The Kindness of a Corsair.

By: Beregond





 

 

˜   Prologue   ™

 

Legend tells of a race of Men, descended from Elven blood, which lived to the West on an island beyond the borders of Middle-Earth; so close to Valinor, the almost magical realm to which all souls pass that seek peace and oblivion, that one was able to see its white shores from the highest mountain in a fair weather. The island was named Númenor, and there all Men co-existed in harmony, praising the name of the Valar and Ilúvatar, the One.

 

But then dark days followed, when the kings became too proud and greedy, soon to be drawn to the heathen ways in search for greater power and longer life. Sauron the Deceiver, who hated all Men and especially the Númenóreans, saw at that time the chance to make them suffer the most. Feigning defeat, he let himself be taken captive by Tar-Pharazôn, the most corrupt of the kings that ever sat on a throne and the last destined to reign in Númenor. Under the influence of Sauron’s poisonous words, cloaked with seductive talk of glory and immortality, Tar-Pharazôn built great ships to sail west and challenge the ones that had benefited his people the most throughout the ages: the Valar themselves. Enraged, the Valar caused great waves that destroyed the ships and then sank the island of Númenor, so all the corruption drowned with Tar-Pharazôn and his people. Even though glad for the destruction of the Men through his malice, Sauron himself came to his own ruin, and with his life-force weakened, he had to return to his old haunts of Mordor, waiting for years until he grew strong again.

 

The fall of Númenor, however, didn’t mean the end of all the Númenóreans. A few Men, loyal to the Valar and foreseeing that the days of their homeland were numbered, sailed to safety before any harm came to them to the only place they could go: Middle-earth. These people were led by Elendil and his sons, Anárion and Isildur, whose bloodline was meant to be bound forever after to the fate of Middle-earth.

 

And yet, even amongst them, remnants of the corruption still lingered. And soon a small part of the kind leader’s men became estranged, drawn to Sauron once more despite what he had done. They were the Black Númenóreans, who spread across Middle-earth, becoming chiefs of scattered men and turning them to forces of dread, always at war with the men of Elendil’s bloodline. The most feared and formidable were the Corsairs of Umbar, whose black sails meant only plundering and looting wherever they went. These were finally destroyed by Aragorn, Isildur’s descendant, who attacked their harbour, captured their ships and sailed them to the aid of Minas Tirith and victory against Sauron’s armies. After Sauron’s own defeat and downfall, it would seem that the Corsairs were scattered forever. Yet evil, no matter how small it may seem and in what form it might be, remains evil… much like kindness.

 

Chapter 1: A Village Under Attack

 

The calm waters of the great river Anduin were only slightly disturbed when the lithe but strong form of a blond Elf, naked but for his leggings, dived in. Legolas resurfaced with a broad smile, pushing back some wet hair that found its way in front of his eyes; then started swimming with natural skill along the river. Being the end of February, the sun hadn’t warmed the water much, but Legolas didn’t mind, since his kindred didn’t feel the cold. For him it was merely the perfect time of year: the last remnants of ice finally melting and new life emerging from underneath it. He could clearly see the first green patches sprouting apprehensively wherever he rode with Gimli on Arod; and even Fangorn Forest, which they visited four days ago, looked particularly lovely, despite its many millennia of existence. So it didn’t surprise him much when Gimli admitted that he indeed liked the place and that the visit was worthwhile.

 

‘Speaking of which…’ he thought; and, as an idea formed in his mind, he swiftly swam back to find the Dwarf, who was sitting a pretty good distance away from the river on a tree-stump, tending to a fire.

 

“Come, Gimli!” cried the Elf to his Dwarven friend. “Will you not wet your feet for a while?” He dearly wanted a companion to his water games, and Gimli was the only one around. Not to mention that Legolas considered him one of the best friends one could possibly have, despite his race.

 

The only answer he got back was a very indignant: “No, thank you, and you very well know why!”

 

“The water is quite nice,” insisted the Firstborn in a coaxing manner. “Do you not want to find out that it is wrong of you to fear the water so much? Fear does not become you…” he added, aiming for where Gimli didn’t wish to be doubted: his pride.

 

However the Dwarf knew Legolas better than the latter thought. Even though Gimli flared up at first, he quickly realised that for some reason the Elf was trying to get him into the water and was using whatever means possible to do just that. So he relaxed once again and even smiled.

 

“If you think that with that you will get me into the river, I can tell you to stop wasting your breath from now on. I’m not getting close even to the riverbank, do whatever you like. And weren’t you supposed to hunt for our luncheon today? What am I preparing the fire for? Stop fooling around and find us something to eat!”

 

Legolas’s cerulean orbs darkened momentarily as he felt that this wasn’t working quite the way he wanted. But Gimli wasn’t aware just how stubborn the prince could prove: now that he had set his mind into getting the Dwarf in the water, he intended to see it through, one way or another. And now he was motivated by other reasons as well: he wanted to punish Gimli a bit for thinking only of his stomach while there were so many things that one should watch around him; and also for accusing him of ‘fooling around’.

 

“All right… what do you want to have?” he asked, sighing in mock defeat.

 

“Anything, as long as it’s meat and edible!” said Gimli, feeling his mouth watering at the prospect of a fine roast.

 

‘Oh, this is too easy,’ thought Legolas, restraining a sly smile at how he knew Gimli well enough to expect that kind of answer. And then, startling him, he disappeared underneath the water.

 

The Dwarf remained agape for a few moments, trying to set his mind straight on what had just happened.

 

“Legolas?” he called out, but he didn’t get any answer, something that made him more than a little nervous. After all, the Elf sank too quickly for his comfort, and now he even started thinking that for some reason Legolas was forced to sink in. He waited for many long moments, hoping that his friend would resurface soon and assure him that everything was all right, but that never happened. Soon much more time had passed, and now Gimli was more than certain that something was terribly amiss and Legolas was probably in desperate need of help, while he was just stalling on the shore. How was he supposed to get into the river though? He hated the water!

