Hood » LotR ((ON HOLD))

Chapter Twenty-Five: How the Tables Turn

"That's really not good news, laddie."

"Also, in case you haven't noticed, we kinda stand out," Thralor said. Legolas pressed his lips together.

"Either we get in, or they die fighting."

"That's not very positive."

"I could get in," Elanor said. Legolas looked at her, at the defiance— and pain— in her eyes, and hesitated. Then he shook his head.

"If you die, Estel will kill me. Hood just might too."

"Then what are we supposed to do? Sit around until we're sure they're all dead?"

Frustration rushed through him. Legolas took a deep breath, trying to push it down. He paced back and forth, mind spinning. Getting caught hadn't been a part of the plan. Robin and Aragorn were supposed to be the ones to go in. And come back out.

"We have to go in," Elrohir said quietly. He paused.

"If anyone sees us for what we are, that's it."

"I think it's a risk we will have to take, mellon-nin. For Estel."

"For Estel," the others echoed.

Legolas turned and gazed back at the city.

Something so desolate, so wild. Yet so dangerous. Shifting his bow on his shoulders, he turned back and nodded. "Very well. We go in. But we do this carefully."

"I think we're beyond careful, laddie."

He gave Gimli a sharp look. The dwarf raised his hands, shaking his head.

"Fine, fine. Durin's beard. We'll be careful."

"Hopefully," Elanor said quietly. "They'll still be alive. All of them."

The air was filled with a quiet agreement. They all turned and gazed at the city, silhouetted by the sunset. Hopefully, their companions would be alive.

All of them.

* * *

The crowds cheered.

Robin turned in a circle, studying the arena round him. The sun scorched his skin, continuous roars overwhelming all his other senses. He shifted, pressing a hand against his side and drawing it back damp with blood.

Nausea swept through him.

Thousands of people sat in the stands. They shouted for chaos and screamed for blood. The ground around him smelled of rot and the sand was stained crimson. Forgotten weapons scattered the ground.

Robin picked up a blood-splattered blade and studied it, weighing it in his hands.

The roars picked up. He raised his eyes.

Aragorn had come through the opposite gate.

The king surveyed the stands, shoulders tense. Then he turned and his eyes met Robin's own. His face was pale, hands clenching and unclenching.

Robin gripped the sword tighter, raising his jaw.

Only one of them was going to walk out of here alive.

They both knew that.

In the stands above, the screams and shouts doubled in volume.

Robin had lied and stolen and killed, but he'd never seen himself ending up here. Though it seemed like a fitting punishment, he supposed. For all of his crimes to be paid for in one final fight. For the life he'd lived since his family's death to be finished so far from home.