Chapter 3 (for disclaimer see chapter one)

Chapter 3 Flight in the night

 
“Legolas!” Estel was near a real panic by now. When his vision had cleared after the blow to his head, he had witnessed how a man from the shadows had attacked the elf from behind and had cruelly stabbed the prince. The blood pooling around the elf on the floor grew steadily and the ranger knew that the wound was serious. Otherwise Legolas would have risen by now. That he had not was evidence to his dire state.
 
What made the human’s heart hurt was the fact that his friend had rushed into the room because of him. Without a doubt his friend had heard something coming from the bedchamber. His good hearing made sure of that. In the elf’s haste to help, he had neglected his own safety and had entered the chamber with all haste. He never saw the danger lurking in the shadows.
 
His blood pumping through his veins the ranger got up on his knees and turned towards his friend, the other men momentarily forgotten. There was so much blood. When Estel saw the dimming of his friends eyes, the sparkle of consciousness and with it light and hope fading, he screamed his friends name again, willing him to listen and to stay with him. “Legolas, mellon nin. Dartho na anim!” (Stay with me). But to the rangers terror, the elf’s eyes dimmed even further and then, with a flutter, closed.
 
“No! Legolas!” Estel wanted to scramble to his feet, eager to reach his friend. Suddenly, he felt another heavy blow landing between his shoulder blades, sending him crashing to the floor once more, gasping from the pain that lanced through his already sour shoulders and back. As if from far away he could hear other voices, the voices of the two intruders.
 
“No, Baug. I said no dead elves and that includes friends of those creatures. Even if he is just a filthy ranger.” Dagnir had been hard pressed to stop the arm holding the knife, before his second in command would have killed the ranger. The captain did not mind killing the human, but the elves certainly did. So, not allowed to kill the ranger, Bauglir had resented to other methods of quieting the man. Kicking him hard, was one of them.
 
The little boy, Taran, who had been crying silently, turned wide eyes at the ranger on the floor. A panicked expressing crossing the tear streaked face. It took the child only moments to realize that his only friend and protector was hurt. Filling his tiny lungs with as much air as possible, the boy opened his mouth to scream loudly. His screaming would certainly wake every person dwelling in Imladris.
 
Dagnir, who carried the child, had followed the boys look and seen the movement of the boys rising chest. “Damn. Be quiet child!” The captain put his hand onto the child’s mouth, effectively preventing the little being from screaming, without hurting him. A wailing child was the last he needed now.
 
The boy tried to wiggle out of the hunters arms. To the child’s dismay the arms were strong and no positive progress could be made. Therefore the little and scared edan turned his head to the figure on the floor. Tears were running down his handsome face and he sniffed audibly. Stretching out his little arms to Estel, the boy begged to be held by the ranger. To be taken and comforted. To be rescued and to be safe again.
 
Estel was fighting with unconsciousness again. His shoulders burned, both from sitting in that chair the whole night and from being kicked. His head, which had hit the floor unceremoniously, throbbed with every heartbeat and sent jerks of pain down his back. Breathing heavily the human tried to clear his vision. Blinking, Estel regained control over his breathing and slowly, painfully slowly, lifted his head.
 
The sight before him had not changed much. Only the sea of crimson blood had turned bigger. Legolas golden hair that cascaded around his head, was by now soaked in his own blood. It was glued to the floor. His green tunic was red and only his left side seemed untouched by the red substance. Loosing so much blood was nothing that could bee easily restored. Not even by an elf.
 
Estel tried to get to his feet one more time. He needed to help his friend. To stop the bleeding. Before he had even more than lifted his arms of the floor to stem his body to his feet, a heavy booted foot crashed down on his back and pressed him to the cold floor, his face scraping over the wooden tiles.
 
“You’re going nowhere, scum.” The boot pressed down harder and Estel gasped from the pain. He could not get enough air. His chest was slowly being crushed and every time his lungs tried to fill with oxygen he had the feeling of breathing mud. He gasped again, dark spots appearing in his line of vision. This was not good.
 
“Stop it. You’re killing him.” Dagnir wanted to leave. He did not need any games to be played with that ranger.
 