 

It was then that the thought of Legolas possibly drowning that made him put aside whatever reservations he had. Discarding helmet and armour, he quickly rushed into the water and, making sure that he always stepped on firm ground while straining his neck to be able to see over the surface, he tried to find any sign of Legolas. His eyes darted in every direction, but it was of no use: the Elf was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Blasted Elf, where in Aule’s name are you?” he shouted, on the verge of tears, feeling even the slightest chances of rescuing Legolas before it was too late slipping away.

 

Just then, he saw something jump at him and land in his hands, feeling cold and clammy. Such was Gimli’s surprise and fright that he was ready to drop the fish into the water but for Legolas’s cheerful voice stopping him.

 

“Careful, Gimli! You should not let our luncheon get away!”

 

Gimli froze momentarily and then he finally realised that he had been tricked.

 

“Very funny!” he growled, annoyed.

 

“Oh, I find it quite funny from here!” grinned Legolas. Like all Elves, he could stay under water for a considerable amount of time, so he merely had waited at the bottom of the river till Gimli finally decided to wade into the water to make his appearance and show him the prize he caught in the meantime. He regarded the Dwarf carefully and, making a face of feigned shock, added: “So I did get you in the water!”

 

“I thought you were drowning! Serves me right for worrying about an Elf!” answered the Dwarf and, with many a huff, he walked out of the water. “And what’s this supposed to be anyway?” he added, holding the fish with two fingers from the tail in sheer disgust, “I said…”

 

“You said ‘As long as it is meat and edible.’ Fish qualify as such,” Legolas interrupted him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

 

Gimli let out a loud groan.

 

“Deer is meat and edible; rabbits are meat and edible; partridges are meat and edible! Did you have to go after the one that stinks of water?” he cried in exasperation, dropping the fish by the fire.

 

“I take it then you do not want it?” asked the Elf innocently, with a tinge of sweetness in his voice.

 

All the Dwarf did was sit again on the tree-stump, arms crossed, his back to the fire, the fish, and the very amused Firstborn.

 

“I suppose not,” concluded Legolas. With a slight smile still tugging his lips, he picked up the fish to prepare it for cooking.

 

¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯

 

“Are you sure you do not want any? It has turned out quite tasty,” repeated Legolas, now fully dressed and eating another morsel of the now-roasted fish.

 

“I think I said no,” growled Gimli once more, although Legolas noticed that some of the Dwarf’s determination had died down. The Elf knew it wouldn’t take long before Gimli broke.

 

“As you wish,” replied the Firstborn. “A pity though. Who knows when we will have such a nice meal again.”

 

“I do,” replied Gimli, “and after today’s… events, I can’t wait till we reach Minas Tirith. I’m sure that there won’t be any fish at the anniversary festivities of Sauron’s defeat!”

 

Legolas laughed heartily.

 

“We are a good week’s ride from Minas Tirith yet, not to mention that the banquet will be even later! Can Dwarves stay without food for so long?”

 

“If they’re to avoid eating fish, yes!”

 

But the truth was that Gimli’s stomach was grumbling so hard by now that he was ready to accept even that kind of meal. The smell had become too tantalising for him and he could swear that he sensed whenever Legolas was swallowing another tender piece of fish. With a lot of hesitation, he turned his head ever so slightly before he mumbled a soft: “Legolas?”

 

No more words were needed, the pleading was as clear as day. Legolas merely handed Gimli his plate, already filled with his share from the fish and even clean from any fish bones and skin.

 

“Thank you,” murmured the Dwarf, turning now to face his companion as he started eating.

 

“You are welcome,” replied Legolas. “So… how do you like it?” he asked curiously.

 

“It’s pretty… decent,” remarked Gimli, never intending to admit that he thought it was actually delicious. However the Elf didn’t fail to notice how swiftly the morsels disappeared from the plate, something that made him shake his head with a mild chuckle flowing from his lips.

 

“Dwarves…” he murmured good-humouredly.

 

“Elves…” retorted Gimli, a smile visible underneath his beard.

 

Legolas rose and sat beside his companion.

 

“Are we all right?” he asked, nudging his friend playfully.

 

“Aye, we’re all right,” Gimli assured him, patting the Elven shoulder.

 

It was in that moment that a woman’s scream cut through the air, making both Elf and Dwarf jump off their seats.

 

“That was a cry of help!” exclaimed Gimli.

 

“And close to here as well,” added Legolas, his hands reaching for his bow and quiver. Before Aule’s creation could blink, the Elf had started sprinting towards the direction the scream had sounded from. “Hurry!”


Gimli didn’t have to be told twice. Grabbing his axe and ready to use it at need, he rushed behind Legolas as quickly as his feet could carry him.

 

¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯

 

Her feet barely touched the ground as the frightened woman ran for her life, pushing out of her way whatever branches or bushes happened to block her path. And yet it seemed that no matter what she did, her pursuer was only one step behind her, his hand ready to grab her hair as it flowed loose over her back.

 

“Now I got you!” shouted the man triumphantly, grabbing the woman with both arms.

 

“No!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, earning such a strong slap on her face that she fell to the ground. Not daring to rise, she quickly backed away and glued herself against a tree, facing the stocky, sun-tanned form that was now towering over her.

 

“My, my, aren’t you a pretty one,” remarked the man as soon as her eyes locked on his own. He unsheathed his scimitar, and pointed it toward her.

 

“It’s a pity that our captain said we’re to take no prisoners,” he continued on, letting the blade of his weapon brush against his prey’s cheeks. “I’ll just offer you some of my valuable moments, but then,” and at this his blade found the woman’s graceful neck, resting on her life-vein, “I’ll have to cut your throat.”

