Chapter title: The Old Fortress
Author's notes: This update took much longer than expected. I apologize for the wait, but life has been... bat-shit crazy over the past few months. Things are somewhat back to normal, though, so yay. ^_^
Perhaps this is a nice opportunity to say that I'm not going to discontinue this story, even if updates become scarce whenever life tends to be like... you know, life. I've had this story in my head for the past ten years and now I'm finally putting it down to paper (...and screen, I guess). I haven't given up on it after all these years, and I sure ain't gonna give up on it now. I have it all planned out, after all.
Okay then, new chapter! Enjoy and, as always, let me know what you think! Reviews are the best fuel for a writer. :D
At the sound of the word, Maeloth's blood started rushing. She did not wait to hear more. She did not care about the report Ninrieth was giving to prince Legolas; she did not care about the details at all. She only wanted one thing: wipe the Orcs out. No matter their number, their position or the distance. She just wanted to drive her sword through each and every one of them.
She sprang to her feet and drew her sword, as all her thoughts were narrowed down to two images dominating her mind. One was that of Orcs roaming around and laying desolation to the very streets that she was standing in, while the other was the image of her own vengeful blade slicing through their rotten skin. She could almost see their gleeful eyes dim before her, their blood drenching the ground until no dry spot of earth remains.
She had noticed Ninrieth point to some place south-west and that was where she headed to - or, at least, that was where she tried to go. She barely managed to take a couple of steps before a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her and immobilized her despite her will.
"Let me go!", she shouted wildly, trying to fight her way out of the firm grip while her eyes remained fixed on that patch of trees that was her destination.
"No, Maeloth!", a voice breathed in her ear, warm and strong just like the hands that were holding her.
She turned around to find herself glowering straight into Morfindir's eyes.
"Let me go", she repeated, a mad hint of menace in her voice.
"No, Maeloth! Think!", he said, shaking her as if trying to bring her back to her senses. "Is this what you really want?"
"Yes! Now let me go!", she shouted in his face.
"Try to think clearly!", he insisted, raising his voice, too. "What will you achieve this way?"
"I don't know- I don't care- Let me-"
"No!", he shouted back, his velvety voice turning rough. "Remember what I told you, what I warned you about a few days earlier! This is not the solution you are looking for, this is no-"
"I don't care!", she screamed at the top of her voice, pain shredding at her throat. "I will kill them all, I swear! I will rip them apart! I will make them pay, I will-"
"Enough!"
Prince Legolas' voice cut through their quarrel, his figure following shortly after as he approached them and planted himself in front of Maeloth. He deliberately stood between her and the south edge of the clearing, blocking her view of her objective and forcing her to look at his stern face instead.
"Lady Maeloth, pull yourself together! You are not allowed to do anything that might put our lives in danger - or yours, for that matter - nor anything that might risk giving away our position to the enemy". He was not shouting, but she was under the impression that his voice was louder than what Morfindir's and hers had been. She found herself cowering despite her will, the struggle for freedom forgotten momentarily. "Releasing you from our command is out of the question, but if you feel that you can't continue, I will arrange an escort back. It is either that, or composing yourself and seeing this mission through. In any case, I will not allow you to take a single step further if I feel that you are a threat to this mission in any way. Am I clear?"
His voice rang past the sound of blood rushing in her ears, piercing through her rage and the mess that were her thoughts to some spot deeper. Maeloth shied from his hard gaze and lowered her eyes to the ground, sudden embarrassment quenching her anger. Arrange an escort back... Had she really reached that point where she had to be sent back, disgraced and humiliated and utterly useless once more? Was that the only option left to her?
Her hands - no, her whole body - still quaked from the rage that burnt in each of her veins, making her muscles tighten so much that she could almost feel them hurt her bones. Rage and hatred and pain - so much pain...
A sudden thought of Belegorn streaked her mind. She pictured herself going back to him, broken and defeated, with the embarrassment of having to be relieved from her duties pressing heavily down on her shoulders.
He didn't want her to go south because it would be too dangerous. Because he thought she couldn't take it. And now she would go back and prove him right.
She couldn't allow this to happen. She couldn't allow herself to be this weak. Not again, and definitely not in this place again. She couldn't crawl back like a dog with its tail between its legs, looking for a cozy hug to drive away her fears. She was stronger than that. And if she wasn't, then she would hardly mattered, since the outcome would be the same. She would see this mission to its end, no matter what.
