[FIC] Sacrifices, Chapter Four
2907
BS
Friday, November 25, 2005
Thursday, December 8, 2005
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien. This is a fanwork for zero profit and only fun.
Warnings: Action/Adventure. Some AU in the end.
Rating: PG-13
Parts: 4/5
Notes: My sister inspired this little ‘gem,’ but I rather like it.
Summary: Estel is kidnapped (gasp), and Elrond rushes to his rescue. But there is a steep price for the boy's safety. NO SLASH.
S A C R I F I C E S
There was someone waiting for him as he burst through the edge of the clearing. The Elf before him was a Vanya, his face fair and his hair golden. There was a big gray horse behind him, with only a blanket on its back. He clutched a large knife in his hands, the hilt black and the blade stained silver. "Elrond of Imladris," he said loudly. "I have been waiting for you!"
Elrond slowed his horse and tried to assess the situation. Except for the knife, the Elf did not appear threatening. He was standing calmly, his leather-clad feet planted far apart. But, he matched the description Elladan had given him. And the trail had led here. "Where is Estel? Who are you?" he asked.
The Vanya looked thoughtful. "My name is Menel," he said. "Hope?" he questioned. "So, that was his name. How unsuited."
Anxiety clawed at him. "Where is Estel?" he repeated. He slowly dismounted and waited for a reply. The more the other Elf said, the worse his dread became. He almost did not want to hear the answer.
"I do not know," he said and his voice held nothing but the truth. "I left him five days ago."
Elrond frowned. "What do you mean -- left him?"
The Vanya laughed. It was a musical sound, but something unnerved him. "I did not have the means to achieve my goals," he said. His lips twisted into a smirk. "He has a delicate face and a soft body. There is a market for such things."
Horror swept over Elrond. "No..." he said.
"Yes."
He lunged then and tackled the Vanya. They landed on the forest floor, and the wind was knocked from his body. Menel struggled under him and pushed him off, and then came down with his knife. The blade struck his arm, but it only sliced through the skin. It stung, and a thin line of blood blossomed at the wound, but there was no real damage done.
Menel scrambled over him and held him down, his hands pressed tightly against Elrond's neck. He couldn't breathe, and he tried to push the Vanya off, but could not. Menel was stronger than he appeared to be, and he pressed the edge of his knife against Elrond's chest. The fabric was sliced cleanly, and he could feel the cold bite of the metal against his skin. The Elf gave a wicked smiled of satisfaction and slid his hand along his throat until he forced Elrond's head against the ground. He pressed the knife deeper, and there was a harsh sting as it dug into his chest.
"The thought of killing one of my own makes me ill. To be like those Kinslaying Noldor sickens me." He leaned forward, and his eyes carried a dangerous glint as he smiled. "But you are not one of my own. You are an abomination, a stain on all Elven blood. Mixed breed," he hissed. "I--" he stopped as Elrond pushed him off with his knee and knocked him onto the ground.
He hurried to his feet and drew his sword as Menel staggered to his own. There was blood flecked on his lips, and there was an abrasion on his chin. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and he looked at Elrond with absolute fury. "You will suffer for this, the way your sons have suffered, and the way the boy has suffered. You will regret it, for you are not fit to lay a hand against me."
The knife in Menel's hand was long and well-built, with a gilded hilt and engraved runes on the blade. A thin line of blood was marked against the edge, making the elegant weapon seem sinister. He rushed at Elrond, but the knife met the sword with a loud clatter of metal. The Vanya was fast, and he carried his weapon with skill and strength. He was like a golden blur as he dodged any blow Elrond attempted, but he had to be close to strike with the knife, and Elrond remained mostly unharmed.
But he was exhausted. He had been in pursuit for most of the day, without rest, and his search for his youngest son had lasted for nearly a week. He felt like he was back on the battlefield, when he had been younger and less wise, and he could not go on fighting like this. Intuition told him he would not win this fight, and he was filled with dread for Estel. If he could not help him, then no one could. If he didn't win, then the boy's life would be forfeit.
