I hope you enjoy this chapter! Sorry if I seem to pick on Éomer for entertainment, it just appears to be so... I love him really!
26. The Dangerous Disguise of Darkness
Sitting by the waterfall, on the polished grey floor, Aragorn leaned against the rocky pillar and gazed out into the pluming cascade. The silver flecks in his eyes ran like a mirror of the streaked waterfall, images constantly changing, thoughts and memories never quite the same, but always continuous, bringing back the same sounds, touches, auras…
No one had slept the night before. Éowyn, now lying across Faramir's arms, had been up talking softly with her brother long into the night even before Ninniach and Erandur's horse had found them and they had journeyed to Henneth Annûn. Éomer was propped up against a wall, his head at a slight angle as he slept soundly. Faramir had been out in the woodland, searching for any signs of the Dark Elves, prior to returning to the cave in hope of some rest. He now took it gladly, but not so much as the elven brothers, who after such a long and tiring journey were bound in a deep sleep, even for elves. They lay on the floor side by side, next to where Legolas sat with his hands folded over his chest, while his eyes were dreamily raised upwards and his lips moved over words in a silent song. Gimli made up for this tranquillity with gruff snores, which even camouflaged Éomer and Faramir's heavy breathing. Along with Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn himself had been travelling too. But he did not sleep.
The sun rose high in the clear sky, and the cave filled with bright white light through the watery window, ever growing as the sun moved further west, just as a rock pool fills with water while the tide creeps ever closer.
During the late afternoon, the company began to uneasily awake, and so it was that they now found Aragorn, exhausted, finally sleeping. Faramir crept over to the little storerooms and began busying about finding some food that wasn't half-eaten by mice. The others went and filled shallow basins with which to wash themselves in cold hardening water, while Éomer anxiously hurried off for a time to check on the horses.
The cave now shone like a low fire and the red light of a setting sun struck the waterfall and made the rock wall behind it glow amber. Shafts of light dancing in many colours fell on Aragorn's golden face and gently woke him. The others welcomed him to share their meal before they set out. There was no need to light any torches, for the sunset was sufficient while they remained in the cave.
Once they had taken their fill, nightshade was falling inside the cave and so Aragorn, Éomer and Faramir lit flame torches to carry with them. They filed quietly back down the stone passageway away from the Window on the West to where their many horses were grouped. Arwen's white stallion Ninniach was indeed there, now somewhat less startled, but the elves drew towards her in order to soothe her nonetheless. Aragorn fondly stroked the horse's nose, murmuring to her as if he was amorously breathing in Arwen's ear, until he saw out of the corner of his eye Éowyn draw close to Faramir's side.
"Éowyn, what horse is this?" Faramir indicated towards another, smaller horse that was warily swinging his tail but seemed quite content in the company of loving elves, a protective horse-lord and so many other magnificent horses.
"I do not know," she replied quietly, as if unwilling to let the suspicious night hear her. "He came with Arwen's horse. Either Ninniach found him in the wild, or they came from the same place." She said no more but Aragorn, who continued fondling the white horse's nose, watched as she held out something in her hands.
Faramir took a sharp intake of breath. "It cannot be… it was broken." His eyes filled with memory and emotion as his fingers tenderly slid around something pale in Éowyn's hands.
"I have managed to fix the shards together again," Aragorn heard her whisper. "If by unlucky chance we are separated, and all seems lost, promise me that you will blow it, as once he used to."
Revelation dawned on Aragorn as he saw Faramir lift a great horn up to his glimmering eyes. Faramir's lips barely moved as he spoke. "When the wind was in the East, Boromir would wind it and the sound would be carried even unto the golden halls of your fathers." He turned to Éowyn. "If its voice rings in the ears of men, may they come to our aid. I thank you." Faramir reverently put the leather strap over his head and drew his wife into an embrace, closing his glittering eyes.
Black night was heavy around them and the three torches were the only light by which the eight riders mounted their horses. A thin crescent moon hung in the cloudless sky but was too pale to aid them much in their journey. Aragorn wondered what to do with the two spare horses, but it seemed that that decision was made for him; Elladan and Elrohir, who had been consulting Legolas, now called Ninniach to them and murmured to the horse in the elven tongue, which was glimmering grey in the dim light. At their command Arwen's horse willingly set off at speed, with the other horse tailing behind quite cheerfully, and left in a northerly direction even before Aragorn could ask where the horses had been sent.
Now Elrohir answered his thoughts as he began to ride on. "It is only if our fortune should go ill," he said. "But do not doubt yourself, Elessar. Even so, the company of elves will aid your situation greatly." Aragorn was even more puzzled at this riddle, but he could not trouble himself with this, for his mind was constantly magnetised back to concentrating on what was ahead of his path and that of his friends.
