Chapter 7 - The Road to Mordor

Frodo woke to raised voices. He sat up fearfully as he recognized Sam weeping nearby. Faramir stood an unreadable expression on his noble face. Legolas was kneeling on one knee as Sam sobbed uncontrollably in his arms.

In the dust at their feet, lay one of Legolas' knives, a trace of red upon the sharp edge. The elf's neck wore a thin matching stain against the white skin. Frodo stared confused, the knife lay out of reach of the captain and Legolas would not have wounded himself.

Sam?

Surely Sam had not laid a blade to their friend? As if he heard the unspoken question Sam turned and nodded miserably, confirming Frodo's fears.

Legolas stood and looked Frodo in the eye.

"There was a regrettable misunderstanding" he said gently, turning towards Sam who lowered his eyes.

"I did not want to burden you with the tale of what happened to split the Fellowship but now I must." said the elf wearily, "I was wrong to keep it from you."

Faramir stepped forward "I have heard you speak of the ring" he said slowly "Surely you can speak the rest of the tale, for that no doubt is the part of your story you wished to remain hidden."

Frodo turned white as he realized that their purpose was discovered, while Sam reddened remembering the unfounded anger that had caused him to speak of what should not have been spoken.

Legolas said nothing but gazed deeply into the eyes of the other, he found no deceit in the captain nor overweening pride, only love for his city and an unassuming honesty.

Satisfied, he began the tale. He told them of the capture of Merry and Pippin and the death of Boromir. Then he swiftly told Faramir of the council and its decision, of the fall of Gandalf, their stay in Lothlorien and the journey down the Anduin.

"We seek the hidden path of Cirith Ungol" he finished. Faramir's eyes had filled with unshed tears as he spoke of the death of Gandalf but at the mention of Cirith Ungol he could not completely hid his fear.

"That is a place of ill-repute" he said "Men shiver at its name, and not only because it passes near unto Minas Morgul."

"Wither else could we go?" asked Frodo "For surely it offers more chance than attempting to pass the black gate."

Faramir shook his head "I know of no other pass" he said "but I would that need did not drive you into such peril."

Legolas smiled slightly "We will be in peril, however we enter the black land, and least among them will be the path of our entry."

Faramir nodded slowly, "I will not try to dissuade you" he said, "for your errand will not wait, but I will give you what aid I may."

"You won't try to stop us?" blurted Sam "You don't want the ring? I…I…mean, Boro…your brother…you are not alike at all."

Faramir smiled sadly.

"I loved my brother greatly, but I will not deny that he was a proud man though not without reason. I do not desire glory or honor or great power, I wish only to see my city merry and peaceful as it was long ago, before the shadow returned."

He looked into Frodo's eyes, "I do not fight for the love of the sword or the lust of battle, even in a just cause. I wield my sword only that we might have peace again, that the women and children of White City might live in safety without fear of siege or loss of husband or father. That someday I will not lose another man to the forces of the enemy. You also are attempting a task that you do not desire for the sake of many. I understand that this trinket cannot be used without succumbing to its power. I would not take it if you offered it to me freely."

They left at first light, their packs refilled from Faramir's stores and walking sticks in the hands of the hobbits. They bade the rangers farewell and turned their steps towards Minas Morgul, trying not to think of waited them behind the deadly valley. Even worse, their miserable guide had failed to reappear after his well-timed disappearance at the first sign of the rangers.

Legolas believed that he would be able to find the stairs that Gollum spoke of without his aid, but he had even of less of a desire to spend any unnecessary time near Minas Morgul than to bear again the burden of Gollum's company.

Thus it was with mixed feelings of thankfulness and disgust that the three greeted the return of Gollum, late in the day. He came snarling and whining at their foolishness and the nastiness of the men, but he lead them forward even as he complained.


Aragorn planted a standard, blank in the darkness before the black stone. The previous few days had been a blur of breathtaking action. The joy he and Gimli had felt at the return of Gandalf had been quelled only by their uncertainty as to the fate of their friends.

They had survived the treachery of Wormtongue and the battle for the Hornburg. And for the first time in his life he had been able to fight openly under his own name. The memories ran together; the long, nigh hopeless fight, the defeat of Saruman, the meeting with the hobbits. Gandalf fleeing with Pippin to Minas Tirith, his struggle with Sauron, the fruitless love of Eowyn and his joy at the sight of Elladan and Elrohir as well as the rangers. It felt odd, not having Legolas by his side, to sing and cheer and encourage him when his own hope ran low.

Truly he was on his own, this was his battle, a fight that he must fight alone to finally fulfill the destiny he had so long prepared for. Upon the plains of Gondor he would fight for country and lady, crown and people.

He owed it to all the scores of ancestors who would fought with no victory in sight, to Elrond and Gandalf and his other protectors, to his kingless people, to Arwen with whom he had renounced both shadow and twilight, to himself- to become the king that he had been born to be.

It was a chilling thought, but more chilling was his fear for three friends who sought an entrance to the black land, and the thought of them burned into his very soul and hardened his spirit unto mithril itself. Loudly and clearly he called upon the spirits of the faithless and such was the power given him that they fell obedient to his will.