"There will be no need for an escort back, my lord", she mumbled, eyes still downcast.
She focused on the prince's thin shoes, hardly sinking in the ash, and didn't let her gaze stray further than that. She didn't want to direct it to the charred frames of buildings or the pile of corpses again. If this place was this bad for her - if it was driving her this weak - then she simply would not cast another glance on it. She would leave that ash-covered clearing with her eyes closed, if she had to. Anything to see this mission to its end. Anything to not be brought to her knees again.
"I am sorry for my outburst. I assure you, I am back to my senses. I will not cause any more trouble". She tried to keep her voice blank and curled her fists tightly to not let the tremble of her still-lingering rage betray her.
She could feel the prince's gaze nailed on her in suspicion - and, perhaps, distrust - so she took a deep breath and lifted her eyes, hoping that a bit of eye contact would be more persuasive than her bent head.
"I am sorry, my lord", she said again, and she almost meant it this time. Another kind of embarrassment had set in; one that stemmed from being part of a select few to follow their prince to this mission and not managing to live up to it. She hated herself for betraying his trust. And she hated herself for betraying Morfindir's trust.
She mostly saw than heard the sigh Legolas left, saw the movement of his chest before he spoke. "Do not apologize for your feelings. However, I have to ensure the success of this mission and the safety of everyone involved. So I have to make a few things clear before we go on. If you disobey any order, or if I deem you incapable of following this mission, I will have to send you back".
Incapable of following. Maeloth cringed. "Yes, my lord".
He sighed again and directed his gaze to Morfindir over Maeloth's shoulder. "We leave in five minutes". With that he left them, returning to Ninrieth's side to resume discussing the details of their next step.
Maeloth turned to Morfindir, wanting to apologize to him too, but the words drowned in her throat when she met his dark eyes. She settled for an apologetic look instead, hoping that it would be enough to convey her feelings. She knew, however, that if she were in his shoes, that would not be enough to re-establish her lost trust in her.
After a long, hard look, Morfindir's features softened. "It would be stupid to ask if you are feeling better, but are you sure you're still up to this?"
Maeloth nodded feverishly. "Yes. I want to go on. I have to see it through, captain".
"There's no need to push yourself any more than you can take-"
"I can take this. I can". She almost growled the word. She vaguely noticed the background of burnt houses past Morfindir's head and shut her eyes. Hoping that her next words wouldn't make her sound too weak, she said: "I just... I have to leave this place".
A rustle of fabric told her that Morfindir had nodded. "All right". She felt his hand on her shoulder. She dared open her eyes a few inches, just enough for her field of vision to be filled with Morfindir's green uniform and black hair and black, soft eyes. "Let's get you out of here, then".
She let him lead her to where the rest of their group stood, while steadily keeping her eyes around Morfindir's heels. She kept her gaze downcast even as the rest discussed their options and their course of action, trying to concentrate on their voices rather than the sight behind her back.
"So, we follow the Orcs as stealthily as possible to see if they are, indeed, headed to the fortress of Amon Lanc", prince Legolas was saying. "Last time we didn't manage to approach the area, but this could be our chance. We follow them, we stay low and we slip through along with them. We will not engage with them unless I give a direct order to do so". With that, he eyed Maeloth in a - quite unnecessary - effort to point out that this comment was meant for her. She forced herself to return his gaze and nod, trying to gain back even a shred of her lost reliability before hastily focusing on the ground again.
Thankfully, they did not linger in that place much longer. It seemed that none of them wanted to stay there for more than was absolutely necessary, so they soon filed out of the burnt-down clearing with Ninrieth leading the way to the south.
Maeloth lifted her head only when the shadow of the trees covered them once more and grass became visible under the gradually thinning layer of ash. She found herself able to breathe again as the smell of rot and smoke abated. The air was still thick and repulsive with that new, undefinable quality of the south but, even so, Maeloth took several deep, relieved inhales, just to wash away the smell of ash from her nostrils.
It was not long before they heard rough voices and the clanking of tens of armored feet ahead of them. The party halted at Legolas' raised hand and, following his indication, they climbed on the trees. Safely hidden in the foliage, the Elves jumped from branch to branch like seven green shadows in the leaves, several feet above the ground. They stopped when the deemed they were at a safe distance and waited for the Orcs to march past them.
