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Post by Recommended on Dec 7, 2006 16:12:46 GMT -5
CHAPTER 14: FACE TO FACE Aragorn’s brow was furrowed as he sat deep in thought in his library, Faramir seated in the chair across from him. He had been depressed since lunch, after finding out about Legolas’ wound, but determined that he would ride to Ithilien the next day, no matter what anyone said. But now his Steward had come with information gleaned from the prisoner. At this point, he felt like driving his sword Anduril through any of the attackers that had harmed his family, wounded Legolas, and caused the death of several elves. He was glad now that he had left the interrogation to Faramir, afraid that his own emotions might have affected the progress. Indeed it seemed to be going well without him. “So, Sauron even recruited forces from the region around the Sea of Rhûn,” the king murmured. “Far was his reach, and we were not aware.” Faramir nodded. “We could not know the full extent of his domain or his influence,” he said. “Even now the odd band still plagues us, as you well know, Elessar.” “Our armies incapacitated many bands, we cleaned up many camps,” Aragorn said, shaking his head as he tried in vain to retrieve Sarambaq from his mental records. “He wants revenge, you say, and for his son, so I must have fought them and killed his son, I guess. But our enemies were many as we battled from Rohan to the Black Ships to the Fields of Pelennor and even at the Black Gates of Mordor.” He sighed. “Aye, Faramir,” he continued in a subdued tone. “Our enemies had faces and names, as our own men did, but even if we saw the faces of those we fought, we knew them not, looking upon them only as the servants of the Dark Lord. Yet – and yet, many of them had ones they loved. Wives perhaps, and sons and daughters, and brothers and sisters.” The images of Arwen, Eldarion, and his elven family in Imladris played in his mind. Faramir swallowed, as he recalled how he himself had pondered on that realization one day as he watched a Southron die from an arrow launched from his bow. That had been a living being before he felled him. He understood his king’s sorrowed reminiscence and sought to comfort him. “But in the heat of battle, where one seeks to end the life of another, and a blade is placed at your neck, Elessar, who has the choice to stop and think about whose kin it is?” “Yet that changes not the grief of he who loses, even if he is the one who encroaches,” Aragorn pointed out. “And most of them were but under the enchantment of Sauron, they could not see the evil they were aiding. Even if they could see, they still felt kinship.” Faramir could find no rejoinder to that, for it was true. Sad, but true. The two lords of Gondor continued to sit in pensive silence for a while. “What is done is done, Elessar,” the Steward said at last. “You have been a merciful master to those we took prisoner, and freed many who would never have tasted freedom had Sauron overcome Middle Earth. But you cannot win the love or understanding of those who will not see the great king you are.” Aragorn laughed a little bitterly and brushed his hand through his hair. “Greater kings than I there have been, Faramir, though I thank you for your loyalty.” “It is not loyalty from which my words come, it is from truth.” “Some pay the price for being loyal, my friend,” Aragorn said unexpectedly. “Those loyal to Sauron and Saruman suffered much.” “It was not loyalty in the hearts of those who served Sauron and Saruman, Elessar. It was fear. Fear to act against a stronger power can make one helpless and be mistaken for faithfulness. They were blind.” Aragorn raised his steely grey eyes to study Faramir’s own soft brown ones, and said with a smile: “Since that night at the stables, you have continued to astound me with your wisdom, my friend.” Faramir cast his own eyes down, a little embarrassed. A note of sadness crept into his voice now. “War and death has taught me much, Elessar. And before that, the rule of a stern father whose word I dared not disobey. The loss of my brother…” He faltered and paused, while Aragorn waited patiently for him to continue. “Loyalty does have a price, as you said,” Faramir said at last. “But one has to choose wisely whom to be loyal to. I know that Boromir, before he died, would have taken Sauron’s Ring of Power for his own. And yet not for himself. It would have been for our father, who foolishly desired it. Faithfulness it was that Boromir showed, and he paid the price for it. You spoke true.” He seemed to have more to say, so Aragorn waited again. Faramir drew a deep breath and continued in a rush. “The loss of my brother led me to question where my loyalties should lie. Through the years of your reign, Elessar, I have come to see where it is worth pledging them. You have no need to question whether they are rightly placed, for they are. Your people see it. Eomer is loyal to you because he sees what I see. Legolas himself – ” He stopped short when he saw the smile vanish from the king’s face at the mention of the name, replaced by a look of sadness. Faramir bit his tongue but quickly decided that what he wanted to say had to be said. “Legolas would not have left the Greenwood to devote himself to your realm and to you, if he did not feel the same.” “Then he too pays the price,” Aragorn said softly. “He has been nothing but loyal to me, no matter what I… how I…” Faramir knew Aragorn was still tormented by what had taken place in the Houses of Healing. “What happened that night – ” he began. “Is something I shall regret for the rest of my life,” Aragorn finished sharply. “Then regret it, Elessar,” Faramir said unexpectedly. “But know this: you have returned to the throne of Gondor after a long, long absence of the line of Elendil, and you have much to do still to see the glory of Gondor fully restored. Even after that, the running of the realm cannot be easy. The weight you carry on your shoulders is a great one, as I said. You anticipated this, my lord, we all knew it, and Legolas knows it.” Aragorn cast his eyes down at those words, and his words hinted at despair. “King of Gondor and Arnor am I, and yet I am powerless to keep that which is dear to me.” “You will not lose his friendship,” Faramir spoke firmly against the fear that he knew Aragorn would not put into words. “Nor his love, or his loyalty.” At the king’s silence, Faramir pressed on. “Perhaps you choose not to see it, but you must know this, Elessar: the people of Gondor, and the noblest of Rohan and of Greenwood choose to be loyal to you because they know that in whatever you did in the war, or after, you followed the right path. If there had been choices, you made the right ones. There is no question in our minds. And I wish for the chance to tell Sarambaq that, if we should meet.” Aragorn’s eyes were a little moist at the end of Faramir’s speech. “And meet we should,” Aragorn agreed. “We cannot allow him to move freely for too long, now that his intentions – or part of them – are known to us. I have to make sure he makes no further attempts to take Eldarion.” The king placed a hand on Faramir’s knee and smiled his thanks before he spoke again. “Let us wait and see what else the man from Adhûn can tell us today.” Before I leave, he added silently, not doubting that the Steward would have heard them anyway. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The prisoner in the dungeons of Minas Tirith had been fed just enough food and water to quell pangs of hunger and thirst, but the interrogator did not want him to get too comfortable, for there were still questions he needed to answer. Faramir and Aragorn had been briefed on whatever information had been gleaned earlier, but the interrogator felt there was still more to learn. The man was told to sit back on the floor of his cell, with the interrogator standing before him, arms folded, a whip trailing from one hand, and looking sufficiently threatening. “Back to giving me answers as agreed,” the large man said. The prisoner scowled but said nothing. “Remember what will happen should you fail to provide answers. No mercy this time. Your leader Sarambaq is not the only one who can show wrath.” Secretly, however, the large man was pleased that the answers had been given so far without the need for violent treatment. “What was your question again?” The interrogator answered patiently. “What did your master wish to do with the king’s son?” “Revenge, like I said. Is that so hard to understand? The king destroyed my master, his home, his family. His son died in the war. But he lived and he has not forgotten it.” “It was war, and the king was only fighting to rid the land of the Dark Lord’s servants. You can hardly blame the king for that!” “Not I! What care I? Were you not listening? It is Sarambaq who wants revenge.” The interrogator scowled at the arrogance of the prisoner and felt like striking him, but he had to keep the man talking. Sarambaq must want to kill the prince so that the king would suffer the same grief, the man of Gondor thought. Yet, the order had been given to take the prince alive. “Why does your master want him alive?” Two possible reasons ran through his mind: either he would be held as ransom for some demand, or… Ködil sneered. “Is it not clear?” Did he want the child taken alive so that he could do the deed himself? The man of Gondor shuddered. The people of the city were very fond of the little prince. “Your master has no mercy indeed. The prince is but a child,” the large man said angrily. “You should be thankful the poison was not enough to kill him, or you would feel the full wrath of the king and the people of Gondor!” A strange look came into the prisoner’s eyes at those words, and he studied the large man in silence. “Dim-witted were you and your companions to use poison,” the large man of Gondor continued, “for if you had killed the prince, then your dark master’s plans to take him alive would have been for naught!” “It was not meant to kill,” Ködil retorted, uttering his words flatly, almost absent-mindedly, for he seemed preoccupied with something else. “But it could well have,” came the angry reply. Ködil made no reply, but continued to study the interrogator’s face with rapidly moving eyes, as if he could read something there. The interrogator could almost see thoughts churning in the mind of Sarambaq’s minion. The large man decided he did not enjoy the scrutiny and was about to tell Ködil as much when the latter suddenly and mysteriously said, “Take me to see the king and his son.” “What?” The interrogator could not believe his ears. “Take me to the king and his son,” he said more slowly. “I will do no such thing. What are your intentions?” “I think I know something the king will pay dearly to learn. If I tell him, I want to be set free.” “There is no way he will let you go.” “Then I will tell you nothing more.” The interrogator was angry now and moved forward menacingly, causing the prisoner to back away. “If you keep secrets from us, we will let you rot. If we choose to keep you alive, it will be by a thread, only by a thread. I will personally make your life a misery.” Ködil stared at the man, a look of challenge in his mean eyes. The interrogator did not flinch. Finally, the Adhûnian gave in. “All right, I want your assurance you will not harm me and I must be fed. But I need to see the king and his son before I can tell you more. Take me to see them, or you will get nothing!” The prisoner seemed very insistent, and he would say no more. The look in his face told the interrogator that there was more to the request than he could understand. He could not fathom the man of Adhûn’s intentions, so he decided it would be best if Lord Faramir himself spoke to him. Faramir was in a meeting with the King and his Ministers which lasted three hours. It might have gone on longer – after all, the king had been away for three months, and much needed to be discussed, not least of all the current threat to the royal family – but for the gathering storm. Ominous grey clouds, flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder – as yet distant but threatening to make their presence felt overhead by nightfall – created an atmosphere of disquiet that matched the mood in Aragorn’s heart, and he gladly called a halt to the meeting, somewhat to the relief of all. An hour after the meeting, in response to a message delivered from the dungeons, a curious Faramir found himself in the dungeons with the interrogator and the prisoner. But after thirty minutes, he learnt no more than the interrogator had beyond the fact that the Adhûnian truly felt it was imperative that he met with the king himself. They thus cleaned the prisoner up and dressed him in clean clothes before binding his hands and leading him into the hallways of the court of King Elessar. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By the end of the evening, Aragorn found himself ready to withdraw into solitude. His earlier talk with Faramir in the library had somewhat assured him that he had had little control over whatever had transpired with Sarambaq in the war, but he could not bring himself to feel any less remorse over Legolas. Finding out that he had hurt his friend not only verbally but physically as well, no matter how inadvertent the action, haunted him, and he had barely managed to last through the discussions. Gratefully, he pushed back from the table and dismissed his Ministers. Faramir joined him for some tea and a private discussion on the merits of a trade agreement before the Steward was handed a message and excused himself, saying he needed to see the prisoner. Good, more information, perhaps,Aragorn thought. The more we know, the faster we can plan a countermove. But I still leave for Ithilien tomorrow. He looked out the window, and thought how the very air smelt of rain even before it came. As a Ranger, he had learnt to read the signs and to appreciate the green earthy tang that hung in the air before every storm. He savored the feeling of renewal, of a fresh start after each downpour. If only everything in life could be as easily cleansed, he mused. A sense of melancholy assailed him anew, but he took comfort in the thought that he would be seeing his friend soon. Hamille would have delivered his message by now. He retreated to his office to finish looking through the last of the papers he had to peruse, then gratefully retired to his chambers where he sat, balling his fists and pressing them against his forehead. Outside, the heavens had opened and released the storm. He did not know which was louder, the rain pounding against the stone walls of the chamber, or the pounding in his head. Arwen came into the room not long after. One look at her husband told her all she needed to know. She sat beside him, took one of his hands in hers, and waited. “I will not delay any more, Arwen,” Aragorn choked out the words at last. “The court will have to wait. I will go at first light tomorrow.” A smile of understanding lit her fair face. “Estel, you were ready to leave that very night, and had you not promised Faramir to wait, you would have done so. Truth be told, my heart was torn between wishing you to go to him sooner and heeding the counsel of Faramir at a time like this, but I could not foresee the best course of action. Neither could you, but you did what you thought best then.” Aragorn looked up at her, seeing the smile in her eyes. “Still, I would not have been surprised had you departed earlier today or even yesterday, despite your promise. But you honored it and now you can leave with a clear mind. Your pack is already prepared with clothing and your usual needs,” his wife said. Aragorn felt a rush of comfort at her words. “Eldarion and I will be safe here in the city, as we were before. Worry not. Go and put both your hearts at ease, and you will return better able to carry out your duties.” Aragorn drew her into a tight embrace, softly breathing his love and gratitude into her ears. “My duties are not the most important of my concerns at this moment, melleth, my love.” “He knows your regret, Estel,” she said soothingly, with a curious knowing smile, thinking of a piece of paper in a basket of blueberry tarts. “Now it is time for you to tell him so face to face, heart to heart. Speak not of just one night in a healing room, but of the months past, of a friend you missed more than you realized, of patience you were too burdened to notice, and of love you were too distant to feel.” Aragorn looked up, searching her eyes and finding support and gentle admonition. “It has been there, Estel. He has been there, beside you, always beside you. You cannot stop being the king, a good king. But now, you must be his friend as well. Take the time.” Aragorn closed his eyes, and they listened to the relentless slap of rain against the glass panes of the bay windows for a while before he spoke again, his sorrow almost palpable. “No less high do I hold him in my esteem or dearer in affection than I did before, Arwen, you know that. Yet you speak the truth, I have been careless. One finger of blame I would not lay on him now should he wash his hands of me.” “He will not,” Arwen reassured him. “His heart is purer than that. Just go to him.” Aragorn nodded. “Were it not for the storm tonight that provides yet another obstacle, I would leave now. But no later than first light will I depart, as I said, and I must first speak with Faramir.” As if in answer to a summons, a knock sounded on the door and the king and queen drew apart. Upon being granted permission to enter, in stepped Faramir. He cleared his throat. “Elessar, forgive the interruption, but – ” he seemed at a loss to continue. “A strange situation has presented itself.” He cleared his throat again, suddenly feeling rather foolish at the thought of conveying the prisoner’s request. Curious, and a little amused at the discomfiture of his Steward, Aragorn prompted, “Sometimes the best way to say something strange is just to say it.” Taking a deep breath, Faramir repeated the exchange that had taken place between the prisoner and the interrogator as well as himself, watching surprise paint itself on Aragorn and Arwen’s faces. “He wants to see me?” the king asked incredulously and with some anger. “After what has happened, he wishes to face me? Not the wisest move to make.” “Not only you, Elessar, he wishes to see Eldarion as well. He seems to think it is important – he seems to have something else to tell us.” After the initial shock, Aragorn pondered for a moment. It was a strange request. “I am not certain how Eldarion will react when he sees someone who will remind him of that evening…” Faramir shifted uncomfortably from leg to the other. “I really do not know what to think about all this. Do you wish me to send him back to the cell?” “No, there is only one way to find out what this is about,” Aragorn said. “Where is this – man from Adhûn, did you say? – where is he now?” “In your council room, heavily guarded.” “And Eldarion?” This was directed to his wife. “In the nursery,” Arwen answered. “I will bring him there, and – prepare him.” “Thank you, my love.” Aragorn’s look was firm as he turned back to this Steward. “Faramir, I do not want him within ten yards of my son.” Faramir nodded. “It has been arranged,” he assured Aragorn, and they left for the king’s office. