reflect the moonlight. 

After more than a week of chasing their quarry northward, Aragorn and Legolas had finally caught up with the orcs and their prisoners.  Six Beornings, including Beoma and Pejor, were being held captive by sixty or seventy orcs.  The equation was dismally disproportionate.  The ranger had to wonder why they had bothered with such a small number of prisoners, but he knew that logic did not always factor into orc actions.  Severely outnumbered, Aragorn and Legolas’ only real hope lay in surprise. 

The orcs were camped in a small dell, not far from where the rivers Langwell and Greylin joined to form the mouth of the Langflood.  Across the river, the dark shape of Northern Mirkwood blotted out the stars on the eastern horizon.  Mount Gundabad dominated the sky ahead of them and the junction of the Grey Mountains and the Misty Mountains hedged them in on the north and the west. 

They had to act tonight.  It seemed apparent now that the orcs were making for the northern mountains.  Aragorn feared that if they made their goal, all hope of recovering the prisoners alive would be lost.  

The ranger gave a low, whistling bird call.  A few moments later, he heard an answering trill.  Legolas was in position on the opposite side of the encampment.  

The Beornings sat in the center of the camp.  Four men and two women, bound hand and foot.  A long rope knotted around each neck, connected them to one another.  Beoma lay on his back, pillowing Pejor’s head on his stomach.  Neither of them was asleep.  The younger man had bruises on his face and looked scared.  Beoma seemed to be whispering something very softly to his apprentice, but Aragorn could not hear what was being said.  The big baker shifted slightly.  He seemed to be straining at the rope around his neck.  

“Hold on just a little longer, friends.  We’ll get you out of those bonds,” Aragorn thought.  His hand slid to the pommel of his sword.  In his mind he marked the targets nearest to him.  There were two sentries on this side of the camp, twenty-four other orcs milling beyond them.  Three were lying down, the rest still kept moving about.  He did not concern himself greatly with the orcs on the other side of the camp, beyond marking their number and positions.  That was Legolas’ half to deal with and he trusted the elf could handle his own.  The orcs were still far too alert to make an attack wise.  Their best chance lay in waiting until all but the sentries were asleep.

Unfortunately not even the best laid plans can account for what direction an orc will take when he needs to relieve himself. 

Across the camp, Legolas cringed inwardly as one of the dark beasts rambled out of camp, unintentionally heading directly for his friend’s position. “Turn right, turn right... all right, turn left, just TURN...” he willed silently.  It was not to be.  

Aragorn tried hard to scramble back deeper into the bushes without being heard, but he was too close and there wasn’t enough time.  The orc tripped over him in the dark.  The creature squealed loudly once.  He never got a chance to make a second sound, but the damage was already done.  The disturbance had caught the attention of the rest of the camp. 

 Aragorn shoved the dead carcass away from him and jumped to his feet as the other orcs rushed towards the intruder.  He cursed inwardly.  This was not good.  They had lost the element of surprise and the situation had just become a lot more difficult. 

Legolas gave up his own cover, springing to his feet and firing a hail of deadly arrows into the horde of orcs swarming around his friend.  With a shout, many of the orcs turned to face the new threat. 

Legolas did not bother to hide his glow now.  He flamed in the darkness, intentionally drawing the dark creatures away from the overwhelmed ranger.  The orcs cringed at the sudden flash of light and screamed in hatred.  As soon as they saw that their second foe was an elf, the majority of them swarmed back towards him.  

The minor respite gave Aragorn a chance to dispatch a few of the orcs mobbing him, and to catch his breath.  He tried to cleave a path through the mass of bodies to Legolas’ side, but the dark beasts kept them apart.  He could just see Legolas’ hair flashing pale gold under the moonlight as he whipped in tight circles, surrounded by orcs.  The elf was a constant blur of motion, but did not seem to be in real trouble at the moment despite the odds.  Legolas was holding his own.  

“Estel, the prisoners!” Legolas called out to his friend in Elvish so the orcs would not understand.  Thus far none of the orcs had been smart enough to use their captives against the elf and ranger.  Legolas did not want to give them the chance to get over their surprise and come up with the idea.  

