Agarwaen

Part Seventeen
~Broken~

The toe of a boot slamming into his side was the first sensation Aragorn felt upon waking. He groaned, trying to rid his head of the strangely vivid dreams of burning branches and white-dressed figures even as the lancing pain in his ribs woke him fully.

“Rise and shine, egol,” Fedorian said, sounding unusually cheerful as he gave the ranger another painful nudge to make sure he was awake.

It was daylight though only just. Smoky blue light edged the bare branches and their dismal camp. Sometime during the night someone had replaced his dry though still tatty tunic over his shoulders and hobbled his ankles. Aragorn started to sit up, the blankets slipped off his shoulders and the spike of cold air made him catch his breath. Arenath cast him a harried glance as he threw his cloak and belongings haphazardly into his pack.

Fedorian’s heel ground painfully into the fiery, unhealed lashes on Aragorn’s back, forcing him back onto his stomach. Paralyzed by the sudden arch of pain, Aragorn pressed himself into the grass, stilling instantly. Fedorian grabbed him roughly by the hair and hauled him to his feet, slicing the hobbles from his ankles. Still disoriented from his abrupt awakening, he had no idea what was going on or why the two seemed in such a hurry. His legs felt watery and uncertain beneath him and his head spun.

Shivering in the glassy air, he waited nervously as Arenath threaded a thinner rope through his wrist restraints, tying it off tightly and holding the other end in his hand until Fedorian, leading a horse into the glade retrieved it from him.

Aragorn had never seen the animal until now but supposed Fedorian must have kept it for long-distance hunts or ranges into the town that was some hours’ distance. With his hands bound in front of him, the other end looped around Fedorian’s saddle horn, his muscles ached with protest. His injuries were not happy with the continued strain and blood rewetted his tunic as he staggered in the wake of the horse.

The other elf also followed on foot though he was fleeter than the exhausted human and could keep up with the horse’s steady pace. The sun climbed steadily into the sky and soon, despite the chill in the air, Aragorn could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He could hear nothing but the faint whispers of the elves in front of him as they conversed quietly together. He forced his legs a little faster so he could listen in.

Arenath looked up at his friend. “You are sure then?” he sounded a little doubtful to whatever Fedorian had told him.

“You doubt my judgement?” the elder elf glanced back and noticed the human watching but did not trouble to lower his voice. “I have simply laid it as a precaution. Then we will be certain we are not followed. We can retrieve it later if you miss the weight of it in your pack.”

They came to the ridge where they were forced to slow the horse in order to negotiate the narrow ledge. Aragorn kept his eyes riveted on his footing rather than the gaping ravine on the right.

Arenath too was walking on the inner curve, close to the wall. He had dropped back several paces behind the human to guard the rear because the ledge was too narrow for two to walk abreast much less with a horse. Aragorn twisted around to look at him.

“Face front,” Arenath whispered, his eyes raking the uneven ledges overhead. “The footing is unsteady here.”

“Why are you so kind to me?” Aragorn asked, obediently turning back around.

“I am not kind.”

“You did not kill me when I tried to escape. You didn’t let me die,” Aragorn said, daring another glance back.

“I wanted to.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“What did I tell you? Face front!” Arenath snapped. “If you go over the edge, I will not save you, human.”

Aragorn did as bid again. His sword had been bound to Fedorian’s saddle. He watched the hilt rock up and down with the movement of the horse’s gait and longed for it in his hands. If only he could get them free…He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Arenath. However, the other elf, after all of his confidences the night before, made a point of looking away from the human in his partner’s presence.

But being ignored had never deterred Aragorn before and it did not now.

“I live in a place called Rivendell,” he said, still facing forward. “full of waterfalls and gardens that turn all kinds of colors in the summer. Roaring fires would be lit in all the hearths this time of the year. Wanderers find rest and peace there. It’s very beautiful. I think you would like it.”

The lead rope gave a sudden, harsh jerk on his wrists and Aragorn stumbled, trying in vain to stop his forward momentum towards the edge. Dislodged scree skittered over the precipice and bounced down to a collection of sharp rocks hundreds of feet beneath him. He had a terrifying glimpse of the silver ribbon that was the river Isen and the swaying heads of trees before another heave on the line slammed him back against the cliff face, his face sheened with sweat and chest heaving.

Arenath gripped his shoulders and propelled him a couple yards so he wouldn’t be dragged until he got his feet under him again.

“You must be silent,” he whispered, glancing up at the boulder-tumbled bluff. “This is orc territory. We have no desire to be spotted.”

Aragorn swallowed hard, still trying to calm his trembling heart. His situation was already bad enough; he didn’t need orcs to worsen it. He stopped talking and forced his protesting muscles to keep moving. His boots pounded the dusty ground and grit drifted into his eyes from above. But he made sure he kept up, glaring at Fedorian’s straight back.