 

The defenceless woman knew that it was no use pleading for her life. Sobbing, she closed her eyes, letting the tears trickle down her face, and waited for what was to come next.

 

It was to the sound of a bow twanging that she opened her eyes again. The man was still standing above her, but now there was an arrow protruding from his chest. He certainly never saw that coming, for in his coal-black eyes there was nothing but confusion as the lifeless body fell in a heap right before the woman. She remained still for a few moments, willing her mind to register what had just come to pass; then slowly turned apprehensively to see who had saved her, hoping that she didn’t just escape from one danger only to land in another one.

 

The strikingly handsome and youthful features, which surpassed the measure of Men, were what the woman first noticed as she watched the one who had shot her attacker approach her. But it was not that which made her gape in awe, but rather the inward light which seemed to emanate from the archer, brightened by the kindness that was imprinted in his cerulean eyes. That sight alone gave her an indescribable sense of calmness and security. It was then that she also understood that she was looking upon an Elf. The woman had been told since childhood that the Firstborn were beautiful, yet strange and mysterious creatures, so one should be wary of them. However, now that an Elf was actually standing before her, it seemed that there was nothing for her to fear.

 

“Are you hurt, lady?” asked Legolas, eying the woman closely to make sure there were no visible injuries.

 

The woman shook her head no, disregarding for the time being her bruised cheek, such was her enthralment at the presence of the creature. A loud voice calling out made her flinch momentarily, but the Elf clasped her shoulder reassuringly.

 

“Fear not, he is with me.”

 

At that very moment Gimli appeared out of the woods, panting slightly. The very first thing to see was the dead Man, the arrow still buried in his chest. The Dwarf actually groaned in disappointment as such a sight.

 

“I told you I had him!” he rebuked Legolas.

 

“Awfully sorry,” replied the prince teasingly.

 

“Bah!” exclaimed the stout creature, waving off the answer. “I’ll just check what I’ve missed.” While he was examining the body, Legolas helped the woman to her feet. Just then, Gimli cried out again.

 

“Legolas! This one was a Corsair!”

 

The Elf turned and looked at the dead Man. He was dark-skinned, apparently after many years under the relentless rays of the sun, and the clothing was light to allow free movement – and on it there were the colours of the city of Umbar. This struck as strange to Legolas, because he was with Aragorn’s forces when Umbar was destroyed and the Corsairs were dispersed. So what was such a man doing in these parts of the world?

 

“There are others as well,” said the woman, finally recovering her courage.

 

Both Legolas and Gimli faced her, waiting for her to tell her story.

 

“I’m Shoneen. My village is by the river a little to the south from here. It’s neither large nor rich, its people being content in peace and quiet. However, we were always attacked by the Corsairs, looting us of everything they could lay their hands on. Even our children were taken away, for the Corsairs were always in need of more crewmembers on their ships. It seemed that after we heard news of their defeat during the war two years ago we had been finally freed from such a menace; but today a ship with black sails appeared, catching the sentries napping, and started on its usual plundering. My husband and my father gathered all the men to fight back, though none of them are trained warriors, while I and the rest of the women and children tried to flee to safety. As for him,” she said, at that moment pointing at the dead Corsair and her tone saddening, “He saw me as I was running away and gave chase. I don’t know what happened to the others, and yet I’m afraid to go back because of what I might find there.”

 

As soon as she finished her narrative, Legolas and Gimli exchanged a look, the same thought flashing into both their minds. The Elf immediately let out a long, melodious whistle, which was answered by a joyous neigh.

 

“Perhaps it is not too late, lady,” said Legolas, answering Shoneen’s confused look, “and I am sure that the men will welcome a bow and an axe by their side.”

 

“You will help us then?” exclaimed the woman, her face brightening despite the abuse it suffered. “Oh, thank you! Thank you both so much!”


Just then a proud horse appeared, jumping over some bushes, and quickly stood in front of Legolas, nuzzling him in greeting. Legolas patted Arod’s neck and, without losing any more time, he climbed up and helped Gimli settle behind him.

 

“What can I do?” asked Shoneen, as the warriors were ready to set off.


“Find the other women and make sure that they stay safe,” suggested Legolas.” If we should have any tidings about the village, we’ll come to find you. Where will you be hiding?”

 

“There are some caves east of the village where the Corsairs don’t dare go. They don’t know the paths through the caverns and they’re afraid of getting lost.”

 

“Then we shall meet there.”

 

“I say we’d better go,” pointed out Gimli impatiently, “before it gets too late!”

 

Legolas nodded his understanding and, with a soft command near Arod’s ear, they galloped away, leaving Shoneen behind.

 

¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯

 

Another villager fell down as the scimitar of a Corsair ran through him. The wicked man cried out his victory and quickly entered the house closest to him to find whatever valuables happened to be in there. In a few moments he was out again, only to come across the tip of a blade, inches from his face.

 

“You won’t defile these things with your foul hands!” said the sword’s wielder, a grey-haired yet muscular man, his eyes piercing the Corsair with loathing; and with one swift movement that barely betrayed his age, he slew his adversary. After dealing with that foe, Dírhavel rushed to join the other militia. Just then, he heard his son-in-law’s voice:

 

“Release your arrows!”

 

Without much error, all ten men fired, shooting the incoming tide of Corsairs down.

 

“Nock arrows!” Arminas cried out again. While he was placing an arrow on his own bow as well, another wave of Corsairs approached dangerously close. However, even though Arminas wasn’t a warrior, he had a good advantage: improvisation. Before any of the scimitars fell on the archers’ heads, he cried at the top of his lungs:

 

“Second half, release!”

 

True enough, ten more men that were a few feet behind, shot their own arrows, slaying all the Corsairs that were unfortunate enough to be on the first line, giving Arminas’s men the time to fire once more, killing the men of the second line also. After that significant damage to the Corsairs, all the archers threw down their bows and unsheathed their swords, taking down every foe face to face.