There were eight of them bravely journeying to the overshadowed city, but a growing sense of unease was mounting around their group, as if the woodland was corrupted by the Dark Elves themselves as they passed through it, ahead of the company. They came into an unnatural mist as they reached the cross roads after some time and its dampness caused the flame torches to flicker and shrink repressively. It closed the way behind them and ominously hovered ahead, glowing a pallid green and evoking a sense of disquiet in the riders' hearts.
When they came in sight of a great forbidding rock by the crossroads, looming out of the hanging mists, Faramir stopped. Éowyn halted beside him.
"I do not think you should come with us," he said to her softly. "I do not want to lose you."
The White Lady of Rohan stared back. "Why would I not come with you? I am of no use here, and I would only be more afraid waiting here in the darkness to be encompassed alone than with you in the perilous fires. I do not choose danger, only to be by your side and to help those I love. If you are lost, then I will be lost with you all."
Faramir looked to Aragorn, who met Éowyn's eyes and nodded.
"Very well," said Éomer. "Lady Arwen is not alone in her courage at this moment in time. We must all face this Shadow, and look to defeating it. The more hold back, the more we will lose."
They carried on past, their horses unwillingly ascending the climbing road towards a fear which stretched out its arms towards them. None dared look immediately ahead, despite the thinning of the mists which had begun to roll back. Éowyn drew to Faramir's side. She looked up into his eyes, which glistened with the elusive light of the mists. He smiled and gently took her hand. She glanced away, wishing that the dread which crawled around her shoulders like cold fingers would leave and not betray her trepidation to Faramir; she would not give in, she would carry on.
But suddenly, they found themselves quite separate from the grey veil, and marooned with a cloud lingering behind over their shoulders, creeping down from lands. This unforeseen change served to be alarming, for now they were in direct sight of the forsaken valley, and the road from beneath their very feet wound its way right up to its yawning gates, inhaling the air which chilled their throats. They were in the gorge in the overshadowing mountains, where darkness settled and shadows festered, where unspeakable things were breeding and slowly crawling about, hoarding whatever poisons and incantations issued from within.
Fumes diffused through the heavy air, seeping from the thousands of pale flowers which were held lifeless and sickly in the wide flats around them, like a sea of a great burial bouquet. The cold descended so heavily that a pain flashed across their heads and on looking at each other, their faces appeared quite white, as deathly as the flowery marshes which waited on the side of the road, breathless in anticipation to claim a body into its wet stems.
In silence their eyes were drawn upwards unwillingly to the city of dread. A horror struck to their very souls as they beheld its imposing presence, its glow which was terrifyingly entrancing, like the image of death pulled into a twisted leer. The black windows littered its pale walls, staring out like eyes of the city themselves, restlessly keeping watch on the road. They felt vulnerable as such, laid bare before an unseen enemy where they could feel its presence. The towering pinnacle, uprising from the innermost sanctuary of the outcropped walls sharp as white knives, cutting into the consuming sediments of night, pierced them all with a flickering green blaze. Fearfully they tore their eyes away, shameful to be defeated by the corrupted city's intoxicating aura and reluctant to lay clear their weakness to each other.
The horses uneasily shifted their hooves and the riders glanced at each other, hastily turning away when they thought they would make eye-contact. None of them wanted to reveal the fear they had, greater than before the battle of Helm's Deep, deeper than at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, and more striking even than at the final battle against Sauron. Somehow, all that had happened in the past had been vanquished and now hung on this thin thread which they gingerly held.
"We have been here long enough," Faramir muttered, with his head bowed but his eyes flickering to those on either side of him. But no one replied.
Quite out of the blue Elladan, who was standing foremost of the group, flinched as if something had struck him in the eyes. After shaking his head imperceptibly he turned to meet Aragorn's eyes, while the others raised their heads to watch him, wondering at this peculiar behaviour.
"Estel… we are not the only ones on this bridge," he whispered.
The group shrank together, except Elladan, who boldly rode on towards one of the large stone posts at the far end of the bridge. Something stirred in its black shadow.
"A scout!" cried Éomer. He automatically hurled his spear past Elladan's ear and instantly a body heavily cloaked in black robes flopped down onto the paving stones, but at the sound of his voice in unison a whole crowd of others had leapt up around them, encircling the eight companions like a thick tightening fence of black flames. Legolas swiftly loosed two arrows to those nearest to Elladan, who was most endangered. After recovering from shock Elrohir, Aragorn and Faramir soon followed in firing a volley to protect their little fellowship from the white faces with blazing red eyes which materialised out of the darkness of the night. It did not take long to assure their safety, but it had shaken them and now put them on their guard.
