𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖆

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Riders Of Rohan

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Aragorn's body lay stiff and motionless on the rocky ground beneath our feet. He need not have been, you could feel it just standing there, in your legs and chest; the rumble of a travelling orc army, thundering like a stampede.

Still, Aragorn remained, listening ever-intently. Gimli puffed heavily, finally reaching where the rest of us had stopped running to listen for the orcs. He seemed to be muttering reproachfully in a whisper, as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Their pace has quickened," Aragorn said suddenly, pushing himself up off the ground, "They must have caught our scent! Hurry!"

Aragorn dashed down the rocky decline, and Legolas raced after him. Gimli released another string of curses, before ambling along after them. I brought up our small party's rear, but quickly surpassed Gimli, whose breath had already been lost again as he hobbled along behind us.

"Come on, Gimli!" Legolas called.

"Three days and nights pursuit," Gimli said gruffly, between sharp intakes of breath, "No food, no rest. And no sign of our quarry, but what bare rock can tell."

"Can you not feel them, Gimli? The orcs, I mean. I feel the earth quake at their step. We draw nearer. It is only a matter of days until we catch them up."

"I'm not certain I can stand even a few hours more of this," he grumbled.

And we carried on, as we had been for the past three days. Past the rocky slopes and cliffs of flat grass. Exhaustion threatened to way us down, hold us back, but we fought past it, forging ahead through our fatigue, our hunger, our uncertainty. Our fear for the fates of the two hobbits propelled us forwards.

Soon the cliffs fell away at our sides, and flat grass lands turned to rolling hills and small mountains. The grass was tall, and frisked our ankles. Now, it was painstakingly apparent that several large and heavy footprints had trod ahead of us. There was a large path of flattened grass that stretched on around a mountain , disappearing round the bend. Then, my eye caught something scintillating in the grass, the same hue of green, but gleaming.

I picked it up.

It was a brooch. The same one I now wore fastened to my belt. The one that I'd taken off the cloak gifted to me in Lorien. I gaped at it. They were still alive. Aragorn approached from behind, peering over my shoulder. I handed him the treasure, a facsimile of the one that was pinned to his own cloak.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall," he examined it in his hands.

"They met yet be alive," Legolas said, stepping in closer to observe the brooch in Aragorn's hand.

"Less than a day ahead of us," Aragorn nodded, before breaking off into a run once more, "Come."

Suddenly, Gimli rounded the same corner the others and I had rounded minutes earlier. He tripped over his own two, exhausted feet, barreling into the ground. I rushed to his aid, but he brushed me off.

"I'm alright, lass," he pushed himself back up.

"Come Gimli, Elena! We're gaining on them!" Legolas called, before turning to join Aragorn.

I couldn't hold back the surprised smile I shed at Legolas' lack of witty insult at the dwarf's clumsiness.

"I am wasted on cross-country," Gimli said, breaking into a trot behind Legolas, and I matched his pace, "We dwarves are natural sprinters. Very dangerous over short distances."