 

“That was a good move, lad!” cried Dírhavel, who had now come by his son-in-law’s side. He quickly punched an attacking Corsair before cutting him down.

 

“And yet more are coming!” replied the young man above the clash of armour, as he parried another of their attackers and stabbed him with a small knife. “And now they are setting the houses on fire!”

 

“Cut your way out! We must stop them!” commanded Dírhavel. Their houses were almost everything they had and they weren’t willing to let the Corsairs burn them down.

 

Without losing any time, every villager charged with all the strength they had, killing any Corsair who had a torch in his hand. Arminas was quickly disposing of another seaman that dared approach his own home no less, when one of the Corsairs stabbed him treacherously in his side. Such was his pain that the young villager quickly doubled over and fell to his knees.

 

Dírhavel watched this scene unfolding before him in horror. The lad was like a son to him and, more importantly, he was his only daughter’s husband, a person whom both men loved dearly. With a new fire burning in his chest, he grabbed a spear that had fallen on the ground and threw it against one Corsair before lunging against the other. However, Dírhavel was no challenge for the giant of a man that stood before him, for his sword was old and rusty, soon to be broken by one swing of the Corsair’s, while his strength was quickly failing him. But then, as if by some sort of enchantment, his adversary froze, blood trickling from his lips, and then crashed on the ground, face down, to reveal a hatchet buried on his back. And yet what really caused Dírhavel’s amazement was the sound of a hearty laughter.

 

It was in that instant that Legolas and Gimli appeared, still riding on a cantering Arod.

 

“This time I was quicker!” cried the Dwarf in triumph.

 

“I was not aware that this was a speed contest,” retorted Legolas with a small roll of his eyes.

 

“It was from the moment I threw my hatchet,” replied the stout creature smugly, jumping off the steed to land in front of a very surprised Man. After all, seeing either an Elf or Dwarf alone would be considered a rare thing, let alone both together. Legolas alighted as well and addressed himself to the villager.

 

“I’m Legolas of the Woodland Realm and this is Gimli, son of Glóin. A woman by the name of Shoneen told us of your trouble and we came as quickly as possible.”

 

“How it was that my daughter found you I don’t know, but your assistance is most welcome,” said Dírhavel. “You couldn’t come at a better time too. The men are getting tired while the Corsairs just keep attacking.”

 

Arminas now rose at the sight of the strangers, clutching his bleeding side with one hand and his sword in the other.

 

“Dírhavel, we should keep fighting…” he said weakly, but the middle-aged man shook his head no.

 

“You’re in no condition to continue, Arminas. This wound is too deep.”

 

“But… I must…” He never finished his sentence, because at that moment he swayed on his feet. Dírhavel quickly offered him his support.

 

“I’d rather see you somewhere in safety. Shoneen’s heart will break if she loses you because of your stubbornness!”

 

“If I may, I suggest he rides Arod,” said Legolas just then, pointing at the proud horse. “He will carry him without error to the caves to the east, where the women took refuge.”

 

“I gladly accept your advice, wise Elf,” said Dírhavel, bowing his head. They helped Arminas onto Arod, who stood patiently till the wounded man was comfortable enough on his back. The steed listened then to the Firstborn’s word on taking the man to the caves to the east and quickly cantered away in obedience. As Arod was disappearing into the woods, Legolas faced Dírhavel again.

 

“How many are the Corsairs?”

 

“The ship that unloaded them is a schooner, so I reckon they are about a hundred of them, more or less.”

 

“Only?!” exclaimed Gimli with a broad grin, “We can take them single-handedly, Elf!”

 

The Man gaped, hardly expecting this.

 

“Their weapons and fighting skills are much better than ours,” he faltered, “and you’re only two!”

 

“Yet me and Gimli have faced much worse, I assure you,” answered Legolas.

 

“Aye, we have! So I don’t see why we should linger here any longer!” said Aule’s creation. Not wishing for an answer, he quickly grabbed his hatchet and, wielding his axe, rushed to the battle. 

 

“Gimli, wait!” Legolas tried to cry out, but it was too late. “Crazed Dwarf…” he muttered and ran with long strides after his companion. By the time he had reached by his friend’s side, Gimli had hewed two of the foes and was now fighting a third one. The Elf easily disposed of him with one of his arrows.

 

“Ach, so you finally came!” cried Gimli with a broad smile.

 

Legolas didn’t have any time to spare for an answer, however, for at that moment some Corsairs cornered a few villagers and were ready to slay them.

 

“We will have to separate! I shall handle these!” shouted the Firstborn to the Dwarf, while hurrying to the men’s aid, his arrows already hitting the Corsairs one after the other.

 

“See you when the battle ends!” answered Gimli. He wasn’t sure if Legolas heard him or not, but he was so quickly absorbed in the battle that he didn’t give much significance to that anymore. Swinging his axe to the left and the right, the Dwarf rapidly hewed the Corsairs one after the other, finishing off with one mighty blow whomsoever still attempted to rise. Soon he found more militia and aided them in fighting off their own adversaries.

 

The Corsairs had already encountered some difficulty with the villagers, since they didn’t expect them to fight back with such efficiency and organisation. And now that two strange creatures, which seemed to be able to shoot and hew everyone that happened to simply stand in their path in the blink of an eye, had joined the villagers as well, they were quickly dismayed. So, as it became clear that this was a battle not worth fighting anymore, the horn of the retreat was soon sounded and the Corsairs started heading back to their ship.

