You can read the original here:
All credit goes to the original author
Alistair
1
They were in the hospital. The walls were bright and blank, and the people blended together, everyone in the same shade of sea foam green or canvas white. Blue name tags were stuck to collars or pockets, or hanging around necks. It had a hurried atmosphere, though it was strangely comforting to the siblings.
Alistair was quickly attended to. They cleaned his head wound, and Al sat bravely, holding Auden’s hand, as they sewed up the cut. He didn’t flinch or hiss even once. He was always this brave and passive. Auden worried about him, and asked him if he was alright several times while they wrapped a bandage around the newly stitched laceration. He was patient and responded each time with a reassuring smile, but this only concerned her more.
Auden was prone to panic attacks and insomnia, and he always had to look after her. When he had learned to read, he would read aloud to her, to better put her to sleep. Lately though, he had gotten so good at it, that it actually kept her up, because she wanted to hear the story. She could never stay awake through any of his favorites, though. He admitted that most of them were slow to begin, but still, the end was worth it. So of course, he often read these to her, because they put her to sleep, and greatly interested him.
“You worry too much,” he told her, after he caught her staring at him with furrowed eyebrows and a deep frown for the third time within the hour. Auden tried to pretend that she wasn’t worrying at all, but he knew better. He sighed, pushing his hair out of his face and trying not to cringe at the feel of the rough bandage under his fingers.
“Let’s go for a walk, Al, I need some air,” she said after he was silent for a while.
He agreed and they walked out the revolving doors together. Revolving doors seemed an odd choice for a hospital, but that was neither here nor there. They were both somewhat in need of a walk.
Clouds were dark and grey above them, still heavy with rain, after several weeks of such weather. Alistair slouched alongside his sister, wondering if perhaps there was a world somewhere, which was going without rain, because this world was hogging all of it. He looked at Auden peripherally and watched as she dragged her feet dejectedly, bloody jacket slung over her shoulders, almost completely covering the red mark across her clavicle, from the seatbelt. Her eyebrows were knitted together in the center, while her mouth formed a thin line, curved down in a frown.
Auden was becoming increasingly more upset. It wasn’t enough that she’d almost killed a man. Oh no, she had to cause her brother severe brain damage, of course. No brain damage was caused, really. But it could have been. Easily. If Alistair’s head had been turned slightly more to the left, his head might have broken open completely; or if he had been looking just a tidbit upward, his neck might have snapped. Their parents shouldn’t have allowed her to drive with him in the car. It didn’t matter that she’d had her license now for four and a half years. She was obviously too irresponsible for such precious cargo. She tried to sneak a side-glance at her brother, but failed and was immediately locked into a stare with him.
“You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?” his eyes narrowed.
Auden blinked and then smiled a brilliant, white smile. “Of course not,” she responded, rather convincingly in her opinion. It was really. It would have convinced anyone; that is, anyone except for Alistair.
He sighed quietly and said, “Good.”
An idea dawned upon the girl, as the trail had been getting more and more tree-covered, the longer they followed it. There, in the center of a small clearing up ahead, was a large, magnificent tree. It was incredibly tall and had low branches that even her too-short-even-for-a-ten-year-old brother could reach.
“Alistair!” she said excitedly, as they neared it.
“Hm?” He was still brooding a little.
“Climb with me!” she demanded almost gleefully. But he only stood and watched as she pulled herself onto the lower braches and slowly made her way upward. Alistair seemed to consider it for a moment, but thought better of it and sat down at the base of the tree, leaning his head back to watch his sister, who was half concealed to him by the branches.
He closed his wide, bright eyes and let the wind tease his hair, filling him with the scent of fresh rain and wildflowers. He could feel the light intensifying on his face and scrunched his eyes closed still more tightly against it. It was hot and made him see orange, though he wasn’t looking at anything. He heard the shuffling and creaking of branches above him and songs started springing into his head. They weren’t any kind of song you could sing along to. They were just peaceful sounds, lulling him into sedation.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep, mister!” Auden’s voice rang clearly in his ears, but he didn’t open his eyes.
“I won’t,” he responded quietly.
“You might have a concussion, you know.”
“Yeah.”
“Alistair?”
“Mhm.”
He heard a swish and the loud creaking of the tree as Auden climbed down towards him. His head felt swimmy and he was finding it difficult to open his eyes. A loud ‘snap’ caught his attention and they shot open of their own accord. Auden’s frightened gasp followed it quickly and she shrieked, “Al, move!”
He had enough time to turn his head and see her crash down onto him. His head ached and beyond a view of soft, green grass, black clouds seemed to be swarming around his vision. He rolled himself over, to see that his sister had made an effort not to land completely atop him. Most of her body lay in a crumpled heap at the roots of the tree, while it had only been her feet that collided with his head. Alistair made to reach for her, but as he tried to sit up, the world started to spin, blending together, and eventually pitching him into darkness, as his body fell limp upon the ground.
