Blood-Red Rose for Legolas
ElveNDestiNy
Disclaimer: See chapters 1-10; it's not going to be changing. I'm done disclaiming! If you weren't convinced the first ten times, I don't think repetition is going to help.
Chapter 11: Ties of Blood
The sun was fiery and bright the next day, forcing the travelers to protect their eyes from the harsh glare of the snow as they led their horses through the rocky passages. Up ahead, the shadow of Belderon's hollow mountain looked like a dark blight upon the land. It was unusually quiet as they passed through the land and Sariel grew uneasy at the increasingly noticeable difference, though it had always been like that near the place. It was the eerie quiet of a land abandoned by all wildlife. Even though the snow had coated everything in a shining blanket of white that should have helped disguise the ugly nature of their destination, it only served to emphasize the austerity of their surroundings.
No one spoke much. To an outsider it might have seemed as if their silence came from a strong understanding between one another, but in fact it was the exact opposite. Only their individual skills compensated for the tensions running through the group and allow for the possibility of such a misperception. Sariel was not comfortable in any way and spared a moment to wistfully remember the casual camaraderie she had had with Lianderthral when they had traveled alone.
Her options for conversation were limited, in any case. Only Gandalf, Lianderthral, Arwen, and Vanidar responded with any attention when she addressed them; the others treated her as if she were inconsequential. There was nothing between Legolas and herself but frosty anger and it seemed likely to remain that way. Boromir and Gimli had looked at her with obvious mistrust once they had learned the truth about the vial that hung around her neck. She could not blame them for their anger, but it increased her stress. She was not used to being judged.
Left to ride between Arwen and Lianderthral, Sariel kept her eyes on Kaeloriel, who easily kept pace with them and loped just slightly ahead. A little before sunset, she urged Myste ahead, passing the rest while she mentally readied herself as if for combat. However, it was her companions' attention that she demanded when she turned around, holding up her hand to call for a halt. The others reluctantly drew up close to her, their horses still balking at the presence of the wolf even as they sensed that the spirit housed in the body was not like that of their usual foe.
"The mountain you see ahead of us serves as Belderon's fortress. There are countless rooms and halls carved out of the mountain's heart, and tunnels run deep beneath as well. He knows that we are here; we will not be able to surprise him," she began objectively. "I think that some of you begin to wonder why you have traveled so far to this place, to face Belderon." Her words fell into the silence like drops of water absorbed into a lake; no one denied her claim and yet no one offered their own thoughts on the matter. Their reluctance only strengthened her own resolve.
"I hope that you can remember, despite whatever enmity you feel towards me, that it is my sister that I mean to save, no matter the cost. Lessena…" Sariel's throat tightened when she thought of her sister. She looked briefly around to gauge the others' reaction to her words, only to see carefully contained emotions and blank expressions.
"Lessena was only twenty years of age when Belderon came and destroyed our lives. She has been locked away for all the centuries Belderon has kept us, knowing no other world than that of a grey room. There is no window to the outside, no chance that sunlight may enter. It is a prison not only for her body, but also for her mind. She is innocent." Sariel met each of their gazes, telling them what she had not said: however they felt about her, they could not let it affect their desire to help her sister. Whatever guilt she bore for being an assassin did not apply to her sister, who had been a victim her entire life.
"Has she been physically hurt?" Gandalf questioned directly, yet tactfully.
Sariel shook her head in denial. "She is not very strong, and I fear she is weaker now than even before. I do not know what Belderon has done to her as retribution for my failure and I do not know how we can save her, even should she gain release. Belderon will have traps waiting for us, and I suspect he would like nothing better than to kill his intended target—my intended target—himself. He uses me as his weapon, but he prefers to do things himself if he can." She realized what she had said and stopped for a moment, struggling against the acknowledgement of the possibility that she was still Belderon's creature, even now.
"He used me," she corrected herself, an edge to her voice. "But no longer."
"You tell us things about Belderon that we already know," Vanidar said, but softened his censure. "Do you have plans we can consider?"
She took a breath, gaze lowered. "If I go alone, I can slip in and out faster and I have a better chance of saving my sister without anyone becoming hurt. Belderon knows that I am here and waits for me, but there is no need for others to become involved."
Sariel had barely finished speaking before objections came from Lianderthral and Vanidar. Arwen's silence was all the more noticeable and Sariel bit her lip, knowing what it meant. The truth was, it was too late and they all knew it. Because of her, most of them were already involved and had personal reasons for hating Belderon. Arwen was the perfect example of that. She was only afraid that the more they engaged with her former master, the more they would experience loss.
"I mean to help you, Sariel. I did not come with you this far to wait as you face him alone." Lianderthral's expression was so earnest and determined that Sariel found it hard to look away as she wanted to. "You cannot do this alone—if you could have, would you have waited until now to help your sister?"
"I have little left to lose," she replied steadily. "You would only be endangering yourself by helping me. And as I have already proved, such kindness is wasted on me."
"Do not allow your pride to make this unnecessarily difficult, Sariel," Vanidar interjected before Lianderthral could reply. Her one-time childhood friend kept his tone light although the words stung her, as he had known they would.
"It is not pride, but the knowledge of what cruelties Belderon is capable of, and knowledge of my own abilities. I was trained for this, Vanidar." Some bitterness crept into her voice. "Belderon trained me himself. He knew he could always control me through my mother and sister, so he made sure that all my skills matched or surpassed his, to make me all the more efficient."