 

As soon as they saw the backs of their enemies, the villagers started cheering at their victory and quickly gave pursuit to make sure that none of the Corsairs remained close to their homes any longer. Gimli also went with them, swinging his axe threateningly at a couple of seamen that tried to run away from him. But such was his battle frenzy, that he didn’t notice that the rest of the villagers quickly gave up on their chase and that he was soon left alone. Gimli looked around for any sign of a friendly face but there was none. Still, he felt that his task was done. He had made sure that his share of the enemies was taken care of, so for him the battle was now over. He started marching back to the village, eager to find Legolas and tell him of his battle accomplishments, when a large shadow covered his own. Sensing immediately that somebody was trying to sneak up on him, Gimli turned around, swinging his axe.

 

Even though he hit the Corsair that attempted to attack him squarely on the face, he found out to his dismay that another one quickly took his place, wielding a great mace. The Dwarf blocked the weapon before it harmed him, but before he could manage his deathblow, a pair of hands caught him from behind, forcing him to the ground. In a matter of moments, his axe was thrown aside and Gimli was held down firmly by three Corsairs, while the fourth one was ready to crush the Dwarf’s head with his mace. Just then, a hoarse voice boomed behind the Corsairs.

 

“Stop!”

 

The wicked Men immediately froze as though stung and lowered their heads in submission. Not understanding what the meaning of this was, Gimli turned his head in curiosity and saw a burly man, clothed in black, his long grey beard tied in beaded braids. His piercing eyes that only reflected a cold, ruthless soul seemed to look through his men and filled them with sheer terror. It didn’t take a great mind to understand that this man could only be the captain of these lowly crooks.

 

Gimli wasn’t the only one who studied his adversary however. For indeed the captain eyed the Dwarf from head to toe, raising an eyebrow slightly. He sat on his heels, his gaze locking with the short creature’s threatening one, a strange glint that no one noticed shimmering in his eyes.

 

“Well, well, what have we here?” he finally asked, not aiming his question to anyone in particular, much less to Gimli. “A Dwarf away from the safety of his mountains?”

 

“He was fighting alongside the villagers, captain,” said a tall man. “It’s because of him and his Elf-companion that we were forced to retreat.”

 

“Like these miserable fools weren’t able to fight you back on their own, Ramandur!” rebuked the cruel seaman. “You think I didn’t watch how you made a mess out of things? He just cut the battle short.”

 

“I suggest we kill him, captain!” said one of the men nearby. “It will be a small satisfaction in this defeat, but it will be a satisfaction nonetheless.”

 

“You might suggest, but I command, worm!” growled the captain, “And I command that we take him aboard the ship.”

 

Although all the crewmembers looked utterly surprised by this order, no one seemed to have the courage to question it. On the other hand nobody seemed ready to comply with it, something that made the captain narrow his eyes to a slit as he stared at each and every one of them.

 

“You dare defy me?” he said softly; yet there was so much venom in that gentle tone that even Gimli shuddered unintentionally.

 

“Captain, if I may,” finally replied Ramandur, “Apparently none of us see the purpose of dragging a Dwarf into the ship.”

 

“And this is why you’re only second-in-command and not a captain!” snapped the bearded Corsair. “You’ve obviously never heard of the legendary treasures that Dwarves mine and hide in their cities under the earth, where no one can reach them, keeping them only to themselves to hold and cherish! Well, it’s high time they shared some of it with us! I’m sure they’ll pay a handsome sum of jewels and gold to see one of their own walk free from the hands of some ‘nasty’ Corsairs,” he added with a smirk of satisfaction at the cleverness of his plan.

 

“That will never happen!” shouted then Gimli, not taking this anymore. With a swift movement, he had wrenched himself free from one of the two Corsairs that held him by his hands, punching the other so as to get away. However all four of the wicked Men quickly lunged at him before he managed to sprint to safety and pinned him on the ground, their daggers threatening to cut his throat if he so much as dared to move again.

 

“On the contrary, Dwarf. It will happen. Otherwise we’ll just have to find some amusing way to kill you and make up for the trouble we got into because of you,” the captain corrected him, towering above him, the smile that hardly concealed his cruelty never leaving his face. “Tie him up and take him to the ship!”

 

“No! No!” cried out Gimli, struggling to fight back against his captors, but it was of no use. The Corsairs had quickly tied his legs and then his arms behind his back, and they were now carrying him towards the ship. A mixed sense of fear and anger coursed through the Dwarf as he saw the great ship getting closer with every step, and he knew he had to escape. He fought with his bonds constantly but without success. In the end, when they were ready to lock him on the lower decks, Gimli screamed the name of the only one that he wished by his side and aid him in his predicament:

 

“Legolas!”

 

But the crash of the closing door drowned even that desperate call for help and he was left in darkness.

 

Chapter 2: Missing

 

Legolas had watched the backs of the last Corsairs vanishing from view and listened to the sound of cheering from the villagers. Now he was offering his help to anyone who needed it, whether it was a wounded man or a group that was trying to put out whatever flames were still burning close to the houses. From what the Elf could see around him, the village had not taken that much damage, despite the fierceness of the Corsairs’ attack. Some of the huts had been burned down, but, on the other hand, they were far easier to build and repair than an entire village. What saddened him the most were the dead men that were now gathered in the clearing. He gazed at each and every face, his heart beating sorrowfully for the ill fate that they encountered.

 

Dírhavel was telling one of his men to run to the caves and tell the joyous news to the women there, when he noticed the Elf looking intently at the bodies. He sent the messenger on his way and stood by the noble creature.

 

“You haven’t seen death before?” he asked, for he was aware that the Firstborn were immortal beings, never touched by the burden of time no matter the number of years that passed by.

 

“I have, during the War of the Ring no less. That does not mean I enjoy it though,” said Legolas softly. And it was true. He felt that, had these people been warriors, then it would have been the fate destined for them, fighting and clinging to their swords, as is appropriate. But they were only villagers. Their lives should have been among those they loved, growing old by the side of their wives, raising their young, the plough and the shovel the only thing that their hands would wield.

 

Dírhavel nodded, understanding what was on the Elf’s mind.