Bauglir looked at his captain and then down at the helpless ranger. Smirking cruelly, he lifted his boot and let it crash down with all his might at the back of the ranger. With satisfaction Bauglir heard the definite snapping of a rib, followed by the painful gasp of his victim. Oh, he enjoyed this.
 
Dagnir resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew his second in command good enough to know that the man was not finished yet. He had not heeded his command, but Dagnir had no time to waste now to reprimand him. And Bauglir knew that. And took advantage of that. The captain hated the thought that one of his men knew him well enough to know when he could overstep the borders. But it could not be helped at the moment. Turning his fiery stare at his second in command, he hissed: “We will leave now. Get it over with.”
 
Bauglir grinned, lifting his knife again. This was going to get better and better. Perhaps he could not kill the ranger, but there where enough ways to silence the ranger and have a little bit of fun. Bending down, the hunter positioned his knife under the mans chin and lifted the head by adding pressure to the blade.
 
Estel winced when he felt the cool steel at his face. He still had problems breathing. When the boot had landed on his back, he had felt one of his ribs snap. Others were sure to be badly bruised. Pain shot like fire through his side and he tasted an iron taste in his mouth. This was not good, he thought again.
 
Unable to do much to hinder the man from playing with him, Estel confined himself to only stare at the other men. If he was lucky the man would let him live and then leave. Unconscious of course, but for Estel the only hope he had. His survival could mean Legolas survival as well.
 
It was still a few hour till dawn and nobody would miss Legolas until breakfast. None of the other elves would come looking for them. But if the ranger survived, there was a chance that he would awake sooner than dawn and therefore be able to help his friend. Taran could be helped later. The men did not seem willing to hurt the boy.
 
The cold steel wandered from his cheek southwards, nearing his throat. Gulping, Estel felt his chances of survival thin.
 
Crying silently, the boy struggled even harder to get out of the mans arms. With the hand still on his moth, he was not able to scream out loud, but muffled sobs and wails came through the hand. Leaning away from the hunter and towards the ranger on the floor, Taran stretched his arms as far as possible. Sobbing.
 
The blade pressed on Estels throat. An evil gleam had appeared in the hunters eyes. Gripping the knife harder, he let it press down a bit stronger and was satisfied to draw first blood. In small droplets it found its way down the mans throat. This made the whole trip worth for.
 
 
Bauglir was a lonely man. He hated company. But what he hated even more, were those filthy rangers. More then once had one of those gotten into his way, spoiling his plans. This one here, would think twice before stepping in his way again.
 
Meant slicing the throat of the ranger and letting him bleed slowly to death killing him? To Bauglir, it was a matter of definition. The initial blade stroke would not kill the man. The man would kill himself by pumping his life out of his  own body. And that meant, acting according to his captains wishes. And even if not, what should his captain do about it now?
 
Bauglir pressed the knife further down, drawing more blood. Aye, he felt good.
 
Dagnir saw how his subordinates eyes glimmered with the anticipation of the coming kill. Even if he had ordered the man not to kill the ranger, they needed to leave. Rather sooner than later. Killing went faster that knocking out.
 
A heavy shuffling in his arms brought Dagnirs attention back to the boy. Without the man noticing, the screaming had turned louder and more desperate. Frowning, Dagnir looked at the boys outstretched arms, then at the ranger.
 
Another squeal came from the boy and Dagnir had to strengthen his hold on the child to keep him from tumbling down. What was it about that child? Annoyed, the hunter shook the child lightly, trying to quiet it. If the boy kept that wailing up, he would wake the household.
 
But the boy only turned big and watery eyes at the hunter and then at the ranger on the floor again, tears flowing down the pale cheeks. He sniffed and sobbed, begging the ranger to hold him.
 
Sighing, Dagnir turned to his man. By now, Bauglir had created some intricate patterns over the rangers throat, from left to right and back again. The cuts were bleeding lightly. They were not serious. Yet.
 
“Baug. Let him go.” Not even looking up from his victim, Bauglir asked: “Why? Its so much fun.” “We need him.” “What for? This scum is good for nothin´.” Taking one step towards the two men, Dagnir told his man: “He will quieten the child. Let. Him. Go.”
 