"There is one skill that you are unprepared to face, however," Gandalf said matter-of-factly. "Your objective may be solely to rescue your sister, and I will help you with that. However, I came to find you for two purposes. First, I had to begin teaching you to control your gifts before they did others harm. Second, I came to defeat Belderon."
She could not argue with Gandalf, but she also wanted to make her priorities clear. "I go tonight only to help Lessena. Once she is out of danger, then we will deal with Belderon."
"Agreed," he responded without hesitation. "I will defer to your plans, Sariel, for now. As you said, you know Belderon best and have the most at stake here."
"Kaeloriel and I will also come," Lianderthral said. "The wolf accompanied us for his own reasons, you must remember. As Gandalf made clear, we will follow your lead."
"No, I cannot have so many with me, Lianderthral. The risk increases with each person." Sariel looked toward the horizon where the sun was sinking and knew they were wasting precious time while they talked. "I cannot see how Kaeloriel can help in Lessena's rescue."
Kaeloriel gave a short growl at that and although Sariel could not understand his exact response, it was answer enough. She stared into the wolf's golden eyes. He had been a mystery from the day he had joined them and was still a mystery now. Why had he come here, leaving his pack without their leader? Why did he tolerate them at all?
"Sariel, think about this logically," Lianderthral argued. "It is true that if it were some other mission, you would work best alone. The chances that you would be able to enter and depart without raising alarm would be higher if you were unaccompanied. However, you said yourself that you do not know what has happened to Lessena since you last saw her. If she is injured, can you escort her out by yourself? And even if it came to a fight, you would not be able to protect her and defend yourself without help. If there are any mishaps, we will at least be there."
Sariel stared into his green eyes, unwilling to admit that he had a point. Remembering Vanidar's earlier remarks about her pride, she nodded shortly to Lianderthral. "All right, but no others." She looked at Vanidar apologetically. "You must see that it would only hinder me and Lessena would not want you to be injured for her sake."
He nodded reluctantly. "We will stay here and wait for your safe return, but when we confront Belderon later, we will do it together."
Sariel risked a look to the side, where Legolas had been standing silently the entire time. "Guard the prince," she warned, speaking mostly to Vanidar and Gimli. It was strange to use the title rather than the name, but that was how things had become. "Belderon is after him and may even let us take Lessena if it meant he could kill Thranduil's heir. All of you will be in as much danger here as we will be inside."
"Look after yourself, Sariel, and we will do the same." Vanidar glanced at Arwen, his thoughts clear to Sariel—Belderon would find her a very attractive hostage as well, if he knew that she was here.
"What do you intend for us to do?" asked Lianderthral. "Belderon already knows you are here and has countless orcs at his disposal. He hides behind his formidable mountain and must only wait until we walk into his trap."
"Belderon does not know when we will strike, or where, or how. He cannot pinpoint where we are. If we time our entrance carefully, I believe we may be able to do this without his knowledge, or at least not until it is too late for him to retaliate."
"When do you suggest we act?" Gandalf's brow was furrowed, as if he already anticipated Sariel's answer.
"Tonight will be our best chance," she replied softly.
"Tonight?" Lianderthral exclaimed. "We cannot be so hasty. You are still tired from travel, Sariel."
She stood up and turned away from them so she would not have to see their expectant expressions. "I fear it will be too late if we wait. Belderon does not need me any longer, you see? He has Aragorn and the orcs. I have already failed to complete my task and he cannot be sure I would not disobey him again, even at the cost of Lessena's well-being. So, it is possible he means only to make me suffer…"
There was little they could say to that. Lianderthral put his hand on her arm, silently conveying his support, though she did not look at him. Out of the corner of her eye, Sariel could see that even Kaeloriel had bristled his dark fur, as if saying, he may try. But whatever suffering Belderon intended for her, Sariel knew that she would not simply take it.
The sun was setting, painting the sky with the ominous hues of fire and darkness, and the quiet was so profound it drowned everything living. In just a few hours, she would deliberately go against someone who had controlled her life for centuries. She had risked disobedience once, and it had ended her mother's life. Did she dare to risk it again?
Sariel wished that she could have known what Lessena wanted, but the sisters had never been close. They were too different; Sariel would have preferred to risk death rather than spend years in the strange twilight of not-death and not-life. Lessena did not have that kind of will or had had no chance to develop it. Belderon's prison was more for the soul than the body, and Sariel could not submit. Her sister, however, had done nothing but submit.
She felt a burden that seemed more absolute than the bare land stripped of greenery around them, a worry greater than any she had ever felt before. But to her surprise, she realized that it was not something that she had to bear alone. The bloody reds and oranges of the sky and the glow of the dying sun bathed all of them in a similar light. Lianderthral still stood by her, and Gandalf's tall, somber figure gave the comfort of wisdom and experience, a strength tested in trials far more critical than this. When she faced them again, fear was still evident in her eyes, but she held her head high.
"Tell me what you want us to do," Lianderthral said to her, and she nodded.
Tempers were short by the time they were finally ready, far later than Sariel had wanted. Nightfall had blanketed the sky with black but the moonlight turned the snow to a gleaming silver-blue, making the trees cast spidery grey shadows. All color had been washed away so that the world existed only in shades of black and white. Those who would remain behind had made a temporary shelter in the forest, although no fire had been started for fear of attracting undue attention.