The band was comprised of about sixty Orcs, all armed and armored and looking ready for battle. They marched before the hidden Elves in disordered lines, stomping their feet and marring the Forest with their presence.
Maeloth moved to an opening in the foliage to get a better look at them. She might not have wanted to look at her hometown before, but she wanted to get a good look at the Orcs; she coveted it with the same aggressive resolve that she wanted to attack them earlier.
Seeing their forms again was not a surprise for her. Their disfigured faces, their ungraceful gait, their rotten skin; every single one of their queer features had been carved in her memories in sharp detail. As she watched them shuffle past her, she felt her restrained fury flare up again, but she did not try to attack them. This time, she did not even have to fight the urge to. She just watched, greedily taking in their features and reveling at her growing hatred with a twisted satisfaction.
She hated them - oh, how she hated them. Every inch of her body cringed with disgust, every pore in her skin steamed with burning fury, every muscle was tight with that wild instinct that demanded action, fight, blood. She wanted them all dead, right then and there, but she did not move. All she did was keep looking and providing kindling to stoke those feelings because - that was almost funny - it kind of made the pain go away. Or, at least, it made the pain not matter anymore.
What mattered now was one thing: how to kill them. Not one or two or ten, but all of them.
Morfindir had been right to stop her before because, if she had just charged at them like this, she would have died for sure. She might have managed to take down one, or two, or ten of them, but then they would have taken her down - and that simply would not do. Ten was too small a number. No, she would not settle for anything less than all of them. And if she wanted to achieve that, she had to be smart about it.
So she kept looking at them and thinking what would be the best way to bring them all down, plans forming in her head one after the other. Of course, Legolas had ordered not to engage with them and she wouldn't. At least, not yet. After all, it would be nigh impossible to take on sixty Orcs all by herself.
Fact was she had some of the best fighters of the Woodland Realm at her side. There should be some way to make that work to her advantage and, if she was smart enough about it, it might not even look like she was disobeying orders. Engaging with the Orcs would be necessary if something went wrong and her group's safety depended on it. She just had to find a way to get the others involved in this.
Soon they started moving again, jumping from tree to tree without a sound, even though it would be impossible for them to be heard over the ruckus the Orcs were making. Maeloth barely got her eyes off of them, reveling in that strange power the hunters feels as he stalks his prey. There was simply nothing compared to the feeling of seeing them there, unsuspecting and clueless, while she was so close, planning their death.
She could already savor the taste of revenge. It was so sweet it made her smile.
She was so caught up in coming up with the most efficient plan to wipe them out, that she didn't even notice that the ground had started sloping up, or that the Orcs were growing more quiet and reserved. She didn't even notice that the trees were dispersing until it got too hard to jump from one branch to the other, the distance having grown remarkably.
She searched for her companion's faces for the first time in a while and found them pale and uncertain. And then she noticed, too: far ahead of them, through the branches, seemed to loom a great, dark mass. She did not have a clear view yet, but she could hear the distant hustle of hundreds - or perhaps even thousands - of creatures: voices and steps and clanks and shrieks.
The band of Orcs they had been following had fallen silent. Maeloth was under the impression that their dark and shriveled skin had grown paler - if such a thing was possible for those beings.
A low whistle, not unlike the cry of a bird, caught her attention. She turned around and saw Legolas beckoning to all of them, perched on the thick branch of a massive oak. With a few light jumps, the Elves gathered around him, leaving the Orcs to continue their way.
"This is the fortress of Amon Lanc", Legolas breathed, pointing to the dark mass past the trees; the very place the Orcs were headed. "We were right. They have taken King Oropher's old fortress".
"And there are thousands of them in there, by the sound of it", Morfindir commented.
"So what do we do now?", Feredir whispered. There was no answer at that, as everybody looked at each other with equally lost expressions.
"Come on, let's follow them", Legolas said decisively before the silence stretched out for too long. "Let's get as close as possible".
They jumped down from the tree and ran in a crouch among the bushes until they caught up with the rearguard of the Orcs. The ruckus was getting louder, with added noises from the clanking of hammers against metal. Maeloth shivered involuntarily, noticing once more that indeterminable stench in the air, the one that stuck in their throats and fell in their lungs heavy as mud. The dark mass ahead of them was gradually getting more defined, as walls, towers and windows came into view.
