With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 14: Hope against Hope

After a day-long march, the Forest of Fangorn remained to their right as they traveled southwest to Isengard. The wood looked more mysterious and worthy of Celeborn's cautions in the deep dark of night. Yet they called to Legolas all the same.

The dim light from distant fires was enough for Legolas to watch their guards, but the brutes had not chosen to take any of them for sport tonight. Legolas sensed a growing anxiousness among them. They tired of the march, of the limited food and rest, and of guard duty. With their dwindling patience, there was constant arguing over everything from food rations to task assignments.

Many tried to trade away their minding duties and with it the boredom of being tied to one place. The guard who had brought them water earlier had quit at once, as if unwilling to risk being seen with them any longer, and he had not returned to the post.

Legolas recognized the current sentry and knew his patience always wore out quickly. As the goblin paced back and forth erratically, Legolas sensed it would not be long. He turned to Aragorn and Gimli, who had focused their attention on the other side of camp. They needed the right arrangement of many orcs in one place and few in another.

"More orcs are leaving now," Aragorn said quietly. "They prepare to move again." He turned to Legolas, looking down at his manacles. "If only we might find a way to remove those."

"I should have been able to, and I regret that I could not," Gimli said. "I am forced to say something of orcish make befuddled me! I hope they will not hinder you overmuch."

"As do I. We shall learn, either way. The guard will ask for a change presently. I believe it is time." Legolas turned back to the guard who paced faster and faster.

With that prediction, the goblin threw up his hands. "I can't stay here like this. Someone else needs to do this!" Legolas turned to Aragorn and Gimli as the creature stormed off. They nodded their support.

The immediate area was free of orcs. Just beyond were a few knots of soldiers that would provide cover, presuming they didn't suddenly become observant.

Legolas took a few steps in a crouch and stilled himself among tall blades of grass the orcs had not managed to crush. He steadied his breathing, trying to slow his heart that beat a bit too quickly. He had not voiced his doubts to his friends, who had laid all their hopes with him. Whether or not he had the strength to succeed, he had to make an attempt. He would use the last of his strength if he must, for the sake of his friends. He tensed his legs.

When none had taken notice of his movements, Legolas broke into a run, still in a crouch, heading for the trees of Fangorn with all the speed he could muster.

Not until he had nearly reached the limbs of the forest did he hear a shout, followed by many more as they realized a prisoner was loose. It was still some moments before he heard any give chase, by which time he was among the trees, struggling to climb with his bound hands.

Once above, travel became considerably easier as he leapt from branch to branch with skill honed over centuries. After spanning several trees, he paused to check on his pursuers. They were in the woods, but had not yet thought to look up.

He turned, leaping to a nearby limb of the next tree, stretching his arms out before him for balance. With his restrained hands, he could not move with his usual speed. But he hoped still to move faster than the orcs below.

Grasping the trunk for a moment, he was struck by the great age of these trees he had so longed to meet. So many days had passed since he had been among trees. He caressed the bark in greeting and quickly moved on.

But he did not move as swiftly as he had hoped, and the orcs gained on him. Their pursuit grew louder and when he glanced behind, they were close indeed. If he were recaptured—he turned and forced himself to move faster.

Soon, to his dismay, he saw that a few had nearly reached the trees in which he ran and had finally thought to look up. Legolas glanced about as they began to climb the surrounding trees. Those on the ground waved swords at him, and all yelled various threats and epithets. He needed to move more quickly. Even with hands bound, he was a wood-elf—he could move faster through the trees than any orc.

A hot searing pain ignited his thigh and knocked him off balance. He cursed his fettered hands as he swung them in an attempt to balance himself. He flung his arms over a branch but could not grasp the tree. That he slipped shocked him as much as the black arrow he found sticking out of his leg.

He scrambled for a foothold but his right leg buckled with the pressure. Then he felt air all about him. Only when he crashed into branches did he realize he was falling. The leaves ripped at him, the branches knocking his flight about so that he bounced from one branch to another.

Though the ground was covered in moss, he landed hard, bruised and bloody. Looking up as he gasped for breath, he was met by dozens of pairs of black eyes filled with glee. Fear shot cold through him. He could not be recaptured. This was his only chance. Their only chance. He pushed his body off the ground suddenly, determined to continue his flight. The orcs descended on him, beating him back to the ground. He persisted until a well-placed punch to his wounded leg forced a cry of pain from him. Falling to the ground once more, they continued their beating until he faded into blackness.