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Legolas woke slowly. He ached everywhere and someone was gently
working on the cut to his arm.
“Shh...” The whispered voice of Aragorn soothed the elf’s confusion as
the man laid the palm of his hand against the prince’s forehead,
careful of the purple, bruising welt that crossed his temple, “You are
safe. Let me see to your wounds.” The words were spoken in
elvish and Legolas relaxed back against the cool stone floor.
Lord Elrond’s cloak spread out beneath him gave little comfort save to
stave off the chill.
“Where are we?” the elf murmured softly.
“We are in a cave north of where we found you last night.” Elrond’s
voice cut through the fog in Legolas’ mind, brining him sharply
awake.
“I wasn’t dreaming then, I did see you.” Legolas moved his head
slowly, his blue eyes opening and locking onto the elf lord’s steady
gaze.
He moaned softly as Aragorn laid his mended arm across his chest, out
of the way while the ranger gently rubbed a cool ointment against his
bruised ribs. They were hot to the touch and tender; the lotion
took some of the pain away, allowing the elf to breathe easier.
“What happened? Everything is so foggy and hard to
remember.” Legolas shifted his gaze and stared up at Aragorn
where the ranger knelt over him.
The human brushed the wayward strands of hair out of his eyes and
smiled down at his friend. “We were hoping you could tell
us.” His voice was low but he knew his two elven companions could
easily hear him.
Elrond had moved off to restoke the fire, its burning embers bright
beneath the cooled, dead wood. In moments he had stirred the
coals into a good-sized flame.
“We were attacked just after dark.” Legolas moved slowly into a
sitting position, aided by his friend. “They claimed to need our
services, but the horses they brought with them were stolen.”
Aragorn and Elrond exchanged confused glances. “Legolas, what
were you doing in Rohan and who were you with? We have been
looking for you for over two weeks now. Trelan was brought
to...”
Lord Elrond’s questioning was cut off as Legolas glanced sharply up at
the elf lord. The sudden movement awoke a fierce nausea in him but he
ignored it for the moment, steadying himself against Aragorn he leaned
forward.
“Trelan lives?”
“Yes.” Aragorn held onto Legolas until the elf’s grip on his arm
eased up, “Are you alright?” He handed the prince a tunic and
helped pull it around his sore shoulders, allowing the elf to button it
himself when Legolas glowered at him, pushing his hands away.
“I am fine. Just...” He tried to ignore the warnings from his
body. It felt a lot like the sickness from the lhyguan bite had
felt before, but he attributed it to his injuries and the repeated
blows to his head. Concussions could be nasty things.
Changing the subject he pressed for more information. “Where is Trelan?
How is he? I was told he was dead. Scatha said the horses
trampled him when they took Kynter.”
“Scatha?” Aragorn shook his head, “Legolas, you have to start
from the beginning, you aren’t making any sense.” With a deep
sigh he gave in and answered his friend’s question first, knowing the
elf would not proceed without hearing how the small warrior fared.
“Yes, Trelan is fine. We left him in Lothlórien with
Celeborn and the Lady of the Woods; they are caring for his
injuries. He was most worried about you. Legolas, tell me
what happened, it’s important to me.”
Aragorn knelt in front of the elf, staring into the slightly
glassy-eyed gaze of his friend. He brushed his fingers gently
across Legolas brow, wondering if the prince had a fever.
“Two weeks ago, Trelan and I were scouting near Dol Guldur,
investigating reports that evil was stirring in it once more. A
band of men chased us down without reason, separated us, and drove
Avornwen and I to the edge of a precipice. They spooked her into
unseating me and I fell over the cliff. When I awoke I was in the
house of Rohan horse breakers, Émuseld they called it. I
was injured, they gave me medical aid and in return for their services
I worked for them. Last night, men rode in with more than twenty
horses, Avornwen one of them. They steal the horses and resell
them. The horses were coated with mud to keep anyone from
recognizing them. I know all those others were stolen as well and
they...” He faltered as he recounted the events, “They said they
killed Freca and his two ranch hands. The ones who saved
me. Kynter was also there.”
“Yes, we retrieved them both.” Elrond motioned to the entrance of
the cave. Morning was nearing but the sky was still dark beyond
and the grey hides of the horses stood out clearly in the
firelight. Avornwen bobbed her head in response to Legolas’
attention. He smiled as she nickered softly, her huge dark eyes
watching him carefully.