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Flashes of lightning through the long glass windows added to the abundant light of the torches in the council room where the two figures stood waiting. As instructed by Faramir, the interrogator and the man from Adhûn stood against the wall farthest from the entrance to Aragorn’s council room. A long table stood between them and the entrance. Two guards stood within the room on either side of the door, and two others outside. Outside the room, Aragorn paused before opening the door, collecting himself. This was the first time he would be seeing one of the attackers face to face. He took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped in. By some quirk of fate, and as faithfully as the theatrics of Lord Burion, a crash of thunder accompanied the movement, creating a dramatic entrance for the Lord of the White City. The prisoner flinched. Aragorn’s face was a stern mask of controlled emotions as he cast cold eyes across the room upon the man from Adhûn who, with his vile companions, had brought anguish to those he loved. Aragorn briefly and silently praised Faramir’s astuteness in choosing a meeting place where the long table would separate the prisoner from the royal family, but exactly who needed protection from whom, he was not sure. Aragorn wanted nothing more than for the loathsome man to taste the sting of Anduril, but he settled for gracing the latter with a steely stare. Ködil was also staring at him. He had seen Faramir before, so this must be the king of the WhiteCity, he deduced. No mistaking the regal bearing of one of royal blood and the firm jaw of a leader. Before either of them could speak, the sound of other footsteps approached, and soon the queen and her son were in the room as well. As soon as Eldarion entered, Aragorn drew the prince to his side and placed a hand protectively around the little shoulders. Arwen took one look at the prisoner and recognized him as the man who had come charging into the talan that night. Instinctively, her hand went protectively to her son’s chest. The prince took a little longer to place the man as one of the people who had frightened him that evening; when he did, he gave a small whimper and moved closer to his father. The fury of the storm outside did little to alleviate his feeling of fear. “Well, we meet,” Aragorn broke the silence first, his chin held high. “Does it satisfy your twisted mind in some way, to see my son that you tired to capture, into whom you sent your vile poison?” The rain seemed deafening in the hush that followed. The whole room was silent as they waited for an answer from the man of Adhûn. The shifty eyes of the man in question, however, traveled from the king to the prince, from father to son, and back, his face unreadable at first, his mind a whirl. Then, as a flash of lightning illuminates the dark or as eyes that are closed finally open to see the light, it seemed to Ködil that everything fell into place, and every exchange that had taken place between him and the interrogator in all the questioning sessions he had gone through, every word they had uttered – all took on a new meaning. To everyone’s bewilderment, he did what no one expected him to do. He laughed. Mingled with an earsplitting crash of thunder which caused Eldarion to stop his ears and press further into the folds of his father’s tunic, the laugh seemed to turn into an eerie cackle that froze every heart in the room save that of the man from the East. With a gleam of satisfaction and scorn in his eyes, he looked from Aragorn to Arwen to Eldarion to Faramir and even to the interrogator and laughed again when they all exchanged looks of confusion. The large man beside him grasped his arm in a tight grip. “Be silent!” he instructed fiercely. “But you do not want me to be silent, you fool. You want me to talk, do you not? Give you answers? Tell you more?” he sneered in response. “Speak then! What is it you have to tell us?” Aragorn demanded with all the authority of his regal status. And speak he did. As the man of Adhûn gave answers to the questions they asked – and to several they did not – Aragorn’s face turned pale. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you would like to submit a review for this chapter please click one of the following links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=14&storytextid=6334692Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12938
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Post by Recommended on Dec 7, 2006 18:38:55 GMT -5
CHAPTER 15: THE DAWN OF TRUTH Aragorn tossed and turned all night after what they had learnt from the prisoner hours earlier, and Arwen was hardly able to get any rest either. The worst storm Minas Tirith had seen in years had lashed its fury on the city for two hours, and then rained steadily for two more, making it impossible for anyone to attempt venturing outdoors, let alone ride anywhere in it in the dark. After much discussion, the King, the Queen, and the Steward had all decided reluctantly to obtain what rest they could for the rest of the night. But even before first light, the king was up, washed and dressed, ready to leave for Ithilien. After a light, hurried breakfast, he and Arwen went into Eldarion’s room where he placed a quiet kiss on his son’s forehead. Then he kissed Arwen goodbye in their bedchamber, and he left the shelter of the palace. As usual, Aragorn took in the smell of a freshly washed land as he walked to the stables in the chill left by the storm. The same stable lad whom he had terrified two nights ago greeted him at the stables, having been woken up from a sound sleep in a warm bed by a guard of the Citadel. Seeing the youth shiver a little despite being wrapped up in a cloak, Aragorn smiled kindly on him. The king walked to his horse and patted the smooth skin of the well-groomed chestnut stallion that Legolas himself had trained for him. He had been riding it for six months now, but he suspected that the animal still felt closer to his elf trainer than to his master. Such was the love elves developed between themselves and the creatures they tamed. “ Quel amrun, Rallias,” Aragorn greeted the beautiful animal, although it was not quite a good morning yet. The horse nickered softly. Faramir appeared beside him, sleep still heavy on his face. Aragorn was quietly grateful to his faithful Steward to whom he entrusted the care of the city and family each time he left. The previous night, Faramir had insisted that at least two guards accompany Aragorn on his visit, since Aragorn would not agree to more, and Aragorn had acquiesced, only for the peace of mind of his Steward. Fleetingly, he recalled how Arwen had sent back her own guards from Ithilien and, for a moment, he understood how she must have felt. “I know you will take care of them,” he said quietly to Faramir, certain that the gentle Steward knew to whom he was referring. “I may not be long in Ithilien, but I do not yet know what I will find there, or what will happen. But I – I have to make things right first, and then, I do not know what he will decide – ” he was lost for words for a moment as he pondered the situation they found themselves in. “I understand, Elessar,” Faramir said with a smile. “Take the time you need. Arwen and Eldarion will be safe here. Please tell Legolas… tell him… you know… ” It was Aragorn who smiled now. “I will, Faramir.” He turned to go, but suddenly turned back and queried, “The riders, have you arranged for them – ” “Yes, worry not. They will leave today, as early as I can manage it. I have given them your message. They will ride with all haste.” With a final nod, the king mounted his horse and rode off, with two rather sleepy guards behind him, unaware that the reason for his going to the woods would, in a little while, be waking up himself, and departing from the place before long. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Legolas came awake from his elven reverie in his talan, in that small breath of time before Ithil graciously left the skies and Anor traced her own path into it to herald a new dawn. He lay still for a few minutes with his eyes closed and listened for the first bird call, the first flutter of wings, the first sound of a woodland creature’s feet to welcome the birth of a new day in Arda. What would each new day be like in Valinor? Tranquil, restful… The thought came from nowhere, unbidden, surprising him. Shaking off the thought, he sat up quickly. He dressed in a light shirt, a thicker tunic and strong leggings. Travel clothes, he mused. He had prepared his pack and equipment, and checked his weapons the previous night, and they lay ready at the door. I hope I will be able to leave without suspicion, he said to himself.The elves, he knew, would not let him go alone if they realized where he was headed. The previous night, he had spent two hours thinking through what he was about to do. If it took Brûyn two to three weeks to walk from Adhûn, it would take them just a few days on horseback if conditions were right and they could ride fast. But having to remain unseen might slow them down; they would have to keep to the cover of forests during the day. Still, all he wanted was to know the route, and as soon as they were close enough to the vicinity, they would turn back. If all goes well, I will be back here in little more than a week, he had determined. He would give his friends the impression that he was taking the prisoner to Minas Tirith. Now would be a good time for the absence of visitors from the City, for if they come, they will know I have not been there… and then…and then… He had been suddenly nervous. They will reach the conclusion that I have gone towards Adhûn. What if they attempt to follow me? That is not what I wish. Dismay had overwhelmed him, but after a few moments, he had remembered that Brûyn would no longer be here. Without a guide, they would not know where to go. By the time someone came from the City – if at all anyone did – and by the time they could guess his route, he would already be on his way back, and no one would need to go further. With those hopeful thoughts – and reluctance to consider whether or not they were truly rational – the elf had fallen into a light sleep. Now, wide awake and ready to proceed, he walked over to the window and looked out, breathing in the cool morning air and watching the last of Varya’s lamps twinkle out in the dark sky. Arwen’s note from the basket last evening had given him a tiny measure of solace, a spark of hope that his friendship with his human friend was not as damaged as he had feared, that the man’s trust in him was not dead and that they had not grown too far apart. But still, he had not heard it from Aragorn’s own lips. It might have been Arwen’s mistaken perception, or her own way of making him feel better. He sighed. There was no point in musing over this now. He would have to get going. A light mist covered the landscape of the woods, dissipating the light of Ithil so that Ithilien seemed like a place of magic. Walking silently over the dew-covered grass, he made his way over to where the prisoner was. Lanwil had cleaned him and given him fresh clothes as Legolas had asked him to. Hannon le, Lanwil, he thought silently. This will make it less unpleasant to have him in front of me on the horse. At Legolas’ approach, the elf on guard dropped lightly to the ground from where he had been resting in the branches of the tree to which the prisoner was tied. Brûyn, lying on a blanket spread on the grass, with another blanket over his body, stirred in his sleep. “ Heru nin,” the elf addressed Legolas, who nodded. “Fứillin, would you prepare Aérodel for me, please?” the elf prince requested, casting his eyes briefly in the direction of the stables. “I will need a saddle today.” Like all elves, Legolas rode bareback. But Brûyn would not be able to, and he did not want to take an extra horse on the journey and run the risk of the man riding off on his own if something should happen. The request made the other elf look at his prince in surprise, a curious expression on his face and a question on the tip of his tongue. Legolas was prepared for this. He had pondered on what he would say to the others if they asked. He would give answers that contained truth, but which would not tell them exactly where he himself would be going. He now pointed to the sleeping form on the ground. “The interrogators at the White City would be delighted with another informant,” he answered vaguely, trying hard not to give any sign of his discomfort at hiding his true intentions. Legolas kept his voice hushed, not for the sake of the sleeping prisoner, whom he would be waking soon, but so that no other elves would be drawn to what was going on. The recuperating elves would be asleep and the others on guard at the fringes of the woods. The previous night, he had taken care to post as many as he could on duty away from the main area of the elf settlement, suppressing a feeling of guilt as he did so. He had made some excuse for them to train their attention to the south and south east, and away from where they would be headed. “You leave now, heru nin?” Fứillin enquired. “Yes.” “It is very early,” the elf could not help remarking, still hesitant to leave for the stables. “I have matters to settle,” came the immediate – and truthful – reply. “Will you not take someone with you?” the elf persisted. Legolas controlled a rising impatience, not at the elf, but out of an anxious need to depart before his true plans were revealed. “There is no need. He is just one man, and he will be bound.” The elf was still a little puzzled, and his eyes went briefly to the things in Legolas’ hands. The bow, quiver and knives his prince carried did not merit interest, for the elves always carried their weapons whenever they left Ithilien. It was the pack that aroused his curiosity, but then, he was not about to question his prince on what it contained or what he was going to do with it. Perhaps they were just supplies for a longer stay in the White City. “ Saes, Fứillin, please,” Legolas said, looking him in the eye, “and be quiet. Let us not disturb our sleeping friends. They still recover.” The other elf bowed slightly, turned and walked into the darkness under the trees to do as he had been bidden. Legolas breathed a small sigh of relief after he left, and turned to the task of waking up the prisoner. Brûyn looked dazed at being awakened so early. “We leave now,” Legolas whispered, releasing him from the tree and tying his hands securely behind his back. The man yawned and tried to stretch himself. This time, Legolas’ impatience was at him. “Get up and move quickly,” he hissed. Then he grabbed the man’s shoulders and stared him hard in the eyes. “Remember, breathe not a word of where we are going to anyone, or you taste the blade of my knife.” Even in his sleepy state, Brûyn could not ignore the deliberate coldness in the elven eyes, and he nodded, swallowing. Dawn was not far off but had not yet broken by the time they were both mounted on Aérodel, Brûyn seated sideways on the horse before the elf. As instructed, Fứillin had tied the man’s legs with a short piece of rope so that they were not bound together but it would still be difficult for him to run or even walk should he attempt escape. The man was all but delighted with this arrangement, and neither did Aérodel seem particularly happy at having been saddled. Along with the slightly nervous elf who would be traveling with them both, they made a despondent little threesome. But Legolas had spoken softly to Aérodel, calming him so that he stood obedient and willing as Legolas tied his pack to the saddle. The elf’s weapons were, as usual, strapped to his back. Legolas was glad that none of the other elves had been drawn to the stables. Except for the small snorts of the equine creature, they had been quiet enough. “Will you be gone long?” Fứillin asked, looking up at the elf on the horse. “I will return as soon as I can, when matters have been settled. It may take several days,” was the vague and carefully worded reply. Fứillin nodded. “ Namárië, Bridhon nin,” he said in farewell. “ Namárië,” Legolas said in return, giving him a warm smile. “Please tell Hamille to watch over things in my absence.” With a click of his tongue and a last look at the landscape behind him, the Woodland prince guided his horse and his prisoner out of the clearing, melting into the chill mists of Ithilien. Legolas was glad for the mists, for when they came to the fringe of the woods, they would make it easier for him to evade the eyes of the elf guards in the trees when they had to seek the route to the north and east, in the opposite direction to the White City. