They made camp beyond the city, hidden by dunes and brush.
Gimli paced back and forth, muttering under his breath. Finishing tending to Elanor's bandages, Legolas stood. He stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on the dwarf's shoulder.
Gimli stopped, looking up. Legolas forced a smile.
"Estel will be fine. Trust me, mellon-nin, I can think of nothing that could become his undoing."
"The Easterlings might be a good start," Thralor muttered. The dwarf ran a whetstone over his axe, a scowl permanently fixed on his face. His mood had only turned worse as the days went on. All of theirs had.
But despite it, Legolas forced himself to stay calm.
"He'll hold out until we figure out a plan."
"Legolas is right," Elanor said. Her face was pale, but determined. The spear that had caught her during the desert battle hadn't cut deep, thankfully. Still, it was taking its time healing. "It's Aria I'm worried about. She shouldn't have changed. They know about her now."
"We might have lost a lot more if she hadn't."
The woman dropped her eyes.
Gimli pulled away, continuing to pace. Legolas fixed his eyes on the city beyond, glowing orange in the horizon. He straightened as he spotted two figures moving over the stand toward them; two figures cloaked and hooded.
Breaking from the group, he hurried to greet them.
"Elladan, Elrohir."
Elladan pushed down his hood, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Elrohir did the same, groaning. "Valar, it's hot."
"What did you find?"
"We didn't hear anything about special prisoners," Elladan said. "They must have been brought in as slaves, not hostages."
Elanor came behind them, catching the last few words. Relief flooded her eyes. "At least we know Aragorn's identity wasn't realized."
Legolas nodded. When Robin had botched the fight to help him escape, he'd managed to track down the rest of the group. They'd given Elanor some time to heal, then had gotten out of the forest.
Legolas hadn't liked it back there— he'd constantly felt like they were being watched. Like there was a third party that he couldn't see.
"There has to be a system of sorts," Elanor said. "Somewhere they'd be taken."
"There were plenty of merchants. The market was crowded traders and natives of all sorts." Elrohir exchanged a look with his twin. "There was a betting stand too. For some fighting arena located in the middle of the city."
That caught his interest. Legolas tilted his head. "The Pits?"
Elrohir nodded.
"Hood mentioned a system of fighting. If the slave-traders would get anything out of their strengths, it would be fighting."
Elanor's face paled. "You said he was wounded."
Legolas clenched his jaw.
Turning, he started up the hill, the others on his heels. Gimli came to a stop as he saw them, lips forming a tight line under his red beard.
"By Durin's beard, tell me you bear good news."
"They'll be fighters in the arena," Legolas said. "If they haven't been pitted yet, it'll be coming at some point. We need to get into the city."
"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.
He didn't know what happened to the Avari elves when they died. He only hoped to see his family again.
It seemed ridiculous that he'd almost seen the Fellowship as a sort of family. A new start.
Maybe offering his life for theirs would serve as a sort of redemption.
He could only hope the others were still alive too.
The accursed orcs would probably die and make his sacrifice worth nothing, if he knew them all well enough.
When a loud trumpet shattered the air, the echoing cries ordered death. Aragorn had picked up a blade of his own— a long, but chipped blade. Robin snapped back to reality and stepped forward. They circled each other.
Robin could tell the king wasn't going to make the first move.
So he did.
When their blades met, the metallic clang was drowned out by the cheers. His injured side screamed in pain and Robin gritted his teeth, pushing against the king's blade. If he was going to die, it was going to be the show of a lifetime.
Aragorn said something he didn't catch.
Robin yanked away before he could repeat himself.
They circled again, eyes taking in each other's every single movement. Aragorn looked more focused now. But in the heat, Robin found himself swaying a little. It was so hot. So loud.
He wanted nothing more than to pass out. But he forced himself to stay awake.
The trumpet blasted again.
They leaped forward.
Despite his focus, Aragorn moved slowly— cautiously. Robin hacked and slashed, forcing him back and forcing him to defend himself. The king's eyes widened.
"Hood! What are you doing?"
"Fight me."
"We can figure this out."
His side screamed in agony. Robin was so tired and in so much pain, he didn't want to argue.