“Thank you,” he whispered his gratitude.
“We should go see to your friends though. It is possible these
horse thieves were not able to carry through on their threats and the
horse breakers might need our help.”
“Please, Lord Elrond, I would like to go back with you. They
saved my life and I was unable to help them last night.” Legolas shook
his head, thinking on the three men. A thought struck him oddly
as he remembered Aragorn’s earlier comment and he turned to his
friend. “You were looking for me here? Why?”
It was the human’s turn to gaze down at the cave floor, his face
flushing slightly in embarrassment. He had been wrong and the
vision had been wrong. He suddenly felt rather silly for all his
worrying.
Elrond noted the emotions playing across the young man’s face and stood
to his feet, rounding the fire and moving behind his son. “Estel
is gifted with foresight as are most of his kin. He is just
experiencing its awakening within him and has yet to control what he
sees.”
Legolas frowned at his friend. “What did you see?”
Aragorn glanced over his shoulder at his father who only nodded.
There was nothing to be ashamed of in seeing the future incorrectly; it
was often not as it seemed and in this case at least he was eternally
grateful that his visions had not proved totally true.
“I saw your death,” he admitted with a sigh. “Over and over every
night in my dreams and then in Galadriel’s mirror.”
“You looked in the mirror?!” Legolas was shocked. Few were the
immortals who had ever claimed to have done so. Of mortals, it
was unheard of. Legolas himself had never even been to
Lórien before, but he had heard many tales about the Golden
Wood.
The man rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell you about it sometime later.
Let’s go check on your friends before it gets too late in the
day.”
“You’ll tell me about it on the way back!” Legolas corrected him as he
slowly stood to his feet with the help of the ranger. “We are not
so close that you won’t have time to recount it.”
With a laugh Aragorn followed Elrond to the mouth of the cave; handing
Legolas a small cake of elvish waybread wrapped in a leaf as they
walked up to the horses.
Aragorn grabbed a fist full of Kynter’s mane and vaulted onto the
animals back. “Eat that and regain your strength and I’ll tell you all
about it,” he teased, extending his hand back down and helping Legolas
up behind him.
The elf hissed softly with the ache that the swift movement
caused.
Elrond had doused the flame and gently approached Avornwen, quietly
talking to the horse before carefully mounting the steed. She
walked slower than her counterpart, the elf’s light weight easier on
her than that of two riders as she trailed Kynter.
“Start talking.” Legolas laid his chin on Aragorn’s shoulder and
smiled at the man.
Aragorn swatted at him, with a playful laugh, “Start eating!”
~*~
When they reached, Émuseld the beams of the stable house were
still smoldering in the soft morning light as the three rode up to the
remains. The ranch had been set on fire and the fences of the
paddocks were completely broken down.
Aragorn lent his hand to Legolas as the elf slid stiffly off of
Kynter’s haunches.
“Freca! Fastred! Léod!” Legolas hobbled to the
main house. It alone of all the buildings remained intact.
A body lay sprawled in the open door way and the elf knelt next to
it. It was Freca; he was dead just like Scatha had promised.
“No...” Pushing himself up with the aid of the doorframe Legolas
urgently searched through the house. The living quarters had been
torn apart and everything of value had been taken. The flask that
Freca had kept the AntiVen in lay crushed on the wooden floor, its
contents spilt out, staining the beams a darker brown. There was
no sign of Fastred or Léod anywhere. With a sigh Legolas
sank down on the bed that his employer had let him use for his first
few days’ stay in Émuseld and stared down at his hands. He
had hoped to find them alive. Although he was not fond of most
men, he had come to enjoy the company of these three and it pained his
heart that they were gone and he had not been able to help them.
The sounds of Aragorn calling his name roused the elf and he wearily
walked to the doorway, stepping lightly over Freca’s body and stooping
to cover his former employer with a blanket out of respect, gently
closing the human’s eyes.
“We found two more. One in the ruins of the stable and one down
near the lower pens.” Aragorn glanced to the ground, “I’m sorry,
Legolas, they are both dead.”
Holding back his sorrow, the elf dropped down onto the steps of the
porch and rested his head in his hands. He wasn’t feeling well
and the creeping fear that he truly was not over the lhyguan poisoning
ate at the back of his mind, mingling with the ache in his heart.
“Scatha was just that cruel.” Legolas whispered with sad, weary
contempt. He prayed that his friends had died quickly, not the
slow way that Scatha had intended for him.