Menel was laughing at him, his lips twisted into a thin sneer. A dark light sparked in his eyes and he raised the knife above his head. He started to bring it down when Elrond saw his chance and slammed his shoulder into the Vanya's chest. He dropped the knife and struggled to recover his breath as Elrond swung his sword into him.
The blade sliced cleanly through Menel's arm. There was a snap as the bone was broken, and then a spray of blood as the blade tore through the other side of his arm. It dug into his chest and then stopped suddenly. The Vanya stood, motionless, as Elrond pulled the sword back. His face was devoid of emotions, but there was shock in his eyes. He moved his arms to touch the wound, and blood started flowing out of his right arm. He coughed, and flecks of blood dribbled from his lips. With wide eyes, he staggered and fell onto his knees.
"How disgraceful," he said in a wheeze. "To be killed by a mixed breed like you." He fell onto the ground and his eyes stared ahead, but there was no life in them. He breathing stopped after a moment, and there was no doubt that he was dead.
Elrond breathed deeply, letting the air return to his lungs. His body was quivering, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He glanced down at the fallen Elf, a knot of strong emotions twisted in his stomach. The blood on his hands was still warm, and he felt suddenly ill.
He couldn't think about it now. He had to find Estel.
He turned back to his horse and tried to think with a clear head. His horse was pushed to the point of exhaustion. She needed rest, but Elrond needed too hurry. He walked to her and unfastened the saddle. He pulled the bridle off of her head and rubbed her affectionately. "Go home, friend," he said. "Go home, and wait for me there." The horse watched him for a moment, but then shook its big gray head and turned away. He walked in the general direction of Rivendell, and Elrond focused back on his task.
Menel's horse was smaller, but nearly as tall, and Elrond tried to visually judge if the tack would fit it. The horse fidgeted as he approached, but did not flee. He put his hands against her neck and rubbed her comfortingly. The muscles in her neck were tense, and the mare looked at him with a calculating eye. "Peace, my friend," he whispered and slowly moved so that he touched her face. She pricked her ears forward and sniffed him cautiously. "Your master is gone now, but will you take me to where he led you? I'm looking for the child; can you help me?"
The horse watched him, but did not otherwise answer. Elrond retrieved the bridle and hesitantly slipped it over the mare's head. It was a little loose, but would be adequate until he found Estel. When he went back for the saddle, the mare followed him. He set it on her back and tightened the straps, and he was surprised that it fit so well. He fixed his sword to his belt and vaulted into the saddle. "Now, show me which way," he said with a kind voice.
The horse immediately moved toward the south, and Elrond watched the ground for tracks. He knew instantly that it was the right way. He could see hoof prints once they reached soft ground, and they did not look too old. The horse moved quickly, as it was sure of its direction, but it did not seem to be fast enough. Elrond could feel a heavy, invisible weight against his back, urging him to be faster. Estel's life was in peril, and there was no other hope for the child. It had already been over a week since he had been abducted, and if he were honest with himself, he did not even know if he was still alive.
He was suddenly cold at that thought, and he tried to force it from his mind. No, Estel was still alive. He could feel it. He would not let his son die. Elladan and Elrohir were wounded, but when he left, they were recovering. He didn't know what had happened to Estel. He wouldn't let himself think about what Menel had implied. It was out of the question.
They traveled south for the rest of the day, and the sun had just disappeared over the horizon when the horse stopped. Elrond dismounted and studied the ground. There had been many people there, recently. He spotted a small set of footprints -- Estel! -- and followed them as they turned east. He climbed back onto the horse and time seemed to slowly crawl by. The group made no effort to hide their trail, and following them was a simple matter. They had passed into a pine forest, within a day, and intuition told him he was close.