Alistair opened his eyes and groaned at the pain in his head. He rubbed it and felt warm liquid under his palm. Sighing and shaking his hair out, he confirmed that his cut had reopened, as he saw vibrant red dripping almost cheerily from his dark curls.
“Ow,” he huffed, then smiled and turned to see his sister, passed out beside him, “Watch where you fall, Auden; I just got out of the hospital, you know.”
But she did not stir at his voice. She didn’t wake to offer him twelve apologies within the same minute, or fuss over him, or drag him back up the trail to the hospital with a vengeance. As he looked around, he noted that there was no longer any trail to speak of. This worried him slightly, but he had a more pressing matter to attend to.
He scooted towards Auden and tried shaking her, but she would not wake up. He poked and prodded and yelled and shook, but she stayed stubbornly unconscious. He stopped suddenly at the sound of strange accented voices, calling out, seemingly searching for someone. Perhaps the hospital had noticed he was missing. But no, it was not his name they were calling.
Still, his sister wasn’t waking up, which was becoming more and more vexing, and quite problematic on top of that.
“Frodoooooo?” the voice called. Alistair recognized the name, but it escaped his memory at the moment.
“Excuse me!” he called to the voice, as he saw a form moving through the trees. “Excuse me! I need help!”
“Frodo!” cried the owner of the voice, bursting through the brush. He grabbed Al by the shoulders, shaking him slightly, “Where did you go? And what happened to your head?!—Wait a minute! You’re not Frodo!” Alistair’s assailant was slightly shorter than he, with dirty blond hair of the same curly texture as his own.
“Well, n-no, not last I checked…” he responded, thoroughly alarmed by this small, odd stranger.
“Have you found him?” another stranger fought his way through the underbrush, this one very slightly more rotund than the other, with, Alistair noticed, large, hairy feet, and similar, strange attire. It suddenly dawned on him, where he was, and excitement overtook his fright.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed, “You’re hobbits!”
“We are. And apparently you aren’t,” the new arrival turned to the other, “Pip, we’re s’posed to be lookin’ fer Frodo! What’re you doing?”
“I thought he was Frodo,” Pip responded sullenly as he at last released Alistair, who could have jumped for joy at this point. He knew this story. He’d read this story. It was one of the ones Auden frequently fell asleep during.
As Alistair was so caught up in his simultaneous joy and disbelief, he forgot the fact that, at this point in the tale, something very unfortunate was about to happen.
He was thinking of how to go about explaining his predicament to the two hobbits, when a man arrived in their small clearing, looking harassed and quite upset. His fear seemed to have spread to the hobbits, and after a moment, Alistair remembered that this was when Meriadoc and Peregrin were taken my Orcs, and that this was also when Boromir died.
Dread filled him to the brim as he looked up and spied the advancing creatures; ugly and twisted, built, or shall we say bred, solely for the purpose of killing. And eating, but Alistair didn’t want to think about that.
Boromir raised his shield and brought his horn to his lips, sword at the ready. One of the hobbits let slip a small whimper, and Alistair’s knees started to shake.
Auden woke abruptly at the blaring of a horn.
Alistair
2
“M-Merry!” Pippin gave a weak cry, gripping Meriadoc’s sleeve and tugging it backwards. Alistair found that he was entranced by the utter hideousness of the creatures before him. They were baring their teeth menacingly, their eyes glinting and golden. Boromir slashed at each one that advanced upon them.
“Flee!” Boromir rumbled, blowing the Horn of Gondor loudly. “Flee!” he repeated, shooing them, while simultaneously trying to parry the short, thick sword of an attacker.
Though he heard it, Alistair did not need telling twice, he scrambled after the two hobbits, with Boromir moving after them, sounding the horn every moment that both his arms were not busy with Orcs.
Auden awoke to the sound of an alarm, ringing loudly throughout the forest. For a moment, she thought she was reliving her car accident, but this was not so. Her eyes fell upon great, dark creatures, running past with heavy footfalls. Their boots were large and black as their armor, each one bearing a white hand upon its helm. They did not seem to notice her, or didn’t care that she was there. She feared them, though she knew not what they were, or if she should. Auden’s eyes searched desperately about for her brother, but the huge creatures were many, and she couldn’t see over them, even if she were to stand.
The continuous sounding of the horn ceased suddenly, and someone cried in a high, frightened voice, “Boromir!”
She watched in horror as a man fell against a tree, arrows having pierced him numerous times. The great, dark creatures were fleeing now, for no apparent reason, and Auden rushed to the man’s side. His eyes were closed and he seemed almost asleep, except that his breathing was ragged and he was covered in blood. Auden thought about helping him, and had crouched down to do so, when someone yelled her name from a distance.
She turned about to see Alistair being carried away by one of the large beasts.