“Our love for our village has always been a powerful weapon to fight back whatever foes attack us. It was not always enough, but it was and will be ever present, unlike swords and bows.”

 

“And I am sure that, because of it, your village will never fall,” replied Legolas, a small smile tugging on his lips, feeling respect for the elderly Man.

 

“I have to admit that this time it was touch and go,” confessed Dírhavel. “I’m glad that you and your friend came to our aid; and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

 

Legolas bowed his head courteously, even though he felt slightly uncomfortable by these words.

 

“We only did what we felt should have been done, nothing more, nothing less, I assure you. And Gimli will agree with me on that,” he said modestly. It was then that he realised something was amiss. He looked around apprehensively.

 

“What’s the matter?” asked Dírhavel, not understanding what had alarmed the Elf.

 

“Have you seen my friend? He said to me that he would meet me after the battle was over.”

 

The grey-haired Man looked around too, puzzled.

 

“No, I haven’t. In fact, I haven’t seen him at all since you first came,” he admitted. “Peleg!” he cried to one of his men.

 

“Aye, sir?” answered the militiaman.

 

“Did you see the Dwarf at all?”

 

“He was chasing the Corsairs away when I last saw him, sir. I thought that he had come back by now.”

 

“Well, he didn’t. Do you remember where he was going?”

 

“He was heading for the river, sir. That way,” replied the villager, pointing in the right direction.

 

“I had better go find him!” exclaimed Legolas.

 

“I’ll gather the rest of my men and help you,” said Dírhavel.

 

“Thank you,” was the Elf’s grateful answer; and then Legolas hurried ahead to find his comrade. Soon, he found himself in a clearing beside the river. But there was no sign of the Dwarf to be seen.

 

“Gimli!” shouted Legolas, his keen eyes looking frantically around. “Gimli!” he called out again.

 

There was no answer. Now the prince of Mirkwood was aware that, even if there was a remote possibility that his friend had neglected to find him after the fighting was over, the Dwarf would at least have answered to his calling by now; and that made him more than a little nervous. It meant that, for some reason, Gimli couldn’t answer him back. Could it be that he was hurt then? Or… dared he think it? Dead? If that had been the case, then he would have found his body somewhere nearby.

 

‘Gimli, I swear, if you are only trying to get back at me for that prank at the river…’ Legolas thought in choking frustration, even though a part of him wished that this were indeed a mere – if tasteless – trick of the Dwarf. However, as the moments passed, that slight hope grew smaller and his worries only multiplied.

 

“Gimli, answer me!!!” Legolas shouted again, feeling his heart contracting. Such was his distraction, that he didn’t sense a pair of dark brown eyes watching his every move.

¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯

 

The young Corsair still watched the strange creature as it continued shouting, feeling his own frustration growing. He wanted the Elf to leave as quickly as possible so that he could continue with his own search for his comrades. They couldn’t be too far away. After all, he couldn’t have been unconscious for too long a time, could he?

 

His throbbing head reminded him once more of his impact with that rock that one of the villagers had thrown at him. His hand felt again the deep gash near his temple and he quickly held back a hiss of pain. He knew that he had to tend the injury, but he had nothing with him to serve that purpose; not to mention that, as a Corsair, he wasn’t supposed to mind of such things. His main concern now was to find his captain and the rest of the crewmembers: the people that he had come to accept as part of himself so very long ago.

 

“Oh, no… Gimli!” sounded the voice of the Firstborn again.

 

The rogue’s eyes locked again on the Elf, who was now holding in his hands an axe that he had picked up off the ground. The brightness of intelligence that was clearly reflected there was replaced by the frost of cold-heartedness; for the young Corsair realised now that, if he was to find his comrades, he would have to do away with whatever stood on his path, even if it meant killing a Firstborn. He was actually quite nervous about that option, since he had been told how dangerous such creatures could prove. He had heard of a single Elf killing about fifty of his own people and even taking over a ship on his own, unaided, when the Númenóreans attacked the city of Umbar during the War. His captain’s ship had been away from that destruction, but the tale reached his ears nevertheless and, even though he didn’t know just how much of it was true, it still served as an important lesson that Elves were not to be trifled with.

 

Just then, he saw the blond creature crouching down, his eyes clearly scanning the ground before him. The Corsair understood at that moment that the Firstborn was still looking for whoever he was calling out to, which meant that he would be too distracted to expect any attack from behind. He waited patiently for a few more moments; then, as soon as the Elf had completely turned his back on him, he unsheathed his sword and, swiftly but stealthily, made his move against Legolas.

 

Despite of all the stories the Corsair had heard about the Elves, none had warned him about their incredible sense of hearing or their cat-like reflexes. Legolas had heard somebody hurrying toward him quite clearly and so turned around in a heartbeat, using the end of the axe to knock the sword away from his attacker’s hand. If the young Man was dismayed by this, he never showed it, for he charged against the Elf once more in an attempt to tackle him. In a flash, the Mirkwood prince had grabbed the Corsair by the waist and pushed him down instead, his silver blades already in his hands before the Man had even landed on the ground. The Corsair quickly rolled on his feet, his hands now reaching for the knives that were attached at his belt of cloth. He threw them against the Firstborn at great speed, but Legolas parried them skillfully and lunged against the attacker, forcing him to the ground once more.

 

“Where is he?” he asked, his knives resting on the Corsair’s neck. If anybody could tell him what had happened to Gimli, it was definitely him.

 

But Legolas’s adversary wasn’t to be put off that easily. Being in his twentieth year of life, he was full of energy, which was pumped up by his natural stubbornness of not wishing to give up even when the fight was in vain. Not to mention that, unlike the Uruk-Hai or the Orcs, he would display cunning instead of brutal force. So, not caring for the knives that threatened to cut his skin, he grabbed some dirt which he threw at the face of the Elf, stunning him long enough to kick him in the stomach and push him away, knocking the knives out of the Elven hands. Before Legolas had enough time to compose himself and wipe the dirt from his eyes, he found himself threatened by yet another of the Corsair’s weapons: a small crossbow.