Elrond heard them before he saw them. There was a grunt and roar of coarse laughter. He heard one man speaking louder than all the others, but his words were slurred and he sounded drunk. He could smell the scent of a burning fire, and there -- on his right -- was an orange glow. He dismounted silently and bid the horse to wait where she was. He stepped through the bed of pine needles noiselessly and approached the fire.
There was a large group of men circled around the fire, and he frowned as he watched them. They were hunched toward the fire, bodies shining with sweat. They ate half-cooked meat and drank ale from dirty bottles. Their clothing was tattered and covered in grime, but the boots on their feet were in good condition, without any holes. Each carried a weapon on his back, mostly thick swords, but one held an axe in his hand.
Elrond watched them for several minutes, as they tore into their meat and slapped one another on the back. He did not see Estel among them, nor any sign he had been with them. He started to turn away, but one of the men stood to throw more wood into the fire. Elrond's breath left him, and he felt suddenly weak as he spotted a child's small, bare feet between two of the men. Another leaned forward to toss an animal bone into the fire, and he saw the child's face, half-covered with dirt and blood.
Estel. He breathed deeply and his fingers twitched. The boy wasn't moving, and the fire cast flickering shadows over his face. He took a shaky breath, and Elrond could hear the long, raspy wheeze as he exhaled. He closed his eyes in relief and wiped the sweat from his palms. He pulled the sword from his belt and took a deep breath. It was time to get his son back.
He charged silently, his sword slashing through the backs of the men who sat closest to him, turned toward the fire. There was a splatter of blood, and then they fell with a groan. The other men hurried to their feet and drew their weapons, but Elrond was ruthless. He struck mercilessly through the group, while they were still slow and surprised. A young man tried to defend himself, clumsily raising his sword, but Elrond cut him down without thought.
The band's leader appeared before him, his face red with rage. He hoisted his axe onto his shoulder and then swung it down. Elrond dodged the blow and sliced through the man's hand, cutting off some of his fingers. The axe fell to the ground, and Elrond drew the sword back and thrust it into the man's chest. He fell with a howl of rage that turned into a gurgle as blood spewed out of his mouth.
Behind the fallen leader, the men seemed to lose their courage. Some turned to run, but a few lingered to fight. Elrond dealt with them quickly, and soon there was no one left around the campfire. He dropped his sword and ran to Estel, his heart in his throat. His arm was beginning to sting, and he could feel warm blood dripping over his elbow and trailing down to his wrist. He hadn't even felt the blow, and the pain was only now making itself known. He would deal with his own pain later; right now, there was only one important thing.
He dropped to his knees by Estel's side and turned the boy onto his back. Estel groaned and whimpered, his small body flinching. Elrond pressed his hand to his forehead to feel for a fever, but recoiled as a bright red, sticky imprint of his hand was left behind. He glanced down to his hands and was horrified to see the blood that clung to them. He hadn't even noticed...
"Estel," he said loudly, bent over the child. "Estel, wake up." Estel moaned and turned away. Elrond wiped his hands on his breeches as best he could and felt of his skin again. He was agonizingly hot, burning with a fever. When he breathed, there was a rattle in his chest and a long wheeze with each exhalation. His skin was wet with sweat, but his teeth rattled as he shivered. "Estel, wake up. Please, Estel. I am here to take you home."
He groaned again and moved his head. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking as though he were leaving a dream. They were unnaturally clear and bright, shining like silver in the moonlight. "Father?" he asked hesitantly.
Elrond breathed a sigh of relief and pulled Estel to him. The boy yelped in pain and he immediately released him. "Yes, Estel, I am here." He ran his fingers through his hair and wiped some of the grime off of his face. "I am here for you, now."
Estel began to cry. The tears streaked his cheeks, and rolled off his chin in dirty droplets. "I was so scared," he sobbed. His shoulders shook, and his breathing was unsteady. "He told me you wouldn't come."
Elrond didn't trust himself to answer, so he looked over the boy. His wrists were bound with strips of animal hide, painfully tight. His hands were white and cold, and blood oozed from the bonds. He reached for a knife off of a corpse and slit the leather. Estel winced as he pulled them off, and he could see the deep cuts in his skin.