“It looks like it was swift,” Aragorn said softly, as if reading the
pained thoughts in the elf’s eyes. He could tell Legolas was
grieved over this discovery. “They went down fighting and felt
little or no pain.”
Legolas gave a small nod, grateful for the information and the fact
that his friend had understood without his asking. “I should have
done more,” the elf murmured softly. “They did not deserve
this.”
“No one does, Legolas,” Aragorn shook his head. “But you can’t
blame yourself for other people’s cruelty. You did all you
could.” The ranger stepped forward, intending to sit next to his
friend when his father came running back to the main house.
“A group of men approaches from the east,” Elrond informed.
“Kurnwait is to the east.” Legolas commented, remembering the
times that Freca had ventured into town for supplies.
Before the elf had finished talking a troop of riders converged on the
main house. The men were, by all outward appearances,
soldiers. Their helmets and weaponry carried the emblems of
warhorses and they surveyed the destroyed ranch solemnly.
A warrior at the head of the group quickly dismounted and approached
the elves and the ranger. Aragorn straightened up and stepped
protectively in front of Legolas, his hand resting lightly on the
pommel of his sword.
Without preamble the soldier removed his helmet, tucking it under his
arm as he shook back a thick mane of dark blond hair from his
eyes. He was obviously of Rohirric descent. He scanned the house
silently, his eyes resting on the body now covered in the open
doorway.
“Who are you and what has happened here? And pray you tell me the
truth, for if you have done this there is no hope for you in
Rohan. Freca was a friend.” His golden eyes were fierce and
he glared from one to stranger to the other.
Elrond broke the impasse, “I am Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.” He
stepped lightly aside so the soldier could see Legolas more clearly and
know that they were unarmed. “We were searching for our
companion, Legolas, heir of Mirkwood. It seems that the men of
this place gave him refuge but they were attacked last night and none
escaped.”
“Except your friend?” The question was a challenge and the young horse
lord held them with his intense gaze.
Aragorn had not yet spoken; he glanced quietly between the soldier and
his father.
“He was able to, yes, and we returned this morning to see if any of the
others had also been so fortunate and if we could be of aid.
Regretfully we are too late.” The elf lord bowed his head
slightly, his eyes never dropping the gaze of the man who stood before
him.
With a small motion of his hand the warrior directed his men to search
the grounds. Stepping forward he extended his hand to the elf
lord. “I am Éomund of Eastfold, Third Marshal of the
Riddermark. We are the Rohirrim and Émuseld was a favorite
stopping place for my men and I.” He sighed deeply as the tension
of the situation left and he glanced around them, disturbed by what he
saw. “We have been tracking a group of horse thieves for some
time. They steal from the soldiers, from strangers and
caravans. They are a plague, a blight on the face of this fair
land. They take what they like and remark the animals, selling
them to whomever will bid the highest and we have never had success in
catching up to them. We were on our way here and had stopped in
Kurnwait when we saw the fires in the night sky. We rode hither
as swiftly as we were able.” The man kicked at edge of the porch
in disgust. “It seems we also were too late.”
“They rode north-east through the gulches beneath the Old Man.”
Aragorn spoke up.
Éomund glanced sharply at him, “And who are you, quiet one, that
you travel in the company of elves?”
Aragorn was suddenly at a loss to tell this man who he was. He
was Estel to the elves and Strider to the Dunèdain and people of
the North, but this was yet not the time for his right name to be known
and none of his other monikers seemed appropriate.
Elrond noted the indecision and stepped nearer to his adopted son, his
eyes fastening on the brooch that clasped his cloak at the neck.
“His name is Thorongil,” Elrond replied, “He is our tracker and our
guide.”
“‘Eagle of the Star’?” Éomund question curiously, it was a
somewhat unusual name, at least in this part of the world, although the
young marshal thought it sounded somewhat Gondorian. It was a
credit to his knowledge, or at least his retention of trivia, that he
knew roughly what the name meant. The people of Rohan were not
usually much learned in such matters, but Éomund was a close
friend to prince Théoden whose father, King Thengel, had lived a
good portion of his life in Gondor, bringing back a large store of
knowledge from thence.
Aragorn touched the star-shaped brooch at his neck and nodded quickly,
“A family heirloom.” He replied as he gazed steadily back at his father
for a moment before returning the commander’s piercing gaze.