What little food and water Sariel had consumed sat in a hard lump at the bottom of her stomach and her hands were cold with anticipation. Boromir and Gimli had put aside their doubts about her to genuinely wish her well, but she found it hard to respond to them. She was too wound up to even appreciate their support. Her goodbye to the Arwen had left both of them feeling awkward, the sound of nervous and forced laughter hanging in the air after she promised to be back in time for breakfast. Yet what else could she say?
Then there was Legolas. Her neck seemed to burn with the intensity of his gaze on her as she awkwardly accepted Arwen's embrace. When she stepped back, she was at a loss for what to do.
"Go to him," Arwen told her, as Sariel stood stiffly, trying to ignore how the others found reasons to be looking towards them, clearly waiting to see what would happen. Sensing the reason for Sariel's reluctance, Arwen chastised them all with a quick but steely look, as Sariel's feet moved her automatically toward Myste.
Almost about to mount, her hand hesitated as she checked over the fastening of her saddlebags, remembering what still lay hidden in the folds of her spare cloak. As her hands fumbled for the rose, unusually clumsy, she heard the sounds of Legolas' light footsteps. Her eyes finally fell on the flower, nestled in the cloth and still blooming in its arrested state, the darkness turning its petals nearly black. She turned around and held it in front of her as if it could ward him away.
"Take it," she said, suddenly sure. It was exactly what she needed to do, at least for this one night—she could no longer afford to have what the rose represented, all those ideals of love, faith, loyalty, and peace. Without these, Sariel was once again herself, and the assassin was free to do what was needed. It was freedom of a sort that she feared, for she no longer knew what she was willing to do, but there was a relief in admitting what they all knew: that there was a part of her, the darkest part, that was more comfortable with destruction than with hope. She did not want to pretend otherwise. If nothing else, Belderon had always been fond of brutal honesty, but Sariel had locked herself away in a cage of her own making, and now had set herself free.
She looked at Legolas without guilt. She offered him the rose knowing exactly what she had done to him, but accepting it as something she would do again, if forced to. Whatever he thought of her, she had done the best that she could. Whatever he thought of her, she had done the best that she could. Whether she had meant to stab him or not that night, or what could have happened if he had not woken up at that particular moment as she stood in front of him…all that was irrelevant, in a way, in this particular moment.
"I do not want this, Sariel," he said angrily, pushing her hand away. Even when she reached out and grabbed his hand, he refused to hold it, so she brutally forced her hand over his so that his fingers curled around the stem. He made a sound of protest and then she looked down to see the blood welling up in little beads that dotted his palm.
"Take it," she insisted again. "Hold it for me until I come to take it back." Sariel stepped back, but this time it was Legolas whose free hand shot out and clasped her hand almost desperately.
"How can you be so sure you will come back?"
She stayed silent, the two of them motionless for many heartbeats. She searched his expression, but it was unreadable; his face was pale in the moonlight and his eyes were bright like gems and seemingly just as cold. In contrast, his hand was shockingly warm and all too real. She craved the connection between them, even this sudden and nearly palpable tension, but forced herself to finally draw away.
"I have to, don't I?" she said, looking straight into his eyes and watching as a wary understanding filled his face before it was once again stoic.
After all, justice could only be deferred, never completely eluded. In the clarity of the moment, they both understood that she would still have to pay, sooner or later. Time would catch up to her, precisely because she had all of time to face—death was not an option available for her, as it was for humans. It was too easy of a way out for what she had done. She could be the assassin now, but at the same time, she was changing, and while the wrongs that naïve children do may sometimes be forgiven or punished lightly, children grew up eventually and were no longer naïve.
"It is still mine," she told him, looking at the rose he now held carefully. She had given it to him, but it was still her blood-stained rose. It could have been Arwen holding the rose, or Vanidar, or any of the others—but it had to be Legolas, because he was the one who had been hurt most, and the one who had hurt her most as a result of her own actions. Whatever else he meant to her, he was the keeper of justice for her.
"Then I accept." There was an edge to his voice and the taste of bitterness to his words, but she was glad that it was there. It meant that they both understood.
Sariel turned away and walked calmly up to where Lianderthral and Gandalf were waiting, each having finished their own farewells. Looking back once to where Legolas still stood a little ways off, watching her, she knew that what lay ahead was merely what needed to be done. It settled her nerves and the last of her earlier anxieties faded when she thought about the exchange.
As one, the three of them walked into the woods, disappearing swiftly as Gandalf's white, Lianderthral's grey, and Sariel's silver-dusted black was lost amongst the trees. The only trace of their presence was their footprints on the snow, but even these were faint, quickly lost in the swirl of newly fallen snowflakes.
It had begun to snow again, a snow that fell silently and gently, as if doing its best to create a more beautiful white world.
Although Sariel was familiar with the area and could lead the way, it still took some time for them to find their way to the fortress. Belderon's chosen dominion was part of a mountain, a citadel half formed from natural caves, merged with parts of his own creation. Sariel had explored many of the natural passages and had found ways in and out of the mountain of which even Belderon was not fully aware. Some were constantly becoming blocked, even as other, older tunnels opened up. It was hard to locate the openings in the dark and it took Sariel two more tries before she found a passageway that could be used, but at last they all disappeared into the mountain.