Aragorn understood and fought his way towards the center of camp.  The Beornings were fighting hard against the tight cords entrapping them.  A few had managed to pop several strands of the twisted rope by brute strength alone.  Aragorn switched his sword to his left hand, quickly pulling his hunting knife with his right.  A sword was ill-suited to the more delicate work of cutting bonds and in the dark, chaotic confusion Aragorn did not want to injure anyone.  Starting at the end of the line, he quickly began slicing the captive’s hands and feet free, leaving them to discard the rope around their necks themselves as he hurriedly moved to the next one.  The Beornings were sturdy folk, not easily given to panic, and for that Aragorn was glad.  As soon as one was free they started helping with the others. 

“Strider, behind you!” Pejor’s warning came just in time.  Aragorn threw himself to the ground, only barely avoiding a scimitar thrust meant for his back. The attacking orcs adjusted quickly to the change.  Aragorn felt the blunt end of a sword handle crash painfully against the back of his head, making his vision blur.  He rolled quickly, bringing his sword up to fend off another blow.  His dagger was still in his other hand and he threw it with a snap of his wrist.  The orc fell backward with a strangled cry.  The ranger jumped to his feet in time to meet the next attack. 

Seeing what Aragorn was up to, the orcs were now after the prisoners.  Working with desperate speed Aragorn slashed at the thick, knotted ropes with one hand while trying to fight orcs with the other.  

“Run!  RUN!” he urged the two women he had just freed.  They were attempting to help him free Beoma and Pejor, but he did not want their own bravery to be the end of them.  The orcs were all around them.  It was hard to avoid being trampled, much less skewered.  The two Beorning men already freed had relieved the orcs of a few hand weapons.  They favored axes over swords, but made do with what was available.  One was already bleeding from a deep gash to the arm, but they continued fighting to hold the orcs back while Aragorn cut their companions free.  

The women did not heed him.  At the moment they could not have without running straight into the arms of more orcs.  

Aragorn had to duck to avoid Legolas who appeared suddenly in the middle of the confusion.  The elf deftly stabbed an orc that Aragorn did not even realize had set its sights on the human’s head.  The ranger attempted to reach Beoma’s ropes amidst the mêlée.  

The orc fell dead, clutching at the prince and trying to drag him to the ground.  Legolas took a quick step back, out of reach, and yanked his knife free.   The fighting was unfortunately so close that the prince’s elbow knocked sharply into the back of the ranger’s head and the elf had to dance to one side to avoid tripping over his friend.  

Aragorn reeled sideways, losing his grip on his sword.  A huge orc tried to tackle Legolas, driving him backward.  The elf was compelled to leap out of the way, nearly colliding with Aragorn again as he was forced to hop over his friend’s back.  

An orc stepped on Aragorn’s fingers as the ranger tried to get out of the way.  Wincing in pain the human jerked his hands free, kneeling upright and banging directly into the back of Legolas’ knees. 

“Strider!” the elf protested as if Aragorn had intentionally sprawled under his feet.  Legolas’ balance was good and a momentary sway and dip was the only result of the impact, but it still took far too much of his attention.  He was clipped sharply across the jaw by an orc elbow and tasted blood.  His vision blurred for a moment as he tried to remain in control of the unwieldy and claustrophobic situation. 

“Stop stepping on me!” Aragorn hissed as he scrabbled about to find his missing blade in the churning dust.  He almost had it when an orc rushed by, kicking it out of reach again.  Beoma and Pejor jostled against his side as they too attempted to avoid being trampled, adding to the general chaos. 

“Then get out from underfoot!” the elf retorted, wiping his bloodied lip on his shoulder as he danced sideways, trying to take the fight further away from his friend.  

Aragorn grunted in frustration as he rolled out from under the feet of several orcs that had pushed forward to take Legolas’ place.  Grabbing one of the creatures’ ankles, Aragorn yanked hard, bringing the orc down and giving himself the time and space he needed to scramble forward and grab his sword.  Another orc tripped over his fallen companion, landing nearly on top of the ranger.  Aragorn got his sword up in time to impale the falling creature.  He groaned as he shoved the orc off of him only to be faced with another.  This was not going well.  