“Alistair!” she yelled, and without a second glance for the dying man, she bolted after him. Six years on her school track team had not gone to waste; she was extremely fast.
But extremely fast was not fast enough, and after what she imagined was hours or more or relentless pursuit, she was beginning to grow tired. She did not know how long she had been running, but it was certainly longer than she had ever run before. Already, night was coming to an end, and the sun peeked over the horizon. The heavy footsteps of the kidnappers grew fainter and fainter, and they soon faded out of sight. Auden did not want to stop, but soon her heart was fit to burst. Her throat was parched and cried for water; her thin tank top was soaked with sweat and her legs ached. She dropped to the ground suddenly, exhausted.
Auden dragged herself a few feet to the riverbank and attempted to scoop the water into her shaky palms, but it was of no use. It slipped through her hands as soon as she had cupped it. Panic caused her chest to clench, and she was suddenly more than out of breath. She rolled over onto her back, her head resting in the shallow waters, and stared at the sky. She was hyperventilating, and her heart was racing. This was not a result of running, because she was a good runner. Breathing had never troubled her when she ran.
It had only just occurred to her that she was no longer in Minnesota. There had been no river by the hospital, and here there was no hospital in sight. She wondered how she had gotten here, and where it was exactly. She wondered what beasts had taken her brother, and where they were taking him. She wondered if maybe she was dreaming, and if she would wake up soon.
But if she wasn’t dreaming, and she was indeed lost somewhere, and her brother was indeed the hostage of some vile, smelly creatures, then what was she to do? Surely the answer was not upon the forest floor where she lay? No, indeed; nothing there but fallen leaves and light snow.
Auden’s breathing had sped up to the point of no return; her heart fluttered and pounded like marching drums, and as her eyes rolled backwards, she caught a shimmering glimpse of the reflection of pale grey boats, as they floated past in the river. Then there was darkness.
Auden dreamed. There were trees all around, and they were either larger than most trees, or she was shorter than usual. The man from the clearing stood before her, undamaged by arrows, speaking heatedly or passionately; she could not tell. Even he seemed much taller than she would have imagined him. His face grew more intense, and he seemed to be raising his voice as he stepped towards her, but all she heard was a mournful song. Or was it the wind, howling its lament in her ears?
She became aware of cold metal in her fisted hand, and she looked down, opening it. A simple gold ring was there, shining in the sunlight that broke through the canopy of leaves. Auden returned her gaze to the man, who was suddenly gripped by fear and backed away from her. She saw that it was not a ring she held, but a small, coiled, golden snake, and it grew as it slithered from her fingers, dropping to the ground, until it was at least as long as the man was tall. It hissed and wrapped its golden body about his throat. The wind’s song became harsher and angrier as the man let loose a strangled cry, and a fiery light rose up from the east, whirling into a single orb, blazing furiously. It felt hot, as if she been thrown into a furnace, and then all was drowned in a white light, and the last thing Auden saw was a pair of wide, blue eyes, unblinking and unfeeling. Just seeing. Then she was cast down a waterfall, and back into darkness.
The rushing water was all around and there seemed to be no other sound. The light splashing of footsteps in the riverbed drew near, until the feet were behind her head. Auden suddenly realized that the back of her head was submerged in the water, as hands lifted her out of the soft current from behind, and pushed her into a sitting position.
Hushed voices came with new footfalls, these rushing along by land.
“Not dead,” said a gruff voice, belonging to the man who was holding her up.
“No, I shouldn’t think so,” a smoother voice said from a ways away, “It seems she was chasing, not being chased.”
A third voice intoned thoughtfully, “It also seems she chased too hard. What on earth compelled her to go after such foul creatures?”
The smooth voice responded with mirth, “In any case, I doubt she would catch any, laying halfway in a riverbank.”
Auden opened her eyes. It was dusk, by the look of things. The sky was a royal blue with streaks of gold woven through the western horizon. Stars twinkled dimly against their not quite dark backdrop.
The first thing she noticed was a small, dirty, thick-fingered hand, wrapped about her waist to keep her from falling forward. She could feel a second hand at her back to keep her from falling into the river, and then a face came into view; or half of one anyway. Most of it was obscured beneath extensive amounts of reddish facial hair.
“Where is Alistair?” she asked the half a face. She supposed it smiled kindly at her, but its mouth was covered by a wiry, red mustache.
“The young lass seems a bit confused,” he said to the others.
“We mustn’t tarry here, Gimli,” said the silky smooth voice, closer now. A tall, slight man came into view from her right. His hair was long, and braided back to show his pale, angular face. He knelt down before her and peered at her closely. “Can you stand?” he asked. She noticed that his face was smooth, and as hairless as the red-bearded man’s was hairy.