“The brooch or the name?” Éomund raised an eyebrow.
“Both.” Aragorn answered with a wry smile.
Éomund shook his head slightly returning the smile. “Strange,
but you are not from the south.” He looked the ranger up and
down. Something about him seemed Gondorian, but his manner and
speech were not those of the men of the White City.
“No, I am of the northern men.”
With a simple nod the commander accepted the information. He knew
almost nothing of the world to the north of them, so these strange
people may well be from there, and at any rate, he sensed no deceit or
ill will about them. That decided, he gave it no more thought and
moved back to the matter at hand. “If they were here only last
night they cannot be overly far away yet... if we had a decent tracker
in our group we might have a chance of catching up with them,” the last
part was half muttered under his breath. They had had no one with
that skill in their group since the last one was killed and his
abilities were sorely missed. Éomund turned back to
Aragorn. “You say the horse thieves went northeast? How
sure are you?”
“Very.” Aragorn said confidently, stepping away from the porch
and leading the Rohirrim away from the house a few paces, back towards
the burnt-out stable, pointing him in the right direction. He had
tracked the horses while Legolas and Elrond searched for
survivors. “They back-tracked the whole lot of them and rounded
them through the pastures a few times to throw off anyone that might be
looking for them, but I picked up their trail at the top of the
hill. There are gulches and gullies in plenty for them to hide in
there.”
“And they are very familiar with the terrain. I know, I tried to
lose them through there last night and could not.” Legolas’
breathing was ragged and he closed his eyes, letting his head rest in
his hands again. His pulse was pounding between his temples in a
very painful way.
“Legolas?” Aragorn walked quickly to his friend’s side. It
was obvious the prince was not feeling well.
Éomund glanced back at the elf once more, his eyes
narrowing. “You said you stayed on with Freca for a time?
Why?”
The prince looked up at the human. “I was paying him back for medical
aid.” It was the truth, just not the whole truth. He hadn’t
wanted Aragorn to worry and he had truly thought he would find the
AntiVen in the house... besides he was so close it shouldn’t
matter. At least, that’s what he told himself.
“Were you bitten?” The horse warrior stepped closer, leaning down
to look into the elf’s eyes; they were beginning to dilate.
Anyone familiar with these regions knew about the deadliness of lhyguan
poison. If untreated, or if the treatment was interrupted, it
would swiftly overwhelm the victim again, nearly as swiftly as if the
bite were fresh. It was a fast, vicious toxin if not kept at bay.
With a sigh Legolas admitted the truth, “Yes, almost two weeks
ago.”
“Bitten?!?! By what?” Aragorn crouched in front of the prince,
immediately concerned, “Legolas, why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.” Legolas looked away.
“Besides, I wasn’t thinking very clearly last night,” he rubbed his
head.
“Did you complete whatever treatment they had you on?”
Éomund asked cautiously, quite sure he knew what the elf had
been bitten by. Two weeks... almost long enough... at least
that’s how long the breakers kept the horses that the Rohirrim
sometimes brought them to receive the life-saving treatments. But
from the way the elf looked...
Legolas hesitated, staring at the Rohan warrior for a few
moments. The light hurt his eyes and his head was beginning to
pound. He knew the feeling, but didn’t want to admit it. It
couldn’t be coming back this fast, it couldn’t... he had felt well,
felt perfectly normal... but then Freca had often warned him that
lhyguan poison was not to be underestimated.
“Legolas?”
Blue eyes met the silver ones staring hard at him and Aragorn reached
out to touch the elf, his fingers gently brushing the prince’s neck and
feeling the increased heart rate. “You didn’t, did you?” the
ranger’s voice was soft.
“No.” Legolas looked down to his hands; “I was two days from
recovering fully.”
“But surely there is a
cure?” Elrond questioned. He glanced behind him as the
other soldiers began to filter back towards their commander. “If
he was receiving treatment then it can be finished now, can it
not?”
Éomund pushed two of his men towards the far grounds. “Search
that way, the thieves are believed to have escaped in that
direction. Helm, look through the house for anything that might
be an anti-toxin, they may have had some made up on hand.”
“It is useless.” Legolas spoke up, stopping the man who was
mounting the stairs. “They destroyed the house and took
everything of value. The AntiVen was spilt and is no more.”