The absence of guards surprised Sariel, but based on what she knew from before and observed now, it was clear that Belderon had made the breeding grounds of the orcs on the other side of the mountain. Still, it was not like Belderon to overlook any detail and it seemed too much like he was deliberately taunting them, asserting his power by making it a faceless entity.
Once inside, she stopped before they ventured deeper. "It would be better if you stayed here," she told Gandalf and Lianderthral in a low voice. "Do not risk your life for this. I do this for Lessena, but you have no obligation to her."
"Yet we have one to you, Sariel." Lianderthral's voice was casual, but she had argued with him enough to know that he would not change his mind. "You will not face him alone."
She had to at least try, after what she had seen and Belderon's seeming lack of security measures. "I think he is waiting for me and knows exactly where we are, even what we will do. Belderon has never been foolish and his greatest talent is to read the fault lines in a person's soul. We have underestimated him."
"Perhaps he has overestimated his own abilities," Gandalf countered. "If he is able to see weaknesses, perhaps he should have devoted some time to also examining a person's strengths. He underestimated you, Sariel."
"The longer we spend here as you try to persuade us to turn back, the greater the chance that Belderon will be ready for us," Lianderthral added. "Lead the way."
She did as she was told, feeling helpless to protect them and not even understanding why she was trying to refuse the help that could save her sister's life. She only knew that she could no longer do it—she could no longer justify trading one life for another. Before, there had only been Lessena and her mother, but now, she realized with a sinking feeling that Lianderthral meant more to her, or at least just as much, as they. How had that come about? How was it possible?
It was dark and damp inside and Sariel had only been down the passage once, for fear that it would come to Belderon's attention. It was strange; over the centuries, she had always imagined that one day she would use this to escape from inside the mountain. Over and over, each day she had thought of another scenario, another possibility for freedom. Yet never had she imagined that she would be willingly entering into the heart of Belderon's fortress from the outside.
The passage was so small and cramped that they went one at a time, crouching down to nearly half their height and sometimes forced to crawl. Other times, there was barely enough space for them to squeeze through. The only one who did not need to struggle was Kaeloriel, who brought up the rear. For all of them alike, the constant sound of dripping water wore away at their nerves until it seemed unbearable for them to stay another moment in the threatening darkness. Again and again, Sariel fought back panic, no longer sure if she was even leading them in the right way.
Perhaps Belderon would not even need to kill them. Should they become trapped or lost in the hundreds of dead-end tunnels, the mountain itself would take care of them. Frequent, strong, chilly gusts of wind made the warren-like spaces echo cacophonously. Time seemed suspended as they crawled, so slowly that it seemed that they were going in circles whenever they came to another juncture that looked exactly like the one they had just passed. The longer it took, the more Sariel wondered if something had happened since she had found the tunnel. It was possible that it had become blocked inside the mountain.
Gradually, however, it seemed as if they had begun to ascend. The air smelled less of decay and still water, as if it had begun to mingle with another, fresher source. Like half-blind mice, the three of them came to a slightly bigger pocket in the stone, enough for them to stand side to side.
Lianderthral stifled a despairing cry at the sight that confronted them: smooth, stone walls. They had come to a dead end.
But Sariel finally knew where they were. She had come to the same dead end before and they now retraced their steps for a short while before making a different turn. When they came upon the unused chamber, it was a sudden discovery.
The relief that Lianderthral and Gandalf felt when they stood tall and breathed in the fresher air was blatant to Sariel. She, on the other hand, had expected such difficulties but also relaxed a little at seeing the sparse, covered furniture. In the dim glow of Gandalf's light, they looked skeletal and ghostly, but they were also familiar.
"Be alert for guards," she told Lianderthral and Gandalf, barely before they made a sharp turn and nearly collided full-on with an orc. Kaeloriel had growled a warning, but none of them had reacted until it was too late. There was a moment of surprise from both sides and the orc opened his mouth to cry out. In the same instant, Sariel realized he was not wearing armor. Her knife flashed up to the exposed throat and dark, viscous blood sprayed over them, splattering onto the walls. Quickly, Lianderthral moved forward to catch the orc, struggling to slowly lower its mass down to the floor to minimize the sound of a falling body.
"Hurry," Sariel urged her companions when they seemed about to hide the body in one of the side chambers. "Leave it. If Belderon had any sort of tie with the creature, it may be that he knows exactly where we are. He is expecting us to come sooner or later and although I doubt he expected us to act so quickly once we arrived, he has the advantage over us. Lessena is still a hostage and I believe that he is willing to use her."
"How do you know where he is keeping her?" Lianderthral asked.
She shook her head. "Given what we have seen so far, I am sure he has not moved her. Belderon will have assigned more guards, but since he has always kept her and my mother in the most secure place, there would be no better alternative."
With no further talk, they continued to follow Sariel, occasionally encountering pairs of guards and overwhelming them before any cry of alarm could alert the others to their intrusion. As Sariel had feared, it seemed that Belderon had prepared in advance for her, even if he did not expect others to be helping. If she had entered the mountain alone, she would have been overwhelmed.
"Belderon has the only key," she finally confessed to Gandalf, Lianderthral, and the waiting wolf when they stood outside of Lessena's room. Despite her words, she reached out for the doorknob, resting her hand on it for a brief moment before she tried turning it. As she had expected, it turned easily, and without letting go, she looked over her shoulder at Gandalf.