They reached a passage where the road widened in a large curve, the path overthrown with shadows from an overhang above. Splintered rocks were scattered over the ledge like children’s discarded toys and made it more difficult to navigate and they had to slow down considerably to weave a way through. Aragorn was watching his footing so closely he didn’t realize Fedorian had checked the horse until he nearly ran into its back end.

Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the cool shadows, he wondered why they had stopped until he saw the rangy figures rising from concealment among the boulders. Black lips drew back in fanged smiles as they closed in, in front and behind, blocking escape. Yellow eyes burned as a hard creaking announced the stretching of warg-hair bowstrings.

Ambush.

----------

The ashes of a fire were freshly strewn. Some of the embers were still glowing where they’d caught on a patch of pine needles. But the glade itself was empty. Haldir straightened with a frustrated sigh, wiping his soot-blackened hand on his leggings. He hadn’t missed them by much.

The path up the ridge had delayed him far too long. A snare had nearly crippled Lintedal before he had spotted it. It had taken him another, precious hour to disentangle it and scout the road clear ahead. He rued every minute’s delay and finally left her at the foot of the incline to climb up to the camp Arenath had revealed to him last night.

Haldir searched the area thoroughly and found strange markings, dark spatters all down a trunk and roots at the camp’s far end. The elf captain touched the bloodstains with growing horror. Estel. He turned swiftly back to where he’d left Lintedal, hurriedly but cautiously picking his way through the undergrowth. He wouldn’t have put it past Fedorian to leave behind some kind of trap.

The first shaft buzzed past his head like a hornet and thudded into the trunk behind him. Instinctively he threw himself to the earth. Ducking out of the way of further arrows, he pressed his back against a tree’s protective bole. Haldir held his breath, listening. Nothing more came as though his attacker had lost sight of him. Something crackled in the woods a few yards away.

Catching one of the boughs overhead, he darted silently from bough to bough high above the forest floor until he found it. A dark shape lay crouched next to the earth, its hood drawn up over its face as it stretched its neck up a little, obviously searching for him.

He swung down hard and fast. His boots caught his attacker squarely in the midsection and flung him over onto his back. The figure lost its grip on its bow as it scrambled up and the hood slid off its face, revealing pale features and a mane of brown hair.

Saeryn.

Haldir pulled back in surprise, letting his half-pulled saber drop back into its sheath. “What are you doing out here?”

Stunned into immobility, she stared at him in shock then realization of what she’d almost done filled her and she covered her face, mortified. “I thought you were he! I’m sorry!”

“You missed him by about a half hour. They’ve gone already and Estel with them,” Haldir set her near-slaying of him aside with the ease of one who’d had too much experience with it. “Are the others with you?”

“Dammit, elf, someone needs to put a bell on you,” Carlóme’s familiar voice growled as the dark woman stepped out of the undergrowth. Other shapes rose up like wraiths behind her. Narturi waved at him.

Carlóme raised an eyebrow at him, the javelin settled against her shoulder. “So, are you going to stand there gaping at us all day or are you going to tell us where your ranger is?”

“He’s not my ranger,” Haldir said absentmindedly as he walked them back towards the abandoned campsite. “There are horse’s hooves in the wet earth here and here. The boot heels behind them are Estel’s, I’m sure of it.”

“Where are they going?” Miren ventured, staring at the far end of the camp where the trail exited.

Haldir was already crossing the clearing, stepping around ash and the brittle remains of firewood. They had left in a hurry. Some of the pine needles were still smouldering from embers improperly extinguished. Usually elves were never so irresponsible and took exquisite care to conceal their presence from others. Either Fedorian was in too much of a hurry to bother or he wanted to be found. “I think they’ve taken back to the road.”

“He doesn’t know we’re looking for him though does he?” Saeryn asked, gripping her bow tightly as she caught up with him.

“Do you think I know how he thinks?” Haldir whirled on her. “Do you think simply because I happen to be an elf I have any idea where he might have taken him or what they are going to do? Do you?”

She stepped back, shocked by his sudden outburst.

“We didn’t need to come with you, elf,” Carlóme reminded him. “Don’t jump down her throat because you don’t have any answers.”

He reined in his anger sharply and drew back from her with a slightly ashamed shake of his head. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper like that but a sleepless night compounded with worry for Estel gnawing at his belly made him a little less than amiable when they insisted on asking him things he could not—or dared not—answer.

“If Fedorian feels threatened, he’ll try for a place he feels safe. The fastest way to go there would be the road,” he said at last staring at the old oak that still bore cracked and drying bloodstains.

“We will find him,” Saeryn reassured him.

Wordlessly, he retrieved Lintedal. The mare seemed uneasy and kept sidestepping, the long grass swishing around her forelegs. Horses’ senses were keener than humans and elves. A ripple of warning shivered up Haldir’s spine as Carlóme skirted a fallen log in front of him.