“If there was an antidote then it can be recreated.” Elrond
stated calmly, although he was concerned about the level of distress he
was sensing. Something here seemed wrong. “What ingredients
is it comprised of and what does it counteract?” he questioned.
“The AntiVen was created by Freca’s great-grandfather. The
formula was passed down through the years from one generation of horse
breakers to another. Freca would have passed it along to the next
generations if he had been allowed that opportunity. Only the
three men who worked here knew what it consisted of.”
Éomund glanced apologetically at the three friends. “As
for what it counteracts, a native lizard the size of a cat calls the
northern downs of Rohan its home. They are ill-tempered and eat
anything they can find, including men and horses. Their bite is
lethal and without the antidote your friend will not survive the
day. What I do know is that the doses are divided into two per
day for two weeks in order to purge the poison from the system.
Your friend here has already missed at least two unless I’m
mistaken.”
Legolas shook his head slightly. “One, this morning,” he
corrected, rubbing his temples slowly.
Éomund’s eyes narrowed. Only one? The elf had missed
only one and he was already feeling this badly? The warrior’s
calm gaze fixed on Legolas once more, “You are feeling nauseated and
ill aren’t you?”
The elf nodded slowly, not wanting to admit what that meant, but having
no choice.
“It’s beginning to attack his system again. I know of no one who
has... who had,” he corrected himself sadly, “the AntiVen but
Freca. It was part of his business and he never gave away his
secrets.”
Elrond listened intently, his sharp mind already formulating an
antidote to the venom. The intricacies of anti-toxin were no
mystery to him, and although each poison was different, there were
certain general principles that could be applied as a starting
base. “Where can I find one of these lhygians?”
“You wish to trap one?” The soldier stared at him in astonishment
before laughing and turning to look over his shoulder. “No one
searches out a lhyguan, they run from it. Believe me when I say
these creatures are not to be trifled with. They are much meaner
than they look and more deadly than I can say. Not to mention the
fact that they are seldom to be found out in the open. You can’t
just walk out looking for one; you could go for days with no
luck.”
“If I can find one I believe I can recreate the antidote. But I
need a sample of the poison to work with in order to do so. Then,
with Legolas’ help in reporting the symptoms I should be able to do
this in time to save him if
you tell me where I may find one of the creatures.” Elrond
pierced the human with a deadly glare, “There must be some places that
they prefer, some type of environment that they favor. Think
hard.”
Éomund could think of an answer, but he was loath to mention it
because it would be little better than sending these two to their death
if they chose to go there. “There is a place... but none go there
and live. I would not send you thither.”
Elrond’s demanding gaze was unrelenting. “Our care is not in your
keeping, although I thank you for your concern. But if there is a
place, I would know of it, and swiftly. This is our friend’s only
hope. It may be that we will fail, that is always a risk, but if
we do not try then failure is certain. And at least I will know I
have done everything in my power to try.”
Éomund’s men were mounting up behind him, ready to be off, but
their commander stopped them. Dividing the group up he commanded
four of them to remain behind and keep watch over what was left of
Émuseld, to help bury the dead and to protect the elf that was
ill if the other two decided to follow through on their foolhardy
attempts to coral a lhyguan. The majority of them would track the
horse thieves in the direction that Thorongil had pointed them.
His scouts, such as they were, had confirmed that the northerner was
correct and the trail led away into the gulches.
Mounting his horse he leaned back down, his arms crossed atop his thigh
as he addressed Elrond. “The lhygians have just begun mating
season. They congregate to the southwest of here, in a grotto
where they find mating partners and lay their eggs. Normally they
are not fast for a ground lizard, but this time of year they are
unusually quick and even more ill-tempered than ever. I would use
great caution in approaching them. Men have tried before to go there,
in hopes of wiping out the threat while so many of them are congregated
together. None have ever come back alive. When they are in
groups, they are a hundred times as deadly as they are alone, but it is
the only place you will find them for the next few weeks.”
His steed pranced beneath him and Éomund danced the horse in a
tight circle, facing the elf lord once more, “One other thing.
The bite causes the blood to have difficulty thickening and once bitten
it is easy to bleed to death.” Éomund glanced at the bandages on
Legolas’ neck that disappeared beneath his tunic. True enough,
red stains were already beginning to show through, although the wounds
should have been well on their way to being closed by now. “My
men will stay with your friend until you return. They are well
skilled in dealing with such injuries and will give him the attention
he needs while you are away.”