Aragorn looked up hurriedly at the city standing over them. "They will be watching here from the gates! Quick, put out the torches!" He ushered the others as they cast the beacons over the bridge into the marshes. For a moment, the pale flowers lit up eerily like yellow eyes staring up at them watchfully, and then they glowed dimly before fading gradually into gloom.
Elladan was the only one to stay standing where he was. Legolas drew next to his stooped form and looked down with him to the lifeless elvish faces of the two slain by the elf's arrows. While the eyes of Sauron still remained staring evilly upwards, the rest of their faces were smooth and proud, undeniably from the same blood as the elves who had killed them.
"Leave them," Legolas said softly, resting a hand on Elladan's shoulder. His green eyes sadly looked to the son of Elrond's face, who gradually nodded and turned away.
"We will have no help from inside," Aragorn spoke out wisely, looking at Elladan but talking to them all. "We must not be seen. We cannot risk forfeiting our lives for our own grief for others." His head was half-bowed along with those of the other elves, but now all eight of the fellowship turned and looked along the road towards the city.
"Well, there's nothing for it now," Gimli growled softly, voicing everyone's thoughts.
"What is your plan?" Éowyn asked. "I doubt that we shall be able to simply open the gates."
"No indeed," Aragorn inclined his head, smiling at Éowyn.
"Then how shall we open them?" Gimli grumbled in frustration and gestured violently. "They will only open to their own people."
"Quite true," Aragorn said, still wearing a half-smile. "So, if the elves among us are willing to conceal themselves in the black robes of the Dark Elves, they shall be allowed to pass through." His eyes shifted to the brethren. A sly smirk was rising up Legolas' face.
"Estel, mellon nín," he laughed, "you never cease to amaze me with your ranger tricks."
"May that remain so for the rest of the night, if it heartens you," Aragorn replied, while he and the others sought out the long black cloaks of the Dark Elves. "Those of us in the Fellowship of the Ring still have our elvish cloaks from Lothlórien," reminded Aragorn. "And Elrohir and Elladan are similarly clad, while Faramir is also wearing his camouflaged ranger garb. Thus if Elrohir and Elladan pass their cloaks to Éowyn and Éomer, as we progress along the road, we should slip unseen past their eyes."
Elladan and Elrohir consented to play the deceit and subsequently there were three elves clad in black soon standing among a group just as hidden in the darkness.
"What do you expect there to be inside?" Éomer asked as he rearranged his new cloak which was slightly tight around his neck.
Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. "I do not know," he admitted. "Perhaps it is better that way, for otherwise we may not have the will to seek entry. Yet I would guess at there being many orcs at the very least, not only the Dark Elves."
"What will we do when we are let in?" Elrohir asked from the depths of his black robes. The hoods were so long that not even their faces were visible, and so their blue or green eyes were not betrayed.
"Once you are inside, if your disguise is at all doubted, immediately commence battle, and we shall slip in and join you. If that happens, you should expect to be swamped, so be prepared. We will then head for the citadel as quickly and stealthily as possible. In my mind, I am sure that it is there we will find…" Aragorn could not bring himself to speak Arwen's name. "That is where the Dark Elves will take command," he said instead. A frown settled on his brow and Aragorn looked thoughtful.
"We had better go at once," Faramir advised. "Are you ready?" Legolas bowed his head.
"Are we well concealed?" Gimli questioned his elf-friend, adding, "I do not trust this elvish magic."
"Mellon nín, you will make an elf yet," Legolas laughed. "Namarië."
With that he ran off at a high speed down the road, flanked by Elrohir and Elladan. So light and silent were their steps and such were the elegant ripples in their vast billowing black cloaks that after a few moments the remaining five companions wondered if three Dark Elves were indeed fleeing from their attack.
"Come, quickly!" Faramir urged them. Now he quietly hurried after them, side by side with the faintest shadow of Aragorn, while unseen Éowyn and Éomer came behind, and lastly Gimli, anxiously tiptoeing and leaping like a ballerina, attempting with his dear heart to accomplish the footsteps of elves to match his hidden form.
"Be quiet, Gimli!" Aragorn threw a hiss back. Gimli sighed in vexation but dutifully continued behind where he assumed the others were without a word in his gruff voice.
Ahead, the three elves began calling out to the guards at the gates in their distinguished clear elven voices.
"Open up! Let us in!"
"We have been attacked! Hurry, before we are pursued!"
Elrohir even cried out in the Black Speech of Mordor, having studied it in his father's old books. The others prayed that the disguise was adequate, keeping their eyes on the three shadows drawing close to the tall gates.