If the king wouldn't fight, he'd force him too.
Robin added a new strength into his slashes. Metallic clanging rang through the air.
Aragorn's eyes flashed. He barely ducked a swipe aimed for his neck.
"Hood!"
"I said fight me!"
Robin swung again and this time, Aragorn met his blade with a parry of equal power. The crowds above roared.
Somewhere in the stands, Robin made out a seating of what looked like royals. He realized that somewhere up there might be the Easterling leader. The one with Aragorn's sword.
He spotted the elleth, too.
His attention snapped back as Aragorn slashed.
Robin barely managed to dodge.
But his movements were getting slower and he could feel blood warming his tunic. Whatever bindings he'd had on his side weren't doing any good. Though, he hadn't expected them to.
Aragorn was bound to notice at some point.
He would stop fighting if he did.
Robin clenched his jaw and a flash of true fear stuck through him. Because he realized what he had to do. But he hadn't seen himself going out like this.
Though, maybe he should have.
When Aragorn kicked forward, he didn't try to dodge it. He didn't even try to lift his sword.
The blow sent him sprawling. His blade clattered to the packed and bloodied sand and he could taste the rot. Stars danced before his eyes.
The crowds screamed louder.
Aragorn froze then. Robin managed to pull himself up to his knees, the entire world spinning. He was tired— so tired. He reached up for the ring around his neck, only to remember it wasn't there. His heart plummeted, throat tightening.
He regretted dying without it.
Swaying on his knees, Robin met the king's eyes. He'd been so determined to snuff out the light in them once. Oh, how the tables turned.
Though maybe if he would have, he wouldn't be in this situation. It was an intruding thought.
The crowds screamed overhead. Two words, repeated over and over again.
Finish it.
Robin raised his chin, even as Aragorn lowered his sword. His stomach clenched and he narrowed his eyes.
"Come on, Queen Estel. Finish it."
"Hood—"
"Finish it and get to Aria. Yeah?"
"I'm not going to kill you."
Despite his pounding heart, Robin forced a smirk. "Don't tell me his royal highlyness is too good to get his hands dirty."
"You're not going to goad me into it, Robin."
"They'll kill us both."
"By Valar, Hood, I'm not going to kill you!"
Blood pounded in Robin's ears. A mix of anger, terror, and defiance screamed through his veins. His smirk turned into a scowl and he clenched his fists. "Come on, coward. Do it."
"No."
"Do it!"
"I won't."
The crowds screeched. The guards near the gates shifted. They were running out of time.
Robin's scowl ebbed.
"Do it for you son, you orc. Your kingdom."
Aragorn's expression wavered. But his stance didn't change and his arms didn't lift and Robin swore internally. Fine.
He'd do it himself.
Grabbing his sword, Robin shoved himself up and rushed toward the king. He didn't even let himself think. Because if he thought, he didn't think his body would comply. Terror gave him one last burst of energy.
He shouted and leaped forward. Aragorn swung his blade in defense.
Robin dropped his own.
He swore he felt his heart stop and he swore he saw Aragorn's eyes widen. Some part of him realized he was an idiot.
He never should have stolen that sword.
But it was too late to regret the past now. And everything moved slowly.
Robin felt the sword cut through his chest.
He felt the pain— the shock.
He felt a sudden wave of despair, agony, and grief. There was nothing stopping him from hitting the ground and nothing stopping the blood from staining the sand. He'd heard countless stories of death— but he hadn't expected it to be so terrifying.
Robin felt Aragorn's shock. Felt his shock morph to realization morph to horror. Some of those in the crowd cheered. Others booed.
Robin felt it all.
A single tear slipped down his cheek. From the pain, exhaustion, or despair, he wasn't sure. The world was moving too slow for him to be sure. But he felt it.
And then... then he felt himself die.
* * *
*doesn't update for months*
*updates and kills the main character*
Why, hello, frens!
Uhhh, remember how I said this story went off the rails after Chapter One? Yeah. No plan. Though, I think I have an idea of where this is going. Maybe?
Please don't hate me.
Did you know, Robin Hood actually dies in the legends? So... could this be final? Maybe?
Guess we shall see.