Finally wrestling free, Aragorn found that Beoma had managed to squirm out of the half-severed bonds around his wrists and was now working on his ankles as he and Pejor scooted urgently around in the dust.  Their kinsmen were locked in battle trying to protect them, but they were frighteningly vulnerable.  

Aragorn crawled quickly to their side.  He sliced the ropes around Beoma’s ankles.  As he turned to free Pejor, Aragorn saw from the corner of his eye how the baker yanked the rope around his neck over his head. The ranger tugged Pejor quickly to his knees as soon as the lad was freed.  This free-for-all was going to get someone killed soon.  They had to get out of here.  

Pejor started to rise, but Aragorn had to tug him back down again to avoid getting beheaded.  The orc changed his grip and stabbed down towards the young apprentice.  Aragorn threw himself in the way, pushing Pejor down and delivering a counter stroke that only barely kept the orc’s sword from finding a home in his own heart.  He pulled himself back to his knees, trying to keep Pejor covered and inch them both away from the fighting.  The press was so great he couldn’t stand.  

Gripping Pejor’s shoulder tight against him with one arm and swinging his sword with the other, the ranger looked around desperately for Legolas.  Eye-level with orc knees and belts and mired in a cloud of dust, he was lucky to see anything.  Aragorn couldn’t find the elf through the flurry of bodies.  He coughed harshly and blinked to clear his burning eyes.  The orcs pressed him savagely, giving him no time or space to maneuver.  He winced as an orc clubbed the side of his head.  He reeled to the side, scrabbling in the dust and trying desperately to rise while protecting himself and the young Beorning in his care.  He could not.  

Aragorn didn’t know what hit him, but the next thing he knew he was taking a mouthful of dirt as his head connected sharply with the ground.  A heavy orc boot dug deeply into his back.  His sword had fallen from his grip and he couldn’t reach it where it lay.  He could not even lift his head.  A shiver of dread ran down the human’s spine.  A small, realistic corner of his mind knew there was no getting out of this situation.  

Suddenly, a strange roar rose above the clamor of the battle.  Aragorn felt the pressure disappear from his back with a jolt.  Grabbing his sword and rolling quickly onto his back, the ranger looked up to find a huge, black bear looming over him.  It was raised up on its hind legs, shaking the orc in its mouth like a rag doll.  

The ranger’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight and he only just had the presence of mind to drag himself to his feet in the space cleared by the wake of the bear’s presence.  He supposed the fighting must have disturbed some of the woodland creatures, but he did not intend to get too close.  The way his luck was running tonight he did not want to escape the orcs, only to be killed by a wild animal. 

Pejor must have been too dazed to be frightened.  Aragorn realized the young Beorning was not following him. He turned back, grabbing the boy’s wrist and tugging him quickly towards the edges of the fighting.  Pejor appeared unable to understand what the hurry was, but obeyed when Aragorn planted him firmly in the bushes.  

“Get down and stay down!” the ranger instructed, before plunging back into the fighting.  He could see Legolas now, surrounded by orcs as usual.  The other Beornings had either pulled back or were simply out of his sight.  The bear had not left.  It raged through the clearing, scattering orcs left and right.  It was easily the largest animal that Aragorn had ever seen.  Razor sharp teeth and claws were making disturbingly short work of the orcs.  The magnificent creature was destroying everything in its path and the orcs fled from it in terror.  Aragorn could not blame them.  

Squealing in terror, the few remaining orcs fled straight past the ranger before disappearing into the night.  Aragorn whirled to face them as they came, but they were only interested in escaping.  When the human turned around again, he found the bear almost upon him.  

The ranger backpedaled quickly, but lost his footing on the uneven ground.  His head was still churning violently from the many blows he had taken that night and his sense of balance was severely crippled.  He fell on his back. As he scrambled backwards on his elbows, the thought shot through his mind that he should have stayed down here in the first place considering how often he ended up in this position.  Legolas was not going to let him live his clumsiness tonight down... IF he survived.  Right now, that was looking doubtful.  

He kept his sword up between himself and the advancing bear, but the creature was undeterred.  Easily four times the ranger’s size, Aragorn knew that the animal had the definite advantage in this situation.  The ranger feinted right and then tried to bring the sword up closer to the bear’s huge neck.  The huge creature easily checked the man’s movement.  He swatted his massive paw almost lazily and sent the ranger’s sword skittering out of his hand.  