"He has left it unlocked for a reason. Stay outside and secure this doorway while I go in. There is only one way in and out of the room, so if he traps all three of us in there, it will go badly."
"Sariel, you know that means he must be waiting inside," Lianderthral hissed, trying to stop her before she opened the door. "Don't be foolish!"
"I knew that before I came," she replied. "What other way is there?"
"Then remember that tonight your only objective should be to bring out Lessena," Gandalf interrupted sharply. "Engage him only in defense."
"And if she walks in there and Belderon has a knife to Lessena's throat?" Lianderthral asked, directing his question to Gandalf rather than Sariel, as if he knew the futility of trying to reason with her.
Before either of them could say more, Sariel pushed against the heavy door with all of her weight and almost stumbled into the room. In a few moments, her eyes had adjusted to the partial darkness.
The room seemed empty and for a moment she wondered if she had been completely wrong about Belderon's intentions. However, a single fat white candle was burning on the table and as she went further into the room, her eyes sought out the shape of the bed. The weak, flickering light illuminated a white shape, but it was not until she drew nearer that she realized what it was.
Relief rushed through her in a sweet flood, replacing the numbness that had seized her ever since she had entered the mountain citadel. There were no immediate signs of abuse or injury, although on a closer look, Sariel could see the dark bruises that seemed to have always been on Lessena's pale skin, even more noticeable since Lessena was wearing a sleeveless white shift. Drawing the sheets back further, Sariel could see that Lessena's hands were bound together with chains so delicate that they could easily have been mistaken for jewelry. Each thin wrist was wrapped with metallic strands no thicker than a hair, but Sariel knew from experience that they were unbreakable. Whatever power that had gone into the chains made them most likely indestructible, but she hoped that this time she could counter power with power.
"Lessena," Sariel called, putting her hand on her sister's shoulder and gently shaking, holding her breath in fear. Wake up, she mentally chanted.
Ash-colored lashes flickered briefly before Lessena woke. Too relieved to find her sister still breathing, Sariel was oblivious to her panicked expression until a shadow that briefly blocked the candlelight made her turn.
Belderon was sitting at the table, smiling pleasantly at her. "So, my pet. You have deigned to visit your master again. Are you ready to come back to me?"
Never, she wanted to say with all the defiance she felt, but she was motionless, wordless.
"I did not think so," Belderon continued, as if musing to himself. His eyes studied her intently, the almost colorless irises striking in his handsome face, and Sariel remembered how it felt like to be under the gaze of the oldest Elves. Like Galadriel, Belderon seemed to look through her rather than at her. "Yes, you have ever tried to escape, my little nightingale. When will you accept that it is futile to try?"
His voice slid over her silkily and full of reason. It was like last time, and the time before, and the time before that. It was like every time she had tried to run from him, only to face the powerful web of his rhetoric. Sariel looked at him, fear turning her mind blank.
"You are bound to me by ties of blood," he reminded her, ever so gently as if wishing to spare her despair. "There is no place on this earth where you will be free of me, any more than there is any way you can live without the blood in your veins."
Unable to think, Sariel reacted instinctively, her body responding to Belderon's provocations as she picked up Lessena with all her strength and ran for the door. Her sister was disturbingly light, hardly weighing more than a child, but the additional burden still slowed Sariel down.
Something hissed through the air and Lessena let out an anguished cry. Lianderthral burst through the doorway just as Sariel reached it, catching her when she stumbled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a glittering chain slice through the air again, the sound prompting Lianderthral to instinctively raise his arm to protect them from the striking object.
"No!" she cried out, but too late. The chain wrapped around his upraised arm instead of Lessena's neck and snapped tight. It was of the same material as the bindings on Lessena's wrists, so thin that at such a high speed, it cut straight into the flesh. Lianderthral let out a cry as Belderon jerked hard on the other end of the chain, tightening it around his arm like a garrote. A thin line of red appeared briefly before more blood gushed out as Sariel watched in horror, knowing that the cut tendons and muscle might never heal properly.
That was provided that they got away at all, of course.
Looking at Belderon, a blinding anger filled Sariel, so strong it made her head ache with pressure. Her heart pounded as she felt the power rush through her as if she had drawn it out of the stone walls around her, and somehow, she knew that this old, hollow mountain had once been full of fire and molten rock. For a moment all she could see were flames, bright and beautiful, the red and orange streaming together in a searing display that hurt to look at. She saw burnished golds and glowing metal; she watched as the black spots of impurities disappeared.
"Sariel!" Lessena's voice in her ear drew her back to reality, the images replaced with the sight of Belderon surrounded by a fire that burned solely from stone. Seeing the chain that he still held, Sariel imagined it as it must have been when first created—liquid and white-hot silver. The chain could not be severed, but under the focus of Sariel's intent, a part of it melted away, breaking the connection between the two Elves. Through the flickering flames, she heard the clash of sword blades and realized that Gandalf had engaged Belderon, giving them a chance to retreat.
Lessena was standing unsteadily on her own feet now, leaning heavily on her, and Sariel's eyes flickered desperately between her sister, Lianderthral, and the fighting. Even wounded as badly as he was, Lianderthral was helping Gandalf distract Belderon, throwing his unique powers into the fight. With her hands and feet bound, Lessena could not run, but try as she might, Sariel could not duplicate what she had done to melt the chains. Although she was strong enough to carry Lessena part of the way, they would never make it out before Belderon's guards caught them. The only reason why they had not come rushing to their master's aid was that Belderon must have given orders to be left alone with Lessena. That, and she could hear Kaeloriel outside of the room fighting with tooth and claw.