And so, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elfstone of his people rode on, to his destiny and the fulfillment of a great doom, bringing hope where hope had been forgotten.


They reached the Morgul Vale, at dusk the second day. Dark it lay and filled with lifeless light, lit by the undead dead.

Past meads of pale and deadly flowers they traveled on unto the road to the tower that had once been called the Rising Moon and fairer sister of that of the Setting Sun, but Minas Anor and Minas Ithil had both passed beyond recovery and now the Tower of the Guard and that of Sorcery stood opposed unto death.

Frodo stumbled as they crossed the ill-omened path. Horrified he felt himself pulled forward by a malevolent force. Unwilling, his feet stepped one before the other towards the tower shining evilly in the night.

There was the sound of a harsh and cruel horn.

The deadly doors opened wide in the ghastly distance.

Legolas darted forward and dragged him away as the army marched forth. Looking up he saw that the elf's eyes sparkled with unshed tears for he remembered the beauty of the fairest citadel in Gondor, shining bright under moon and star were now no living light touched.

They watched as that army passed, led by the Lord of the Nazgul, who once Legolas had shot down over the Anduin and who once he had defied for the sake of a child long dead. Who had stabbed Frodo at Weathertop and who Sam had watched uncloaked by Glorfindel of Gondolin and the power of Vilya, though he knew it not. Who had tortured Gollum until he spoke two fateful words.

The Wraith turned silently as though sensing the presence of enemies, his hideous steed drawing uncomfortably close to where they lay hidden.

The hobbits shrank beneath their elven cloaks while Gollum cowered shivering; desperately Legolas shook off his fear and silently mouthed an old song of concealing and hiding. Bending all his will to the task he wove comforting shadows about them, enfolding them in the warm and living meshes of elven power and the Nazgul turned back baffled.

Farther up they climbed, until the Morgul Vale lay far below in the dizzying distance, into which both Frodo and Sam refused to look.

And still they climbed, up stair after slippery stair, painful step upon painful step, Gollum ahead and Legolas behind, catching them when they stumbled and carrying them when they could go no further on sure and soundless feet.

A new darkness surrounded them, deepening the higher that they climbed. Legolas shuddered inwardly for he knew that darkness. It was the shadow of evil spiders, those who he had hunted in Mirkwood, those who had spun darkness in the hidden marches of Doriath, it was the darkness that had touched the world when Ungoliant spun her first hellish web.

Gollum knew it also, but he had no fear of it, Frodo and Sam remained oblivious and Legolas meant to keep them so if he could. And so he alone of them strode, wide-eyed to his fear into the ever-darkening malice that kept Cirith Ungol.

They reached the hole at last. And there they rested before daring the path that led them into Mordor. Only Gollum and Legolas remained awake, unblinking they sat before each other. The elf, his eyes bright with the wisdom and light of his immortal years, the hobbits held in the safety his guarding arms, strong and deadly. The twisted shape of the other, seemingly lost beyond recall to the light but watching the three unhappily, almost giving up on his treachery.

For a moment Legolas saw past the years of slavery and misery, and there sat an hobbit, weary and old beyond belief, looking longingly at his kin from beyond the years.

The moment passed and Gollum slipped away, to where even elven sight could not follow.

There was no dawn that day.

In darkness they entered greater darkness, only a slight light from Legolas showing them the way as they followed Gollum. Slowly they made their weary way ever closer to the land of dread. At last they came to a turning and Gollum slipped behind it before even Legolas could move to stop him.

His heart fell at last, for they were betrayed. Hoping against hope, he led them as swiftly as he could down the evil corridors until they passed a yawning gap in the wall. The hobbits halted under the spell of the evil mind and only the strength of an elven will turned their minds forward again.

Hearts lightened with the dreadful hole behind them, until they came to the web. Dark it was as starless night. Legolas' blade gleamed bright as it shore through the darkness and they passed, but too late.

Behind them the malice moved, intent now on such willful prey. The sweetness of elven flesh filling her mind, for years beyond count she had not trapped an elf, only stringy orcs and miserable prisoners.

"Run" Legolas called turning to face the menacing blackness. The hobbits hesitated and obeyed. Elven-bright in that gloom he stood as the Shelob leapt towards her prey.


Well, here we are, they are entering Mordor.

To Reviwers:

Guest: Oh yes, Frodo definitely has a tall elven warrior with his bright sword too! Part of the fun of writing this fic was going through and explaining away little mysteries that Tolkien left, like the elven rope coming undone.

Pip the Dark Lord of All: Thanks for the continuing support.

bella13446: I hope this chapter answers the question about Gollum.

Just A Reviewer: Yes, lots of surprise chapters today. Maybe even four. Ummm...the memory thing, that was my embellishment, the idea was that it was so overwhelming that they saw it without him realizing it. I will write the Tale of Cuthalion (since you like it so much) when the idea takes me (and probably tie it in with the original Cuthalion from the first age.) I must say I am curious to know what you think of the other "fairy tales".

Shire Rose