Aragorn froze.  His heart hammered in his throat.  He had heard that you should play dead when confronted with an angry bear, but at the moment, that idea felt much too frighteningly realistic to be considered a possibility.  Still, the human decided not to make any sudden moves that would provoke the animal. 

The bear stood over him, its enormous body dwarfing the ranger’s.  Lowering his muzzle, the bear sniffed the ranger.  His warm, snuffling breath stirred the human’s hair.  The hair around the bear’s muzzle was frosted with grey.  For a moment Aragorn was transfixed by the deep, soulful fire in the creature’s eyes.  He decided the bear was not evil, but if it was protecting its space or its cubs, it didn’t have to be malicious to rip him apart.  It wouldn’t have to try very hard either.  

The human’s out-flung hand groped next to him in the grass for his fallen sword.  Where in Arda was Legolas?!  Slowly, his fingers closed on the hilt of the weapon and his body tensed.  

“Strider!  No!” Legolas’ voice startled the human.  Aragorn started to bring his weapon up as he squirmed backward, but Legolas’ hand on his wrist stopped him, pinning his sword arm down.  The ranger didn’t understand and struggled for a moment.  

Legolas firmly pulled the human back towards him, shooting the bear a look that said the creature had better back up a bit.  Aragorn sat up slowly, relaxing a little when he realized that the bear was content to just stand there and watch them.  The ranger’s keyed up nerves gradually began to wind down.  He eased the death grip on his sword and Legolas released his arm.  

A distinctive, wuffling laugh made the ranger look around for Beoma.  Suddenly, Aragorn realized it was the bear that had laughed.  He blinked; certain that one of the many knocks on the head that he had taken had affected his mind.  Now Legolas was laughing at him as well.  

“Strider!” the elf nudged his friend hard as he rose back to his feet.  “Don’t you recognize Beoma?”  His voice was amused.  

Aragorn rubbed his head.  Tonight had definitely been too much.  “No, Legolas, for some reason he seemed... different to me.”  The ranger looked back at the bear in semi-amazement.  “Beoma?” 

The bear growled an affirmative and Aragorn could have sworn he was smiling.  Pejor joined them, running his fingers through Beoma’s thick, soft fur, comforted by his mentor’s presence.  The bear rubbed his massive head fondly against the youth’s side.  

“Strider, the Beornings are skin-changers,” Legolas chuckled, helping his friend to his feet.  “Didn’t you know that?  Goodness, I would have thought ONE of your brothers would have thought to mention it to you after all these years.” 

Actually, Aragorn did know.  However, he had been told the stories as a child and wasn’t actually sure he believed them or not. Until now.  At any rate, it was not the first thing that had come to mind when he saw a creature that size barreling down on him.  The ranger laughed.  It was the only thing that he could think to do at the moment.  This had been quite a night.  

The other Beornings were slowly joining them now.  It seemed that everyone had survived, although certainly not uninjured.  

“Well if you could do this all along, why didn’t you do something sooner?” the ranger asked Beoma as he wiped off his sword.  “Can all of you... change?” 

“Yes, we can,” it was Pejor who answered.  “But not all of us can simply shift at will, Strider.  Grimbeorn and his near kin can change forms as they so desire, but for most of us, it can only be done when the moon is in the same phase as it was when we were born.”  The young man gestured to the sky above them.  “Then we must remain in our other form until the next moon cycle.  None of us could risk shifting when we were bound as the orcs had us.  The ropes would have choked us to death before the change was complete.  Before you arrived, Master Beoma was telling me he wanted to find some way to shed the bonds.  Tonight was his last night to try.” 

“It is rare that none of us were in phase when our village was attacked,” one of the women offered.  “Thank you, for coming after us.” 

Aragorn inclined his head.  He was trying to form words but they weren’t coming.  His throbbing head was taking all of his attention.  Legolas saved him.  The elf caught the human’s shoulder lightly, steadying him. 

“No thanks necessary,” the elf assured.  He glanced around at the corpse-strewn clearing.  “Come, let us leave this place of death.  Strider and I passed a spot on the other side of the river that is suitable for a camp tonight.  There we may tend the wounded and hopefully get some rest.” 