Estel could not believe his ears. Had he heard correctly? Where they really going to let him live? Living meant a chance for Legolas. The cuts on his throat ached the human, but not as much as his chest burned. Lifting his eyes up to the man called Baug, Estel searched for the mans eyes and when he had found them, he saw a wave of disappointment in them.
 
Swallowing, Estel knew the man was angry because he had not been able to kill him. Well, that’s  a way to begin a new day, Estel thought sarcastically. Making new friends.
 
The knife was pressed at his throat one more time, leaving another cut in the soft flesh and making the ranger wince. When the hunter released his hold onto the ranger, Estel sagged to the floor again, breathing heavily.
 
His chest burned like fire with every breath he took. The pain spread out from the broken rib like the rays of the sun, but the human could not taste any blood any more. Taking this as a good sign, he struggled to his knees. Carefully, so as not to alarm the hunters, he lifted his gaze and looked around.
 
The two men were towering over him, staring at him. And for the first time Estel heard the wailing of Taran. He had not noticed before, but the child was upset and afraid, crying and sobbing constantly.
 
Then Estel´s  gaze travelled to his friend. The elf lay motionless in his own blood. Not a muscle twitched. The ranger could make out no reaction at all. That was not good.
 
Shouldn’t there be a rising of the elf’s chest? A movement around his body? Anything that indicated that his best friend was still among the living? Estel did not again try to move to the elf’s side, knowing that any attempt would be halted immediately. But he had to do something.
 
This was Imladris. This was his home. This was his friend. And these two had no right to hurt his friend. Or his family. Anger boiled up inside the man. Perhaps he could not change what had happened, but he would take care that these two would pay for what they had done. But first, he had to get out of this mess. And soon.
 
“Get up.” Estel only stared at the man. “I said get up. Or do you prefer Bauglir here to assist you?” The red eyes of the man were burning into the rangers. Estel could see no pity in them, only calculation. Taking a brief glance at Legolas again, Estel slowly made it to his feet, one arm pressed tightly around his injured ribs, staring at the speaker defiantly.
 
“I give you a fare chance, ranger,” Dagnir stated matter of factly. “I will let you live. For now. You take the child. We will take our leave together, and perhaps, your friend will live. Understood?” The last word was more a command than a question.
 
So they wanted him to still the child. But what about Legolas? Estel wasn’t even sure if the elf still drew breath. He could not leave him here to die. No, no way. It did not matter to the human what the intruders did to him, but he could not leave his best friend. He would not.
 
Making eye contact with the leader, Estel challenged boldly, knowing it was a high risk to do so: “I will go with you. I will not fight you. But only, if I can see to the elf first.”
 
Dagnirs lips curled into something that resembled a smile. He wiped it of his face before it could be recognized. That ranger had guts,* he had to give him that. One look in the rangers eyes told Dagnir all he needed to know. He nodded.
 
That ranger would put up a fight. He would not back down from his condition. Dagnir saw that the rangers eyes lit and then, faster than the hunter had thought possible with at least one broken rib, the man rushed to the elf’s side, kneeling down and whispering softly into the elf’s ear.
 
The scene made one more thing clear for Dagnir. That ranger meant trouble. More trouble than he wished for. As soon as they were out of Rivendell and in the woods again, they had to get rid of the man. Well, at least Baug would be happy then.
 
Estel rushed to Legolas side, examining the still form briefly, before putting a slightly trembling hand onto the elf neck to feel for a pulse. At first he felt nothing but then his fingers detected a weak and erratic pulse.
 
A wave of relief washed over the ranger and he send a quick prayer to the Valar, thanking them for sparing Legolas life. Gently, so as not to hurt his friend, Estel rolled Legolas onto his back. Parting the ripped tunic, the ranger ran his eyes over the wound.
 
It was deep. Deeper than was good for the elf. This was not merely a flesh wound. It was serious. A wound of this depth could easily have caused internal bleeding or have hurt some of the elf’s organs. With skilled fingers, Estel pressed down onto the wound to check the blood flow. The wound seemed to have slowed in bleeding, but the blooded that flowed over the mans fingers was still enough to worry the ranger.
 
Looking around the room, Estel sought for something that he could use as bandages. Spotting a suitable cloth he stood and fetched it, ignoring the impatient look of the captain. And Legolas potential murderer.
 