They all knew it was a very generous and courteous offer, but Aragorn
started to protest anyway; he knew how uncomfortable Legolas was with
humans that he did not know.
“Thorongil,” the elf used his friend’s new name, “It will be
well. I will stay inside until you return. The bed I used
when I first came is in there.” Turning to the Rohirrim captain
he bowed politely as he stood unsteadily to his feet, “I thank
you.”
“May the Valar watch over you and your friends. We will return to
see how you fare once our business with these thieves is
accomplished.” Éomund spurred his horse forward and led
the soldiers out of sight over the far hill.
“Let’s get you inside before we leave.” Aragorn hooked his arms around
Legolas’ waist and steered his friend into the house as the soldiers
that remained with them carefully picked up Freca’s body and removed
him for burial.
Gently the ranger lowered the elf onto the bed, flinging back the
blankets and bed-sheets.
Legolas laughed softly, and Aragorn stopped to gaze down into the
upturned face, “And what is so funny?”
“You.” He whispered softly, “You and your many names.” Legolas
coughed as his laughter caught in his throat, “And now you have a new
one, Thorongil.”
Aragorn shook his head. “If only I can remember them all!
Seriously Legolas, I fear that some morning I shall wake up and forget
which one I am going by today!” he muttered sarcastically.
“That I would like to see,” the elf chuckled. “But I like your
latest addition; it suits you.” Legolas laid back on the pillows
that the human pressed under his head before pulling the sheets over
the elf.
Placing his hands on either side of the elf’s head the ranger leaned
over the prince and spoke quietly to him in elvish, “You stay with me,
Legolas Greenleaf. My father will find a cure. I only wish
you’d told us sooner...”
“I know, I’m sorry. But there wasn’t anything that could have
been done.” The elf smiled slightly at the frown his friend fixed
him with and gave up trying to explain. He was weary and tired
and his body ached. “Don’t be angry with me, Estel... I’m
sorry...” Legolas’ voice was unusually weak and soft as his hand
reached up to clasp the young human’s shoulder. He felt
incredibly drained and it was almost unbelievable how fast he could
feel his body succumbing.
Aragorn’s head swam dizzyingly with a sudden sense of having
experienced this moment before and his heart seized up inside of him
when he realize that this was the very instant he had seen in
Galadriel’s mirror.
“Don’t be angry with me, Estel...” Those were the very words.
“By the Valar Legolas, you cannot give in to this. You must hang
on until we return, do you understand?” Aragorn’s voice held a
tone of desperation that scared the elf.
“I will, I promise.” The prince spoke quickly, searching Aragorn’s face
and trying to bury his weakness since he saw how much it was scaring
his friend... but that didn’t seem to be all that was bothering the
ranger. “What is it?”
“Thorongil?” Elrond called to his son from the doorway, a soldier
stood just behind him. “We had best be going. The sooner we
are away the sooner we can return. We have precious little
time. Helm has offered to stay with Legolas while we are
gone.”
Aragorn nodded, closing his eyes tightly against the memories and fears
that had surfaced. Leaning quickly down, he kissed the elf gently
on the forehead. “Hold on and wait for our return, my friend.” He
spoke quietly, for the elf’s ears only.
Legolas’ hand slipped gently from his shoulder and the prince nodded
once. “Go and come back quickly. And don’t get into trouble on
the way!” He smiled softly at the human, “I promise I’ll wait,”
he reassured.
With a small nod, Aragorn stood and followed his father from the
house. Each step he took was dogged by the knowledge that this
was the future he had seen in the mirror and he greatly feared the
outcome.
~*~
Elrond quickened his pace to keep up with his adopted son. They
headed southwest as Éomund had instructed them, searching out
the grotto where the Rohirrim had said they could find the large
lizards like the one that had bitten Legolas. Helm, one of the
warriors that had stayed behind in Émuseld had informed the elf
lord that it was only a two-hour walk to the nesting grounds. The
sun had just barely established itself in the sky and by all rights the
elf was sure they would have enough time to return and create an
antidote by the evening, so he was slightly surprised at the tension
and distress he felt from the young man that was walking briskly just
ahead of him.
Aragorn glanced over his shoulder again, but the house was out of sight
by now, blocked by the rolling grassy hills that comprised this area of
the Riddermark.
"Legolas will be all right Estel. Helm seemed like a decent man
and I believe he will watch out for the prince."
“It’s not that.” The ranger’s pace quickened as the walked
downhill.