The Beornings were agreeable to the idea and so they started back the way they had come.  

Legolas stayed close to Aragorn, but the human seemed to have sustained no serious injuries aside from a massive headache.  There was nothing wrong with him that a good night’s rest would not cure.  

Beoma padded quietly along in the dark beside them.  Aragorn couldn’t help repeatedly looking over his shoulder to see if the bear was still with them.  Never let it be said that he could not always learn something new.  

Legolas caught his friend in the act and chuckled.  Aragorn scowled.  

“Will you be coming back home with us?” Pejor asked, falling into step with them.  “Master Beoma can look after us now, so there won’t be any danger.” 

The two friends hesitated, exchanging a look to confirm what the other was thinking.  It was Legolas who answered.  

“No, Pejor, I’m afraid not.  If you are safe, then our task is accomplished.  I cannot speak for Strider, but my father is expecting me home and I have already tarried far too long.  I fear he shall have my head if I delay much longer.  After we see you safely on your way, I must begin my return journey at once.”  The elf nodded towards the slowly growing shape of Mirkwood before them.  

“I will see Legolas on his way and then I should be going home as well, Pejor,” Aragorn agreed.  “You are in good hands now and it will be faster for me to take a different route.  Do you think you’ll be all right?” 

Pejor nodded.  “Oh yes, we’ll be fine.  I would not wish either of you trouble at home.  Believe me, I understand how that can be.  I will miss you, but...” A small smile spread over the boy’s face.  “Master Beoma doesn’t say much when he’s in his other skin, which makes him much easier to talk with.” 

“Or talk at?” Aragorn could not resist teasing with a chuckle. 

Pejor shrugged with a totally un-self-conscious grin.  “Whichever.” 

The ranger laughed and clapped the young man on the back.  Who knew the boy had a sense of humor? 

~*~

Aragorn sat on a rocky outcropping, his bare feet dangling in the swiftly moving stream.  The Langflood had lost much of its rain-swollen off-run of the previous weeks.  It was currently no more than a deep ribbon of water winding through the tall grasses of the meadow valley that ran past the length of Mirkwood on its western side. 

Legolas finished packing up the camp.  He had elected to take care of final preparations while Aragorn bathed.  Aside from the disturbing dreams last night, the human’s rest had been peaceful and he seemed to be doing much better.  For that, the elf was glad. 

The ranger laid back on the sun-warmed rock, letting the heat of the approaching noon dry his hair and leggings.  The heated rock felt good to his bared back and bruised body.  The man’s face was slightly discolored from the knocks he had taken and he ached more this morning from the battle than he had yesterday. Yet he was smiling.  It was one of those glorious autumn days where the brilliant heat of the sun outweighed the waning temperature of the air.  

The Beornings had headed back south earlier in the morning, returning home.  Beoma led his party, still in the form of a bear.  He would remain that way for the rest of the week until the new moon entered its first quarter.  His mentor’s current guise did not disturb Pejor and the youth had not stopped talking from sunup to sundown.   Finally on their own again, the two friends were enjoying the peace and quiet created by the absence of the Beornings and the temporary release of any responsibilities.  Unfortunately it was temporary and they both knew that they had obligations they could not ignore forever. 

Aragorn didn’t move as Legolas silently seated himself next to the ranger.  He knew without opening his eyes that the elf was there and he felt, without having to ask, that Legolas was ready to head home, even though the ranger wasn’t.  Secretly he longed to forestall the parting.  They had been together almost constantly for a very long time now, and that made this particular parting all the more difficult.  Aragorn knew he would miss his friend dearly.  Legolas was a prince, however, and he had duties that could not be ignored indefinitely. 

With a sigh, Aragorn squinted up at the elf. 

Legolas smiled down at the man before casting his gaze back across the river.  The thick tree line of Mirkwood bracketed the far edge of the valley.  The trees called to him, welcoming him home.  It had been long since he had run beneath their canopy and climbed into their branches.  The prince suddenly realized how much he had missed this place.  He hated to leave Aragorn, but he was ready to go home. 

