Unlikely Rescue

Chapter 18 - A Race Against Time

Thank you for reading this everyone! I'm not gonna delay I'll just get on with it, shall I?

Îdhír knelt over the still unconscious and quickly fading Aragorn. How could it have all gone so wrong for such a perfect plan...?

They had spent days planning their unnoticeable escape from Thranduil's halls. As soon as they had heard of Estel's sudden departure, they had sought each other out, both speaking at the same time.

"Îdhír, we have to go after Estel, he-"
"Tinu. It's Estel, we have to help him-"

At this point the two elves had shared a look of utter bemusement and burst out laughing, in spite of the strange and difficult situation they now found themselves in.

They had set out together a week later, plan set and both of them confident that after so much planning, nothing could go wrong. How could it?

They had, of course, been unable to track the human due to the unfamiliar terrain and his unnatural ability to disguise his trail, to the point at which even those with much better eyesight than him could not see it, indeed he could not see it himself.

They had, however, had the advantage of being elves. They had been able to stay on the elf-path, and so had reached the edge of the forest much faster. From there they had headed South, electing to get on the best path to Rivendell and try to overtake their human quarry.

It was then, walking along, that Îdhír had felt a nudge on his shoulder, then-

No he hadn't! He had never felt any nudge on his shoulder! It must be his memory playing tricks on him.

He had been walking along, and had been scanning the tree line, the plateau, everywhere for signs of the human.

And then he'd felt it again! That insistent nudging on his shoulder. He tried to ignore it.

He had seen the dark blur fall... nudge. He remembered... nudge... crying out the human's name. Nudge. Nudge. Nudge.

"What?" He cried, turning angrily to Tinu, who had jerked him from his thoughts. "How many times are you gonna do that? Tap on my shoulder! I don't like it!"

Tinu looked slightly taken aback. Although he had, of course, seen it happen before, Îdhír was gentle and hardly ever lost his temper. It meant he was serious, and very angry.

"Sorry." Îdhír muttered. "I lost my temper. I shouldn't have. Sorry, mellon-nín. There's a lot going on."

"No matter. I understand. As I was saying... Îdhír. The elfling we found... what do we do with him?

✧ ★ ✧

Lonely. Lost. Afraid.

All the things he hadn't felt since Aragorn had helped him had come flooding back the moment he saw the body fall.

Legolas crouched on the grass, his hands clenched tightly over his ears, rocking back and forth. It was a familiar routine: rock forward, try to escape the voice, rock back, try to reason with it. Forward, back, forward, back.

It was never ending. The turmoil inside Legolas pressed down on him like an anchor, sinking slowly into a pit of despair and dragging his tortured soul down with it. His soul. His heart. His mind. The anchor dragged them all down, down, down. Forever.

Look what you've done. I told you you were a murderer.

"I know, I know! I killed them both! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Sorry won't bring them back. Sorry won't repair the broken hearts of those who loved them. Sorry won't-

"STOP IT! Go away! I hate you!"