A small snick was their only warning. The taut, black thread concealed in the long grass abruptly slackened and the crosshair trigger released the wide net that enveloped Carlóme and her horse entirely and tangled Saeryn and Kari who were on foot as well. Tiny, three-pronged hooks had been skillfully woven into the mesh like metal spiders and snagged in clothes, hair and skin as they fought to free themselves. The others moved to help but the cruel hooks made things even more impossible.

“Stand aside!” Haldir barked at them. “Stop moving.” He was familiar with these kinds of snares and the others trying to disentangle it would only tangle it more. Carlóme’s horse too, its pelt scored by the sharpened metal, was beginning to panic.

He edged past it and caught the heavy drop-rope in his hands.

The horse nervously sidestepped him and a hook caught it sharply across the eye. The beast reared. Startled, Haldir tried to leap aside as the horse’s heavy flank slammed him sidelong into the fallen log. Pinned like a piece of metal on an anvil, he gasped, half-crushed. The weight fell off him almost immediately as Carlóme jerked the reins hard left. He staggered sideways, hugging his side as he sliced the thick rope that had dropped the net.

The others grabbed corners and peeled it away cautiously, pulling it away from gear and the horse’s hooves. Thankfully, none of the hooks had caused great damage though the horse’s eye was rather badly cut and would need tending to when they returned to Merdon.

Haldir stayed leaning against the log a few seconds too long and Saeryn asked with concern, “What happened?”

He straightened determinedly. “Watch your footing.”

Thankfully they reached the road without further mishap. Eyeing Lintedal’s broad back, he pulled himself into the saddle, unable to ignore the sharp lance in his side when he swung his leg over. The log had finally done what Branock could not and broken the strained rib; he could almost feel it grinding against the others. The movement of the horse did not help any but thoughts of what Estel might be enduring forced away his own pain.

They were approaching a bend in the road when Haldir suddenly held up a hand, halting the column. “Do you hear that?”

“I don’t have elf ears,” Carlóme grumbled next to him but she too was leaning forward, listening. “Sounds like a battle.”

Haldir swung down, careful to keep his weight light as he touched the ground. “Orcs. Many of them.” He thought for a split second. “Those of you with bows, come with me. The others stay here with the horses. We’ll bring word.”

Saeryn, Kari, and Carlóme, who though without a bow was unwilling to be left behind, followed him as he climbed up the crags with a little less than his usual grace.

“Why don’t we just charge them?” Carlóme growled as she used her javelin like a walking stick to lever herself to a sturdier position as they crouched down among the dun-colored rocks, surveying the bloody melee below.

“Whole hunting parties have been slain that way, not knowing the enemy number or position. We watch first. If this is just some orc dispute between tribes, we leave them to it,” Haldir said, shading his eyes against the sunlight as he tried to pick out the identity of the fighters below. “Besides, that ledge is narrow enough without us...”

He trailed off abruptly and narrowed his eyes against the sun glare. Beneath a shadowy overhang, he had caught a glimpse of a dark-haired head in the midst of the orc-black. It was Aragorn. Unknowingly, they’d stumbled right upon the human and his captors. The ranger was bound and helpless against orc blades, but he was standing and alive. The elf captain had leapt up before he even realized it. All thoughts of pain or weariness wiped away instantly.

But even as he stood up, even as he drew his saber, he saw Fedorian rise in his stirrups, a knife ready in his hand, poised and aimed. Aragorn was a half pace away. He couldn’t miss.

----------

Fedorian surveyed the orcs with something akin to distaste as though they were an inconvenience he could ill afford. He maneuvered the horse horizontally across the road. It presented more of a target to the bows but it also gave him more room to shift and protected those two unmounted behind him while Arenath strung his bow and faced those orcs that had gathered behind them. If the enemy were smart they wouldn’t shoot the horse. A panicked, hurt animal in this small a space could spell disaster for all of them, not just their quarry.

“Be off, slaves of darkness!” Fedorian challenged them, the reins loose in his hand. “You are blocking the road.”

His black-handled knife was drawn and glittered across his lap as what appeared to be the leader, a muscular, black-skinned fellow whose filthy, matted head almost reached the horse’s eyes loped up and halted just within striking distance, a leer pulling at blackened teeth. One of his comrades snickered in Aragorn’s direction and snapped his teeth in an obscene mime of eating.

Arenath nudged the man behind him with a sharp glance at his partner. “There’s too many.”

Fedorian didn’t look at him but kept his eyes on the leader whose long, hairy arm stretched steadily toward the horse’s bridle. A second later, he hopped back with a screech, his hand lying in the dust. The sound electrified the others who surged forward. One fell with a knife in his chest before the others leaped at the horse which whinnied and frantically retreated from the creatures digging hard nails into its flesh and clawing at its mane.