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- All through the journey, Aragorn thought about what he would say to his friend, how to convey to him all that needed to be conveyed. He could think of no easy way. He and his escort moved slowly in the dark, for the clouds covered the moon, and the horses trod more cautiously than usual. The riders followed the route more from memory than from clear sight, for none of them carried a torch. If anyone were after them right now, a torch would announce their position as clearly as a blast from a horn would. As they left the City behind, the clouds gradually lessened, and the dawn came to paint the sky before them with reds and pinks and golds, slowly revealing the well-trod paths before them. They rode faster as the sun rose advanced, and Aragorn saw that the previous night’s storm had hardly touched this part of the country. The paths were not nearly as muddy as they had been leading out of the City. By late morning, they were approaching the eaves of Ithilien. Aragorn found himself relaxing, breathing in the scent of the trees and flowers that Legolas and the elves of the Greenwood had lovingly nurtured back to life. Pines and beeches and oaks stood proudly, and the songs of joyous birds flying free greeted him. White and yellow blossoms floated down from the trees, and butterflies chased them in a dance choreographed by the wind. The serenity of the scene soothed him into weakness, and the purity of the colors – blues and greens and whites and golds and yellows – blessed it with a newness that left him with a sense of speechless awe he had not felt in many, many months. His heart ached as he thought back to the life he had lived in Imladris, the elven home he had grown up a lifetime ago, and to Lothlorien where he had first beheld and fallen in love with the beauty of Arwen. His breath hitched as he recalled his Ranger days when he had been so much more at liberty to travel the lands, as far as Legolas’ home in Mirkwood and beyond. A picture of his friend’s warm and breathtaking smile filled his mind. It has been too long since I came here, he thought with a tear in his eye. Too long. How could I have lost touch with this part of Legolas that he loves so deeply, with everything he is? He demands nothing, he gives so much, and he waits for me to come back. With those thoughts, he spurred his horse on, eager to see once more the elven light in his friend’s fair face, to embrace his company and listen to his songs. He was greeted by Hamille, Lanwil and several other elves as he turned into the clearing where the elves held most of their social activities. It was a small group, but many months, almost a year had it been since Aragorn saw this many elves gathered under the beauty of trees in woods so green. He looked admiringly at the fair faces, slender figures and flowing hair that matched every fluid move they made as they came to him, expressing both delighted surprise and puzzlement at his unexpected visit. Even as he dismounted, he noticed Hamille’s eyes searching for something behind him. Aragorn lapsed into Sindarin as was customary whenever he was in the company of the elves. Politely giving the elvish greeting, he asked for Legolas immediately, expecting that the elf would offer to inform his prince about their arrival. But he was taken aback at the response he received. “But my lord, he left early this morning,” Hamille said as his friend took the horse’s reins from Aragorn to lead the animal and the king’s guards to the stables. Aragorn stopped in his tracks, a note of anxiety and dismay in his voice. “Left? Left for where?” Hamille and the other elves exchanged a puzzled look before Hamille answered: “For the White City, with the man we held captive. Did you not pass him?” “You held someone captive?” The note of surprise in the king’s voice was loud. “Yes, one of the attackers. We caught him later that night, after Prince Legolas left for Minas Tirith,” Lanwil explained. “I rode there to tell him the next day, and he came back here with me. He wanted the man held here for questioning.” Aragorn felt a rising sense of urgency but still needed to place events in sequence in his head. He was trying to remember when, if at all, he had heard about this other captive, when Hamille interrupted his reflections. “The prince learnt about it after he left the healing room,” he offered softly, fixing his gaze on the king. Aragorn looked into the eyes of the elf and read the hidden meaning and knowledge there. He flinched a little as he realized that Hamille had known all along. Did Legolas – ? “He told no one, it was I who heard,” Hamille intercepted in a voice barely above a whisper, reading Aragorn’s mind. “He defended you to the end.” Aragorn swallowed and his eyes glistened. “I know he would have, and deep has been my regret over my careless words since. This is why I came, as I said I would,” he whispered back. “There is no nobler friend than your prince, I have none truer.” Hamille seemed appeased at the sincerity in the man’s voice, and his elvish smile was one of forgiveness. The other elves watched them, uncomprehending, unable to follow the tangent on which they had departed. Fứillin’s voice brought them back to the subject they had been on: “He left before dawn this morning.” At those words, Aragorn’s heart sank, and a sudden fear gripped him. “We departed from the City before dawn as well, and if he had been riding in that direction, we would have crossed paths. We saw no one. Is there any reason he would have proceeded on any course other than the usual one?” The elves looked at each other and shook their heads. “We can think of no reason for it,” Hamille replied. “There is only one path we all take, the well-traversed one.” Aragorn nodded. “That is why I do not think he went to the City.” The elves now looked even more bewildered, and worry crept into their eyes as well. Hamille turned to face Fứillin, asking an unspoken question. “That is where he said he was going,” the latter said, then paused as he tried to recall the exact conversation he had exchanged with the elf prince. “Or perhaps not exactly…” Apprehension gripped Aragorn like a cold claw as he asked Fứillin in alarm: “What exactly did he say?” Within minutes, Fứillin had narrated the whole conversation, at the end of which the faces of Aragorn, Hamille and the other elves were noticeably even more anxious. Aragorn closed his eyes as he realized how cleverly Legolas had evaded telling Fứillin the truth and avoided telling a lie at the same time. He is not a good liar, he thought. He must have been planning this. “I did think it a little strange that he was going alone, but he would not let me question him about it,” Fứillin finished unhappily, “and he would not let me wake anyone.” “This may have some bearing on the mystery of where he has gone,” Lanwil spoke up suddenly. “I, too, thought it strange that he should have chosen to speak to the prisoner alone last night. He let no one hear what they said to each other. I wonder now if… if he had been set on some purpose even then.” “What did you find out from the one you held captive?” Aragorn enquired. Lanwil told him what they knew of Sarambaq and his halls in Adhûn. Aragorn’s thoughts suddenly flew to what Legolas had said that night after his own outburst: “I will go now to make amends, to redress the wrong that has been committed, as best as I can…” To make amends, redress the wrong… And then he knew. When he looked at Hamille with wide eyes, he saw that the elf had guessed as well. Legolas must be going east with the prisoner. Aragorn’s heart sank even further and his hands shook as he ran them through his dark hair. His voice, when he spoke again, was equally shaky and full of remorse. “I rue my careless words even more deeply now, Hamille, for I fear they may have been the reason he set off in the first place.” “I am not surprised that he should want to try and find your enemy, my lord, for he would do anything to aid you, though I cannot help but wish he had been less hasty, or at least invited some company.” “No, he would not want any of you to go, for he cannot know what lies ahead. He would spare all of us the danger; that is his way.” Aragorn shook his head. “Neither have I known him to act in haste, yet his heart must have been restless, due in no small part to my own failing.” His pain and self-reproach was plain for all to see, even if no one but Hamille understood exactly to what he referred. “Alas that I did not get here sooner, but I could not, and the news that I bring now, we only learnt last night,” he continued to lament in distress. “But for the storm, I would have come straight away, and little did I suspect that he had these plans. Ai, Legolas!” Most of the Ithilien elves were gathered there by now, listening to the exchange. Aragorn’s guards also stood close by, listening but understanding nothing. “ Saes, heru nin,” Hamille pressed him. “Please, my lord, tell us what this news is.” Aragorn first needed to know how much they already knew. “This man you captured,” Aragorn asked the elves. “Did he tell you of his master’s intentions and plans?” They all looked at the elf who had questioned the prisoner. ”Nay,” he responded. “He said he did not know as much as the one we sent to the White City, for that one was one of their leaders.” Aragorn nodded. “Indeed, we learnt more from the one in our dungeons, and I have no reason to believe he is not telling the truth, but my heart is heavy in telling you what we now know.” Under his breath, he breathed a message to one who was absent: “Had I the wings of an eagle, my friend, I would be bearing you back here on the swiftest wind this moment.” The elves waited for him to speak again. Hamille pressed him, “Tell us, my lord.” There was no easy way, so Aragorn stated it plainly: “They did not come here for my son, Eldarion.” The elves gasped. “What do you mean, my lord? I heard them myself,” Lishian spoke up for the first time. “They asked for the king’s son, and that is what they shouted to each other.” Aragorn cleared his throat. “Yes, you heard truly. They were after the king’s son,” he said slowly, “but it was not Eldarion they sought…” Hamille’s eyes, and the eyes of several others, widened as a thought began to take form. “ Saes, speak plainly, please, King Elessar,” he pleaded in a shaky voice, not wanting but needing to hear it confirmed. “They – they were after the son of a different king, Hamille.” A cold, uneasy feeling crept into the elves’ hearts. A different king. Their minds replayed the events that had shattered the peace of Ithilien three days ago, and as suddenly as realization had dawned upon the prisoner in the White City the night before, they all knew now how different eyes had looked upon the same truth and seen different meanings. “It was the King of Mirkwood they were talking about,” Aragorn drove the thought home for them. “Your king, Thranduil. The son they sought to capture was your prince – Legolas.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter please click one of the following links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=15&storytextid=6345512Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12939
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Post by Recommended on Nov 29, 2007 11:45:45 GMT -5
CHAPTER 16: REVELATION For a few seconds after his announcement and the initial gasps of shock from the elves, Aragorn felt as if every living thing in the clearing had come to a standstill to take in the news about the Lord of Ithilien. All the elves’ faces went as ashen as his was. The sky was a washed blue, the greens were new and fresh, but all the colors that had seemed so vibrant an hour ago seemed shadowed now. Then every elf in the gathering, except Hamille, who stood stock still, started talking. Lishian protested. “But… my lord, they went to the talan looking for the king’s son!” Aragorn narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. “I was not there that evening, my friend, and I know no more than what Lady Arwen told me. But… was Legolas not also in the talan when they went up?” Now they all waited for Lishian to answer, for he and Galean were the only ones in the tree house at the time, besides Legolas, Arwen and Eldarion. He closed his eyes and focused silently on the memory of all that had gone on, and when he remembered, he opened them and sighed sadly, wishing he were wrong. “Aye, he was. And… it is true,” he said, looking around at his friends. “The attackers did not invade the talan till our prince had returned to it. He was fighting them on the ground at first, and he wanted us to be quiet, for he did not wish to draw their attention to the presence of the queen and the prince… the other, young prince.” Aragorn closed his eyes now, speaking silently to his absent friend. Mellon nin, you protected them, and I hurt you. Lishian went on. “But soon after, he came up himself, to see to their safety. It was then that the intruders climbed the tree, and Galean…” Lishian faltered, thinking of his slain friend. Hamille placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him strength, and he continued in a softer voice. “Galean and I started shooting them then, as they tried to come in over the wall. I was shot after that and I do not remember very much, but… I think the prince took my arrows and shot someone at the door, and then Galean fell… and there were others coming over the wall. I… someone said to take him alive… the king’s son. I… I do not remember more.” “We did not think he was after our prince, for it was Eldarion that Legolas sought to hide first,” Lanwil said. “Never did he think they were after him, and thus neither did we.” “That is Legolas,” Aragorn said fondly, almost to himself. “Last is he in his own heart.” “But why does Sarambaq want him?” Hamille demanded, his eyes growing hard. “Who is this villain?” Now that he knew where Legolas had gone, Aragorn was more than anxious to follow his trail, but he knew that the elves needed to be told all that the man of Adhûn had revealed to him. “Sarambaq was a servant of the Necromancer… we know him better as Sauron.” Aragorn stated, looking at the elves to see if they were able to relate the two he had named, but they did not and waited expectantly for him to say more. “You all know that before the Quest of the Ring, Mirkwood had long been at war with the Necromancer in the dark forests of Dol Guldur,” he said, and then the elves nodded. “Legolas had been on those patrols as well?” “Aye,” Hamille replied. “He led many of them.” Aragorn nodded and said softly, “That is how Ködil knew him then.” He saw the uncomprehending looks on the faces of the elves and continued. “During and after the Quest, your king and Celeborn of Lothlorien attacked the evil in Dol Guldur, did they not? They drove them out of the forest and renamed it Eryn Lasgalen?” “Aye, many of us were