Pressing the cloth onto the wound, the ranger tried to stop the bleeding. When he did so, a pained moan floated to his ears. “Legolas? Legolas, turo le henio nin?” (Can you hear me?) Legolas eyes fluttered but did not open. “Legolas, mellon nin. Please, come back to the light.” The ranger pleaded with his friend. It seemed the elf was too far in the darkness to hear him. He would not wake.
 
“Legolas, please. It would ease my heart to see you awake, mellon nin.” No reaction. His friend did not even stir. He would just not react to anything the ranger said. Bending low to the elf’s white face, Estel tried again: “Legolas, do you want your new nickname to become truth? My brothers and I will never let you life that one here down if you stay a Lornalas.” When the elf remained silent, Estel felt tears prick at his eyes.
 
Unwilling to let his tears fall and even more unwilling to let them fall in front of the two other men, the ranger pressed the cloth down harder, giving his hands something to do. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but were only a few long moments, the blood flow thinned and eventually stopped.
 
Inspecting the wound, the healer in Estel screamed at him to clean the wound and to use herbs on it to prevent an infection. Alas, he had no clean water or herbs at hand. Asking the two men would not succeed. Estel was sure of that. Therefore he bandaged the wound as good as he could and then tried once more to rouse his friend: “Mellon nin. It is time for you to wake. Please, Legolas, you need to wake.”
 
“That is enough. Step back. Hands at your side.” The rough voice from the leader echoed of the walls as he commanded the ranger to his feet. Time was up.
 
Estel still knelt on the floor. He still had his knife in his boot. He could take it now. He could fight. The thought of fighting, of resisting flashed trough Estels mind. It was a possibility. Maybe he even had a chance. He could fight.
 
But Legolas, and the child, could not. A fight could result in himself being killed. And that would minimise the chances of his friend and the boy. Later, Estel thought. Later.
 
Rising to his feet, hands spread out at his sides, the ranger turned towards the two men. If they thought he would back down, they were wrong. He would get his opportunity. And when that time had come, he would fight. He would take revenge for his friend. That much was certain.
 
Dagnir, impatient by now beyond words, pushed the child into the rangers arms. As soon as the boy was encircled in the rangers arms, he quieted and leaned his head onto the mans broad shoulder, sniffing softly. The little arms had found their way around the rangers neck and held tight. And most important of all, the child was silent. Dagnir noticed one more thing that pleased him immensely. Both arms of the ranger were occupied with holding the child. He could not move them without letting the boy fall.
 
Smirking in satisfaction, Dagnir nodded to his second in command. Bauglir moved quietly to the door of the room, thereby stepping over Legolas, and opened the door a crack to peer outside.
 
The men nodded once and then disappeared from view as he stepped onto the corridor, as silent as any elf could. With the blink of an eye, he was gone.
 
Dagnir held his dagger firmly in his hand. He motioned with it to the ranger to move forward in the direction of the door. “And no tricks, boy. Or you are dead.” Dagnirs voice hissed in Estels ear.
 
Hugging the still frightened boy close to his chest, Estel moved. Holding the child made his ribs protest against the pressure, but the ranger ignored it. It was not important now. Legolas was important. And getting him the help he needed.
 
Estel considered screaming for help. Bauglir was outside. If he yelled for help now, there was a chance to be heard and helped. Elladan and Elrohir were sleeping only a few doors down the corridor. They would hear him. But would they be fast enough?
 
All the rangers thoughts were cut short as he felt a known pressure at his neck. A dagger. Dagnirs dagger. He would be dead before he even had drawn his breath to scream. Shutting his eyes briefly, the ranger felt all hope for a rescue vanish into thin air. No. No one would help him now, because no one could. They did not know. And would not until the next morning.
 
Stepping over Legolas lifeless body, the ranger hoped that that would not be too late.
 
A few minutes later three tall dark figures sneaked over the  misty courtyard, stilling the sounds of night for the time of their passing, walked over the stone bridge and then melted into the blackness of the forest. Like shadows. The mist had silenced their steps and no trace was left to indicate they had even been there. They were gone. The nocturnal sounds arose again, as if nothing had disturbed them.   
 