Seeing Sariel's hesitation and comprehending the reason for it, Lessena weakly pushed her sister away. "Leave me," she said. "Go while you can!"
"I came for you," Sariel told her as they stumbled down the corridor together, but as they neared the turn, she looked back to where Gandalf and Lianderthral were still deflecting Belderon's attacks. It looked like even with two against one, they were having a hard time.
"Sariel, help them," Lessena cried, suddenly pushing Sariel toward the trio, far more strongly than her last attempt. "Do you want them to die because of us?"
Seeing the fear in Lessena's face, Sariel understood that even in a moment as crucial as this, Lessena was not actually afraid of losing her own life. She had planned this rescue believing that Lessena was like herself, that she would seize the chance to escape and accept the costs, whatever they would turn out to be. But ultimately, they were too different. Lessena could not put herself above others, as Sariel could. Ultimately, she was unwilling to value her own life more than others, as her colder sister had chosen.
"We have to lock Belderon in the room," Lessena said, determination making her voice strong. "It is the only place that can hold him long enough for you to leave."
Sariel stared at her, realizing that she was right. Even now, Belderon was fighting with Lianderthral and Gandalf on the threshold of the room. It was the most secure place in the entire mountain and although Belderon would undoubtedly be able to free himself, it would not be easy even for him. Sariel had studied the room for years, looking for flaws in its layout and hoping that one day Lorianiel and Lessena would be able to leave.
"Stay here, Lessena," she said abruptly, squeezing her sister's hands one last time before turning and running down the corridor to the fighting.
"Ah, I see. You are Mithrandir," Belderon was saying with an ugly sneer. "How have I deserved the honor of your attention?"
It was the last thing he said for several minutes as Sariel attacked. One-on-one, she knew herself to be inferior to Belderon, but with Gandalf and Lianderthral to either side of her, the three of them were too much for Belderon alone. Still, he had obviously put safeguards in place should the situation get out of hand. There was no shout, no angry orders, but suddenly, several guards poured out from both sides of the corridor, trapping them in the middle.
Their united attack broken, Sariel found herself deflecting not Belderon's sword, but that of an orc's. Lessena must have been taken again. Feeling the sudden surge of despair, she blocked, straining to hold the sword in the correct position with a one-handed grip as her left hand reached down to her waist to draw her knife. With vicious force, she jabbed upward into the vulnerable hollow of the orc's throat, feeling a satisfying warm gush of liquid.
"Sariel!" Lessena screamed. Instantly responding to her sister's warning, Sariel dropped to a crouch while turning, narrowly missing a blow from an axe. Even as she rose again to take care of her new opponent, she knew that the longer they spent here, the smaller their chances of ever getting out. More guards would rally and block off all escape routes.
Contrary to what she expected, Lessena had not been held by the guards. Instead, Sariel saw a blur of white as her sister ran through the cluster of fighting—toward Belderon.
Too late, Sariel realized what was going on. "NO! Lessena, stop!"
But her sister had already thrown herself at Belderon, who barely drew back his sword in time to narrowly avoid giving her a fatal blow. Caught by surprise by Lessena's unexpected move, the two of them crashed to the ground inside the room.
Distracted by what was happening, the orc she was fighting managed to score a shallow slice across Sariel's collarbone. She gritted her teeth against the instant trail of pain and focused her attention again. It only took three more moves before she left the guard on the ground, not yet dead but fatally wounded.
Just as she looked back toward the room, she saw the heavy door swing shut with a massive clang!, causing the stone corridor to reverberate. A quick glance told Sariel everything she needed to know: Gandalf and Lianderthral were still fighting over the latest group of attackers, but Lessena was nowhere in sight.
"LESSENA!" Her cry was too little, too late. Her sister had locked Belderon in the prison as they had intended, but she had locked herself in as well!
The frustration and anguish made Sariel sink to her knees as she stared at the closed door in disbelief and wondered what was happening on the other side. Was Lessena even alive after Belderon understood the trick she had played?
She had thought that the sudden silence in the corridor after the door closed was a product of her imagination, but when it continued, Sariel looked around dazedly, taking in bodies that littered the ground and the figures of Lianderthral and Gandalf, both covered with blood, the dark liquid still dripping off their weapons. Kaeloriel was there too, muzzle stained with orc blood.
"She chose to do it," Lianderthral said in way of explanation, grimacing as he attempted to quickly wrap a length of cloth around his left arm with his right. His face was pale from blood loss and his arm looked like a red ruin, but all Sariel could think was, why didn't any of us stop her?
He put a consoling hand to her shoulder and for a moment, Sariel wanted to just shrug it off. Instead, his light touch as he tugged at her elbow, clearly wanting her to get up, unexpectedly made tears come to her eyes. Astonished at herself, Sariel hurriedly wiped them away.
"We have to go, Sariel," Lianderthral murmured. "Show us the way." Gandalf was already striding down the corridor when Sariel stood up, unable to believe that they had come so close. She had even held Lessena in her arms, had discovered a way to break the metal threads that Belderon used as chains, and they had still lost.
"Sariel!" Gandalf's voice was sharp and commanding, in marked contrast to Lianderthral's gentle tone. "Quickly, before other guards come. Lead us out."