“Yeah, probably,” she answered, pushing her self upward and out of the hairy man’s grasp. She looked around at the third man in the company, who scrutinized her from afar, then she looked back down at the man who knelt in the water, only to realize that he was not kneeling at all, but was actually quite short.
She took a moment to get over the initial shock of this, and said quietly, “Thanks for pulling me out.”
“No thanks are necessary,” he said, letting the visible half of his face smile again, “I suspect you’d have woken on your own, soon enough.”
“Now,” interjected the world-weary third party, who had, up until now, not addressed her, “What, may I ask, is your name, young lass, and what end was intended by your chasing those Orcs?”
Auden made a face at the way his questions were posed. Still, at least he was straightforward. “Uhm… You may ask. And it’s Auden. And, if by ‘Orcs,’ you mean those huge, ugly goblins, then—” She stopped there, unsure if she should mention her brother’s presence, let alone his existence, to these absolute strangers. But on the other hand they seemed friendly enough, and if she were to offend them, she was sure that the threesome would make a formidable enemy.
Her hesitation was long enough to call for pressing from the short man, who stood next to the fair haired man, and was positively dwarfed in comparison. “Yes?” he urged her.
“Those freaks took my brother,” she said, mustering as much venom into the word ‘freaks’ as she possibly could. New anger and determination rose within her, and she was once again overwhelmed by the need to follow them, to get him back.
“Your brother?” the dwarf asked, puzzled.
“There was neither sight, nor sound of any presence other than the Orcs when we arrived here. No humans for certain,” the slight man said, skeptically placing his hand on his chin. He ran it up his cheek and through his hair. Auden watched it pass over his ear, and noticed, for the first time, that his ears were pointed at the tips.
“And yet here a human stands,” said the other, taller man, throwing out an arm to indicate her. “Perhaps your Elf senses are failing us.”
The other grimaced, though the last comment was clearly made in jest.
“Then perhaps we should use your senses, highness,” this said with malice, concealed by a smile.
“Peace, friend,” he said, hands up in surrender, “I meant nothing by it.”
“Look,” Auden brought their argument to a halt, frustrated by the lack of progress this conversation was making, “I just want my brother back. So if you can just tell me where I need to go, I’ll be on my merry little way, and we can forget there was any human at all.”
“If what you say is true, Miss Auden,” said the short man, letting a hand rest on what she took to be some kind of large hatchet, hooked to his belt, “then your course is the same as ours.”
At that statement, the two other men began speaking hurriedly to each other in a foreign tongue. The taller one seemed to be trying to convince the slighter one of something, but the latter kept shaking his head. At length, Auden huffed and considered just running off after the beasts without direction, when the dwarf cleared his throat loudly. All attention refocused on him. The two men, who had gotten to a point where they were gesturing wildly, and arguing heatedly, stopped suddenly, and let their arms fall slowly, listening.
But he did not say anything. The loud interruption was either just to be rid of excess phlegm, or to subtly, but not so subtly hurry them along. Which was just as well; at this pace, she doubted they would be of any help to catch Alistair’s captors.
“Time is not our friend, Aragorn!” said the thinner man, breaking out of the flow of pretty nonsense words at last.
“Then I suppose you ought to agree with me,” Aragorn responded, at which the other huffed exasperatedly.
There was silence, and when it was clear to him that no one was going to speak anytime soon, the dwarf said in his low growl of a voice, “The solution to our predicament is clear as day to me: if the lady so wishes, then she should accompany us, until she is reunited with her brother, and then she should leave us when she has no more business to tarry in our company.”
The man with pointed ears shot him a scathing look that plainly said ‘traitor.’ Auden bit back an ill-humored laugh.
He sighed, defeated, and met her eyes, “Well, I suppose majority rules. But I won’t slow for you, and I cannot speak for Aragorn, but I should guess that, since we have delayed so long already, neither shall he. As for Gimli…” but he didn’t finish, for Auden had stopped listening and was tightening the laces on her running shoes.
“I get it. Every man for himself and whatnot,” she said.
“And woman,” he added pointedly, making it plain that, if she joined them, she could expect no helping hand from him. This suited her fine. Running would be good. She needed to believe she was doing something, to escape the apprehension of impending doom that seemed her imminent fate whenever her little brother was away. Such was the way it had always been. Funny that she would fight the feeling then, when it was closest to the truth.
If ever you thought that adventure would be glamorous as much as it was amorous, Auden would be the first to burst your bubble. Running was a fickle thing. One moment she would be high as a kite, and having to force herself to keep a steady pace, and the next she’d be winded and straggling behind. But she wouldn’t stop. Not unless they did. Lucky for her, they took two short breaks.
At one point they did stop for her, because apparently, the blond man could hear her struggling to breathe from all the way at the front of the group, even with the full ten yards he’d gained on her. She narrowed her eyes at him, when he said as much, but quickly forgave him, when she was handed a wafer thin pastry.