~*~
 
Elladan moved in his sleep. The elf had thrown himself from side to side, not really sleeping but not awake either. Another turn on the bed, a tangling in the covers, then a short sigh, and Elladan awoke fully. Rubbing his tired eyes with his hand, the elf tried to arrange his thoughts.
 
Why was he awake that late at night? Had something awoken him? He let his gaze travel through his room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Wait, was there a sound coming from outside? Soft footsteps? Listening more carefully, the older twin tried to catch the sound again.
 
After a few moments of futile listening, Elladan shrugged his shoulders and turned onto his other side. No, there was nothing to worry about. Within moments, Elladan was fast asleep again. How could he know that his best friend lay bleeding and unconscious only a few rooms away?
 
~*~
 
The night was cool and misty, even in the thick forest. The grey waves of watery mist hung around the tree trunks, making the world look hostile and evil. The sounds of night were strangely subdued and the nearly non existent wind let the leafs rustle softly. An owl screeched and the sound of small feet running over dry leaves floated on the air. Not only human hunters were out tonight.
 
Estel and the other two men had wandered through the forest for nearly two hours in complete silence. No words had been spoken. On and on they went, always heading south, deeper into the dark forest.
 
Estel, still hugging the sleeping child to his hurting chest, had tried to find a way to escape. He knew the woods around his home by heart. But every time he had thought of an escape route that he could take, the two hunters had changed the direction shortly before the turning point, effectively spoiling the rangers plans.
 
Because of the mist, the rangers clothes had become damp with water. When they had sneaked out of the Last Homely House, there had been no time to grab a cloak or even a leather over tunic. To be honest, Estel was freezing. His skin felt cold to the touch and his dark hair was wet from the million water droplets the grey mist had placed there.
 
What concerned the ranger more, was Taran. Sleeping at his shoulder, Estel tried do shield the boy from the cold and the wetness of the night, but without even a cloak, it was a futile attempt.
 
Little children were even more delicate to illnesses than adults and the rangers healer instincts had kicked in long ago. His question concerning the matter had only caught him another hard push into his back.
Holding the little edan tighter that before, Estels thoughts wandered back to his friend. All the time he had prayed to the Valar to let his friend live. To send Legolas help. To do something. To keep him safe and protected.
 
As much as Estel feared for his best friends safety, so more was he relieved that Legolas was not with him now. He did not know the hunters intent, but from what he knew already, Estel had learned that they needed him. The elf, on the other side, would have only been an unnecessary threat. Furthermore, he felt relieved at the fact that at least his brothers were unharmed. Or so he hoped. He did not know how long the two intruders had been sneaking through the house. All he could do was hope. Hope and pray to the mighty Valar to listen.
 
He was startled out of his sombre musings, when the man called Dagnir suddenly stopped. They had not reached a campsite or even a clearing. The man had just stopped in the middle of the black forest.
 
Dangir made eye contact with his subordinate,  thereby nodding curtly, and then Bauglir slowly stepped up to Estel, smirking cruelly. Then, Estel noticed the knife in the other mans hand.
 
Gulping, the ranger knew his time had run out. Too late. No more plans. The last grain in his hour glass had fallen, Estel had won and lost. Legolas probably lived, but he was doomed. He had fulfilled his duty of keeping the child calm. No one would hear Taran scream this far from Imladris. With a sarcastic note, Estel realized that no one would hear him scream either.
 
~*~
 
Bauglir enjoyed this immensely. All the time he had been waiting for his captains command. Now, he was allowed to have a little fun with that filthy scum. Oh, and fun he would have. He could not have that elf, but the ranger would do, too.
 
He had of course known that Dagnir would not keep the ranger forever. The man was just baggage. Trouble. All rangers were. So, while wandering through the still night, he had already thought about all the wonderful painful things that he could try on the boy. Inhaling deeply, Bauglir gripped his knife harder. Time to play.
 
~*~
 
Estels breathing did not even increase. He knew he had lost before it had even begun. If he had to die in this starless night, so be it. He had no weapons he could use, no way to escape. He was all alone, already injured. But he would not give Bauglir the satisfaction of making him scream, or run, or hide or do something else foolish. If he had to die, he would die proudly like the man he was.
 