When a chink suddenly appeared between the gates and they cranked apart, relief unified with horror poured into the heart of Aragorn. He fled after the three strong-hearted elves, hastening urgently in order to be right behind when they were sucked inside the corrupted city, to where Arwen was locked at its epicentre. As he passed under the archway, he felt as if he was descending into cold defiled water, not unlike the Paths of the Dead, and shuddered despite knowing his friends were all around him and his loved one before him.
The three elves soon melted into the darkness of the entrance to the unlit streets of Minas Morgul. The walls were guarded by a rabble of orcs, many of whom descended to tend the three apparent Dark Elves. However one Dark Elf reached them first.
"What is it? What happened at the bridge? I saw some torches which were not your own."
Aragorn crept up to him, unnoticed, and prepared to kill him, but when he was on the point of doing so, he saw one of his masked friends shake their heads, so for the moment he refrained.
"We were attacked," the voice of Legolas spoke out. "Tell them up at the citadel; more are coming."
"Yes," Elrohir joined in. "Hurry, now! Bring out all of our kin; we must be ready. Muster the army and make sure they assemble for battle down here."
The Dark Elf, whose red eyes were just visible shining under his black hood, nodded and trembled. "Of course, I will inform the Master right away, his plans must not be ruined."
With that he ran off.
"Wai-" Legolas called out. He then turned back to the other two cloaked elves. "Do we follow him?" he whispered.
At that point, there was a commotion as Gimli (recognisable by his heavy intake of breath as his toe was stepped on) collided with Éomer, due to their inability to see each other. Gimli had apparently jabbed Éomer in the stomach with one corner of his axe and Éomer let out a howl. The surrounding orcs spun round and distrustfully began to call out to each other.
"Now!" shouted Faramir's voice above the cries of the orcs. Instantly he, Aragorn and Éowyn ran forward to slay the orcs, happily protected from sight and so for the present having an easy and satisfying battle. Legolas joined in willingly, subtly drawing close to the orcs and out of sight stabbing them with his white knives. Gimli and Éomer were momentarily stumbling around cursing each other, but Elladan and Elrohir remained near their grumbles in case any orcs worked out where they were.
With the yowls of the dying orcs and shrieks of shock from the perplexed onlookers, greater numbers flooded in to the atrium of the city and Aragorn began to struggle to slay the orcs jumping down from the walls. However he could no longer hear mutterings from Gimli and Éomer so he presumed that they were still safe, if discontented.
Slaying the enemy, Aragorn listened to Faramir shouting out as he stabbed other orcs, but this was then halted by a resounding cry of pain from Éowyn. Aragorn swivelled round fearfully and began to go back to where he saw a shadow lying on the ground, but then he saw two Dark Elves draw near to her.
"Take her," Faramir said to them, worry echoing in his hollow voice. "Keep her safe."
"Go!" Aragorn shouted to the brethren, taking Faramir by the arm and steering him back to the orcs which were leaping down on them. As he swirled Andúril about, flashing in the air, he brought Éomer and Faramir together.
"We must go quickly, before more come," Éomer told him, spearing an orc in the throat and then another in the arm.
Legolas suddenly appeared at Aragorn's side, his blue eyes shimmering in his pale face under the hood which was slipping back. "The Dark Elves will begin to come down here soon; we must not still be here when that happens."
"Go, with Gimli," Aragorn urged. "We will follow, but we must not leave any here alive now they know of our presence."
Legolas paused, his arm round the neck of an orc. "You are certain?" he asked.
"Yes!" Aragorn shouted, slicing the torso off the orc, so that Legolas was left holding only the head. "Please, go!"
"Good luck to you, laddie," Gimli growled, elbowing Legolas. Following the tumble of the orc's head, Aragorn glanced down, not having noticed the dwarf at his side. Legolas glanced around and then grasped Gimli's shoulder.
"Come," he said, using his disguise to pass unhindered between the orcs.
"Just so you know, Aragorn," Gimli shouted back determinedly, "It is most disheartening being told you are not quiet, and it was because I was concentrating so hard on being even quieter than you that I ran into Éomer!"
"Shh!" Legolas hissed, having trouble trying to protect the dwarf who was keener on shouting at Aragorn than keeping his head on his own shoulders.
"I forgive you, Gimli; now go!" Éomer shouted back exasperatedly. Aragorn, Faramir and even Éomer ushered the pair away, still fighting furiously. While their bodies were camouflaged, their swords were not, and so their work was not as easy as at the start. But soon even Gimli's complaints were no longer audible under the clashing of swords, which was both comforting and demoralising, for while there was hope that at least five of them would make their way through the city uncaught, the presence of friends in a dark enemy land is always mightily welcomed.
But by the time the gate orcs were all slain and the three wearied men were running along the walls, keeping to the shadows and searching for their friends, they found that having acquired entry to the terrible city they were now quite alone in the dark formidable streets of labyrinthine Minas Morgul.