“I have to go,” Legolas answered Aragorn’s unspoken question.  “I would not trade any of my time with you, but we have already been delayed longer than I anticipated.  My father will be waiting and I did promise him to return, even if it was not under the best of conditions.  He will not have forgotten our parting and he will be anxious to see me again.” 

“I know,” Aragorn replied, rolling over onto his side and leaning on his elbow.  He accepted the tunic that Legolas held out for him.  “And my brothers want help filling the cellars for winter.  They keep saying I never pull my weight around the house anymore.”  He laughed as he pulled on his shirt and laced it up. 

“They miss you.”  Legolas smiled at the human. 

“Right,” Aragorn growled playfully. “They miss having a scapegoat for their pranks!”  He returned the smile that the elf bestowed upon him. 

“You have not been around much lately.  It is you they miss, Estel,” Legolas countered lightly. 

“I know,” Aragorn admitted with a sigh, “and I have missed them.  I think that there are those who have dearly missed your presence as well.”  He shoved the prince teasingly, pushing him off the rock. 

Shrugging into his coat, Aragorn accepted his pack from the elf.  Legolas stared at the human for a few seconds, at a loss as to what to say next.  Before he could speak a word the ranger enveloped him in a crushing hug.  

“Don’t stay away too long,” the man whispered, “I’ll need someone to come dig me out of Elladan and Elrohir’s messes.”  The human released the elf and stepped back. 

“I promise, mellon-nín.”  Legolas’ words were laced with the slightest tint of sorrow.  “And you are always welcome at the palace.  Don’t let Ada scare you away.  He really does like you now you know.”  With a parting smile the prince headed for a narrow part of the river.  Rocks jutted up beneath its surface, providing a perfect place to cross.  

Aragorn watched as the elf nimbly leapt from rock to rock, quickly crossing the swiftly moving stream.  He waved to his friend from the far bank.  Readjusting his pack, he headed south, keeping to the edges of the river.  Legolas walked away due east, quickly fading into the forest of Mirkwood. 

A small sigh escaped Aragorn’s lips.  How he hated goodbyes.  He knew in his heart they were not forever, but still, every time the word crossed his lips a small part of his heart ached.  Who knew how soon he would see his friend again?  Time passed so differently for the human who lived amidst the elves.  He glanced one more time across the river, but Legolas had already faded from his sight. 

From his vantage point inside the woods, Legolas stopped and turned back, watching the human as he walked down the river’s edge.  When Aragorn glanced back, searching for the elf, the prince smiled softly. 

“Farewell, Strider.  It won’t be long,” he whispered.  He knew exactly what the man was thinking. 

The elf had nearly turned back to continue his journey home, when something dark and indistinct touched the edges of his awareness.  There was an evil nearby... and it was close, too close. 

Taking a step back towards the meadow valley, Legolas stopped mid-stride.  He vaguely recognized the thin threads of fear and shadow that brushed his mind and the shock was severe. 

Úlairë.  Nazgûl.  

Across the river, a large dark horse burst from the foliage of the woods in front of Aragorn, startling the ranger.  The man stepped back, throwing up a hand to ward off the sudden attack. 

The animal was a deep, coal black.  The tack and saddle that the rider used were also black, possessing a definite sense of evil artistry about them.  Jagged points and sharpened corners cut at odd angles turned the steed itself into a weapon.  The horse’s hooves pawed the air as it reared up on powerful hind legs, lunging at the ranger.  Aragorn was knocked to the ground and tried to roll away from the huge beast.  

The piercing red eyes of the horse tracked the human as he tried to escape, keeping the ranger off balance and cowering.  The beast’s hooves pounded the earth like dwarf hammers around the ranger.  It barely missed crushing Aragorn’s arm when he tried to draw his sword, and the human was forced to leave the weapon be to evade the deadly, flailing hooves.  

A black-clad rider leaned over the animal’s left shoulder and trained a wicked looking bow on the man.  The arrow that was notched on the string dripped with a thick, foul substance.  The hood of the man’s cape hid his identity and anything that would make him memorable. 

“Your presence is requested,” a distinctively human voice called out to the ranger.  Whatever else the man was, he was no Wraith.  The rider’s gloved hand released the string and the arrow pierced Aragorn’s left shoulder, driving him back to the ground with a sickening thud.  

Aragorn cried out in pain.

Next
top