Giant hinges creaked with a terrible, ear-grazing sound; a harsh voice roared orders in an unknown language. The band of Orcs had broken out of the line of trees and the gates were opening to admit them. The party of Elves tiptoed to the very edge of the treeline, still hidden among the short, ill-looking bushes, and looked at the scene before them with their breath caught in their throats.
The Bald Hill, or Amon Lanc, was a steep mound of earth with no trees or vegetation, but with a majestic fortress perched on its top like a crown. Countless tall towers pierced at the sky above; the sheer height and multitude of them could easily immobilize one in awe. Their sides were dotted with myriads of windows, no doubt to provide the Elves that once lived there with plenty of sunlight or an unobstructed view of the stars. The architecture had the grace and elegance that was characteristic in all Elven creations but, nevertheless, something was off. Something was terribly, terribly off.
At a first glance, the tall fortress seemed deserted. There were no lights, no smoke rising from any of the chimneys, no flags flapping in the breeze nor movement in the balconies. The windows gaped blankly outwards like the open mouths of some beast, or like the vacant eyes of something dead and sinister. In fact, the whole building gave off the air of a corpse. Whatever elegance or beauty characterized it in past years seemed to have decayed and crumbled away, leaving something distorted in its place, ugly like a half-decomposed carcass. The sky above it seemed tainted, the colors dull and dirty; a sick hue that was a parody of blue. And it stared at them; the whole thing stared at them like a vulture with a million dark eyes, latched on the top of the hill with its claw-like towers. Watching them.
That was the right word: they felt like they were being watched.
But, while the fortress itself seemed dead and empty, the hill around it did not. As they lay hidden in the bushes, the Elves were facing a tall wall, one that seemed newly erected and apparently circled the whole hill. They could see more Orcs on it, patrolling on the top of the wall or around its foot. Every now and then, they caught a glimpse of the hairy bodies and the eight-eyed glower of giant spiders emerging from behind the battlements. They could discern movement on the slopes of the hill, too: more spiders and files of Orcs, seemingly headed from the wall to the fortress and back, even though the latter still seemed disturbingly vacant.
Maeloth simply gawked at the view before her, the Orcs momentarily forgotten; or rather, new, stronger feelings had overcome her hatred for them.
Fear ruled there, undiscriminating fear. It was thick and almost tangible around them, tainting everything from the ground to their breaths. She felt the strong urge to curl on the ground and cover her eyes in dread, but something kept her from doing that. It was as if, deep down, she knew that this overwhelming fear was not natural, not to this extent. It was not exactly born in her, but somehow forced on her: something or someone was causing it, spreading it around like that sick air that hung heavy over the Forest.
So she tried to swallow that cowardly urge and focus on what was going on in front of her eyes, even though she could feel cold sweat moisten her brows and palms.
The now familiar band of Orcs was filing past the main gate of the wall under the scrutinizing gaze of at least two dozen guards. The Elves glanced at each other, the same thing passing unspoken among them: sneaking past the gate behind the Orcs was not an option. They had zero chances of sneaking stealthily through the main gate.
"Follow me", Legolas ordered in a whisper and motioned them back to the thick foliage, away from the wall and the now closing gate.
The group huddled around him, all of them bearing similar expressions of terror and desperation. Only the prince seemed to keep a level of calmness.
"We need to find a way in", he announced, causing a round of startled gasps from all six of his companions.
"My lord... How?", Ninrieth dared inquire.
"We will circle the hill. there's bound to be a weak spot somewhere".
Maeloth threw a discreet glance at Morfindir; her captain seemed as bewildered as her.
"My prince, we are not prepared for something like that. An infiltration of such a scale requires meticulous planning, which we have not-", Gaelion started explaining but he was cut off.
"I know, Gaelion, but we might not get another chance. We managed to get close to the hill for the first time, so we might as well exploit this chance in the best way possible".
"Our luck is bound to run out, sooner or later. Perhaps we shouldn't push-"
"We can't leave now. Not when we are so close", Legolas pressed on, looking at them all straight in the eyes. "Each one of you has been hand-picked for their abilities, their insight, their wisdom, their power". Maeloth frowned in disbelief at this, but Legolas shot her a look that silently said yes, even you. "I have the best possible group of warriors with me and we are right outside the gates. True, we don't know exactly what lies behind these walls, but we will never learn if we don't take a chance. We will never be better prepared than now; not as long as we don't know what we're dealing with". He took a deep breath to allow his comrades to ponder on his words before going on. "Do I have your support?"