She walked past the door numbly, unable to even look at the metal barricade that separated her from her sister. No sound could be heard from inside the room, but that likely only meant that Lessena was unconscious or dead. Desperation welled in her and she thought again of fire. If she could only melt away the barrier or do something to release the fury she felt—but instead, she was helpless, hopeless. Even if she found a way to release her sister, she would have to face the monster again, and they had already discovered that they were no match for him.
They had waited too long. Another group of eight orcs marched into one end of the corridor, looking more as though they had been patrolling rather than explicitly called to come fight. Besides the door, Sariel hesitated, hands reaching out to feel the smooth metal beneath—she tried to summon up the feeling she had experienced earlier, as if the mountain were whispering to her its secrets. It was no use.
Gandalf and Lianderthral had already begun to fight, but they were too badly outnumbered and already tired and wounded. Lianderthral's movements were no longer graceful, each sweep of his sword cut short as he gasped for breath, clearly fighting against agonizing pain. Looking at him, Sariel felt such a strong mixture of emotions that for a moment, the metal beneath her hands heated and seemed ready to yield. Before she could test the barrier, Gandalf grabbed her arm and wrenched her away from the door.
"Sariel, come! We have to leave her," Gandalf roared above the clash of weaponry. The only thing that was saving them was that the corridor was narrow, so the orcs could only come at them in pairs. As the two in front went down, they temporarily entangled those behind them.
She took a deep breath and began to run, choosing the right twists and turns from memory as Lianderthral and Gandalf followed, Kaeloriel training behind. Still, they had almost been overtaken when Lianderthral grabbed her hand. "Remember what I taught you? We must cut them off with air."
They had practiced this many times before. Without even thinking, Sariel summoned Air as Lianderthral had taught her to, staring into his eyes as she did so. Her control was not strong enough and she could not concentrate fully, but she felt Lianderthral behind her, physically and mentally bolstering her. The wild gust they raised effortlessly pushed the orcs behind them to the ground.
The exit was not too far ahead now, but the door was clearly locked. Gandalf reached out with his staff in his hand and dealt it a crushing blow. It blew outwards in an explosion of wooden fragments and the three of them ran out. The forest area immediately around the mountain was more familiar to Sariel than any other place could have been, and she led them swiftly away.
She was shaking, but whether from exhaustion or excitement, she could not tell. Gandalf appeared largely uninjured and although she had been slashed across her collarbone, it was a surface wound. Only Lianderthral had suffered the worst of it, especially since he had been defending her when she had stopped in front of the door, paying no attention whatsoever to the danger around her. Seeing how he had been hurt because of her, Sariel felt mingled pain and anger because she finally understood why Lessena had locked herself away with Belderon.
Sariel had always seen Lessena as weaker than her, but her sister was braver in some ways. Lessena was not afraid of death. She had always seen herself in relation to other people, while Sariel always tried to believe that she was independent because it justified her choice to put her own life before the lives of others. Again and again, Sariel had asked herself why she should care about the welfare of strangers.
But now, looking at the dark bloodstains on Lianderthral's clothes and the way he tried to act nonchalant to cover up the pain, Sariel understood that there were some things not worth sacrificing for freedom.
They wandered in circles around the actual campsite until they were sure that not even the most skilled trackers would be able to find them. Lianderthral was becoming faint with blood loss and Sariel knew that the three of them had truly reached the limits of their strength.
As soon as they arrived, they were greeted by Vanidar, who had been waiting precisely for their return. It was painfully apparent to all that nothing good had actually come of their attempt; three had gone forth and only three had come back—and they were hurt.
"What do you need?" Vanidar quickly asked. Sariel helped Lianderthral lower himself to the ground while Vanidar examined the chain embedded in his arm. Most of it could not be seen since it was deep inside his flesh, tightened around the bone of his upper arm, but Vanidar could deduce what had happened when he saw the remnants of the thin wire.
"I am not badly wounded and Gandalf likewise, but Lianderthral took the brunt of it. How is it?" she asked softly. Lianderthral had closed his eyes and was as white as the snow. She doubted that it was simply a symptom of shock.
Vanidar looked up. "I have never encountered anything like this chain. I do not know how to remove it."
"It cannot be broken by any ordinary means," Sariel told him. "Before today, I thought that there was no way of removing such a chain at all."
She was used to the sight and smell of blood, used to seeing things far worse than the way Lianderthral's flesh had been cut to the bone, yet she almost felt queasy now at the thought of severed tendons and muscles. This, more than anything, told her how much she had changed and softened during her time at Lothlórien, and how much she truly cared for him. The only thing that slightly comforted her was the thought that it had not been his sword arm.
"We have to remove the chain as quickly as possible," she said. "It may have been coated in poison."
"Then we will have to cleanse the wound first and to do that we will need a fire." Vanidar looked at her questioningly, but Sariel hardly noticed that he was putting her into a leadership position.
"A small one. We cannot risk attracting attention."
The snow melted slowly over the tiny fire and all the time Sariel watched Lianderthral with growing concern. For the first time since she had left Lothlórien, she regretted that the Elves there had taken away her collection of medicines and herbs that would have allowed her to check for poison—or to administer it.
"Will cauterizing the wound cause further damage?" Sariel asked Vanidar in a low voice as they waited. "I think I know how to break the chain, but it would require melting the metal."