“We will have plenty of time to come up with an antidote. The
nesting grounds are close enough.” Elrond tried to
understand.
Aragorn shook his head, his eyes searching the horizon, avoiding the
questioning gaze of the elderly elf.
Elrond let the silence hang between them, listening to what wasn’t
being said. “What did you see?” he finally asked, his intuition
leading him to the question.
He must have hit close to the subject for the ranger faltered and
glanced at him sharply, slowing his gait to a stop. Turning
towards the elf lord he hazarded an explanation, “Do you remember when
I told you I saw Legolas die in the vision when I looked in Galadriel’s
mirror?” He continued when the elf nodded, “I thought that was
averted the night that we found him in the company of those
thieves. I thought we were safe and that that future was no
longer a possibility.” The ranger’s gaze fell to the ground at
his feet as he gathered his thoughts. Legolas' voice echoed in his
mind. “I was wrong.”
The simple admission took Elrond by surprise but he waited out the
human, wanting Aragorn to explain further in his own timing.
“When we were in the house, Legolas spoke the exact words that I
saw him speak before he died, in the vision. That was the moment that
Galadriel’s mirror showed and now I fear that it may follow
through. He may die, Father. We might have been too late
after all.” Aragorn’s gaze was locked on to the elf’s, begging
him, daring him to deny what he feared.
“If that is so and you have seen this moment then we have no time to
spare. The future is ever changing and it may be that we are not
too late, that it is still only a possibility. Not even the
wisest can tell these things, my son.” Grabbing the ranger’s arm
the elf lord started them walking briskly again.
“How sure are you that you can create an antidote?” Aragorn matched his
father’s steps.
“Very.” Elrond stated simply, holding his sons gaze.
With a slight nod the ranger took off running, “Then let us make all
haste, for I am not pleased with the future I saw. I fully intend
to change it!”
Elrond smiled at the hopefulness in the young man as he raced to catch
up with the fleet-footed ranger. He had no time to think on such
things as he followed the human who was cutting a quick path through
the rocks and hillocks, finding the fastest route in the direction they
had been pointed.
“Come on, Father!” he called over his shoulder; “You don’t need me to
slow down for you do you?” he taunted, a wicked grin on his face.
“Brat.” Elrond muttered, increasing his speed until he was side
by side with the young human, matching his every move. “One does not
live six-thousand years to be bested by a child.” He grinned at
the ranger before running ahead of him. His lithe form dodged
stones and missteps, gracefully fleeing ever closer to the grotto.
“You’re lucky you aren’t Elladan or Elrohir or I would make you eat
those words!” Aragorn called after him, pacing himself in his father’s
wake. It felt good to be running in the wilds. And for a
few moments he actually forgot the fears that dogged him. The
wind rushed through his hair, combing it away from his face and filling
his lungs with the sweet scent of the long grasses. The form of
the elf racing before him brought a smile to his face and he relished
the moment, reveling in the fact that his father was an elf and he had
had the privilege of being raised by the fair beings. Thoughts of
the future, his and his friend’s, were lost in the fleeting joy of the
immediate present.
The moment of peace ended swiftly as Elrond slowed his pace and
cautiously approached the edge of the plateau they were on.
Aragorn matched the elf’s stride and eased up next to his father,
leaning out slightly over the incline.
He frowned looking at the floor of the open cavern. For all
intents and purposes it looked uninhabited, a false lead. Large
slabs of rock overlapped one another at the base of the cliff, looking
as though they had been shorn from the very walls of the grotto
itself. A few sparse scrub bushes grew here and there, poking
their hearty greenery out from the oddest of places, even decorating
the steep inclines, growing horizontally out at awkward angles seeking
the sun from cracks in the cliff face.
Aragorn glanced back at his father but the elf lord raised his hand,
cautioning silence and pointed back into the grotto. “Watch the
floor of the ravine.” He barely whispered, his eyes riveted into the
cavern below them.
Redirecting his gaze once more, Aragorn watched the bottom of the
cliff. The rocks and sandy floor of the grotto sparkled in the
sun.
No...wait...
The ground was moving, writhing, undulating...it was alive.