 

Legolas froze instantly. His face didn’t betray any emotion, but within him he knew that it was probably time for Mandos to claim him, for he was aware that he would never be able to avoid the projectile, despite his Elven speed. He clenched his hands into fists and waited for the Corsair to strike.

 

The Man didn’t shoot however. He had seen what his opponent was capable of doing, so he was certain that the Elf was ready to counter-attack somehow. For all he knew, that creature was probably getting prepared for some sort of trick. Hadn’t he heard of Elves performing magic? Now that he saw that the Elven way of fighting wasn’t pure legend, he felt that even that kind of tale wasn’t far from the truth. So he also stood frozen, regarding the Elf, trying to figure what his next step should be.

 

Legolas looked keenly at the Corsair with a raised eyebrow, unable to understand what was going on in the latter’s mind. He didn’t wish him dead then, but only prisoner? Could that be what happened to Gimli too? That would surely explain why he found only his friend’s axe.

 

His Elven eyes locked again on the Man, embers of defiance shining through them.

 

“What are you waiting for? If you are not to kill me, then take me to your ship!” he said in the hopes that, if he were taken aboard, he would be able to find Gimli there. An insane plan, but it was the best he had for the present, considering that his options were quite limited.

 

The Corsair stared at the blond creature in disbelief, for these words were the last ones he had expected to hear. He thought, even wished, that the Elf would beg for his life, calling on his pity and mercy. Then at least he would have shot him without much thought, knowing that he was just another weakling, not worthy of living. But now… this strength of character to face death or captivity, a fate in many aspects worse than death, surprised him and even puzzled him. It was at that moment that he considered the choice of running away and letting the Elf live. After all, he only wanted to get back to his ship. The Firstborn wouldn’t try to stop him from that if he still had the impression that his life was threatened. Without realising, he took a few steps back, his crossbow always directed at Legolas. It was then that he noticed the bow and the fully equipped quiver on the Elf’s back and another thought occurred to him: that the Elf could just as well shoot him as he tried to run away. No, he couldn’t take any risks: the Firstborn had to die.

 

Legolas, in the meantime, was still looking at the Corsair, watching him taking one backward step after another, feeling no less puzzled by this kind of behaviour. What was the Corsair trying to do anyway? He saw the face, how it betrayed confusion. And it also came across his mind that nobody had joined the Corsair yet, nor did the young Man try to call out for anybody either. It was at that moment that Legolas understood what had happened. The Corsair was probably left for dead and the rest had already sailed away on the ship, not caring for his fate - which meant that Gimli was gone too. Legolas knew now that he had to get himself out of his predicament and go after the ship. But how was that supposed to be done? Just then, he saw something slithering near the Man’s right foot. His keen eyes instantly recognised that something for what it was.

 

“There is a snake behind you.”

 

The Corsair glared at Legolas threateningly, thinking now that he had probably overestimated his opponent. Well, resorting to lies wouldn’t help the Elf, since he didn’t intend to fall for that. He took another step back, bringing himself closer to the snake. Legolas shook his head, understanding that the Corsair didn’t believe him.

 

“I am not lying, there is a snake behind you,” he said again calmly.

 

The young Man only sneered. He stepped back once more, his heel brushing against the snake. Startled by the touch, the creature bit deeply into the Corsair’s ankle. The Corsair screamed in pain, his hands accidentally triggering the crossbow, but sending the arrow in a harmless direction.

 

Legolas seized the opportunity and, after grabbing both his blades and the axe, he quickly ran away, feeling that there was nothing left for him to do but try to find Gimli. And yet, he soon found himself slowing his pace and turning around to see the Corsair slip as he tried to fight off the snake, hitting hard on the ground and rendering himself unconscious. Legolas stood hesitant for a few moments, his eyes locked on the lying form and his mind clearly in turmoil. Gimli was in danger, but what about the Man? He had seen the snake quite well and recognised its kind. Its poisoned fangs would kill any victim swiftly if left unaided.

 

He stood still for a few more moments, knowing that he had to make up his mind quickly, and yet uncertain as to what he was supposed to do. In the end, with one last glance at the river, he hurried to the poisoned Corsair, hoping that his decision wouldn’t cost Gimli’s life.

 

¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯

 

“Set course for North! And let me not catch any of you slacken!” cried the captain in a growl at his men. The crewmembers did immediately as they were told and then Sador (for that was his name, though he never allowed any of his men to address him as that) turned to his second-in-command.

 

“Bring the Dwarf to me.”

 

Ramandur inclined his head in obedience and went to his errand. Sador leaned on the wooden rail of the ship, gazing at the crystal clear waters of the river Anduin as they reflected the golden rays of the sun. For more than thirty years he had been sailing these waters and he had come to know them well, always taking him to the richest towns, where he and his men could pillage everything, or to the poorest villages whenever he was in need of apt pupils: children which he deprived of their homes and trained personally, turning them to bloodthirsty and ruthless rogues, obeying at his command without hesitation. This small force was his pride, if anything could be called by that name, for they were well known even among the other Corsairs for their efficiency in destruction and pain they always left behind wherever they went.

 

And yet he now felt that, after so many years aboard the ship, he still had gained too little to quench his thirst for wealth. It was true that he scattered whatever riches he gained in low pleasures, like all his men did, but he couldn’t do away with those either. Now his one wish would be to find a chance to obtain such great treasures that would suffice him for the remainder of his days, without having to suffer himself to command a ship ever again. He had grown tired of sailing and, moreover, difficult days were approaching as well. The King of Gondor had destroyed almost all the ships of Umbar and the towns and houses of the realm were too well protected now. Whatever threat the Corsairs could be perceived as was no more. He was one of the last of the Corsairs that remained, and he still intended to make the most out of it. So he actually considered it fortunate to capture the Dwarf. The treasures that these creatures held were the greatest that one could possibly imagine, every stone they mined out and worked on bigger and more valuable than the last. If he could lay his hands on even a quarter of that wealth, then he would lead a very happy life indeed.