With deadly accuracy Arenath sent arrow after arrow into the ranks of those swarming up the path. But the horse was growing more and more terrified as bodies tangled in its legs and the heavy stench of blood stung its nostrils. It whinnied and pulled its head suddenly sidewise. Aragorn’s hands were still tied to the mount’s saddle horn. When the animal lurched, the rope yanked taut and sent him slamming sideways into an orc who instantly grabbed his arms, nearly lifting the young human off the ground as it snarled into his face, its sour breath rolling over his nostrils in waves.

Aragorn raked his boot heel hard down the orc’s unprotected shin, forcing the creature to drop him with a strangled yelp. Cursing, it backhanded him viciously across the face, splitting his lip. The man fell hard into the dust which was vibrating under the chaos of battle. Fedorian’s mount shied from his body, its hooves landing dangerously close to the ranger’s head as he struggled to squirm out of its way.

A heavy iron-shod boot landed hard on his back and ground down against his injuries. The flash of pain took him out of the fight as he momentarily forgot how to breathe. The horse’s sharp scream exploded in his ears and he caught the barest glimpse of hooves flashing towards his skull. He actually felt the wind of a flailing hoof as it flew inches over his head and caught his assailant directly between the eyes, slaying him instantly.

Miraculously unharmed, the ranger staggered, the loose rope trailing around his legs.

Arenath spotted the young human struggling out of the melee and took careful aim with his last arrow. It flew straight into the eye of a large monster bearing down on the human and at once the elf was at his side, pulled a knife and began to saw at the human’s bonds which had jerked tight enough to cut into the tender skin. The tips of his fingers were purple.

“The bluff files down in a few miles…if you can get that far…” Arenath abruptly released the man to disarm an orc bearing down on him with a scimitar. He savagely kicked it hard in the chest. For a minute, its arms windmilled desperately trying to keep its balance before air opened up beneath it and it fell screeching into the gorge.

“Come with me,” Aragorn grabbed his shoulder, steering him out of the way of an orc that leapt from the top of one of the boulders and, missing his quarry, followed his brethren over the edge.

Arenath only shook his head and seized the man’s half-severed bonds. His knife flashed once. “I cannot.”

As soon as his hands were free, Aragorn lunged for the skittish horse, making a grab for his sword which was slung just within reach. His fingers brushed the cold, diamond-shaped pommel. Without warning, a knife hilt smashed his fingers. Recoiling, Aragorn cradled his injured hand against his chest. A curious numbness rang through his second and third fingers. He didn’t want to think they might be broken.

Fedorian glared at him over his shoulder even as his knife impaled an orc grabbing for his reins. Enemy dispatched, he turned his dripping knife on the ranger still within reach. Aragorn backed away but slipped on the blood-slick rocks and fell hard again, cutting his hands and sending a powerfully painful jolt through his fingers that robbed him of movement. Reversing the grip of his blade, Fedorian held his weapon by the tip, preparing to flick it into the helpless ranger.

Aragorn looked up at the elf and realized he was not going to be tortured anymore after all. Faced with losing his prize to the overwhelming press of orcs, Fedorian would rather kill his prey than relinquish it. The thought gave the ranger no comfort as he stared his would-be killer down. Even though the battle clashed still around them with orcs clawing at each other, sound faded from Aragorn’s ears, his sight blurred. Something buzzed over his head.

The Galadhel suddenly pitched forward over the neck of his mount with a half-stifled cry of surprise, nearly unseated as the knife dropped from his startled hand. An arrow protruded from his shoulder. Aragorn scrambled up in surprise.

The arrow had not come from the orcs.

The man’s eyes caught a flash of raven hair and the grim, dark face of Carlóme as she fitted another arrow to her borrowed bow. The next shot hissed within an inch of Fedorian’s face. The elf wrapped his long fingers around the shaft in him and snapped it defiantly. Despite obvious pain, something flickered across his face as he caught sight of the ranger’s freed hands. His eyes flew to Arenath.

Around the bend, came a rallying shout and the thunder of hooves announced the rest of Carlóme’s band charging into the fray. They drove the orcs right off the cliff and back under a barrage of sword strokes and arrows. Soon the shelf was empty save for the dead, the two elves and the human.

Startled by the suddenness of the orcs’ massive defeat, Aragorn sat blankly where he had fallen until a flash of gold drew his eyes up the rocky crags. A burst of energy went off inside his chest as he saw Haldir leap down towards him.

“Daro!”

An unseen blow caught Aragorn in the jaw, spinning him around and slamming him into the earth again. Fedorian grabbed the ranger up, twisting his bruised arm up until the ranger fell to his knees.

Haldir froze, still high on the rocks. Every muscle in his body contracted as he held up a hand to still the others’ instinctive rush. Fedorian would not hesitate to kill Aragorn. He waited for the next move, his saber gripped tightly in his hands.

“Drop it, Haldir.”

Haldir complied, his gaze darting towards Arenath who hesitatingly brought his eyes up. He stood closest to the two on the ground below.