Thousands of the large lizards moved over and around one another
reveling in the heat of the mid-morning sun. Their tan and slate
mottled bodies blended perfectly with the rocky ground cover, nature’s
camouflage for life in northern Rohan. Listening harder, the
ranger could hear their throaty growls and hissed warnings as several
of the males fought over the attentions of the females, warding off the
younger lhygians and securing their place in the mating
hierarchy. Now that he knew what to look for and where to look,
Aragorn noted that a few of the lizards had crawled up a pace from the
floor of the cavern and lay sprawled on ledges about the cliff face
enjoying the warmth of the day, uncaring of the frenzy below them.
Elrond shook out a canvas bag that he had brought with them. The
large flour sack had come from Émuseld’s kitchen and would just
do the trick. They needed to capture one of the lizards alive in
order to properly sample its venom as they had planned.
Glancing over his shoulder at the older elf, Aragorn pointed wordlessly
to a spot just below them.
With a small nod Elrond stepped closer to the ranger as the human
kneeled quietly on the ground, lying flat out near the edge of the
ravine, and slowly inched his way forward.
A large lhyguan lay sleeping a few feet below the lip of the cliff’s
edge, sprawled across a deep ledge in the rock face. Aragorn was
sure he could reach the ledge and surprise the lizard before the
creature could escape. A shadow to his left caught his attention
and he waited patiently as his father stepped over his prone body and
lay down next to him.
“Below us on the shelf. I believe I can get down there and catch
the lhyguan that is sleeping.” Aragorn glanced back over the lip
of the grotto once more. The lizard he was watching was no more
than ten feet below them. A large scrub bush grew at an odd angle
just above where the lhyguan lay. It would make the perfect
ladder.
Carefully, the ranger sat up and slowly lowered himself over the edge
on his belly, the tips of his boot toes just balancing on the thick
trunk of the rangy bush. His gaze was cast below him, intently
watching the large reptile to make sure he didn’t wake it. The
heat of the day and the warm air that constantly blew up from the basin
of the grotto had lulled the creature into a deep sleep. Being
this far up from the floor of the cavern the lizard did not fear any
enemies or contemporaries and its false sense of security made it
vulnerable.
Glancing quickly back up at the elf, Aragorn reached towards his
father, taking the burlap bag from Elrond. The trick was going to
be getting the large lizard in the bag in one quick motion, before it
had a chance to strike back or bite. The creature was by no means
small and if it once began to fight it could probably put up a stiff
resistance. On a cliff edge this narrow, with no room to
maneuver, that could be deadly.
“Be careful, my son,” the elf lord whispered.
Aragorn felt the small tree that held his weight shift lower in the
crevice it was wedged into, groaning in protest of supporting him.
With a grimace the human stepped quickly off the branches, his shoes
barely scuffing the rocky surface as he quietly approached the
lhyguan.
With calculated moves Aragorn placed the open end of the bag on the far
side of the lizard. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself he
scooped the lip of the bag towards himself, taking the reptile off
guard and rolling the lhyguan into the sack in one smooth move.
The lizard, taken totally by surprise thrashed wildly inside the
knapsack, kicking and attempting to bite through the course
fabric. It writhed in panic, throwing its weight against the
ranger as the human quickly tied off the opening.
Arching its back and thrashing itself in a whip-like fashion the
lhyguan slammed its body into the ranger’s. The awkward position
that Aragorn was standing in was compromised as the long, muscular body
of the huge lizard smashed into him. His boots slipped as he was
shoved backwards and he flailed with his free hand, trying to right
himself. Grabbing blindly, Aragorn’s fingers caught the smaller
branches of the bush next to him and held onto them tentatively as he
tried to gain his footing.
Elrond was calling to him from the edge of the cliff, uncaring if their
presence disturbed the mating reptiles. He held his breath as his
son glanced up at him in alarm, his eyes wide as the bush he was
holding onto was ripped from its precarious hold on the rock face and,
with a rending tear, broke in half.
Aragorn fell forward, trying to cling to the edge of the rocky
ledge. The bag that held the lhyguan had slipped from his
fingers. The creature inside was still in a panicked rage,
thrashing wildly and slamming into the ranger’s face.
The rush of air all around him and the horrible feeling of
weightlessness startled the ranger as he fell backwards away from the
cliff, his fall sending him hurtling towards the floor of the rocky
grotto and the seething mass of deadly reptiles collected there.
Elrond dropped lightly down on the cliff ledge only seconds after his
son had slipped from the edge, his fingers grasping only air as he
tried to catch the human, his horrified cry echoing through the
grotto.
“ESTEL!”
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