 

“Captain,” he heard Ramandur saying, cutting him off from his pleasant musings. He saw the Dwarf forced on his knees, his hands and legs still bound, glaring at both Men with unhidden loathing.

 

“You hate it being here, don’t you, Dwarf?” asked Sador with a smirk. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to stay forever… as long as you answer my questions.”

 

Gimli remained silent, waiting with suppressed rage to see where was that fiend getting with this.

 

“I know of your kind. I know of your love for anything valuable and how you strive for years on end to shape all your treasures to what they are. I’ll do anything to get my hands on anything that will content my heart as well. I simply use other means.”

 

“Your means are called murdering and stealing in my parts!” growled Gimli scornfully, but that only caused Sador to chuckle softly.

 

“In this case it doesn’t have to be either,” the captain corrected him. “Tell me to which clan you belong; what’s their wealth; and, after we make a small but profitable trading – your life for a sufficient fee – I’ll let you go and you won’t hear from me again.”

 

“Like I’ll ever tell you!” exclaimed Gimli. Just then, he felt a sharp blow on his back.

 

“Thank you, Ramandur,” said Sador, as his right-hand man placed his club back on his belt. He faced the Dwarf once more, his face calm, but his eyes reflecting his annoyance at the defiant answer he had received. “Are you ready to reconsider?”

 

“What I’ll reconsider is how I’ll kill you if I get my hands on you!” shouted Gimli, beside himself with wrath now, something that earned him another painful hit, this time on the back of his head.

 

Gimli shook off his light-headedness quickly and darted his full-of-anger eyes on the captain, who was now regarding his captive with the superiority he felt he had over him.

 

“Do you persist? Just tell me what I want to hear and Ramandur will stop at once.”

 

“You can beat me to death for all I care, but I’ll still say nothing!” cried the Dwarf, his stubbornness proving a most valuable ally at strengthening his already stout heart.

 

Ramandur was about to strike the impudent captive with his club again, when Sador stopped him by raising his hand. The lowly Man looked at his captain troubled, as the latter commanded one of the crew to take Gimli back to the lower decks. With that done, Sador leaned towards his right-hand officer confidentially.

 

“Make sure he doesn’t get any food or drink for the remainder of the day. Tomorrow at dawn, bring him before me again. We’ll see then just how brave he’ll be,” he said, grinning maliciously.

 

Ramandur grinned back, understanding now his captain’s plan, and went to see that all would be arranged accordingly. As for Sador, he walked slowly towards the prow, making plans with his mind. He believed the Dwarf when he said that he wouldn’t talk if they beat him. So he was aware that he had to break him first to get the information he wanted and get the wealth he so desired. It would simply take him more time, a sacrifice he was willing to make if he was to be rewarded so sweetly in the end. Smiling slightly, he stood at the bow, thinking of all the treasures that would soon become his.

 

¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯

 

Gimli’s eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness of the storeroom he was shoved into. He looked at the rats that eyed him curiously and then at the small puddle of water that had formed by the ship’s hull, wetting his armour.

 

‘Apparently the schooner, or whatever they call these dratted things, isn’t in the best shape,’ thought the Dwarf, rolling his eyes. Despite his bonds, he pushed himself on his knees and moved himself with difficulty away from the puddle, towards a crack in the beams from where he could take a glimpse of the outside world and feel his heart lifted, if only a little. Even though he had spent most of his life mining in Erebor, the kind of darkness to which he was enclosed now dampened his spirits to no end. At least in his homeland he was free and among his people, whereas now he was alone, tied up and held by fiends who were ready to slit his throat at the first opportunity.

 

It was then that his mind strayed to Legolas, his companion and best of friends that he had been fortunate to have the last few years, and his heart sank even lower than before. Did the Elf find out what had happened to him? Was he looking for him? And even if he was, how would he be able to find him, when even he didn’t know the direction that the Corsairs had taken? The only thing that made him still hope was the faith he had in Legolas. Gimli knew that his comrade would do anything within his power to find him and help him, in spite of whatever difficulties chanced to be laid before him.

 

“Well,” murmured the Dwarf, “if the Valar will have it, Legolas, I hope you’ll find me soon. I don’t know how long these crooks will put up with me, but I don’t plan on going easy on them!”

 

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the beams, chanting a song that he used to sing whenever he was mining, trying not to listen to the sound of the water as the ship still sailed onwards.

 

Chapter 3: A Lesson In Kindness

 

The young Corsair woke up again slowly, his head feeling heavy and throbbing in pain. He couldn’t understand at first why he should feel so bad, but in a few moments he remembered all that came to pass, like that he had hit his head… again. If his comrades ever found out about that one they would never give him a moment’s peace with their mocking remarks!

 

It was then that he remembered the serpent that bit his ankle. He quickly glanced at his bitten limb and, to his immense surprise, he saw that it had been bandaged with his own cloth belt. He willed his hands to examine this strange thing, only to realise that they were tied to the trunk of a tree. He checked himself in disbelief, he tried to force himself free, but it was of no use: even though the bonds weren’t tight enough to hurt his wrists, they were still tight enough to hold him in place. He muttered a slight curse, figuring who could have been responsible for this. His eyes searched for any sign of the Elf but there was none to be seen. Just when he thought that he was abandoned, left to the mercy of the wild creatures that could roam about in the wilderness, he heard voices of people, coming closer by the minute.

 

“Are you sure about this, noble Elf?”