“He has been a very interesting guest,” Fedorian continued almost conversationally, picking his own bloody knife up without relinquishing his tight grasp on the dazed young man. “I must admit I never expected to entertain the Heir of Elendil. How perfect is it, that the descendant of one who allowed so many of our brothers to die in battle, will die now by an elf’s hand?”

“What’s he saying?” Carlóme hissed in frustration as Haldir gestured impatiently at her to be quiet.

“You will not touch him.” Haldir’s voice rang out, low and dangerous.

Fedorian reversed the weapon, holding it out hilt first towards the slowly advancing elf. “Or perhaps you would like to have the honor, Haldir? I know how much you liked to make it quick. And now so does he.” He wrenched Aragorn’s arm brutally, making the ranger groan through clenched teeth.

This time Haldir’s eyes caught Aragorn’s. His friend looked bad, pale and bloodstained. But it wasn’t the man’s wounds that made the elf’s heart clench painfully. It was the knowledge in his eyes. He knew. Valar, he knew! Haldir turned his face away quickly. He was afraid of the recrimination, the disgust he would see in the ranger’s eyes and he needed all his strength to deal with this first.

“Haldir, don’t—!” The crack of the pommel against Aragorn’s teeth was audible.

“Severing the vein in a man’s neck can drain a body of blood in minutes, adan. Do not test me,” the murderous elf spat, the lethal tip of his knife gouging the ranger’s jaw until the stubble crimsoned. Neck straining back, his mouth tasting of blood, Aragorn tried hard to concentrate on breathing without choking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of grey.

A hand suddenly latched around his forearm and wrestled the knife away from the ranger’s throat. Fedorian lost hold of his weapon. Like lightning, the older Galadhel spun and struck Arenath forcibly across the face. The sound of the slap like steel striking wet fruit made Aragorn wince in sympathy.

Sprawled on his back, Arenath partially outstretched his hand as though to ward the other away, blood trickling down his cheek. “End this, gon nin. Geilrín and Silivren wouldn’t want you to do this.”

Fedorian let out an angry hiss like a trodden-on adder, the fingers of one hand clenched where the knife used to be.

Aragorn stared wide-eyed at the other elf. He knew what Arenath had done for him and why. Wriggling around, he hoisted himself up on his forearms, scooting out of the murderous elf’s reach. He automatically flinched and froze when Fedorian’s livid eyes closed on him again.

But it was not to him that the elf spoke. “You did this to him, Haldir. You put these ideas into his head. He was never so weak until you came.”

As soon as he’d seen the knife drop, Haldir had raced down the incline to within a few yards of the elves and their captive. His gaze darted from Arenath still on the ground to Aragorn who was still far too close to Fedorian.

“I said nothing to him that he did not already know and feel in his own heart. This has gone on for far too long, Fedorian, and you know it. This has turned into an obsession. It will destroy you if you keep going as you are.”

Behind him, Carlóme and the others crouched on the rocks. The dark woman had an arrow drawn to Saeryn’s bow in her hands.

Fedorian’s eyes flickered towards them. With a lethalness that chilled the blood, he drew his long, black-handled knife. Aragorn tried to edge out of the way but the palms of his left hand abruptly vanished into open air. He recoiled sharply as he realized he was on the brink of the ledge. Rocks waited hungrily below.

Fedorian trapped the man’s other hand under his heel. “How do you think this will end, Haldir?” he asked, the casuality marred by the tremble of anger in his tone as he ground down on the broken fingers. Aragorn’s face contorted with agony though no sound escaped his mouth. “I will capitulate peacefully and allow this pitiful specimen to go free?”

“You cannot stand forever,” Haldir said, eyeing the glistening patch slowly spreading around the splintered arrow in the elf’s shoulder. His own face was sheened with sweat, the pain in his side growing worse by the minute and he found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Fedorian laughed darkly. “I have known worse.”

Arenath had regained his feet and wiped the blood from his cheek, leaving a long crimson smear along the corner of his mouth. Fedorian looked at him warily as he took a wavering step closer.

“Please, my friend, they will let us go. They’re going to let us go home. Home.” Arenath’s eyes filled with longing even as Carlóme shot an incredulous look in Haldir’s direction which the marchwarden did not return.

Fedorian shook his head pityingly at the other elf. “Is that what lie they told you, Arenath? We have no home. There is nothing left but the hunt.”

“I cannot do this anymore,” the younger elf was starting to shake, his voice wavering out of control. “You said… we needed to revenge them… They are revenged. They are revenged a hundred times over and yet you are not stopping! It’s never going to stop, is it? You don’t know how... You don’t feel anything anymore! Do you even remember their names? Your wife and daughter, do you even know?”

“Do not dare tell me—” Fedorian began thunderously but for the first time, Arenath overrode him.