Estel looked over Elrond's shoulder and gasped. "Father, what happened?" He coughed, and his lips were flecked with blood. "All those Men..."
Elrond did not turn to look behind them. "They are dead, Estel." He guided the boy's face away from the carnage. "Tell me where you are hurt."
Estel glanced at the corpses again, but then focused on his father's face. "My chest hurts," he said with a small voice. "When I breathe, it hurts a lot." Elrond nodded and slipped his hand under his shirt. He could feel a knot where there were supposed to be two ribs, and grimaced. Estel wiggled under his touch. "Father, that Elf told me he hurt Elladan and Elrohir." He sniffled a little. "It's not true, is it?"
Elrond paused and weighed his words. "They will be fine. It is you I am worried about."
The boy gasped. "But, what if he comes back, and--" He started crying, terrified at the mere thought of Menel taking him again and hurting his brothers.
He debated telling Estel the truth, but he would not lie, and if it put his fears to rest... "You do not have to worry about him ever again, Estel. He is dead."
Estel gasped again. "Father, did you kill him?"
"I did."
He looked around wildly, as though he did not know what to say. He opened his mouth to voice some thought, but moaned in pain instead.
Elrond shushed him and carefully picked him up. "I have some salve in my saddlebags, as well as something for the pain and fever. I will take you home, and you will find better health there."
Estel wrapped his arms over his shoulders and stared at the dead bodies of his captors. "But, Father, all those people..."
Elrond said nothing as he walked away. His thoughts were awhirl in his head, one spinning mass of exhaustion and emotion. There were no words that he wanted to say, and all that mattered now was getting his son home. He set Estel onto the horse and sat behind him. "Estel, I have saved you," he said at last. He kept his voice firm and even, and he did not look back.
(end chapter four)
End Notes:
Arrgh. I don't write fight scenes very often. Though, this was more like a slaughter. There's only one more chapter left. ^_^
I think this was my favorite chapter to write.
BS
Friday, November 25, 2005
Thursday, December 8, 2005
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien. This is a fanwork for zero profit and only fun.
Warnings: Action/Adventure. Some AU in the end.
Rating: PG-13
Parts: 4/5
Notes: My sister inspired this little ‘gem,’ but I rather like it.
Summary: Estel is kidnapped (gasp), and Elrond rushes to his rescue. But there is a steep price for the boy's safety. NO SLASH.
S A C R I F I C E S
There was someone waiting for him as he burst through the edge of the clearing. The Elf before him was a Vanya, his face fair and his hair golden. There was a big gray horse behind him, with only a blanket on its back. He clutched a large knife in his hands, the hilt black and the blade stained silver. "Elrond of Imladris," he said loudly. "I have been waiting for you!"
Elrond slowed his horse and tried to assess the situation. Except for the knife, the Elf did not appear threatening. He was standing calmly, his leather-clad feet planted far apart. But, he matched the description Elladan had given him. And the trail had led here. "Where is Estel? Who are you?" he asked.
The Vanya looked thoughtful. "My name is Menel," he said. "Hope?" he questioned. "So, that was his name. How unsuited."
Anxiety clawed at him. "Where is Estel?" he repeated. He slowly dismounted and waited for a reply. The more the other Elf said, the worse his dread became. He almost did not want to hear the answer.
"I do not know," he said and his voice held nothing but the truth. "I left him five days ago."
Elrond frowned. "What do you mean -- left him?"
The Vanya laughed. It was a musical sound, but something unnerved him. "I did not have the means to achieve my goals," he said. His lips twisted into a smirk. "He has a delicate face and a soft body. There is a market for such things."
Horror swept over Elrond. "No..." he said.
"Yes."
He lunged then and tackled the Vanya. They landed on the forest floor, and the wind was knocked from his body. Menel struggled under him and pushed him off, and then came down with his knife. The blade struck his arm, but it only sliced through the skin. It stung, and a thin line of blood blossomed at the wound, but there was no real damage done.