part of those efforts, and indeed in the final assault as well,” Lanwil responded. “But this Sarambaq…?” “Some of those who brought darkness to Dol Guldur came from the area between Gondor and the Sea of Rhûn,” Aragorn explained. “They were men whom Sauron enslaved and tortured as he did the orcs. Many of them had families and kin. Among them was Sarambaq, who commanded one of the armies.” The names of the people the elves fought were unknown to them, but a glimpse of understanding began to light their faces even as they waited for Aragorn to tell them more. “In the final assault upon Dol Guldur, Thranduil killed one of the younger men.” Aragorn paused. “He was Sarambaq’s son. Sarambaq himself escaped, but he has not forgotten the death of his son, nor has he forgotten the elf king who ended his life, for he witnessed it himself and was unable to stop it. So he fled and swore vengeance.” The silence in the clearing was unnerving. Even the birds seemed to have stopped singing as they listened intently to the tale. “His vengeance would be taken by capturing Legolas, for in that way would he torture his father, Thranduil. That is why he sought to take your prince alive. My guess is that he desired to make certain your king would know of his son’s imprisonment at his hands and to gloat over the pain that would cause.” Fury grew in the faces of the elves, but they were still silent, so Aragorn spoke again. “Thranduil would have gone after him with the forces of Mirkwood, and Gondor would have joined him without hesitation. But…” Aragorn paused as he considered his next words. “I think the greater likelihood is that Sarambaq would have wanted to hold Legolas ransom, as a lure for Thranduil, and only Thranduil, to come and claim him. Alone.” Alone. The word sent a shiver of fear up elven spines. “Then Sarambaq would have killed our king – as well our prince,” Hamille finished, his voice as hard as steel. Disbelief and horror filled the faces of the elves. Aragorn nodded. “That is what I believe. We should all be glad his plans were thwarted, thanks to your valor.” In the clearing under the mid-day sun, the elves of Ithilien surrounded the King of Gondor and digested with growing apprehension the information he had brought. The thought of pursuing their prince was now uppermost in their minds, but the others waited for Hamille to speak. Before he could, Lanwil gave a sudden gasp and clutched his arm, saying urgently, “The king! He has to be warned!” “I have taken care of that, my friend,” said Aragorn. “Even as we speak, riders are already on the way to your king’s home with a message about the threat. They would have left not long after I did.” Hamille nodded in silent gratitude, and Aragorn spoke again. “I do not think that Sarambaq would dare to attack the Greenwood – he would not get past Thranduil’s watchful guard and would not dare confront his forces. Even your small elf colony in Ithilien must have been daunting to him. The prisoner told us that he bided his time, and favor was on his side when so many of your elves removed to South Ithilien. He told his people to wait till Legolas came back, and with only a handful of guards around your prince, they deemed it ripe to strike. Fortunately, they underestimated the strength and resistance of elves.” “Then… Lady Arwen and the young prince… they were just there by chance,” Hamille reflected. Aragorn sighed. “Aye, Hamille, just by chance. But all this while, we thought Eldarion was the one being sought.” Hamille hung his head and spoke in sorrow. “My prince would be grieved to know that the child suffered as a consequence, and needless was the suffering, as was the anguish caused to everyone.” “I thank the Valar no greater harm came to my son, but no blame should be laid on any of us, Hamille,” Aragorn said graciously and firmly, laying a hand on the elf’s arm. “It is Sarambaq who caused the pain we have all borne, and Legolas not the least. Had we but known the truth earlier! As things stood, it was my life for which my Steward feared, not Legolas’.” Aragorn sighed wistfully as he added, “If the prisoner had spoken earlier, and we had known where the real danger lay, I would have come at once. I did not think Legolas would have decided to go off on his own, or that he would have known where to go…” “You did not know of our prisoner, King Elessar,” Hamille said graciously in return, and Lanwil nodded in agreement. “You could not have foreseen our prince’s actions, when even we who were with him did not. No fault do we lay on you in this matter.” “Wherever the blame lies, Hamille, what remains to be done immediately is to go after him. He must not be taken.” Aragorn proceeded to tell them about Sarambaq’s flying beast Dárkil and the meeting place located a three-day trek from Ithilien. When he had finished, the elves were both furious and highly worried for their prince. An urge to depart instantly filled their veins. “We know Sarambaq wanted to take Legolas alive. I believe he may already have found out that the men he sent failed to do so, if he has gone to the meeting place with his flying beast,” Aragorn said. “He may or may not already be planning something else, but in all likelihood, he would not have given up his desire. I fear for Legolas, even more so that he has gone off alone, without any knowledge of this matter. I have to go after him and bring him back.” “We will go after him,” Hamille objected. “He is our prince, and it is our duty.” “I have no doubt that is your fervent wish,” Aragorn said gently. “But I do not know if that is the wisest choice at this point – ” “Not the wisest choice?” Lishian demanded, startled by Aragorns’ words. “Pray tell, what choice do we have, now that we know our prince is out there alone, without help?” Aragorn’s mind worked furiously as he weighed the alternatives, but when he answered, his voice was patient and steady. “Without the gift of foresight, I cannot know if any choice we make will prove well or ill, yet choose we must. When we have had enough time to convene and consider an offensive on Sarambaq’s stronghold, then indeed would strength in arms be needed. We would need to gather the forces of the Greenwood and Gondor, and indeed we may still march on him. But that course of action would brook delay, and now is not the time for it. Our immediate concern should be to bring Legolas home safely as soon as possible. To do that, we should avoid an encounter with the enemy. “The choice I would counsel, therefore, is the one that Lord Elrond made when he sent only nine walkers on the Quest of the Ring, instead of the armies of three elven realms. The success of the quest depended on stealth and secrecy, not might in numbers.” He paused briefly to compose his next words. “Legolas has been gone less than half a day, and it would not take too long to track him if it is done immediately, and thus will he be reached soonest. But it has to be done in stealth and secrecy as the Quest was.” Aragorn swallowed before resuming, “If things go ill and he is taken by Sarambaq’s men in their own territory … if that happens, then our present numbers will be of little avail. “I would choose not to do battle, but to follow his trail and bring him back quietly. I believe this is what Legolas needs now. We do not want to draw Sarambaq’s attention to him, and that we will surely do if we go in numbers.” Although the elves had been appalled at Aragorn’s earlier words, for it had been unthinkable that they would not go after the prince as well, the mention of the much respected elf lord Elrond’s name and his counsel, even if he had already sailed to the Undying Lands, made them hesitate and consider the man’s argument. Aragorn had, after all, led the quest much of the way, after the fall of Mithrandir. “We do not doubt your skills as one of the Dừnedain Rangers, my lord, albeit in days past, but perhaps one or two of us can go with you,” Lanwil submitted. The elves waited as the king considered this. “On my part, I have great faith in the stealth of elves, you know that,” he said at last, “but there may be times when it will be necessary to move in the open. I can clothe and disguise myself so that I would appear to be a human traveler seeking new lands. Indeed, if I should be seen or approached, that would be my claim, that I am lost in the wilderness. An elf, however, would find it most difficult to hide his true form and countenance; your looks are… distinctive,” he pointed out. “If you should be seen or stopped, I fear that it would be more difficult to convince strangers that you are wandering elves; they will suspect something amiss and guess that you seek someone. Do not forget also that Sarambaq’s men have seen you. They would know you are from Ithilien.” What he said seemed sensible so far, but he was not finished. “Even if Legolas escapes capture, none of you can afford to be taken either. If Sarambaq does not get his prince, he would not hesitate to use you – any of you – as ransom.” “We are prepared to take our prince’s place,” Lishian said staunchly. Aragorn held up his hand. “Your loyalty to Legolas is not in question. I, too, would willingly take his place if it would do any good, for I too love him.” The light in his eyes and the set of his jaw as he said this left the elves in no doubt that he meant every word. “Alas, it is your king Sarambaq wants, not me. He may not hold you as valuable a hostage as Thranduil’s son, but if he were to take any of you, Thranduil would still send his forces after you, would he not?” Aragorn swept his eyes over the group as he posed the question. “But at least he himself would not go. No one would allow him to go, it is unthinkable,” Lanwil ventured. “The king would be safe.” “You speak truly, yet it is not him you need to worry about should the situation arise,” Aragorn countered. “If the elves were to go after you, who do you think would lead them? Who would insist on leading them there, even if he himself had returned safely?” “Prince Legolas,” Hamille conceded softly. Aragorn nodded agreement. “You have served him long and faithfully. Even if he has eluded capture, I do not doubt for one moment that he would ride back there and risk being taken again rather than abandon any of you to captivity under Sarambaq. But you know what would happen if that should come to pass.” The elves looked at one another and pondered this counsel from Aragorn. He understood the hesitation they were experiencing, but he needed to remind them of the urgency of the situation. “This matter concerns all of us, my friends, and I can see no further than you as to the wisdom of my choice, if I were to make it. You are free to deliberate it, and I will follow the decision you make. But we must tarry no longer than necessary. Legolas has not been gone overly long, and the sooner I – or we – depart, the greater the chances of finding him before he ventures too far.” The very trees in the clearing seemed to await the elves’ decision as they pondered Aragorn’s arguments. Their hearts were torn in two, but understanding the urgency of the matter, Hamille spoke before long. “As you say, King Elessar, none of us can foresee whether one decision would be better than another. “But we have to resolve this quickly. Our prince gave me the task of looking after Ithilien in his absence, so I shall bear the weight of this choice. Rightly or wrongly, my lord, we will follow your counsel. We trust that you will do everything in your power to bring him back safely.” Aragorn nodded, accepting their decision. His anxiety for their prince was plain, and the elves knew he would not rest till he was face to face again with his friend. “Yet we cannot sit by and do nothing,” Hamille finished, a note of helplessness creeping into his voice. “Not nothing, Hamille,” Aragorn said. “My riders have already gone to the Greenwood, but they will first travel the route west through Rohan, for they know of no other. The route across the Reclaimed Lands and the Wilderland to the north, however, is shorter, as you well know, and I imagine that one of you will now wish to take it, to reach Thrandruil even sooner…” “Of course, we can leave straight away,” Hamille agreed readily and turned to issue an instruction. But Aragorn held his arm, speaking hesitantly as another thought entered his mind. “I do not know if it such aid will be needed in the end, but… I would be much relieved if I knew that I could expect it.” Aragorn told Hamille what he needed done, and Hamille nodded. “It is highly likely that Thranduil himself will come. If we are not back in four or five days, the time may be ripe for you to come after us, with whatever forces you can muster, and I hope with the aid I seek. The prisoner in the City will show the way.” Aragorn paused before saying carefully: “If that should be necessary, it is up to you to stay your king if you deem it wise to do so, yet it will not be easy, for a father’s anxiety is a powerful emotion… one that can lead to neglect of caution, both in word and deed, as I can testify.” As he said this, he and Hamille exchanged a look of mutual understanding, again lost to the other elves. “We shall leave that in the past,” Hamille said comfortingly. “But as for my king, I do not know if I could hold him any more than I could stop the charge of a herd of raged oliphaunts,” he sighed resignedly, looking a little abashed as he realized the comparison he had used without thinking. Aragorn could not hide a grin at those words. “And that may be well, for if we are still not back by then, we will welcome aid, for we may be in deep waters. But let us not dwell on morose possibilities. I need to prepare.” “Your Steward and family does not yet know of your decision to depart immediately from here, but I assume that is what you wish to do…?” “Most certainly, as soon as I am ready. My escort will return to inform them,” Aragorn affirmed. “You will need to see to your own defenses as well, for who can tell if there will be another attempt. I will not presume to advise you on that matter, as you know best how to strengthen them. But you are also most welcome to seek refuge or aid from the White City should you need to.” Hamille nodded his agreement. Half an hour after they had finished talking, the men of Gondor had taken some light refreshment and were remounted on their horses. Aragorn had changed into informal clothes, not the kind he would have worn as a Ranger, but far more suited for travel than the velvet tunic he had come in. He silently blessed his wife for having packed a set for him. A plainer but warm cloak from the elves replaced his own. The wind would tousle his hair soon enough, and the elves helped to smear dirt on his cloak and boots so that he would look more travel-worn. They gave him packets of lembas, the waybread of elves, and filled his water skin. Healing herbs too were quietly given and received, although everyone hoped they would not be needed. As they were walking to the horses, on a sudden impulse, Aragorn turned to Hamille and said: “Give me something of Legolas’.” Hamille stopped in mid-stride and stared at the man. “What?” The man looked a little sheepish. He could not explain his strange request, but his heart was moved to make it. “Something he has worn recently, a shirt or a cloak. Please – fetch it for me.” Hamille looked at him a moment longer, before asking another equally puzzled elf to bring from the prince’s talan a cloak he had seen the prince wear sometimes. When it was handed to him, Aragorn received it gratefully and silently. It was then rolled up with his blanket and tied to the saddle. Much to their chagrin, Aragorn’s two guards were commanded to return to Minas Tirith with information and instructions for Faramir, and a message for the queen. They were highly unwilling to leave their king, but he had given the order, and they could not disobey. Faramir would not be pleased either, but that could not be helped. The elves gathered around Aragorn when he was finally ready to set off. There was no need for many words, for they all knew what each felt. As he placed his hand on his breast in farewell, Aragorn’s eyes filled with resolve, and he said to Hamille: “I will go to whatever end to bring him back, my friend. Only death can stop me.” “May the Valar watch over you both,” came the heartfelt reply. With that, the royal escort rode back to the White City. And the King of Gondor, who was once again a Dừnedain Ranger, rode north and east on the heels of Legolas Greenleaf, elf of Greenwood and Ithilien, and his most cherished friend. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter please click one of the following links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=16&storytextid=6371220Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12940
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Post by Recommended on Nov 29, 2007 12:14:33 GMT -5
Please note that there is some description of blood and death at the beginning of this chapter, just in case there are children reading.