“I never got to call Silivren hervess or you Adar. That’s all I ever wanted. I was content,” No one moved except Arenath as he, seemingly completely unaware of the danger, moved closer and closer to the edge of the precipice where his friend stood with the young human under his knife. “This has to end. I will stop you if I have to.”

“Don’t be a fool, Arenath,” the corner of Fedorian’s lips curled as though he might smile though his voice was cold. “You could never best me in battle.”

“I don’t want to. But I will. Let him go.”

“It is men like him,” Fedorian jabbed the knife furiously in Aragorn’s direction. “that have made you suffer so. Not I!”

“No. He showed me there could be peace,” Arenath said with the slightest smile. His eyes fell on the ranger. “I want to forget…I am tired.”

“You are weak and pathetic. You are letting your compassion get the better of you when you should have left that behind in the fire that killed your wife!” Fedorian snarled, his voice rising heatedly. Arenath winced as though whip-lashed but his shoulders straightened and he looked at his commander with new eyes as though something had finally become clear to him.

“I never saw how dangerously you were sinking…I never saw the terrible hate in your heart—until it was too late.”

Fedorian scoffed at him. “And now what? You offer me condolence? Pity? I need neither from you,” he spat dismissively. “There’s only this left.”

He turned the knife on Estel.

It happened in a split second.

Aragorn stared up into the dark Galadhel’s white, burning face, saw Haldir lurch forward towards the knife. Arenath grabbed his friend by the shoulder with both hands just as he brought the blade slashing out…

Haldir halted as though he had hit a glass wall. Aragorn blinked and slowly cracked first one eye open then the other, wondering that he was still alive. Fedorian was no longer facing him and Arenath had staggered back several paces.

The smaller elf’s face drained of color, sweat beading at his temples and drenching his golden hair several shades darker. His eyes flickered and his hands fumbled at his chest.

“No,” Aragorn saw him start to fall and hurtled past Fedorian faster than the other could react, just barely snagging onto the elf’s tunic.

But they were too near the edge and there was nothing to grab hold of. Unable to compensate for the elf’s sudden weight, Aragorn felt his heart lurch. Depth opened up beneath them as they fell straight down off the ledge. Wind rushed past his ears and an uncomfortable jolt rose up as his stomach rushed up into his throat. The next instant burst in a startling thud as they stopped, rudely halted by an uneven outcropping that protruded out of the cliff wall.

Aragorn landed hard but unhurt on the grassy surface but Arenath, thrown farther than the man, got caught on the very tip. Too dazed to pull himself up, he was slipping away. The ranger groped wildly and latched onto his right wrist as his body swung sideways, his weight dangling off the precipice where the rocks waited far below.

“Arenath,” the ranger gasped, looking down into the elf’s ashen face.

Arenath wasn’t looking at him. He brought the fingers of his free hand up before his eyes. They were drenched with crimson like the fingers of a glove and Aragorn realized with a dreadful sinking sensation that Fedorian’s knife had not found its intended mark in his body but lay deeply embedded in Arenath’s chest, shoved even more forcibly in by the fall. Only the hilt protruded out of his tunic now.

Aragorn blinked against watering eyes. The steadily increasing pressure on his broken fingers did nothing to help his waning strength but fear had wiped his mind of almost all realization of pain.

“Give me your other hand.” His hands were slick and numb; he could feel the elf’s wrist sliding through his grasp inch by excruciating inch as he stretched his other hand down. He spoke quietly and calmly despite the tremor in his hands. “Arenath, listen to me,”

The elf closed his eyes and dropped his forehead against his straining arm.

“Arenath! Give me your other hand! I can’t hold onto you!”

“It’s no use, Estel…I am dying anyway…”

“No,” the man shook his head, unwilling to let the elf go after what he’d done. “You saved my life… I’m not going to let you die…”

“I’m losing my grip.”

He tried to tighten his grasp. “Avo leithio! Don’t let go!”

“It’s too… bad,” Arenath whispered as though he hadn’t heard the ranger. “Rivendell…sounded nice.” His eyes closed.

“NO!”

Aragorn felt the fingers slip away, the weight jerk out from under him and pressed his face hard into the grass as horror took over. Grief flooded throughout his body for the loss of the immortal life. When he could finally move again, he dragged his weary, hurting body back from the edge and leaned against the rock wall, calling upwards for anyone who could hear him.

“Haldir! Carlóme! Anybody! Haldir!”

He thought he heard someone shout but his head blurred dizzily and the sun beat down on his position. Hot tears still stung the corners of his eyes though the frigid wind burned them off his cheeks. A rope looped on the end snaked down into his lap. He mechanically slipped it over his middle and waited for the telltale tug before getting his feet under him. Clinging to the rope with his uninjured hand, he half-scrambled, half-let whoever was on the other end pull him up. The rope was doubled around a small sapling for added leverage.

Forever and an instant passed before strong hands grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him safely back up onto the road. He rolled over and blinked in the bright sunshine until his rescuer’s visage sharpened.