Menel scrambled over him and held him down, his hands pressed tightly against Elrond's neck. He couldn't breathe, and he tried to push the Vanya off, but could not. Menel was stronger than he appeared to be, and he pressed the edge of his knife against Elrond's chest. The fabric was sliced cleanly, and he could feel the cold bite of the metal against his skin. The Elf gave a wicked smiled of satisfaction and slid his hand along his throat until he forced Elrond's head against the ground. He pressed the knife deeper, and there was a harsh sting as it dug into his chest.
"The thought of killing one of my own makes me ill. To be like those Kinslaying Noldor sickens me." He leaned forward, and his eyes carried a dangerous glint as he smiled. "But you are not one of my own. You are an abomination, a stain on all Elven blood. Mixed breed," he hissed. "I--" he stopped as Elrond pushed him off with his knee and knocked him onto the ground.
He hurried to his feet and drew his sword as Menel staggered to his own. There was blood flecked on his lips, and there was an abrasion on his chin. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and he looked at Elrond with absolute fury. "You will suffer for this, the way your sons have suffered, and the way the boy has suffered. You will regret it, for you are not fit to lay a hand against me."
The knife in Menel's hand was long and well-built, with a gilded hilt and engraved runes on the blade. A thin line of blood was marked against the edge, making the elegant weapon seem sinister. He rushed at Elrond, but the knife met the sword with a loud clatter of metal. The Vanya was fast, and he carried his weapon with skill and strength. He was like a golden blur as he dodged any blow Elrond attempted, but he had to be close to strike with the knife, and Elrond remained mostly unharmed.
But he was exhausted. He had been in pursuit for most of the day, without rest, and his search for his youngest son had lasted for nearly a week. He felt like he was back on the battlefield, when he had been younger and less wise, and he could not go on fighting like this. Intuition told him he would not win this fight, and he was filled with dread for Estel. If he could not help him, then no one could. If he didn't win, then the boy's life would be forfeit.
Menel was laughing at him, his lips twisted into a thin sneer. A dark light sparked in his eyes and he raised the knife above his head. He started to bring it down when Elrond saw his chance and slammed his shoulder into the Vanya's chest. He dropped the knife and struggled to recover his breath as Elrond swung his sword into him.
The blade sliced cleanly through Menel's arm. There was a snap as the bone was broken, and then a spray of blood as the blade tore through the other side of his arm. It dug into his chest and then stopped suddenly. The Vanya stood, motionless, as Elrond pulled the sword back. His face was devoid of emotions, but there was shock in his eyes. He moved his arms to touch the wound, and blood started flowing out of his right arm. He coughed, and flecks of blood dribbled from his lips. With wide eyes, he staggered and fell onto his knees.
"How disgraceful," he said in a wheeze. "To be killed by a mixed breed like you." He fell onto the ground and his eyes stared ahead, but there was no life in them. He breathing stopped after a moment, and there was no doubt that he was dead.
Elrond breathed deeply, letting the air return to his lungs. His body was quivering, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He glanced down at the fallen Elf, a knot of strong emotions twisted in his stomach. The blood on his hands was still warm, and he felt suddenly ill.
He couldn't think about it now. He had to find Estel.
He turned back to his horse and tried to think with a clear head. His horse was pushed to the point of exhaustion. She needed rest, but Elrond needed too hurry. He walked to her and unfastened the saddle. He pulled the bridle off of her head and rubbed her affectionately. "Go home, friend," he said. "Go home, and wait for me there." The horse watched him for a moment, but then shook its big gray head and turned away. He walked in the general direction of Rivendell, and Elrond focused back on his task.
Menel's horse was smaller, but nearly as tall, and Elrond tried to visually judge if the tack would fit it. The horse fidgeted as he approached, but did not flee. He put his hands against her neck and rubbed her comfortingly. The muscles in her neck were tense, and the mare looked at him with a calculating eye. "Peace, my friend," he whispered and slowly moved so that he touched her face. She pricked her ears forward and sniffed him cautiously. "Your master is gone now, but will you take me to where he led you? I'm looking for the child; can you help me?"