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CHAPTER 17: VOICES IN THE DARK
Sounds of battle, of yells and commands, of whistling arrows and clashing swords rent the foul air of Dol Guldur. Golden-haired and dark-haired elves with bright eyes and gleaming scythes and swords, a strange light illuminating their countenance and enveloping their every movement, assailed Sauron’s forces with the fury of a lightning storm that dispelled the shadows of the dark forest stronghold.
Sarambaq watched his troops fall around him, their cries of pain and fear and death resounding in his ears. He was their leader, but he was powerless to keep his forces together.
Even as he desperately fended off the swords of two elves, he saw his son some distance away. His young face was a mask of blazing anger as he engaged in a sword fight with the elf king of Mirkwood. Their swords clashed as they parried and thrust. A surge of protectiveness welled up in him, and he tried to make his way over to where they were, but the elves around him thwarted his attempts to move from his position. In between warding off blows to his own body, his stolen glances told him his son was holding himself well. His youthful body dodging a swing of the elven sword, he swung his own sword fiercely at the mid-section of the king.
Youth, however, offers no surety of life, no certain protection against mortality, and the next scene played out in front of Sarambaq’s eyes was one that would haunt him incessantly all the years of his life to come.
The litheness of elves, even in one as venerable as Thranduil, saved the king when he stepped back just in time from what would have been a lethal slash. But the momentum of the young man’s movement as he crouched to evade the earlier swipe of the elven sword, threw him off-balance. The golden-haired king did not waste the chance. He swiftly drew his arm back and with a powerful stab, thrust his sword into the chest of his opponent who would have just as readily ripped open his own moments ago.
Like watching a series of images unveiled slowly behind a curtain of moving water, the father watched as his son stayed motionless at the end of the sword, then slowly crumbled to the ground even as the elven sword was withdrawn and his blood spurted forth. The elf king’s head lowered for a brief instant before he turned and raced away to continue the battle for the woods of Dol Guldur.
A silent wail of depthless agony and grief rose and caught in Sarambaq’s throat and stayed there; only the swish of an elven blade drawing blood from his arm brought him back to his own predicament. With the savaged fury of a bereaved father, he slashed out with greater ferocity than he thought possible and slew two astonished elves with one long sweeping arc of his sword. Before the elves could even sink to the ground, he ran like a madman to where his son lay, dropped to his knees and cradled the lifeless body to his chest, his eyes wild with shocked disbelief and his throat releasing the crazed cry at last.
With malevolence in his heart rivaling that of his master the Necromancer, he rose and sought his son’s slayer. But the figure of the elf king was nowhere to be seen among the numerous elf fighters, no matter where he turned. And wherever he turned, there was only the death and destruction of the army he had built, the stronghold he had fortified and held for years. His dark master, vanquished, could aid him no longer. There was no hope, and for a moment, his thought was to surrender to death.
But service to the Necromancer had hardened his soul, so that it knew not remorse nor right and wrong. He cast a look at his lifeless son again, and from somewhere deep within him, the sheer will of a father bent on revenge mobilized him. He swiftly cut a lock of hair from his son’s head and gripped it tightly. Calling upon all his cunning and stealth, and choking down his grief and bitterness, he crept among the dead and edged away from the battle. Whether by his own cunning or the hand of fate, he evaded notice and reached a spot where the fighting had ceased. He saw Ködil and a handful of others sneaking away in the same direction, fleeing for their lives, relinquishing the Shadows to the Light of the Firstborn. Behind the safety of a large tree, he stood and cast one last look upon the crippled remnants of his life in Dol Guldur before disappearing into the denseness of the forest, heading south and east to his refuge for the next ten years.
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The first day of their journey passed uneventfully, to Legolas’ relief. Guided by the directions and descriptions Brûyn supplied along the way, they rode slowly through woods that grew thicker the further they ventured from Ithilien, keeping to the paths Brûyn and his companions had used to get to and from the borders of the elf settlement.
As the day wore on, Legolas no longer felt the pleasant aura that had radiated from the elven woods of Ithilien. Tall trees were now part of a forest where bushes and undergrowth carpeted the floor, the fabric of leaves high above jealously guarding the muted dark below, leaving little space for needles of sunshine to penetrate its weave.
With a start, Legolas realized that the shadows in the forest reminded him of the woods on the fringes of Dol Guldur, as the dark shadow that seemed to cloak Brûyn did last night, and he shivered despite himself. Not with a little hatred did he recall the evil of that place on the borders of his home, evil that he and his kin had fought off for so long till his father and Lord Celeborn had overcome it, aided by the power of the Lady of Light, bearer of the Elven ring Nenya.
Those memories came to him now, uninvited and unwelcome, provoking him to ask himself again if he had made the right decision to undertake this scouting mission. But each time a note of uncertainty entered his mind, the thought of being able to present Aragorn with more information about his enemy’s stronghold strengthened his resolve and banished his doubts.
Brûyn found his journey with the elf a lonely and rather tiresome one, for the elf, understandably, spoke not at all with him, other than to ask him questions from time to time, but they were all about the number of men serving Sarambaq, the lie of the land and what they could expect. He noticed that the elf quietly observed their surroundings; he was obviously familiarizing himself with the route. Worried thoughts assailed the man more than once.
He plans to return with more elves. Blast him.
The elf did not trust Brûyn as far as he could throw him, but he did not think the man would dare to lead him astray after the repeated threat to introduce him to his knives at the first sign of anything amiss. The Adhûnian seemed intimidated by the intensity of a concentrated elven gaze, and Legolas used that to his advantage.
“You have seen the skill of elves, Adhûnian. If you attempt to cross me, I will not go down easily. If any of your companions crosses our path, you will be the first to taste my blade,” he warned, “and should they desire to end my life, be assured that I will end yours first.”
Brûyn swallowed nervously. “I do not wish to be seen either; my master will be furious at me for leading you there,” he responded with partial truth.
Yes, I do not want to be there when you bring back your people as you surely will. If he sees me, he will not stop till he slits my throat with his own hands.
But, if fortune still smiles on me…
Legolas would have turned back immediately had he known Brûyn’s true intentions.
Thin lips sneered when the man greedily imagined the reward he would get for bringing the prince to Sarambaq. Last night, as this golden-haired elf questioned him about the route to Adhûn, he had recognized him as the prince they had been sent to take alive, the one Ködil had pointed out. He did not know why Sarambaq wanted him; it was enough to know he did, and that by some strange stroke of fortune, the quarry himself had asked to be brought into the jaws of his hunter.
But why was this prince being so bold? he wondered. He decided to risk a question.
“Are you not afraid to meet my master?”
The elf was taken aback at the sudden query, but gave a small derisive snort. “Why should I be afraid to meet someone who was too cowardly to come and perform his own dirty deed?”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Brûyn did not care much why the elf was being so foolhardy. His only concern was to lead the elf to the Table where he hoped his companions, or better yet, the Master himself would be there. If no one was there, he would have to lead the elf to Adhûn itself, but the longer journey posed a risk: the elf might not wish to complete the whole journey and end up escaping their clutches.
Sarambaq, you’d better be at the Table, he growled to himself.
Legolas’ elven senses nagged at him that something was not quite what it seemed, but he attributed it to what surrounded him: the forest that reminded him of Dol Guldur, and his inevitable proximity to a servant of the man who had tried to abduct an innocent child.
So he had gone on determinedly, keeping his eyes and ears alert to every sight and sound they encountered. But the hours passed without trouble, and Legolas felt that they had made good progress, stopping briefly only twice to let the captive eat – under the elf’s watchful guard – some fruit and lembas he had brought along. No matter how disgusting the man was, the kind elf would not let him bear hunger beyond his ability, having learnt about mortal needs from his long association with Aragorn, the hobbits, his dwarf friend Gimli and other human acquaintances. Nevertheless, the elf took care not to make any show of mercy obvious. The man, in contrast, growled about the lack of “proper food” and rest, not caring that his grouses fell on deaf ears. Legolas himself munched on a small portion of the waybread, which was all he needed for sustenance.
In the late afternoon, they rounded the northernmost point of the Mountains of Shadow. Through a break in the woods, Legolas’ elven sight could see the Reclaimed Lands to the north-west. By the time the sun had set, they had covered many more miles east. Brûyn told Legolas that they would have to leave the forest soon and ride across a flat plain slightly north and east. The old battle plain of Dagorlad, Legolas thought with fleeting satisfaction;he and Faramir had guessed correctly, and Arwen had pointed them in the right direction.
As night fell, the Adûnian thought Legolas would finally call a halt to the journey, for sitting sideways on a horse and trying to avoid the eyes of your captor, he found, was very tiring. But halting was by no means the elf’s intentions. Their arrival at the edge of the plain pleased Legolas because the cover of night would allow them to ride in the open at a quick pace with much less danger of mortal eyes seeing them. As soon as the elf saw that the faint moon would cast just enough light for him and his elvish horse to see the features of the land ahead of them, he swiftly guided Aérodel out of the trees and onto the even, grassy ground. After ascertaining the direction in which they were to proceed, Legolas spoke to his elvish steed and trusted it to pick a safe path where it would not stumble. Although the horse did not run as swiftly as it would have in the light of day, it still managed to leave the forest from which they had emerged just a blur behind them before long.
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Chapter to be continued in next post.