“Haldir,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Standing in the middle of the road amongst orc corpses, Carlóme, Saeryn and Kari all had their weapons, bows and javelin, trained on Fedorian who had eyes only for the exhausted human. He spoke only one word.

“Arenath?”

“I’m sorry,” Aragorn said with genuine regret. “He’s gone.”

Fedorian’s dead eyes glittered with hate. “You killed him.”

Crack!

The elven rogue dropped in a limp heap, his golden hair spilling in the dust.

“That’s enough out of him.” Carlóme plunged her javelin which she had used as a handy club into the dirt beside the unconscious elf’s head. “You look like you’ve seen better days, Strider.”

The ranger smiled weakly through his broken mouth. “I never thought I’d be happy to see you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“Are you much hurt?” Saeryn dropped to her knees beside him, her brow furrowing as she took in his battered face and his left hand cradled in his right. But the ranger wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the cliff edge. “I lost him.”

Haldir stood at the edge of the precipice, looking down at the rocks below. His shaded eyes caught Aragorn’s sorrow and pain-filled ones as the ranger shook his head uncontrollably.

“I’m so sorry, Haldir… I tried to help him… He was kind to me. I didn’t—”

In two strides, Haldir was beside him, silencing him with a hand pressed over his mouth to still his apologies. “It was no fault of yours, Estel. Now answer her. How are you hurt?” Haldir repeated Saeryn’s question.

The man didn’t see how his friend could be so pragmatic when Arenath, his comrade in arms, his blood brother, lay lifeless but he took a deep breath and tried to get his whirling emotions under control. “A couple bruises… it’s not bad…I—I’m really cold.”

“And your fingers are broken,” the elf marveled, lifting the man’s rough hand gingerly between his own and eyeing the grotesque displacement of the fingers Fedorian had smashed with his knife hilt. “Do you feel them?”

“I’m cold,” the man shuddered, closing his eyes.

Haldir rifled in his satchel for a moment and withdrew a small flask that swished when he shook it. He pressed the rim to the man’s lips and squeezed the bottle lightly. “Here. Drink. It will warm you.”

Too numb to do anything other than obey, Aragorn let the soothing, oddly sweet liquid trickle down his sore throat. Instant warmth spread from his stomach to the tips of his toes and fingertips. A sweeping sense of relief coupled with agony as the pain of broken bones replaced the numbness. He curled over his side briefly but Haldir pressed him back against the rock face as Saeryn temporarily splinted the ranger’s fingers. She would properly reset them once they returned to town.

Carlóme however was busy circling her long-sought enemy. Her dark eyes narrowed with triumph even as she nudged the dark elf hard in the side to make sure he was really out. Twenty years she’d been waiting for this. Twenty years to avenge the death of her brother. For a moment, she closed her eyes and gripped the shaft of her javelin as though in prayer. Then, her eyes flew open and she snapped orders, “Kari, tie his hands. Miren, help me get him up on the horse.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Aragorn asked as Haldir supported him waveringly to his feet.

“Take him back with us,” Carlóme grunted as she heaved the elf’s limp body over the back of his own horse, tying him down with rope she found in the abandoned pack to secure him. “That bounty’ll fetch a pretty price if we bring him back alive for a public execution.”

Haldir’s lips tightened but he didn’t say anything as he helped Aragorn up onto Lintedal’s back and swung up behind him. He pressed his horse ahead of the others, ignoring the jolting pain in his side. He would deal with it later. Right now, all that mattered was the more than half-frozen ranger on the saddle in front of him.

Aragorn couldn’t bring himself to feel anything except the strong arms wrapped securely around his chest to keep him in the saddle. His head jogged limply against the elf captain’s shoulder. Arenath’s body was falling farther and farther behind.

Exhaustion and the loss of adrenalin pulled his eyelids shut as he pressed his face into his friend’s tunic. It smelled of dust and cooling sweat but it comforted the wounded young man. It meant safety. He was safe. He didn’t want to know what he must smell like. At the moment he didn’t really care as Lintedal’s smooth steps rocked him into a light doze.

----------

It seemed only seconds later when a light touch on his shoulder roused him. “Wake. We’re here.”

The words rumbled under his ear as Aragorn’s eyelids fluttered open. He was still resting against Haldir’s soft tunic. Lintedal had stopped and the absence of the horse’s soothing rhythm woke him fully. They were back outside the inn in Merdon. Aragorn felt a sweep of sheer relief as he realized they were as close to home and security as they were going to get until they reached Rivendell. For a minute, he allowed himself to thank the Valar he had survived and prayed he’d see his brothers and father again soon.

“I can’t get off the horse until you wake up,” the elf muttered with his usual dry humor. Yet there was a tightness in his tone though that forced Aragorn up straight, smothering a groan. Every muscle in his body ached and he stank of sweat and horse. However concern for his friend won over his own discomfort as he wondered what injuries the elf had sustained. Arenath had said humans had hurt him… But thinking of Arenath proved too painful at the moment.