“What is it?” she asked, eyeing it skeptically.
“Lembas bread,” Aragorn responded, already getting up to continue, “It’s for your sustenance. Eat it quickly; the morning is nigh.”
To her, it didn’t seem as though it could provide much “sustenance.” She put the whole thing in her mouth anyway and as she did, it felt thick like pita, and filled her with renewed vigor the second she swallowed. Energy filled her up as if she had not run throughout the night, and not to mention that the taste was extraordinary. She turned to the rugged traveler with brighter eyes, and blinked as she found that he seemed to be analyzing her again.
“What?” she snapped, defensively. It was still dark, and she could just barely see his cheeks redden.
He whipped the grey cloak off his shoulders, in a great, whirling, sweeping motion; in that light it appeared green and then brown and then gray, as if it camouflaged with whatever its background. He draped it over her shoulders, before pausing to find words.
“... We shall have to find you some more decent attire at a later time,” he commented, “but this will do for now.”
She glanced down at her ratty gym shorts and sweat-stained tank top and flushed furiously, quite positive that they were all just picking on her. Except for the dwarf. Gimli had been nice from the start, and she often found herself running beside him. Usually it was out of choice, because his presence wasn’t as intimidating as the others. This feeling had nothing to do with his size, but rather his inclination to not treat her like a child.
In a way, Auden was grateful for the grey cloak, for it was warm, and somewhat protected her from the stinging chill of the February, night air. This was assuming it was February here. Come to think of it, aside from a few details she caught from their conversations, she still didn't have the slightest clue where she was. She barely knew anything about her traveling companions, and one of them still remained nameless to her. They were all distrusting, and careful with their words, when she was within earshot.
Auden was in the process of categorizing them by personality traits and deciding what annoyed her most. One issue: she knew the names of the dwarf and the tall man, but she did not know the blond man’s name. It annoyed her, but she couldn’t use that as a trait, so it didn’t apply. She supposed she could ask, but he was so incredibly irritating that she didn’t think she could bring herself to speak civilly. She eventually settled for not speaking unless she was spoken to. It was a waste of breath, and she needed her breath for running. Another issue was that Blondie liked to shoot her hardened stares, or frowned when he noticed her looking at him. Everything about him screamed: You're not welcome!
So, in a futile attempt to make him forget her presence, or at least not look at her that way, she averted her gaze and just listened. She listened intently to their conversations, wondering if they found some sign of her brother, if they were any closer to his rescue. Though she heard no news of this, she did gather that they were heading towards a land called “Isengard,” which apparently had a lot to do with “Rohan,” which had a lot to do with horses. Auden felt uneasy at the mention of this. She had never much liked horses, but at the pace they were going, she was sure that they’d be better off on a horse than on foot. Despite her want to finish the mission in a timely fashion, she hoped beyond hope that it wouldn’t come to riding horses.
They had run through the night, and somehow Auden was no closer to exhaustion than anyone else. She was, however, extremely shaken by their encounter with five dead Orcs, piled upon the ground. They were not simply killed, but slaughtered, butchered, mangled, and all other terms that could portray just how gruesome their deaths must have been. And Alistair was likely held captive by the merciless killers. Auden tried blink away all the unpleasant images in her mind; thinking about it made her fidgety and nervous.
Even as they ran, Blondie noticed. Because Blondie does that.
“You seem to be unstable.” That was an interesting way of putting it.
“Your mind is keen,” Auden mocked in a voice that perhaps would have been more convincingly sarcastic, if she weren’t shaking and twitching and panting so much. The phrase was something from a computer game her mother had gotten her in 3rd grade to prepare her for 4th grade. A deep voice would say it whenever she got an answer right. Needless to say, he didn’t get the joke.
“A keen mind is not needed to tell; only common sense and a set of eyes, Elf or no,” he said matter-of-factly. He didn’t pant at all.
Auden rolled her eyes. She didn’t get all this “Elf” business.
“What’s your name?” she asked, suddenly and breathlessly. The sun peeked over the horizon, turning the sky a reddish lavender, shedding light on the world after what seemed like an eternity of running in the dark. It was a new day. And a new day was a good time to try and make friends, right? After all, she didn't know how long this run was going to last.
“I am called Legolas,” he stated without pause, and in that moment, Auden stopped running. Someone flipped a switch in her head. What was that from? That name was from something… She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she seemed to recall Alistair saying something about this name. It couldn’t be very common…
“Stay!” a shout came from up ahead and Auden watched as Aragorn veered off to the right. It seemed that he had seen something. She hoped it would bode better than the five dead goblins they had come across. “Do not follow me yet!”
The other three stopped, waiting. Aragorn came running back, with something in each of his hands.