"I do not see any other alternative," Vanidar admitted. "It will be very painful and it is difficult to tell how much permanent damage will come from this."
Lianderthral awoke with a small cry of pain when Vanidar cut through the makeshift bandages and began to wash the wound. While Sariel knelt next to him and held his hand in sympathy—and not a little guilt—he focused on her with difficulty.
"It is poison," he muttered. "I have not yet taught you this, but perhaps you can sense it. If you recognize it…"
"I—" Sariel began uncertainly, and then cut herself off. "How can I tell?"
"Follow the movement of the blood," he tried to explain, but Vanidar had given him an analgesic and while he seemed more comfortable now that something was working against the pain, he was also clearly becoming disoriented. No one knew what he meant, but Sariel had to try anyway.
She closed her eyes as she held his hand, trying to calm herself with the thought of steady, strongly flowing water. It took a long time for her thoughts to be focused. Each time she felt as if she had somehow made a connection, slipping under Lianderthral's skin for a moment, she was distracted by a newfound worry. Without guidance, she was trying everything and achieving nothing. It was a while before she even remembered to repeat the earliest exercises Lianderthral had given her.
Sinking into an almost meditative state, she gradually became almost as aware of his body as of her own. It started as a small ache and then grew into an acute, penetrating pain despite the local anesthetics that they had applied. Lianderthral himself seemed to be sleeping, but it was only an effect of the sedation. She could feel how hard it was for his body to function, as if something were slowing everything down, blocking the natural flow of blood. Whenever she tried to think of the injury itself, she found herself slipping out of rapport she had found with him.
She was not sure what she was doing, but she could not afford to waste time questioning why it was possible. Instead, Sariel let herself be drawn closer to him, matching him breath for breath, heartbeat for heartbeat. Lianderthral had told her about following the movement of blood, not it itself a logical thing to say, but she understood it now—it was the essence of life, and the essence of blood was water.
Opening her eyes, Sariel detached herself with a gasp. The loss of that inexplicable connection was hard to take but she was relieved by what she had found.
"It is not fatal," she told them, watching as the tense faces before her transformed. "I know what it is, but I will have to search for the antidote. For now, we must take the chain off. The longer it stays on, the more poison his body will have to fight."
"Then we must try melting the chain as you said before. It is encircled around his bone tightly, but we may be able to loosen it enough that you can break it without harming him further…but any attempts to do so will cause a great deal of pain."
"He still feels it," Sariel remembered. "Even with what you have given him."
"It would be dangerous to give him more," he explained, "especially because I do not know how it will react with the poison already in his body."
Vanidar drew a deep breath and asked Sariel to hand him her dagger. He knelt on the other side of Lianderthral, so Sariel was unable to see exactly what he did, but the tip of the dagger had disappeared into Lianderthral's arm and she could tell that it was probing for the chain. Lianderthral's entire body tensed, although thankfully he remained mostly unconscious. Sariel could do no more than hold his hand.
"He did it to save Lessena's life," she murmured as she brushed a lock of hair back from Lianderthral's forehead. "Belderon intended for it to go around her neck."
Vanidar caught her eye and shook his head in disagreement. "For you," he stated simply, and the dagger glinted when it moved. Sariel focused at the same time, imagining a pinpoint of power so intense and white-hot that it could melt the chain.
Lianderthral cried out, as did Sariel—blood was everywhere, but their efforts together had made the chain loose enough that Vanidar could now pull it off. It was a reddish thing until he dropped it into the water, and then it glittered silver again when it emerged, although the basin was completely red. The sickening smell of burned flesh filled the air and Sariel turned away, fighting not to be sick when her stomach tried to rebel. She had probably done even more muscle and nerve damage in melting the chain, but there had been no alternative.
Silently Vanidar worked to cleanse the wound, skilled hands doing their best to minimize the damage. "I can do the rest," he said to Sariel. "But we must have the antidote."
"Will he be all right?" The tone of her voice pleaded for Vanidar to give a positive answer, but when he looked at her, his expression was somber.
"For now, we can only keep him warm. The drugs I gave him will make his thoughts wander, but it is the only way to ease his pain. He has lost a lot of blood and if his condition worsens, there is little we can actually do. The true extent of his injury will not be known for some time."
"The herb that Belderon used is rare in this forest; he knows better than to use a poison that can be easily cured. I may be gone for a long time. If need be, you must all move to another place. It will not be too difficult for me to find you again." Sariel rose to her feet, her eyes still on Lianderthral.
"Hurry," Vanidar said, already bent over his patient again. "I have every faith in you, Sariel. Help me heal him."
"He was only hurt because of me," she said bitterly.
She turned away quickly, just in time to hide the tear that slipped down her cheek. Sariel closed her eyes and tried to steady herself, to push all emotions away and focus only on the task before her, which was more important at this moment than anything else. She did not have the luxury of bitterness or self-pity, or even that of guilt. She saw the faces of her companions without actually registering them in her mind—all except the last.
She looked at his face for a moment without meeting his eyes, simply taking in the high cheekbones and the smooth Elven features free of emotion. The two of them were as alike as brothers in appearance and she had grown too close to both of them, largely through her own carelessness. Now they had something else in common.
After all, she could not ignore the sharp ache in her heart that reminded her that Lianderthral was not the first person she had hurt so badly.
A/N: As always, please review! Thanks – E.D.
Finalized January 2009