With difficulty and a remonstrating twinge in his back, he twisted in the saddle to regard the elf captain’s haggard, grey face. There was an unfathomable expression in his eyes that Aragorn’s overwrought mind couldn’t interpret right now.

“Are you all right?”

“Get off.” The elf stared at him steadily, his eyes narrowing with tired annoyance.

Saeryn reached up a hand to help him down and Aragorn accepted it as he dismounted awkwardly. “I’ll get him settled,” she told him as she supported the ranger up the front steps of the inn. Miren and Kari had the job of escorting Fedorian’s still-unconscious form to a temporary holding place.

Haldir nudged Lintedal towards the stables without looking back. He didn’t realize Carlóme had followed him until she spoke.

“He’s a sturdy one, your ranger. No mistake.” She looked over at him when no predictably scathing rejoinder came. “Aren’t you going to tell me he’s not ‘your ranger.’”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t listening.” He swung down from the saddle, landing with a sharp inhale that sounded uncomfortably loud in the stillness of the stables where nothing but quiet horse breaths disturbed the air.

“How bad a shape are you in?” She’d been watching him closely.

He rolled his eyes more in chagrin at himself than her as he led Lintedal into her stall.

Carlóme propped her elbow up on the door watching him as he untacked his mare. “You both are mad and brave and way too lucky.”

He snorted then curled a hand around his side. “Perhaps not so lucky.”

“Something broken?” she leaned forward far too interestedly as he touched his side, pressing lightly.

“The horse…when the snare went off…” was all he managed by way of explanation. The pain and lack of breath was making him dizzy. He leaned a minute on Lintedal’s foamy flank.

She poked his side experimentally making him jump. “Yep, I think it’s broken.”

“Thank you for the surety, healer.”

“It’s your own damn fault. If you’d waited for us in the first place—”

“If I had waited for you, I might not have a broken rib, I would probably have been spared this conversation, and Strider would be dead,” he shot back, too irritated and tired to deal with her recriminations right now.

She shrugged carelessly. “I’m just saying you probably shouldn’t let Strider see you like this. He’ll rip his own stitches out worrying over you. I’ve seen it. Can’t imagine why.”

As resentful as he was of the way she said it, he had to admit she had a point. Aragorn didn’t need anything else to think or feel guilty about right now. Saeryn could look after him for a few moments longer. He seated himself gingerly on a hay bale while Carlóme disappeared inside. She returned three minutes later with a pack slung over her shoulder.

“Some of this is left over from Brenn. Zaren said he woke up while we were gone.”

“Good news.”

“Yeah.” She dumped the pack beside him and extracted a thick wad of bandages.

He stared at them apprehensively. “Am I even going to be able to move after this?”

She didn’t reply and instead jerked her head at his tunic. “Off.”

He crooked an eyebrow at her.

She leered mockingly at him. “What? You think you’re gonna show me something I’ve never seen before?”

He let her wait a minute longer then shrugged stiffly out of his damp, dusty garment, rather glad to get the filthy thing off if truth be told. He hadn’t changed his clothes since last he’d left the inn.

She worked in silence and he was glad for it. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and rested his head against the stall’s wooden side. Weariness was not a feeling he would willingly admit even to himself but he was feeling it now. He pictured Aragorn probably getting the same treatment in Saeryn’s clutches, being fussed over and force-fed whatever awful concoction she had on hand. He almost smiled before he remembered the reason the ranger was in such a condition was because of him. He grunted when Carlóme tightened the bandages with a jerk to wake him up.

“Easy.”

He almost felt her gaze rake his closed eyelids. “Brenn told us a few things too—about what happened,” A hunger overtook her tone as though this was something she’d been wanting to discuss with him, the reason she had followed him alone into the stables and so thoughtfully tended his injuries. “Or, rather, about what he heard. He’s got a good memory.”

The reply was noncommittal though he had an uncannily disturbed feeling he knew where this was going. “He’s a smart child.”

“That he is. I was right though wasn’t I?” she said, leaning back on the toes of her boots and tilting her head back to look up into his face. “You did kill the ones who hurt you.”

His eyes snapped open and he stood up, shrugging his tunic over his newest bandages. Every inch of his skin burned as, clutching his side, he finished knotting off the band with his back to her.

“You got your revenge on them, didn’t you?”

“Why did you even come?” he spat accusingly at her, spinning on his boot heel. “Last I was told, you were intent on protecting your own.”

She looked at him for a long time, undaunted by his glare. With a slow nod, she gathered up her things perhaps realizing she was the last person he would ever discuss his past with—if he talked about it at all. With a hand on the door jamb, she paused and said without looking over her shoulder, “I was.”

He blinked as the door swung shut behind her with a click.