Aragorn was speaking, but Auden’s attention was on the gauzy material in his left hand. The bloody, white bandage quavered in the wind as it trailed from his fingertips. Then he drew attention to his other hand, and even Auden looked at it, when the other two exclaimed something about brooches. True enough he held a leaf-shaped brooch in his hand, but she didn’t see why it was so special.
“Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall,” he said.
“Then he at least was alive,” Gimli said, relieved, but not quite relieved. Auden’s heart leapt. Who was alive? Was Alistair alive? Or was he dead? Why had he taken off his bandage? Her thoughts went rampant as Gimli finished speaking.
She reached out and took the blood-spattered bandage from Aragorn. Had it been so bloody before her brother was taken? Was she just paranoid? Her hands shook more fiercely than they were already.
She tuned into the end of Legolas’s sentence and wondered if he’d been speaking long.
“… Let us go on! The thought of those merry young folk being driven like cattle burns my heart.”
And this, she found, calmed her. As long as she kept working towards this, it would be okay, wouldn't it?
A purpose Auden. Your brother needs you, so keep your shit together.
It was a fleeting thought, but it was enough. With this in mind, she started on journeying again, more willing, and less tired; more determined and less burdened.
Alistair
3
Auden shivered. The air she filled her lungs with was less than satisfactory. It was cold as ice, and never seemed to be quite enough, though she breathed steadily as does an experienced runner. It wasn’t just the air. There was something heavy weighing on the entire company that not a one of them could place. Auden was drawing close to an answer and she could feel it; the answer to where she was and maybe even how she got there. It was the answer to who these people were, and why they were so willing to run with her in pursuit of the brothernappers.
Legolas. It was a familiar word, one that she had spoken once or twice herself, she seemed to recall, before he ever told her his name.
She actually remembered the first time she’d said it very clearly. It was when Alistair was seven and reading a book aloud to her. She hadn’t been paying attention to it, because she was busy filling out college applications. She caught the word “legless” in his spiel of fantasy novel garble. It made her curious, so she listened more intently. When he said it again, this time clearly referring to a character’s name, she had to take the book from him and find out what it actually said. She laughed when she read it.
“Legolas,” she had corrected, drawing out the syllables to indicate that he should do the same. Then she had given him the book back and returned to her applications.
Auden glanced up at Legolas, resting her gaze on one of his leaf-shaped ears. The company said he was an Elf. She wasn’t really sure what that signified, but apparently the pointy ears came with it.
Every once in a while they would stop and the three males would converse, while she stood by and awaited direction. Her initial exhaustion had worn off at this point and she was running on energy reserves she wasn’t aware she had. After one sleepless night running around in a forest, she thought she’d be exhausted, but she wasn’t yet tired. It was only a few hours into the day, and it had been about an hour since they had found their first sign that someone at least was alive. Her motivation was the hope that Alistair remained among the living.
The first wave of Orcs beat a hasty retreat, thanks to the determined defense of Boromir. Naturally, the hobbits and their unexpected companion were extremely relieved. Alistair’s only problem was that he knew all to well that there was worse to come. The Gondorian warrior rested a moment after the last stragglers of the monstrosities ran for the hills, in a hurried hobble. Boromir himself had taken quite a beating already, and Alistair could see why he might fail to ward off the next onset; a band of huge, hair-raising Uruk-hai. From what he had read, they were rather larger than normal Orcs, and all the more frightening for it.
“Uhm,” he started lamely. He was at a loss for what to say. Nothing that came to mind would make sense to any of the others. He couldn’t just say that he read about them in a book. But was he going to stand by and let Boromir be killed? If Boromir lived, would it change the fate of Middle Earth? Should it matter? It wasn’t Alistair’s world after all, and there was still the issue of his sister, completely prone and unconscious where he’d left her.
And it was the last thought that brought him to his ultimate decision. He took off back in the direction he came from, suddenly fearing for Auden’s life now that his own was not so close to its end.
“Auden!” he called over the shouts of warning from behind him. “Auden!” He was nearing the tree that he had woken under. Alistair was aware that the hobbits and their protector were following after him, trying to get him to come to his senses and turn back. Not likely.
Then, a few things happened all at once, almost too quickly for him to comprehend. Alistair lost his footing and stumbled to the ground. He caught sight of Auden, sitting bolt upright staring in shock or terror at a colossal array of Uruks, running right past her, and thankfully paying her no notice. Boromir’s horn began to sound again from behind him and strong arms lifted him and started to carry him away from the danger that hither came.
“Are you daft?!” shrieked one of the hobbits from below, running alongside, as Alistair found that Boromir was holding him, and sprinting away from the beastly pursuers, and consequentially leaving his sister behind.
The Uruks drew ever closer and he watched their faces come into focus over Boromir’s shoulder.
“They’re gaining!” he said, pointing a shaking finger backwards in unnecessary indication.
“Of course they are!” was the warrior’s irritated response. Al was then dropped unceremoniously onto the ground and the horn was tossed to him. “Sound that horn, lad, as loud as you can.” And with that, the man turned about, sword at the ready, prepared for what may come.