Estel switched his gaze away from the coming tall human, to the small human in his arms. No need for Taran to see all this. Bouncing the boy lightly, the ranger woke the child. When the big blue sleepy eyes of the boy met his own, Estel forced a smile onto his face: “Hey, penneth. Don’t be afraid. All is well. Be a good boy, will you? All will be well.” Estel placed a hand onto the child’s cheek, stroking it softly. Then he handed the boy to the outstretched arms of Dagnir. The man rudely took the boy into his own hands.
 
Estel looked Taran into the eyes. The boy stared back, frightened. He did not understand why he had to leave the ranger. He had felt safe there.
 
Tarans eyes, big and deep blue, filled with tears as Estel stepped back. Smiling again, the ranger made eye contact with the little edan once more saying gently: “Close your eyes, Taran. You don’t have to see this. Oltho, penneth (Dream, little one).”
 
Finally stepped back fully, Estel took a deep breath and turned to face his murderer.
 
~*~
 
Dagnir was stunned. How did that ranger do that? The one moment the little boy was wailing like a balrog and the next tame as a sheep. Never had Dagnir seen such a gift. Considering his task at hand, the captain came to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, the ranger could come in handy.
 
They still had a long way to go before the task with the child was finished. It would take some time to get a save distance away from the elven realm, then contact the child’s parents, the ransom, the deal, all needed time.
 
When the ranger took care of the child, he had one more man free for other tasks. And as long as the ranger was with them, the boy would stay calm. Furthermore, the ranger was perhaps his life insurance. The elves would probably not care for a human, but if that blond elf survived, he certainly would. The elves would not attack, knowing the ranger was with them and there was a chance to hurt, or even kill the human. If the elves ever found them, that was, Dagnir thought.
 
Making the decision to let the ranger live was one thing, telling Bauglir was another. The captain had seen the devilish glint in his mans eyes. Bauglir wanted to hurt that filthy ranger. To hurt him painfully and then kill him. Slowly, so as to relish in the kill. Sighing inwardly, Dagnir turned to his second in command.
 
Bauglir had advanced on Estel and was standing only a few feet in front of him, knife raised. The sparse moonlight glinted of the steel and gave the weapon a deadly appearance. The hunters eyes had opened fully and an evil sparkle could be seen.
 
Dagnir stepped forward and cleared his throat. When he had the attention of his man he said emotionlessly: “No killing him yet, Baug. We still need him. That is a command.”
 
Estel was as surprised at these words as Bauglir. That was not what he had expected to hear. Turning big eyes at the leader, Estel noticed the change in Dagnirs eyes. They were still red and scary, but no longer deadly. They seemed calculating. As if the man knew something that only he could understand.
 
From his front, Estel could hear the other mans voice, sounding irritated, and much to Estels delight, angry. “What do we need that boy for? He is scum. We will be better off without him.” “Aye, maybe. But we will keep him. He will care for the child.”
 
Estel could see the short fight that was fought between the two hunters. They stared at each other, none of them willing to back down. It would have been fascinating for the ranger, had it not been a fight about his life.
 
After another moment, Bauglir cursed under his breath and averted his eyes from his captain. Dagnir, had won.
 
Looking at the ranger, Dagnir gave the boy back. “No tricks. I warn you. One false move, boy, and you will wish I had let Bauglir kill you now,” the captain said, his voice cold as ice and sharp as glass. There was no room for arguing. Estel nodded.
 
After he had settled the still crying boy safely into his arms, wiping away the tears on the boys wet cheeks, Estel whispered some comforting elvish words into the child’s ears, willing him to calm and get back to sleep. As before, Taran snuggled closer to the mans chest. He gripped Estels tunic tightly in his small hands, and closed his eyes, sniffing.
 
Bauglir and his captain shared a brief glance, unnoticed by Estel, and Dagnir formed a word with his lips, never speaking it. Only one word. But it lightened his second in commands mood and produced a wicked grin on his face. “Later.”
 
The journey went on, through the stillness of the night. Soon, the rangers steady heartbeat and rhythmic breathing had lulled the boy back to sleep.
 
* (A/N: sorry if this is too vulgar, but my dictionary says so ;-) )
 
End of chapter 3