Shadow III - Prince of Darkness
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JRR Tolkien, various publishers including but not limited to Houghton Mifflin Co, Mariner Books, Ballantine Books, and New Line Cinemas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: I know it has been a gap of years, and I apologise profoundly for this. I do not offer an explanation or excuse for this long absence, just like I cannot promise that I will be able to update this story regularly, but I would like to thank you all for your continued interest (if at all). Looking forward to hearing from you once again.
Part III of the Shadow trilogy. While intended to be read as a stand-alone piece of work, it will definitely be more satisfying to know the back-story, so I recommend you read my earlier work(s) to understand it better.
R rating for light to moderate angst and adult relationships.
Lasgalen (Greenwood) was the former name of the great realm of Mirkwood that is ruled over by Thranduil. It was due to the emergence of dark creatures that is recounted in this tale that men started to call it Mirkwood. The events chronicled in this story take place at around 1050 of the 3rd Age, some 1900 years before the events that culminated in the destruction of the One Ring.
There is a lot of dispute about Legolas's age, but in my version of events, he has yet to reach 200 years of age at this point in time.
I
Legolas tried very hard not to think. Perhaps if he did not think, none of the present would register in his dulling consciousness. But even keeping upright while crossing this precipice with its steep drop either way required more concentration than he thought possible. He was weak, and his head spun while he tried to put one foot ahead of the other. After all, what he could do was to slip and send them both crashing down far below.
A stinging blow caught the side of his rain-soaked head, jolting him from his waning thoughts. He was both freezing and burning, elated and devastated, everything rolled into one.
"Watch your step!" A low, guttural voice was hissing into his ear, but he barely looked up. Why was it so cold? Why was he still petrified? He should have dropped off all his fears when he made the choice, but still, the feeling of emptiness remained within, refusing to abate.
"Move!"
Legolas saw the ground rushing up towards him, and he was vaguely aware of his head making sickening contact with a large rock.
The cloaked figure beside him spat down at him. They had marched on without rest for three days, and Legolas had long since stopped wondering why the need for haste. His captor knew Esendri and Elrohir were no match for his powers, so what did he fear?
"Roh," Legolas whispered to himself. His one source of strength, wrestled from him by necessity. Exposing Elrohir would mean they would make straight for him, and Legolas knew that he had to protect Elrohir at all costs.
The voice in his head started again and he found himself bemusedly wondering if it might indicate some upcoming departure from his torment. He would rather die than give Elrohir up. And Legolas knew that he was dying. Even the Elven body had its limits, and Legolas knew that his physical being was being chiselled at as he was torn apart by the magic within him.
His own magic that sought to break through the restraints he had placed on it. The closer they got to their destination, the more it cried, begged to be released. It was getting nearer to the source which called seductively to him, and his magic was being drawn to it like a tired beast to its last meal.
But most of the time he found that it could be reined in. It was only when the voice started speaking of the ways they would make Elrohir cry did Legolas find it difficult not to do as it asked. The things it whispered were so dreadful it was all Legolas could do not to fling out at it, crying for it to stop.
But it was all a lie. Elrohir was safe. Legolas had seen to that. He was safe so long as no other knew of the place he had in Legolas's heart.
Legolas shuddered, then smiled, as he thought once more of Elrohir. Of how Elrohir had reaffirmed the love he felt for him, how he had confirmed the first confession forced out by the Dyrian's magic, told Legolas how much he loved him.
It still shocked him now to think of it, to think of how Elrohir -- the one person Legolas looked up to and worshiped in his youth -- loved him. It filled Legolas's heart with the most unspeakable joy and pain. He had fought against the truth, had pushed aside his stomach's way of telling him how he really felt for Elrohir, kept it at bay, held it out of sight. And then, all pretences came crashing down with Elrohir's admission, and Legolas knew then that he could lie to himself no longer.
Such a simple phrase: he loved Elrohir.
Yet, the truth brought with it grievous hurt too, as there was no way in which Legolas could ever give voice to how he felt. He would have to deny everything, need to hurt Elrohir to save him, for he could not allow Elrohir to be used as a weapon against him. If his enemies knew just how Legolas felt towards Elrohir, there would no longer be any place in middle-Earth safe for his star-warrior.
He knew it was pointless to do so, but Legolas started to wish once again that this weight had not been levelled upon him. That he should have to be born with such powers, to be entrusted with a destiny to decide whether Arda stood or fell against evil. Why could it not have been another? One with greater strength. One who would not be filled with so much doubt and fear and confusion.
And he was scared.
Nay, he was petrified. It was all he could do not to flinch every time the Dyrian drew near. The pain the Dyrian was capable of inflicting sparked off the innate defence mechanism built into every creature, and Legolas simply wanted to run away.
But he needed to go on. Had to find a way to thwart the Dyrian's plans. He had spoken the truth when he told Esendri that the Irrevocable Bond was not as tight as the Dyrian would have liked it to be. Legolas could feel it holding him to the Dyrian, but he had tried probing at it with his magic, withdrawing every time he thought the Dyrian might have discovered his tapping. It was the beauty of language that meanings could be hidden and twisted within simple words. That layers went through each phrase uttered, deceptions and truths all rolled into a ball of confused yarn.
Amidst his tentative probing, Legolas had discovered another bond that tugged at him during his distracted musings with his magic. Whereas the one which held him to the Dyrian was restrictive and threatened harm whenever Legolas touched its boundaries, this one sang of much freedom and promise that Legolas would never be held down. It encouraged him to fly away, to expand his vision to look beyond his current situation. It whispered of many sweet promises.
It was in this direction that Legolas sometimes allowed himself to follow as he shivered against the rain and the wind. But he could not longer see the sky. More than once, meandering in the direction of this incomprehensible, unidentifiable bond had forced the cackling voice away from his tortured mind, and he would have followed it to its source had it not been the sharp burst of pain the Irrevocable Bond emitted every time he tried to stray too far.
Now, trapped between the two, Legolas squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will his body to relax. He was weak, he could feel as much, and the distance they sought to cover was trying in his state. If the deterioration continued in this manner, he would not stand a chance against the Dyrian when the time came to fight him.
He refused to wince when a sharp pain exploded across his heavily-bruised side. But he would not react, would not give the Dyrian the satisfaction of a wince.
"Get up!" the Dyrian hissed.
Legolas caught the scabbard which sought to come down hard on his face, surprising both himself and the creature by the strength of his grip.
"I suggest you conserve your energy and only need make each point of yours once," Legolas said, his gaze steely.
He waited for the outburst, but it never came.
Instead, he felt a sharp yank as the Irrevocable Bond sought to draw him back into the place of death and darkness.
Not for the first time, Legolas wished he was anywhere but here.