The horse watched him, but did not otherwise answer. Elrond retrieved the bridle and hesitantly slipped it over the mare's head. It was a little loose, but would be adequate until he found Estel. When he went back for the saddle, the mare followed him. He set it on her back and tightened the straps, and he was surprised that it fit so well. He fixed his sword to his belt and vaulted into the saddle. "Now, show me which way," he said with a kind voice.
The horse immediately moved toward the south, and Elrond watched the ground for tracks. He knew instantly that it was the right way. He could see hoof prints once they reached soft ground, and they did not look too old. The horse moved quickly, as it was sure of its direction, but it did not seem to be fast enough. Elrond could feel a heavy, invisible weight against his back, urging him to be faster. Estel's life was in peril, and there was no other hope for the child. It had already been over a week since he had been abducted, and if he were honest with himself, he did not even know if he was still alive.
He was suddenly cold at that thought, and he tried to force it from his mind. No, Estel was still alive. He could feel it. He would not let his son die. Elladan and Elrohir were wounded, but when he left, they were recovering. He didn't know what had happened to Estel. He wouldn't let himself think about what Menel had implied. It was out of the question.
They traveled south for the rest of the day, and the sun had just disappeared over the horizon when the horse stopped. Elrond dismounted and studied the ground. There had been many people there, recently. He spotted a small set of footprints -- Estel! -- and followed them as they turned east. He climbed back onto the horse and time seemed to slowly crawl by. The group made no effort to hide their trail, and following them was a simple matter. They had passed into a pine forest, within a day, and intuition told him he was close.
Elrond heard them before he saw them. There was a grunt and roar of coarse laughter. He heard one man speaking louder than all the others, but his words were slurred and he sounded drunk. He could smell the scent of a burning fire, and there -- on his right -- was an orange glow. He dismounted silently and bid the horse to wait where she was. He stepped through the bed of pine needles noiselessly and approached the fire.
There was a large group of men circled around the fire, and he frowned as he watched them. They were hunched toward the fire, bodies shining with sweat. They ate half-cooked meat and drank ale from dirty bottles. Their clothing was tattered and covered in grime, but the boots on their feet were in good condition, without any holes. Each carried a weapon on his back, mostly thick swords, but one held an axe in his hand.
Elrond watched them for several minutes, as they tore into their meat and slapped one another on the back. He did not see Estel among them, nor any sign he had been with them. He started to turn away, but one of the men stood to throw more wood into the fire. Elrond's breath left him, and he felt suddenly weak as he spotted a child's small, bare feet between two of the men. Another leaned forward to toss an animal bone into the fire, and he saw the child's face, half-covered with dirt and blood.
Estel. He breathed deeply and his fingers twitched. The boy wasn't moving, and the fire cast flickering shadows over his face. He took a shaky breath, and Elrond could hear the long, raspy wheeze as he exhaled. He closed his eyes in relief and wiped the sweat from his palms. He pulled the sword from his belt and took a deep breath. It was time to get his son back.
He charged silently, his sword slashing through the backs of the men who sat closest to him, turned toward the fire. There was a splatter of blood, and then they fell with a groan. The other men hurried to their feet and drew their weapons, but Elrond was ruthless. He struck mercilessly through the group, while they were still slow and surprised. A young man tried to defend himself, clumsily raising his sword, but Elrond cut him down without thought.
The band's leader appeared before him, his face red with rage. He hoisted his axe onto his shoulder and then swung it down. Elrond dodged the blow and sliced through the man's hand, cutting off some of his fingers. The axe fell to the ground, and Elrond drew the sword back and thrust it into the man's chest. He fell with a howl of rage that turned into a gurgle as blood spewed out of his mouth.