They all exchanged unsure glances. Ninrieth, the prince's ever-faithful follower and friend, was the first to speak. "I am by your side, no matter what".
Legolas nodded his thankfulness and turned to the rest of the group. Maeloth saw his blue eyes piercing her. She could still hear the harsh voices of the Orcs in the distance, along with the faint clicking of spider claws. Something of her previous determination solidified in her. She did not know if it was her hate of the Orcs that quenched her fear, or her previous disposition to not go back home with nothing to show for it, but she found herself speaking up after Ninrieth. "And so am I, my lord".
The surprised glances of her comrades barely registered as she focused on Legolas' small, content smile. One by one, they all pledged themselves to Legolas' command once more, setting aside whatever hold-backs they had for this. Something heavy seemed to settle on their shoulders as they renewed their bond, a new kind of awareness dawning on all of them. With a sense of doom looming so close, such a feeling seemed inescapable.
"Thank you, my friends", Legolas said with a small bow, acknowledging the weight of their choice.
After that they were off again, this time following Ninrieth towards the south foot of Bald Hill. The plan was to circle the hill until they find a breach in the wall, or at least a weak spot from where they could sneak inside. Their next goal would be to roughly estimate the size of their enemies' forces - and the nature of it, if possible. They hoped for nothing more sinister than some Orcs and spiders, banded together by a common vindictiveness and hatred for the Elves. However, how simple Orcs could cause such a twist in the Forest, they did not know. That is where the final part of their plan came in: infiltration of the Old Fortress. If there was a chief, or a leader, or a mastermind behind all this, that is the only place they could reside.
So they jogged under the trees, close to the end of the tree-line, but sufficiently hidden from the eyes that patrolled on and out of the wall. Every now and then, when it seemed safe enough to do so, they approached the edge of their green-leafed cover to check on the thick rock wall.
Maeloth felt like they had been going on for hours when Ninrieth let out a triumphant cry.
"There! See?"
She was pointing at an opening, like a small tunnel, from where a steady stream of... something liquid was streaming out. They approached the stream cautiously, lancing around for - thankfully non-existent - guards. They scrunched their noses as they approached the 'stream' and a hideous smell assaulted them. The thing that was running from that opening was definitely not water, seeing as it was murky and greenish.
"Please, tell me we won't have to go through this thing", Feredir whimpered faintly. At a first glance, the 'stream' looked knee-deep.
"Well... I don't see any other way", Ninrieth said.
She approached the foot of the wall and stood at the very edge of the greenish stream, holding on to the rough rock of the wall for extra balance. She carefully leaned low to peer into the darkness of the little tunnel, all the while holding her nose tightly shut with her free hand.
"It doesn't look like there are bars or any kind of obstacle, but I'll have to make sure". She took a deep breath through her mouth. "Here goes", she said bravely and stepped in the muck.
They saw her hesitate for a few instants before she started making her way in the small, low-ceilinged tunnel, her feet making awful squelching sounds through the thick, steady flow of the stream. They waited, trying their best not to breathe in the nasty fumes of that thing, until Ninrieth's loud whisper reached their ears.
"It looks safe. I think you can come".
They all exchanged the least entertained looks before making their way to the mouth of the opening. They were halfway though placing their feet in the muck, when they simultaneously froze in their places.
They could hear noise. Footsteps - tens, or hundreds of them - hurried and heavy. Clanking of armor. Clicking of claws. Shuffling, growing louder, growing closer from all sides. Approaching fast.
They looked at each other with identical panicked, wide-eyed expressions. Then they heard Ninrieth running back towards them, splashing wildly in the darkness ahead of them and whispering to herself.
"How, how-? How did they-? What-? Oh no, no- A Elbereth Gilthoniel, o menel palan-diriel-". Her frantic chant echoed along the curved walls of the tunnel.
This only made their panic mount. At a curt nod from Legolas, they drew their swords and looked around.
Far to their right, beyond the curve of the long wall, emerged a throng of Orcs; same thing on their left, on the south side of the wall. Instinctively they looked to the Forest, their only apparent way of escape, and their blood froze when they saw the glint of malicious eyes in the darkness. And they all seemed to be headed right towards them.
Maeloth barely had time to gulp down a lump of dry nothingness before a voice echoed in her skull: a drawn-out, gloating whisper.
"I know you are here".