He slew several large beasts that were foolish enough to come near, but the rest of the Uruks easily overtook him with arrows, before they were even close enough for him to fight back. Al blew the horn as best he could, but each sound seemed weaker than the last. He hoped that Aragorn would show up in time, that his presence would somehow change things. But the instrument was knocked from his hands and clattered to the ground, breaking in half from the force of the blow. He watched it, as in slow motion, each piece coming apart and rolling toward Boromir, as if they knew with whom they belonged. Boromir dropped to his knees beside it and fell against a tree. That’s when it became very clear to Alistair that this was not the adventure and excitement that he had always dreamed of. It would be more of a tragedy, and he could do absolutely nothing to help it.
He was scooped up from the ground for the second time, though by much rougher hands, and spirited away with the struggling hobbits on either side. But he didn’t have the heart to fight or struggle. Boromir couldn’t help them anymore and Aragorn wouldn’t arrive until it was too late. If things went the same way as they did in the book, then there was still hope for him, but what about his sister? He had lost sight of her when Boromir dragged him away.
The warrior was clasping at one of the arrows in his chest. Did he never give up? He was trying to pull it out, all the while falling further behind, getting smaller and smaller, and keeping the young boy’s hope with him. And then there was something that Al had not expected to see: Auden, in her colorful gym clothes and ancient running sneakers, moving towards the fallen hero, and then pausing to look at him. In that small span of time he felt something lighten in his chest and found his voice again.
“Auden!” he cried out in desperation. It was loud and clear. It rang out, carried through the forest and sky as if the world desired as much. Auden turned to look at him, surprise and worry etched into her scraped and bloodied face. It was the last thing he saw before something collided hard with the back of his head and he was cast into darkness.
Alistair’s nose itched… among other things. Not that it mattered, seeing as he couldn’t do much to help it. Still he concentrated on his itchy nose, to put his sore legs and bruised arms out of his mind; not to mention the throbbing pain on all sides of his head. He wondered silently if he would suffer any permanent brain damage from these past few days. His body ached and the foul speech and stench of the Orcs offended his senses; he had not the stomach to open his eyes and see them.
He was jostled roughly and gave a grunt of pain as armor dug into his ribs. Suddenly, he felt the sensation falling and landed with a thud on the hard ground. Soft sounds of a stirring Pippin to his left caused him to open his eyes. The hobbit beside him was struggling with his bonds futilely.
A total eyesore of an Orc let out a course laugh and spoke in his ugly language to one of his companions. He then turned to Pippin.
“Rest while you can, little fool! Rest while you can!” There was still laughter in his tone, and his voice grated against Alistair’s eardrums unpleasantly. “We’ll find a use for your legs before long. You’ll wish you had got none before we get home.”
Alistair thought that he had never heard anything fouler than talking Orcs. He wished they wouldn’t make a sound, and tried to tune out whatever further words they exchanged as one leaned over Pippin, threatening the Halfling with a knife.
Al rolled over to stare emptily out at the barren fields, feeling tired and sore. His head pained him greatly and ropes cut into his wrists and ankles. All he wanted to do was sleep.
“We have come at last to a hard choice,” Aragorn had halted and was looking gravely at Legolas and Gimli, while Auden stood bent and exhausted, breathing heavily with her hands on her knees. “Shall we rest by night, or shall we go on while our will and strength hold?”
Auden scoffed loudly at the last part of his question. As far as will and strength was holding, she was fairly spent.
But of course, Legolas was of a different opinion. “Unless our enemies rest also, they will leave us far behind, if we stay to sleep.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble,” she said crossly, “but the way I see it they’ve already left us far behind. What’s a few more hours?”
The Elf gave her a hard look before Gimli intervened, “Surely even Orcs must pause on the march?”
“Apologies, but I was under the impression that you wished to rescue your brother,” Legolas seemed to have ignored his friend, as he still addressed Auden.
“Orcs don’t travel in sunlight, but these found no difficulty with that,” Aragorn spoke in Legolas’s stead, passing wary looks between him and the girl.
“I do want to rescue my brother,” Auden responded honestly. It sounded weak and a witty retort died on her tongue as she realized that she was incredibly fatigued. “I just…” She sat down on the ground and leaned her head into her hands, mumbling, “…can’t run anymore.”
Legolas, who was somewhat taken aback by the sudden display of weakness, looked at last back to Gimli and Aragorn.
“We won’t be able to see the trail by night,” Gimli said with a worried glance and Auden, who was wrapped in the Elven cloak and curled into a ball, so that she looked like a breathing boulder.
“The trail goes straight,” Legolas responded stubbornly.
As the three of them argued, Auden found herself dozing. Before they had decided what to do, she had fallen into a deep sleep, plagued with dreams that made no sense to her.
