CHAPTER 19 - They have passed like rain
A terrible roar was heard from without, where the armies chanted their dreadful creed. "We are Uruk-hai!" could be heard ringing in the weary ears of all, and hands trembled on spears, and eyes sought others in their fretful wait.
He barely made his way to the rear-gate.
"Things go ill, my friends," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow with his arm.
"Ill enough," said Legolas, "but not yet hopeless, while we have you with us."
The walls crumbled, the armies disappeared.
He was alone.
Her gaze was hopeful and lost when meeting his own. "The Shadow does not hold sway yet..." her hand gently clasped his. "Not over you and not over me."
His eyes flew open. As always with these hopeless wanderings, his mind conjured the past in the most unlikely of ways. But now all was engulfed in reddish fog before him yet again. He knew the monster wished for this to happen, for it would summon terrors of the worst ilk from the remnants of his memories.
And still he would try, over and over. He would think of them, attempting to reach, to feel aught else than the bonds so tightly wound around his spirit, suffocating his will in an agonizingly slow but sure slithering process.
"How disappointing... have we been attempting to reach them, again?" a voice raked within him in mock distress, and claws speared his consciousness. "Who was it?" the metallic voice gritted. Then a brief gust of poisonous winds whirled and burnt against his skin, and with it a russet haired figure was come before him. "When will you learn?" the Dark Lord grinned. "I see your mind," he added with a malicious smile, claws grazing his temple even as the man pulled sharply away. "There is nothing, nothing you can hide from the Eye, heir of Elendil."
A long pale hand reached to cup his face, and the one once known as Aragorn gritted his teeth against the surge of overwhelming power released through the touch. A thousand needles pierced his inner walls, crumbling his weakened resolve, and once again the Shadow saw it all. "But now that you have begun, let us send it forward."
A strong force threw his mind into yet another restless journey, and his thought from before was ripped and thrown whereto he knew not. The aged and diminished man thrashed, his face glistening with fever from the effort it took to have his thought speared forward into the ether. He struggled in his chains, wishing for death anew, as he had countless times before.
"Fear not, all will come to pass as woven," the tall one spoke now looking beyond the Tower, to the West.
Slitted eyes then fell on him, and the Dúnadan was again shaken by the sharp contrast between that fair form and the blackest of hate.
"Indeed, it has already begun," Sauron said. A clawed hand arrayed in black and steel made circular motions into the ghostly fumes which ever wafted through the air.
An image was conjured before them, and the former steadfast ranger of the North felt his heart wither. But he would not beg. He would never beg.
"Indeed, I might have you all join me before long," the pale one said, staring into the faint grey vision. His amber eyes narrowed in a pleased manner as he beheld the figures moving through shadow and mire, and he grimly spoke as to himself.
"In your own time, Kalghâshaure..."
Dusk was upon them by the time elf and half-orc had finished digging a hole deep enough for the fallen ones. Kal panted with the effort, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. She then focused her vision on the black emptiness, where two lifeless forms were lain to eternal rest.
When the half-orc had regained her composure well enough, both travelers assessed the destruction of the small homestead. They noticed three dead Uruk-hai, strewn across the ground near the bodies of Faramir and Celeg. The blade, the one the ranger had used to spar with Kal that very day, lay abandoned a ways beside him drenched in black blood.
At the very least, he fought his way into death.
But that was no comfort, not to them, and not to those lying dead at their feet.
As Kal stood crouched at the edge of the grave she was taken from her thoughts by a low and gentle humming.
There were words, but not spoken as one would to another. They wound together and soared, silent and crestfallen into the looming night. She had heard this type of expression before, from the human slaves wishing away their pain.
Looking to Legolas, the half-orc saw his eyes were also set on the still bodies in the grave, placed together in an embrace of sorts.
A spot near the river bank was chosen as their final resting place, under a gnarled and bent willow tree. His wife is buried under one similar tree, Kal had remembered from a previous time, when she had heard the ranger speak of his family. The elf had only nodded and so they set to work.
And now words she would never understand reached her ears, sifting through her weary mind and grieved chest. They were soothing, and clear and yet carried such a burden of emotion Kal bent in on herself with dread.
And they reminded her of that night.