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Post by Recommended on Nov 29, 2007 12:14:56 GMT -5
Sitting outside one of the caves hewn out of the Table by forces of Nature, Sarambaq sat sullenly watching his people moving their supplies and equipment out of the dark storage spaces. The trees around the Table provided an effective screen against the curious eyes of intruders. He was in a foul mood, having spent a restless night fuming over the failed attempt to abduct the son of Thranduil. Worse still, they had taken two of his useless people captive. In the deepest part of the night, he had thrashed about in his sleep, overwhelmed by a feeling that he had not succumbed to in all his grown years: panic. What if they talk? What if Thranduil’s armies come after me? Where would I flee? He had schemed and planned for so long with a coldness born of hatred and bitterness, that he felt little else. Then his son’s face had appeared, bloodied and pale, haunting him, calling for his father. Help me…help me…keep his sword from me… help me. He had been powerless to render that help. Sorrow and anger had poured over him, and he had awoken in the cold dark cave beneath the Table, sweating. With the image of his son’s face, the wave of panic had passed, replaced by the familiar emotions that had fueled his every act for ten years. Now, in the evening sun, he took out the small leather pouch he always wore around his neck, unfastened it and fingered the contents: a lock of hair from his dead son’s head. Bitterness marred his already hard features. No, he would not give up so easily, but he needed time to think of another plan; he would live for nothing else. It would never be as timely as this last one. Thranduil’s other sons had sailed to the West long years past; only the youngest remained – Sarambaq’s last hope of inflicting the same pain upon the elf king who had robbed him of his son. The prince’s move to Ithilien, away from the protection of his father’s formidable forces, had been a stroke of fortune in Sarambaq’s favor. The time had been so right – how could his useless men have failed? Sarabaq gritted his teeth. Just as there had been no point in lamenting his losses ten years ago, he hardened his resolve to put the failure behind him and devise another plan. No ideas had come to him yet, but in the meantime, he would move everyone and everything back to his halls in Adhûn where he would be more secure. He cast a look upward in the direction of the flat top where he knew his flying steed was tearing some carrion to bits for his late afternoon meal. Should the elf army seek him out, he would put up a fight, and if he failed, Dârkil would provide his last means of escape. Where he would go next, he could not think, he did not want to think. He lived only for retribution. Beyond that, there was nothing. For the present, he would just focus on moving his people away from the Table. He looked at the work going on and at the darkening sky. We will be ready to leave tomorrow afternoon, he decided as he watched the sun set. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As night fell, a former Ranger of the North – and to all intents and purposes, a Ranger at this moment – was setting up camp in the midst of the forest the elf had traversed. Since leaving Ithilien earlier in the day, he had used all the hours of daylight and called upon all his skills to follow the tracks of the elvish horse and its rider, thankful that no rain had washed away any tell-tale signs, for it was hard enough to track the light footsteps of an elf. But the heavier footprints of the horse and the Adhûnian, as well as the broken twigs, dislodged stones and other signs only Rangers could make sense of, were easy enough to follow. There were numerous other prints as well – heavier and older ones – that Aragorn guessed must have been left by Sarambaq’s men earlier. There were none fresher than the prints of Legolas’ horse, and there were no signs of any struggle, so at least his friend did not seem to have encountered unfriendly resistance, the Ranger thought with relief. He guessed that his friend must have gone first north, then east, but he could not afford to miss any signs that might suggest a different route. At sunset, Aragorn came across – and almost missed – the only sign that Legolas had ever been along the route, something only a Ranger or an elf would have noticed: a tiny fragment of the mallorn leaf the elf had used to wrap his lembas in, and a few fine crumbs nearby. Of the rest of the leaf there was no trace; Legolas had discarded it carefully. Lunch, Aragorn thought, an amused smile lighting his face. He placed an ear to the ground, keeping very still. Nothing of the one he was following could he perceive. It was getting darker under the boughs, so Aragorn lit a torch and continued to follow the signs till he grew too tired. Knowing he could not afford to miss any clues in the dark, he decided to rest for the night and set off again as soon as there was enough light filtering through the foliage the next day. After lighting a small fire and consuming a quick meal of lembas and water, he eased himself on to a blanket laid out between two large roots and closed his eyes. He breathed a silent goodnight to his two loved ones he had left behind in the White City. Then, as it had throughout the day, his mind turned once more to Legolas. Do not go too swiftly, my friend. Let me find you, he thought just before he fell asleep. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Brûyn sat tensely in front of the elf prince, bewildered at how in Middle Earth the rider and horse could ride so confidently at this speed in the dark when he could not discern anything more than eight feet in front of him. He wondered when his body would feel the jarring impact of the ground and his flesh separate from his bones if he were to fall, for his hands and feet were bound, and he had nothing to hold on to while the horse sped across the plain. Yet he did not fall, he did not even pitch dangerously in any direction, but remained awake and upright all through the ride, too numb with fear to realize how much his flesh owed its continued union with his spirit to the skills of the elvish horse and rider. His teeth chattered a little both from the wind of the horse’s speed and from terror, but he was too nervous to even ask for a cloak or blanket. Late into the night, more trees came within sight of the elf’s incredible vision, and he asked the man whether they should be entering another forest. Brûyn, when his mouth could steady itself enough to speak, gave an affirmative answer, although he could not see the trees Legolas referred to until the horse slowed down and stopped at the edge of the forest. “I cannot see well enough to know where we should go,” Brûyn responded when Legolas asked for directions. The elf had to concede that it was difficult for the human to identify landmarks at this hour, so he decided that it would be a good time to rest. He stilled the horse, lowered his head slightly, and closed his eyes, focusing. The elf held this position for many moments, till Brûyn began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. Just as he was about to take the risk of interrupting the trance-like state, the elf lifted his head and spoke to the horse. The elven ears had been listening for the sound of nearby water that would indicate a site where the horse could drink and graze on the grass as well. They also needed to fill their water skins. As they entered the darkness of the forest, Brûyn again marveled at how the elf could see where to guide his horse when he himself could not see the end of his own nose, let along past it. The faint sound of trickling water, perhaps from a brook, came to him. Not far in from the first line of trees, the horse stopped and they dismounted, still in the dark. Brûyn heard the elf remove some things from the saddle and speak softly to the horse, after which the creature moved off. The man was suddenly and intensely fearful that he would be left alone, for he could see nothing. But then he heard Legolas’ voice. “Stay, do not move from here. I will be back.” The man swallowed and wondered how he could have moved even if he wanted to, for he was bound, and he felt stifled and incapacitated by the deep darkness of an unfamiliar place. He did not hear when the elf walked away from him, for the fair being’s steps were almost noiseless, but now he thought he saw – or were his eyes deceiving him? – he thought he saw the outline of the elf walking away from him, and it was glowing faintly. He stared. What kind of being is he? He asked silently. Do elves glow? Did I notice this in Ithilien? The elf had abilities and qualities the human had never seen or experienced before, nor ever imagined. But however much he felt intimidated by the elf, he would still feel much better if the latter would not leave him alone, and he had to stop himself from whimpering and begging him not to leave. All he heard after that were the water and the night sounds of some scurrying forest creatures. He decided to distract himself from his nervousness by thinking about how close they were to the place he wanted to reach. Unknown to the elf, they had only this forest to go through, a gully to ride around and another flat area to cross, and they would be at the Table. For the first time since they left, the Adhûnian was glad they were riding. The elf would not stop for long, he knew, and at the pace they were going, he guessed they would reach the forest surrounding the Table before the next mid-day sun was high above their heads. After what seemed like ages to the nervous man, who was still rooted to the spot, he saw a light approaching him. The faintly glowing outline of the elf again appeared, and he was holding a small burning stick in one hand. Legolas beckoned to him and said, “Follow me.” The elf turned and walked slowly deeper into the trees. Brûyn, his ankles tied to each other with a length of cord so that he could still walk, stumbled along behind him, making his way by the glow of the torch and the elf’s body. But soon, he saw another, brighter glow in the distance. As they drew closer to it, the man saw that it was the brilliance of a fire at the mouth of what looked like a cave. The elf’s pack sat against a wall, and a blanket and cloak had already been laid out further in the cave. “We will rest here,” Legolas said, and indicated the blanket where the man could sleep. The elf made no move to untie the man’s hands and feet, so the latter resigned himself to sleeping in restraints. He gave a disgruntled snort as he thought fleetingly about how unnecessary the cords were, for he had no plans to run anywhere in this dark forest, nor was he able to keep his eyelids open any longer. As soon as he lay himself on the blanket and pulled the cloak over himself, he fell into the oblivion of sleep. Legolas, standing at the mouth of the cave, looked at him till he was assured that the man had fallen asleep. He was not particularly worried; he did not think anyone would have followed them or even known they were here. But the elf suddenly felt very alone. He was in a strange place, heading for a stranger destination. He was far from home and far from friends. These woods were unfamiliar to him and he was not sure if he was welcome here, even though he was a Wood elf. He looked at a gnarled old tree nearby and walked over to it. Respectfully, he stood before it, sharing its space, letting it sense his presence. Then he approached it and gently ran his hands over the rough surface, trying to feel its aura. After some moments, he felt its hum, and he pressed his hands against the trunk. Missing was the close communion he felt with the trees of the Greenwood and Ithilien, but despite the shadow that seemed to shroud the forest, the trees themselves did not harbor resentment for the elf. They simply felt… wild. Aloof. But Legolas understood. He was the newcomer, the intruder, and it would take time for the forest to open its thoughts to him. It was enough that they accepted his presence for the night. It knew that he too was one with the earth and meant no harm. Reassured, Legolas climbed onto one of the lower branches where he still had a good view of the cave and the small fire. Placing his weapons carefully where they would be in his hands in an instant should he need them, he leaned against the tree trunk. He turned his bright eyes to the sky hidden by the thick canopy above, not seeing the starry expanse beyond the leafy opacity, but reaching it and touching it as only an elven heart can. He offered a silent song to the Queen of Stars as he waited. Dawn was still far off when his horse returned from grazing and drinking his fill from the brook. He called softly to it, promising to brush it down in the morning. Only then did the elf relax and turn his thoughts to sleep. “May the new day bring us what we seek, Estel,” he whispered and allowed himself to drift out of wakefulness, completely unaware just how aptly his wish had been expressed. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- May the new day bring us what we seek, Estel. The Ranger awoke with a start, his slow, steady heartbeat just a little more rapid than usual. His hand had instinctively closed around the dagger at his side. “Legolas?” he called out softly, eyes still sticky with sleep peering into the dark around him. Nothing. No one was there. There was only the steady chirp of crickets, the soft harrumph of his horse, and the almost imperceptible sounds of sleepless creatures foraging for food. Beyond all that, there was only the stillness of the night. He leaned back and sighed. It was as if he had heard the voice of his soft-spoken friend, a fair voice he missed and was desperate to find. In a few hours, it would be time to get up and resume his search. “Wait for me, Legolas,” he whispered. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the arms of a tree, a Wood elf who had just begun to enter a dream world snapped his blue eyes open again as he heard – or thought he heard – the voice of a beloved friend: Wait for me, Legolas. Puzzled by the significance of the words, he drew a deep breath and exhaled before slipping into a light, watchful sleep. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's 'hello': I devote much time to writing this story, and it is wonderful when readers take a minute or two to let me know what they think. Thank you to the very few who do, for you keep me writing. To submit a review for this chapter please click one of the following links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=17&storytextid=6402305Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12941
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Post by Recommended on Nov 29, 2007 14:23:23 GMT -5
CHAPTER 18: BONDS UNSEEN Brûyn felt as if he had hardly closed his eyes before the elf was shaking him awake. “Time to move on,” Legolas said. The man opened his eyes slowly, his mind still foggy with sleep. He squinted at the muted light of late dawn that had managed to pierce through the roof of the forest and paint a dull orange glow on the walls of the cave, and he knew that he had not slept for very long. Despite the glow, a chill permeated the cave, for the fire had been put out, embers and a thin wisp of smoke being the only evidence that there had been one. He felt sore from sleeping on the hard floor of the cave and stiff because his restraints had not allowed much movement of his limbs throughout his sleep, but he grudgingly acknowledged that even though his limbs were securely tied, the cords were not so tight that they cut off his blood flow; they merely made him uncomfortable. Elves are strange beings, they do strange things, but even when they bind their prisoners, they inflict much less pain that Sarambaq would, he fleetingly thought. As he stretched as much as he could, a yawn escaped him. The elf, however, showed no such signs of sleepiness or discomfort. He looked as fresh and alert as he did since they set off, while Brûyn felt like a rag. The elf rolled up the blanket and cloak as soon as Brûyn had stood, and walked to the horse to tie them to the saddle. The animal had been brushed and cleaned and looked as fresh as the elf did, even in the wilds. Brûyn felt his stomach growl and decided to risk a question: “What about breakfast?” Legolas pointed to a water skin and white wafer lying on a leaf wrapping that he had already placed on a small rock near the cave wall. “Not the dry bread again?” the man groaned, but all he received from the elf was a frosty look that told him to either eat it or starve. The elf does not waste words, he thought with some irritation. Muttering, he picked up the lembas that had been their only form of sustenance since they left. It was not the kind of food he was used to, and neither was it particularly palatable to his human tongue, but he had to admit that it filled him, even though he did not eat much of it. Elves and their ways are stranger than a cat with five legs, he thought. They were soon mounted again, and the elf led the horse away from the cave. Brûyn could not tell where they were exactly, for they had entered the forest in the dark. But when he looked at the sun, he saw that they seemed to be heading away from it, the way they had come. He guessed at the elf’s intentions but needed confirmation. “Are we going back the way we came?” “Yes,” came the calm reply, although the elf seemed worried about something. “Back to the edge of the forest. You could not see where we entered the forest last night. You cannot guide me further unless we return to the edge of it so that you can point out the right trail.” The man nodded. It would indeed be quicker to backtrack than attempt to find the way from where they were. He stole another look at the brooding look on the elf’s face, then sat quietly as the elf led the horse out of the forest. Legolas had another reason for retracing their steps, but he did not reveal it to the Adhûnian. After they emerged from the trees, Aérodel quickly cantered onto the plain, and Legolas saw how vast and flat the land was that they had traversed the night before. Across the plain, his far-seeing eyes could perceive just a faint glimpse of the dark patch of forest they had left at sunset. After a short distance, Aérodel turned around to face the forest again. In the early light, Legolas could see that the land here was higher and that they would probably have to cross a rise in the forest on foot. Warmed by the young rays of a morning sun, the forest did not look quite as daunting, but the trees were still huddled closer together than the woods just outside Ithilien. Gnarled branches reached out from trees like greedy fingers. The Wood elf was quite at home in friendly forests, but it was if these forests had been stained by the presence of Sarambaq’s men who had traveled through them. “Where do we go from here?” Legolas asked the man. Brûyn turned his head several times to the right and left, looking for familiar objects that marked the route he and his companions had traveled several times before. “Go over there,” his tied hands gestured to the left. At Legolas’ bidding, Aérodel trotted slowly in the direction the man had indicated. After they had gone about thirty yards, Brûyn called for them to halt. “There,” he said, his hands pointing towards a tree with a huge girth, taller than the rest. Two branches left its trunk about twelve feet up, pointing north and south like two open arms, so that the tree looked much like a sentinel welcoming sojourners into the forest. “Are you certain?” Legolas asked cautiously. A sarcastic reply was on the edge of Brûyn’s tongue, but he thought better of it and said simply: “Aye.” At a click of the elf’s tongue, Aérodel trotted to the tree. Legolas saw the signs of a path that had been trodden on recently, and by many feet, he judged. The man appeared to be telling the truth; there had been no nervousness or hesitation in his voice. Legolas dismounted, and stood studying the large tree from top to bottom, much to the puzzlement and impatience of the human. But before long, he was mounted again, and the elf, the Adhûnian and the horse moved into the darker reaches of the forest. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Aragorn had been on the move since dawn, taking only a cold breakfast of lembas and fruit he had found on the way. A wet gray mist blanketed the forest, plastering damp strands of the man’s hair against his forehead and cheeks as he tried to ward off the chill by pulling his coat and cloak tighter about himself. He had to lead his horse on foot from time to time so that he could bend closer to the ground to observe the signs he was following. Wet leaves scrunched beneath his feet or that of his horse’s hooves as the tracks gradually led them slightly north. He was depending largely on the tracks left by Legolas’ horse now, grateful for the enhanced eyesight that allowed him to discern them. The tracks gradually led him slightly east, and as he went on, the trees became less close, suggesting that he was moving out of the forest. The open plain that Legolas had ridden across the previous night soon greeted him. He vaguely recalled what he had seen on a map Faramir had dug up from the City’s archives. It did not have much detail, but it did indicate open space – the old battle plain – between two forests. Aragorn guessed that was where he was now. He must have moved past the southern edge of the Reclaimed Lands while he was still in the thick of the woods. A quick calculation of the distance he had covered told him that Legolas would have reached this point around twilight yesterday. What would Legolas have done? Aragorn paused to consider. His long friendship with the elf provided the answer. He would have traveled under the cover of trees in the day and crossed open space under the cover of night. The mist was clearing rapidly, and Aragorn looked across the plain, trying to see how far it went. He did not have the eyes of the elf and could not see the forest on the other side. But if the map was right, and if Legolas had ridden across the plain as he guessed, the elf would have reached the next patch of forest some time after midnight. He could not have gone on then, for his guide was no elf and would not have been able to see the route himself. So you camped in the forest for the night, my friend, and somewhere near the edge of it, Aragorn imagined with some confidence. The elf would not have tarried overlong, he knew. You too would have risen with the sun. Still, you cannot have ventured too far into the forest yet. At that realization, the Ranger’s heart quickened with urgency and anticipation. Aérodel’s hoof prints were still clear here, and Aragorn lost no time in setting off in the same direction. He soon increased his speed, heading for the sun and keeping an easterly route, his damp hair drying in the wind. He was aware that if he went too fast, he might miss the signs, which was easy to do on a vast grassy plain, but if he went too slowly, he might not reach his friend soon enough. He chose speed, for vegetation was scant and there were hardly any trees to obstruct their run, so that his horse was able to ride at an encouraging pace. Halfway across, however, the Ranger found that he had lost sight of the hoof impressions and wondered if he had strayed from the trail Legolas’ horse had taken. He slowed his own horse and trotted first to the right, then back again to the left, trying to regain the correct course, but – he realized incredulously – he seemed to have lost it. He cantered to a halt, a hiss of frustration issuing from his lips. Aragorn squinted but could yet see nothing beyond the plain. Haste has been a foolish choice, he reprimanded himself. Am I still headed in the right direction? Running a hand through his hair, he scanned the land around him with worried eyes. Where are you, mellon nin? For a few moments, he merely sat still, pondering. Then, in response to a voice within him, Aragorn looked down at his horse. Abruptly, he dismounted, unrolled his blanket, and from within the folds, withdrew Legolas’ cloak that he had brought along. Running his hands over the material, he contemplated. It still held the scent of its owner – the scent of wood and blossoms and sun, briefly comforting the Ranger like a warm memory. He turned and walked to the front of the horse. Speaking soothingly in the elvish tongue, he placed the material against his palm and gently caressed one side of the stallion’s face with it before holding it softly under and against its nose, letting it breathe in the essence of the elf. He felt a little sheepish, for this was no bloodhound. But then, this was no ordinary horse either. It had been bred and raised by the Horse Lords of Rohan, no less, and trained at the hands of the elf prince himself. And sometimes, the strength of unseen bonds that tie one living being to another is greater than that of fibre or metal, defying understanding and explanation. What did he have to lose by trying? Placing the other hand on the animal’s long neck, he whispered to it. Good Rallias, help me find him. Follow the lead of the one who taught you to tame your spirit. Find his scent and the scent of your companion Aérodel. Take me to them, my friend. Aragorn waited as Rallias stood unmoving. Then, ever so lightly, it nudged its master’s shoulder in response, lifted its proud head and snorted, stamping a foreleg. It continued to hold its head high and its nostrils flared as Aragorn remounted and placed the cloak securely before him on the saddle. Strong equine muscles rippled beneath the rider as the horse turned its noble head slowly from one side to the other, before reorienting its body in a direction slightly to the north. For a few moments, it remained still in that position, and Aragorn held his breath. A tingle of anticipation ran through the Ranger as he felt the horse tense in preparation, and his fingers closed around the reins, clutching tightly. One moment more, the horse stood still, poised for flight. Then, with a spurt of power that threw the rider in a backward motion, the magnificent stallion shot forward like an arrow, breaking into a smooth, confident run, its mane a stream of silk in the wind, its head never wavering from the yet unseen target for which it headed. Aragorn’s own excitement grew with the horse’s, as he trustingly allowed the intelligent creature’s bond with his elf trainer to lead him whither it would. Faster and swifter they went, the rider bent forward now, without a single fear as to where they were going, letting the call of love be their guide. The land flowed beneath them in a blur of green and brown, measured not in distance but in heartbeats as man and horse glided over it as one entity. The Ranger felt a wild rush of exhilaration from the swiftness of the ride, his ears hearing only the whipping breath of the wind, his body aware only of a smooth forward movement, propelled along a journey not to somewhere but to someone. And then, despite his anxiety for his friend, before he could control it and not wanting to control it, a burst of exultant laughter loosed from his lips and set his heart soaring as it had so long ago, before his life was tied to kingly duties and hemmed in by stone walls, when he could roam and run and ride with the careless freedom of a young man, when fewer fetters held him from seeking the company of the very elf he was pursuing now so that they could taste their lives as passionately and uninhibitedly as he did at this moment. The rush of emotions washed over him and overwhelmed him – this Ranger of the North, this King of Gondor and Arnor, this man, this friend – so that his heart was laid bare and his breath came in unashamed sobs with only the land and the sky as witnesses. His tears mingled with his laughter, warm wet pain upon cold cheeks, drying in the speed of the wind even as they fell unbidden and unchecked. With the image of a fair face gracing their vision and the feel of elven fingers plucking gently at their heartstrings, Man and beast rode on the notes of their soaring song of pursuit, lost in a crescendo of devotion that grew with each heartbeat. On they went, borne on a melody of love and loyalty, till at last, in the distance, a green line of trees came into view, beckoning patiently like a long closing curtain to their performance. Never would he forget this ride, Aragorn thought shakily, nor the raw emotions it had called forth from the depths of his soul, both invigorating and drowning him. He wished with all his heart that Legolas could have experienced what he did as he rode across the plain himself, but he knew the elf could not have, being burdened with a captive. Wistfully, he swore to himself that he would take time to taste such pure joy again and to share it with those he held dear. As the line of trees grew clearer, Aragorn reluctantly let the passion of the ride subside, slowly, slowly, till all that was left was a warm, tingling reminder of it flowing through his veins, and he released a shuddering sigh as he felt their feet touch the earth once more. The sight of the forest ahead sobered him again and reminded him of the task yet to be achieved. Yet, the sight was as hope to Aragorn, for it meant that he was headed where the map had indicated he should be, were he bound for Adhûn. He had no such intention of going there, however, nor would he allow his friend to go that far if he could help it. Surely, with all the speed Rallias poured into the ride, we must have closed the distance between us, he hoped. The thought spurred him on. He made no effort to try and identify where in that long line of trees he was supposed to be headed, still letting the horse choose the path. The man’s trust in Rallias was not in vain, for presently, horse and rider reached the same tree that marked the beginning of the trail Legolas and Brûyn had taken. Rallias slowed down as it neared the edge of the forest where the trees were closer together and great roots formed obstacles to speed. But the horse seemed confident as it trotted closer to the tree and prepared to pick its way around the roots and past the great silent sentinel into the forest. Casting his eyes around, Aragorn suddenly reined in the horse, bidding it to halt. His eyes were fixed on the ground at the foot of the tree. Dismounting, he walked quickly over to where his sharp eyes had seen something that had quickened his heartbeat, and he bent down for a closer look. Fingers trembling with hope and excitement, he reached out. The man’s smile widened suddenly, and he gave a small whoop of delight even before his eager fingers picked up the object that held greater value for him now than mithril or gold. It was a simple mallorn leaf, tucked snugly in the narrow crook between two roots. The creases on the leaf indicated beyond a doubt that it had only recently held lembas, waybread of elves and of Prince Legolas. And just as surely, the elf prince had left it there as a subtle sign for elven eyes, or for the only human ones he trusted not to miss it: the eyes of the Ranger Aragorn. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter please click one of the following links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=18&storytextid=6418259Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12954
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Post by Recommended on Nov 29, 2007 15:14:12 GMT -5
CHAPTER 19: THE REALITY OF A NIGHTMARE The trail through the forest took Legolas, Aérodel and Brûyn along rough paths in depressing shadows that reached out to them with groping fingers. They had to dismount to hike over a woody rise and descend a steep grassy face before getting on Aérodel again. Finally, they emerged on the far end of the forest, on the threshold of another flat expanse. They were still on slightly higher ground, so Legolas could see the lie of the land. This stretch of flat land was much less grassy than the plain they had crossed the previous night, and it was almost cloven in two by a curious formation: a gully shaped like a scythe, deep and wide, but Legolas was not high enough to see to the bottom of it, although he thought his elven ears could hear, just faintly, the sound of running water. The blade part of the scythe-like feature began near the edge of this forest and curved north for some distance before turning back south, then straightening in an easterly direction like a handle. On both sides of the handle-part of the gully were more forests, thick with tall trees, so that Legolas could not clearly see where the gully ended. “How far does the gully run?” he asked the man in front of him. “A fair distance,” the man replied, “it ends somewhere in those forests yonder, out of sight from here. It is deep, and at the bottom there is a small river.” “And its course?” “All the way to Adhûn and to the Sea of Rhûn.” The man spoke the truth; he saw no point in hiding this information. He would say anything to distract the elf from the fact that the flat rock of the Table lay not very far from them, hidden within the tall forests on the north side of the scythe’s handle. That was where he was going to lead the elf, and he nursed the hope that his companions would be there. It would be an even greater stroke of luck if Sarambaq were there as well. Legolas had not the slightest suspicion of this secret hope. Any uneasiness he felt, he attributed to the whole situation he was in. Instead, he pondered the man’s description of the gully and river. Adhûn was a long way yet, but if the gully ended in the forests and the river went on… “Do you mean the river goes… underground?” he asked. “For a long way, aye, it comes out this end from a tunnel - you will see if you ride close to it – and it goes back into another. One league from Adhûn, it comes out from a big opening in the rock face.” Legolas imagined that the prospect of being trapped in that underground stream of water would not be a pleasant experience, even if one did not drown. Not wishing to dwell on more depressing thoughts, and expecting another long ride, he asked the man where they should head next. Brûyn pointed to the northern end of the gully. “We have to go around that and then head for that patch of forest,” he replied, keeping his voice as steady as he could and hiding a mounting excitement. It was not quite mid-day yet, but Legolas felt like the shadows of the forest seemed to follow him into the open, for already the sun was hiding behind gathering clouds, unwilling to lift the strange gloom that had descended on his spirits. Legolas was about to guide Aérodel toward the north when he suddenly paused and gave a small gasp. He had the strangest sensation that something was reaching for him, trying to find him. His mind went immediately to the mallorn leaf he had left between the roots of the great tree, and to the decision he had made several hours ago. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wait for me, Legolas.
Those words were his first thought when the elf woke up at dawn. He sensed that it had been Aragorn saying them to him last night.
But why? Why ask me to wait? Is he… could he be… coming after me? Surely he could not have found out so soon.
The elf closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back against the tree trunk. Estel must have gone to Ithilien, he thought, but I never wished for him to come on my trail.
If you are coming after me, stubborn human – turn back. Do you not know how dangerous it is for you to come here? Sarambaq wanted your son; he will surely want to harm you.
Let me finish scouting the area. I will bring back the information soon enough. And…I am not ready to see you yet. Not till I have what I set out to find. I am not ready to face you yet. Go back.
Legolas sighed again.
He wanted nothing more than for his friend to turn around and return home, but if he was indeed on his trail… well then, the elf would rather the man find him and be at his side than wander the dark forests on his own. On his own… or was he with elves?