Behind the fallen leader, the men seemed to lose their courage. Some turned to run, but a few lingered to fight. Elrond dealt with them quickly, and soon there was no one left around the campfire. He dropped his sword and ran to Estel, his heart in his throat. His arm was beginning to sting, and he could feel warm blood dripping over his elbow and trailing down to his wrist. He hadn't even felt the blow, and the pain was only now making itself known. He would deal with his own pain later; right now, there was only one important thing.
He dropped to his knees by Estel's side and turned the boy onto his back. Estel groaned and whimpered, his small body flinching. Elrond pressed his hand to his forehead to feel for a fever, but recoiled as a bright red, sticky imprint of his hand was left behind. He glanced down to his hands and was horrified to see the blood that clung to them. He hadn't even noticed...
"Estel," he said loudly, bent over the child. "Estel, wake up." Estel moaned and turned away. Elrond wiped his hands on his breeches as best he could and felt of his skin again. He was agonizingly hot, burning with a fever. When he breathed, there was a rattle in his chest and a long wheeze with each exhalation. His skin was wet with sweat, but his teeth rattled as he shivered. "Estel, wake up. Please, Estel. I am here to take you home."
He groaned again and moved his head. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking as though he were leaving a dream. They were unnaturally clear and bright, shining like silver in the moonlight. "Father?" he asked hesitantly.
Elrond breathed a sigh of relief and pulled Estel to him. The boy yelped in pain and he immediately released him. "Yes, Estel, I am here." He ran his fingers through his hair and wiped some of the grime off of his face. "I am here for you, now."
Estel began to cry. The tears streaked his cheeks, and rolled off his chin in dirty droplets. "I was so scared," he sobbed. His shoulders shook, and his breathing was unsteady. "He told me you wouldn't come."
Elrond didn't trust himself to answer, so he looked over the boy. His wrists were bound with strips of animal hide, painfully tight. His hands were white and cold, and blood oozed from the bonds. He reached for a knife off of a corpse and slit the leather. Estel winced as he pulled them off, and he could see the deep cuts in his skin.
Estel looked over Elrond's shoulder and gasped. "Father, what happened?" He coughed, and his lips were flecked with blood. "All those Men..."
Elrond did not turn to look behind them. "They are dead, Estel." He guided the boy's face away from the carnage. "Tell me where you are hurt."
Estel glanced at the corpses again, but then focused on his father's face. "My chest hurts," he said with a small voice. "When I breathe, it hurts a lot." Elrond nodded and slipped his hand under his shirt. He could feel a knot where there were supposed to be two ribs, and grimaced. Estel wiggled under his touch. "Father, that Elf told me he hurt Elladan and Elrohir." He sniffled a little. "It's not true, is it?"
Elrond paused and weighed his words. "They will be fine. It is you I am worried about."
The boy gasped. "But, what if he comes back, and--" He started crying, terrified at the mere thought of Menel taking him again and hurting his brothers.
He debated telling Estel the truth, but he would not lie, and if it put his fears to rest... "You do not have to worry about him ever again, Estel. He is dead."
Estel gasped again. "Father, did you kill him?"
"I did."
He looked around wildly, as though he did not know what to say. He opened his mouth to voice some thought, but moaned in pain instead.
Elrond shushed him and carefully picked him up. "I have some salve in my saddlebags, as well as something for the pain and fever. I will take you home, and you will find better health there."
Estel wrapped his arms over his shoulders and stared at the dead bodies of his captors. "But, Father, all those people..."
Elrond said nothing as he walked away. His thoughts were awhirl in his head, one spinning mass of exhaustion and emotion. There were no words that he wanted to say, and all that mattered now was getting his son home. He set Estel onto the horse and sat behind him. "Estel, I have saved you," he said at last. He kept his voice firm and even, and he did not look back.
(end chapter four)
End Notes:
Arrgh. I don't write fight scenes very often. Though, this was more like a slaughter. There's only one more chapter left. ^_^
I think this was my favorite chapter to write.