Nay, not now. Now is not the time.
When his voice broke she lifted not her head. Her eyes trailed over the still features of the old ranger then moved to regard the serene face of the boy, so youthful and appearing as though he were in a fitful rest. Yet the deathly pallor about him was unmistakable.
They had washed their faces, and shrouded both man and child in their own tattered cloaks. The sword Kal had wiped, and was now placed in its scabbard at his breast.
"May they find peace in death," she heard the elf murmur, but her gaze stayed on the pair.
Kal then saw movement from the corner of her eyes as the elf rose to one knee and reached for the rough shovel beside him.
"Wait," she suddenly spoke, causing Legolas to look her way.
She stood hesitant at first. Then Kal drew her scimitar, staring long at the blade. Not her own, but one which she knew had seen much bloodshed and carved through many lives. She then looked ahead to the darkened waters.
Holding it with both hands, with a fast pivot towards the bank Kal hurled the weapon well yonder with all her might, and stood watching as it was swiftly swallowed by the flowing river. She turned to the elf who still knelt beside the grave, now regarding her with that unreadable expression she had come to know.
The half-orc saw him nod, slowly, once, and only then did Kal kneel back down herself, and with trembling hands retrieved the sword lying with the remains of Faramir. She held it to her chest and bowed her head, then cinched the item to her belt. She looked back to Legolas.
They watched each other in silence, and through red rimmed eyes Kal only then saw the torn and lost look lingering behind his. Gone were the hard stares and stony facade. She saw the stiffness of his poise, the fisted hands with their unnaturally whitened knuckles he propped against the ground. And for a sudden, fleeting moment which left her wondering whether it had even occurred, Kal thought she felt another sort of pain. And it ran deeper, darker and more withering than anything she had ever imagined.
In a haze there came an impulse to reach for the other. It was so strong and overwhelming that indeed Kal rose slowly and took one step forward, but then it dwindled and was gone, as if heavy foreboding bars were set against the urge.
What the elf had done earlier aided her, more than she had ever fathomed. Earlier, his arm was steadying her, and Kal only drew closer into him. And the strength seeping through the hand come splayed over her back brought forward what she needed to finally right herself, for all the draining quality of her ire at the woeful happening.
She wanted the same for him. Where this wish came from, she knew not. But those ice blue eyes were now wary as they stared into the depths of hers. And so Kal stood wavering, unmoving, watching him watching her, until after many moments the elf averted his gaze and rose to reach for the shovel.
As earth covered the still bodies with each toss of the shovel Kal felt as if there was aught of herself being buried with them, and would be so for a long time to come. She remembered herself and set to aid in covering the grave with black soil. When they were done there was little to suggest the nature of the mound, but the pair stood silently gazing at the stooping, swaying branches of the willow tree.
Much time passed as night fell well over the land. The hoarse cry of an unknown beast echoed through their surroundings.
I will retrieve you, Eron.
Kal felt the elf turn and move away, heading back towards the woods.
"Come," she heard his quiet and somewhat softened voice, and with one last lingering gaze towards the mound she followed.
They came to walk side by side and Kal looked to the elf. When their eyes locked she knew their goal was set. She felt both driven and downcast at the words which followed.
"Now we hunt."
A/N:
The plot thickens! Thank you so much all for staying with this, and for the reviews on the previous update. It is always humbling and lovely to see positive reactions and/or suggestions/questions.
To Guest reader Mia: I am so glad you think so!
For this chapter I used a couple of literal passages from the books/movies. Why did you do it, Ruiniel? I wanted his memories, and I wanted them to be something the reader knows well and can relate to. I just don't know, it felt right. I sometimes also use lyrics from well known songs found in Tolkien's writing for chapter titles. But this is fan fiction, meaning there's no profit to come of it so please don't sue, lol.
"Things go ill, my friends," he (Aragorn) said, wiping the sweat from his brow with his arm.
"Ill enough," said Legolas, "but not yet hopeless, while we have you with us."
- The Two Towers, chapter 'Helm's Deep'
"The Shadow does not hold sway yet..." her hand gently clasped his. "Not over you and not over me."
- Arwen and Aragorn speak, The Fellowship of The Ring