Legolas did not know, but he did not want to wait or turn back to check, for if he was mistaken, he would lose precious time. That was when he made the decision to leave a clue that only Aragorn or one of the elves would notice. If they were indeed looking for him, they would find him. If they were not, the leaf would hold no meaning for anyone else. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Legolas came back to the present. This sensation he had now… were his friends trying to find him? Should he wait? Again, he decided against it. But in turning his head back toward the forest, he missed the look of suppressed and nervous excitement on the face of the Adhûnian. Legolas was not particularly keen to ride in the open in broad daylight, but it did not seem he had a choice. He would try to reach the next patch of trees in the distance as swiftly as he could, and get under the cover of woods again. Keeping a firm grip on Aérodel’s reins, he began the ride down to maneuver around the curved gully. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sarambaq stood on the edge of the flat rock looking down at his men moving about below. He had decided to move the bulk of their equipment and supplies back to Adhûn and leave some behind so that men could move more quickly; it would be a long trek back, and not all of them could go on horseback as the horses would be needed to bear the equipment. He cast a look over his shoulder at Dárkil, which was basking quietly in whatever sunlight was available. Soon, it would have to fly him home. Suddenly, the beast stirred and raised its head, listening. Sarambaq noticed the movement but was not unduly alarmed. The beast sometimes reacted to large birds flying overhead or creatures within reach of its powerful jaws, excited at the possibility of a meal. Or, perhaps it was just curious about something in the forest nearby, in which case Sarambaq would not be able to see what it was through the thick foliage. He turned his eyes back to the men below, but spun back to face the beast a second later when it emitted a small screech. Its eagle-like head was raised even higher on its long neck now, the serpentine eyes roaming. Sarambaq’s brows furrowed. What had disturbed the beast from its quiet reverie? As if in answer, Sarambaq’s own senses tingled. He had been Sauron’s minion for many years and had gained some of his black powers of perception. Something was coming this way, something that was not there earlier, something – or someone – that was not part of this little domain he had staked. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reaching the head of the gully, Legolas saw that there was indeed a river at the bottom. It flowed out quietly, almost languidly, from a tunnel framed between surprisingly gentle slopes, which soon turned into steep walls on both sides of the chasm. A strange feature indeed, the elf thought, wondering from which distant snow-capped mountain the river began. They had now ridden around the northern curve of the gully and were headed straight toward the forest of tall trees as Brûyn directed. They were not far from the edge of the woody area now. But, where he had hoped to reach the cover of the forest as soon as he could, Legolas now sensed some shadow, an uneasiness, gather in the forest ahead and reach toward him like an unseen hand. It was not Brûyn. And it was not from Brûyn. Yet… now he could sense some tension and nervousness from the man. “That is where we need to go?” he asked the man, and realized that he was speaking through slightly clenched teeth. “Yes, yes. That is the path we have to take, that forest there.” He sounded just a little too eager. The elf tensed and focused his elven senses. Brûyn sat stiffly before, careful to keep his face away from the elf the whole time, his eyes trained on the forest ahead. Not long now. Keep going, elf. And if you are there, Sarambaq, let there be nothing to give it away. Legolas looked to the right and left, but he kept turning back to the front. To the forest. The forest. Legolas felt his breath stifle. What is happening? Aérodel sensed his unease and slowed down without being told to, trotting cautiously and whinnying softly. Clip. Clop. The sound of its steps tapped a hesitant rhythm. Clip clop. Clip. Clop. The elf stiffened. What is wrong with that sound? Legolas asked himself, puzzled. Clip clop… clip clop. It is the sound of Aérodel’s steps. What could be wrong with it?
Clip. Clop. Then Legolas grew rigid and he sucked in a breath. That sound. Clip clop. There was nothing wrong with the sound. What was wrong was that – besides his breathing, the lazy flow of water, and the slight friction of the man’s clothing against the saddle as they moved – it was suddenly the only sound he could hear. All other sounds of life had stopped. In that moment, everything that had bothered him throughout the journey hammered against his chest like a sharp blow. The forests, the shadows, the darkness. Dol Guldur. The shadow, the furtiveness, Brûyn, those eyes, so like… Sméagol’s. Sméagol, hiding in Dol Guldur before the Quest, before Mithrandir and Aragorn brought him to Mirkwood, before he escaped from the elves. From his own hands. His nightmare. Dol Guldur. Sméagol. This nervous captive in front of him. This place. That forest looming before them. His nightmare. They were all related. Legolas shuddered as a light pierced his mind. This was what the nightmare had been about. It had been a warning. A foreshadowing of what would happen. Here. Now. He would be attacked again, and he would lose another captive. Sméagol then. Brûyn now. And all his elven senses told him to flee. Flee! “We will turn back here,” he said abruptly, urgently, and tugged at Aérodel’s reins to turn him around. To his surprise, and yet not totally unexpected, Brûyn protested, his hands clutching at Legolas. “No, no! Keep going, this is the right way.” Now Legolas’ senses screamed in warning. “Why? Why that way? What are you up to? You have some foul plan!” Cowering under the elf’s acid tone and icy stare, Brûyn replied weakly, “No…” Suddenly, Aérodel’s hooves and their voices were no longer the only sounds Legolas could hear. Now, from somewhere in the dark of the forest and above the forest, there came a screech, unearthly but of this earth, the proud screech of an eagle and the fearsome one of a demon, a screech that stopped the heart but drove one to flee. And there launched from some unseen perch behind the tops of tall trees something Legolas could not earlier see but now beheld with wide, startled eyes: Dárkil, spawn of a vile mind, sprung from the seeds of twisted creatures. A dark beast that spread its huge wings and shoved the elf’s fear down the paths of his memory as if he was seeing again – reborn and welded with the power of the Windlord – the foul steed of Sauron’s Ringwraith. And on his back was a huge, dark figure, slighter than the Witch king had been, but just as malevolent in the aura and the cry he sent forth. From his eyes radiated both hatred and joy at what the day had brought him, for as he approached to see what had riled his steed, his eyes – in which remained still some remnant of the power bestowed by the Dark Lord – had recognized, beyond all hope and expectation, the very prize he had sought and failed to ensnare, but which was now offering itself to him at his doorstep. As the beast flew up and toward them, Aérodel reared and neighed in terror as it had never done before, and only his bond with the animal kept the elf from falling off in the sudden movement. But the bond did not hold Brûyn, who slid and fell against the elf before plummeting sideways to the ground. Before Legolas could retrieve him, another screech came from the beast, and the rider urged it onward, shouting to the figures of men who emerged from the depths of the forest with swords and with arrows, some yelling as they ran, some riding after him, men very much like the one who had been Legolas’ captive just moments ago. Brûyn picked himself up and started hobbling toward them, shouting: “It’s him! It’s him!” It’s him? Legolas’ heart thudded within him. It’s him? But the elf could wonder no longer at the strange meaning of the words. The attack had come, and the captive had found escape. Once again. And once again, the life of a Mirkwood elf hung in the balance. Aérodel needed no command to take flight; still, Legolas shouted, urging him, just as Glorfindel had done ten years ago, when upon the back of Asfaloth Frodo had fled to the Fords of Bruinen: “ Noro lim, Aérodel. Fly, the enemy is upon us!” Even as Legolas headed back toward the way he had come, he knew his desperate attempt to return to the cover of the forest would be in vain. Closer now came the foul reek of Dárkil, the wind of its wings rushing above and behind the elf rider. Legolas turned his head for a sight of the beast and was horrified by the proximity of it. There would be no escape, no possible evasion, and a thousand images of loved ones and treasured places raced through his mind as he tensed for the stabbing thrust of sharp talons through his back and chest. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Drawn by the loud screeching of a demonic creature, a Ranger’s head snapped up. One moment was all he spared to listen, and then he was spurring his horse on, crashing through trees and undergrowth in a desperate ride to exit the forest. The terrified neighing of a horse made his heart clench, forcing a cry from his throat. In ignorance, fear ruled, and the name of his friend was on his lips as he sought wildly and urgently the first sign of a way out. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Legolas did not feel sharp claws rend his flesh, for Dárkil passed over elf and horse, and flew a little higher, surprising the elf for a moment. But his bewilderment was short-lived when he saw what the beast was doing. It turned in mid-air high above them and came back down in a deadly swoop straight at them, emitting from its throat a harsh screech that made the very air shudder with its ferocity. It was close enough now for the elven eyes of Legolas to see the merciless malice both in the eyes sitting in the hideous head of the beast and in the snarl on the face of its rider. The terror of the brave elvish horse was grievous to see as once again, it reared fiercely at the sight and sound of a beast it had never encountered. This time, the movement caught the rider off-guard, and Legolas fell backward and off, landing on his back. A second later, before the horror-stricken eyes of the elf, the talons of the beast sank into the neck and body of his faithful horse, wrapping around it and bearing it straight into the air. With a cry of deep sorrow and shock, Legolas leapt to his nimble feet and fitted an arrow from his quiver before the eye could even discern what he was doing, and he tracked the flight of the beast as it swept over him. Then, standing tall as he had done so on a night ten years ago, when the Fellowship had also been threatened by the flight of a Nazgul on the banks of the Sarn Gebir rapids, he sighed “Elbereth Gilthoniel!” and released an arrow from the powerful bow of Lothlorien, which was even now held in his strong hands. Singing, the arrow found a mark in the chest of the flying beast, and before the song of the first arrow was finished, two more arrows joined it. The second struck the space between one wing and the body, and the third reached the other wing. With a mighty screech of shock and pain, the beast released the horse from its talons and flew in a jagged flight path back to the forest, with its rider screaming desperate orders in anger to the men below. Eyes wide with horror, Legolas watched the elvish horse fall through the air to land on the hard unyielding ground with a sickening thud, and he knew even without seeing that it could not have survived a drop from that height. Choking on his anger and his tears, he fitted more arrows and started shooting at the approaching men through blurry eyes. Even so launched, fifteen arrows found fifteen targets, leaving an empty quiver and a mighty bow bereft of song. Twin elven knives left their sheaths in a deft twirling movement. With breathtaking grace gifted by elven blood and an unrivalled speed acquired through a thousand years of training, Legolas began a deadly dance, his deceptively slender arms dealing out death and injury with each step of his limber feet as furious men swarmed upon him with brutal yells. Never had they encountered such fierce resistance, not even when they had been in Ithilien, for this was a single elf fending off foes outnumbering him by scores. This day, they tasted the sharp bite of lethal blades as a lone Firstborn fought for his life, golden hair swirling and lithe body leaping, twisting and turning – a vision so beautiful and captivating it belied the desperation and deadly purpose of the movements. But even as the elf added to the growing pile of wounded or dying bodies that had fallen at the ends of his knives, more came, not lifeless, but very much animate, with viciousness in their eyes and their yells. In those moments, Legolas recalled the words he had imparted at the Council of Elrond: When the battle was over, we found that Gollum was gone, and his guards were slain or taken. Slain or taken. Blue eyes filled with fear and the fury of betrayal took in the futility of the situation before them as they forced back silent tears, but the fair face was resolute: he had lost his captive, but he would not be taken easily and he would not give in to aggressors. If his life was to end today, he would make his last stand with honor and go down fighting those who had violated the peace of Gondor and the safety of Aragorn’s family. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Barely discernable were the sounds of battle that reached his ears, but they were enough to drive Aragorn furiously forward, fighting each obstacle in his way, till at last, with a surge of gratitude, he saw a lighter patch of sunlight ahead, at the top of a rise. He leapt off the horse and hauled himself up the steep incline, trusting Rallias to find his own safe path. Feeling a sudden rush of fear, and impatient to get to the top, he felt not pain as he used his hands to grab at whatever was in sight to hasten his climb. Up this face of the rise, and he was at the crest. The next instant, he was descending. Down he sped, running, sliding, without a thought as to when he might slam headfirst into a tree; he had to get there – out of the forest. Where the sounds were and what might be happening, he did not want to imagine, yet he had to know. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Legolas ignored the multitude of small cuts he had received all over his body, standing proud and defiant as the men hemmed him in from every direction, on foot and on horseback. As he wearily warded off two blows from the right, he felt something sharp pierce the left side of his neck, and something else penetrated his thigh. He had no time to wonder what was happening as he fought off more blows and dodged a swing from a sword that narrowly missed his head. “Take him alive, you fools! Alive!” came a shout. A burning numbness quickly assailed his flesh in both places where he had felt the sting, and he reeled from a strange lightheaded sensation in his head. Before Legolas could grasp what it meant, someone attacked him with a club from the front, and as he lifted his arm to fend it off … “Noooooooooooooooooo!” …there was another angry yell from someone, but a blade had already been brandished by a rider on horseback, finding its mark on the elf, ripping brutally into his side, drawing forth a pitiful cry of agonizing pain as the slender form flinched sharply and bent over. Gasping torturously, Legolas swiftly straightened himself again, knives gripped tightly. But as suddenly as they had begun, the attacks stopped. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Almost there, almost at the edge of the forest now. But then the sounds of battle stopped, and Aragorn felt his breath stop with them. He felt detached from his feet as they frantically raced to complete the last few yards. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the lull that followed, Legolas stood still and looked around him, dazed. The Adhûnians were no longer moving toward him; they just stood tensely and stared. The horsemen had slowed to a halt. Even as he wondered at the cessation of the assault, Legolas realized with a shock that feeling was quickly abandoning his body, leaving his neck and chest and arms, his legs becoming more like lean wooden poles. Panic swept over him, and he struggled to retain his senses. The elf brought his eyes down to his side and watched deep crimson liquid spread across his tunic. The knives fell from his now numb hands and dropped uselessly to the ground. He kept standing through sheer force of will. For the second time since he heard the screech of the demon beast, the thoughts of his father and his loved ones raced through this mind, till two images remained and swam before his wide, moist, frightened eyes. Hold on, hold on, he willed himself. I need to see. I need to tell them. His breaths came in short spurts. He lifted his head and looked past the hostile faces around him, desperately seeking something on the ground in the distance. The rapidly failing blue eyes found what they were looking for and focused on it. Fixing his sorrow-laden gaze, he whispered weakly: Namárië, Aérodel. Farewell, faithful friend. Swaying on his feet now, he again looked past the faces of his foes, all traced with curiosity as they watched the forlorn figure turn his ashen face and unfocused, pain-filled eyes to his right this time, to the forest beyond the gully, from which he had come. His tears came at last as his pale lips moved to form voiceless words: Turn back, Aragorn, I’ve failed. The beautiful blue eyes closed. Forgive me, he breathed, and fell. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From the shelter of the trees at which he had arrived barely moments ago, panting with the strain of the hurried ascent, the Ranger strained his sharp eyes across the expanse of land. Frozen with shocked disbelief, his ragged breathing turning to sudden chokes, he saw the slender, bloody figure of a golden-haired elf turn his way, heard with his mind rather than his ears the tearful warning and apology whispered by the fair lips, and felt his own life drain from him a moment later, as he watched the friend who held part of his heart crumble lifelessly to the ground. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter please click one of the following links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=19&storytextid=6446397Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=13027
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