She was very small, looking up at a tall, hooded figure. Then she realized that she was not as small as she thought, because the hooded figure was mounted upon black horse. She was afraid and alone, save for it and its steed. The figure spread its arms wide as if to embrace her. She ran into its waiting hold and was engulfed in darkness. She wandered for a while in the darkness, before seeing a small light to her left. But each time she turned to see its source, it moved from her line of vision, and stayed stubbornly to the left of her. Finally she reached for and grasped it in her hand.
Auden blinked down at what she held. It was a small, gold ring. No longer alight as it had been, but it seemed that the previous glow had expanded and lit up her surroundings. She was in a forest and the sun was setting. Light streamed in through the trees, bringing everything around her to life. The trees swayed merrily in the evening breeze and a beautiful being emerged from amidst them. She was afraid to look directly at it, fearing that it would seem less magnificent if she truly saw it.
“Where am I?” she questioned, eyes reverently downcast.
The being laughed and said in a familiar voice, “Eryn Lasgalen, as it should be.”
She shuffled her feet uncomfortably as it, or rather he, drew near. Auden put her hands guiltily behind her back, with the sudden urge to hide the golden ring.
The laugh came again. It was beautiful and terrifying, knowing and more mirthful for the knowledge. “Will you not look upon me?”
She let her gaze drift up at last to land on his angular face. His hair flowed down past his shoulders in yellow waves, as if he had just taken it out of its usual braids. His brow furrowed suddenly and he frowned upon meeting her eyes.
“You have it, don’t you?” his voice had taken on a lower tone. It was greedy and wanting. Auden, feeling very small again, took several steps back, watching as Legolas’s fair hair darkened to pitch black, growing and wrapping about him, melting together to form a dark cloak, covering him completely.
She shook her head vehemently as the sun disappeared below the horizon and forest was swallowed by the night. The cloaked man moved towards her with an angry, desperate stride. He drew a knife, speeding up until he was upon her.
Auden woke with a start. It was at least as dark as it had been in her dream, if not more. She took in her surroundings, her shoulders sagging in relief with each new moment that came without any attack or even a sound aside from her pounding heart. Aragorn was some ways to the left of her, asleep on the ground. Gimli was a bit nearer on her right, snoring. She crawled over near him and tucked his cloak closer around him, like a mother would her child. Really she just wanted to be closer to someone to calm her nerves. She didn’t see Legolas anywhere, but after her dream, she was glad of it.
A sudden sound from behind her made her go rigid, and she sat up board straight for a moment before turning to see where it had come from.
She saw that Aragorn had shifted in his sleep, and was shivering from the cold. She remembered with a pang of guilt that he had given her his cloak, and she certainly hadn’t felt the cold at all. With a sigh, she rose completely and walked over to him. He looked much less intimidating in his sleep, curled up, his back to the wind.
She removed the cloak slowly from her own shoulders, stifling a groan as the cold bit into her mercilessly. She draped it over him like a blanket, carefully trying not to wake him, not daring to tuck him in as she had done Gimli, and tiptoed back to where she had slept. The ground there was fairly flat, and had been comfortable enough for her to sleep on the first time, so she figured it would be comfortable enough to sleep on a second time. Sleep proved more difficult to find with the chilly wind swirling all around her. Auden shuddered, trying to ignore it.
Auden assumed that it was her loudly chattering teeth that prevented her from hearing his approach a few moments later. It wasn’t until he was standing beside her that she noticed him at all. She nearly screamed in surprise, but caught it in her throat, upon finding that it was Legolas. She swallowed hard and looked up at him, heart pounding from the recent scare.
“Why do you wake?” he asked gently, “Dawn is not yet come.”
Bewildered by his sudden attitude adjustment, Auden first blinked before succumbing to a violent shiver and staring at the ground. Her pale hand produced a dim glow in the moonlight, which was diminished considerably when compared to the glow of the Elf before her.
“I had… a nightmare.” She sounded embarrassed as the statement rolled off her tongue, like she wasn’t used to saying it.
His bright, Elven eyes caught the blush on her cheek, even in this dark night, and his ears caught the sound of her heart fluttering and the staccato way in which she pronounced the sentence. Confused, he sat down beside her and looked intently at her face, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that struck so much fear into her. Legolas did not really consider the fact that he had snuck up on her, having thought he moved rather loudly on his way over.
At length he asked, “What was it about?”
The girl finally met his gaze, her eyes wide and frightened. He saw no hint of color in them as most eyes have. Her irises were a deep black, graced with bits of grey here and there. He found this odd, and narrowed his eyes to see them better, with the result that her heart began to race, and she backed away slightly.
He lowered his voice, trying to calm her, “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said flatly, facing away from him, “I don’t remember.”
And with that she lay down and curled up, feigning sleep for the rest of the night.
