Sarah here! Do you guys know how much I revel in your feedback? It makes all that nasty editing worth while! : )
Of course we recognized the compliment, Emmithar, and a better one you could not have paid us! We highly enjoy their stuff (this is a hint for you guys to post if you didn't see it) and Cassia and Sio brought on this fic-writing bug of ours in the first place. Which should help you understand that the cliffies are actually not our fault: they're all due to Cassia's bad influence. ; )
Caves… Yes, well, we're contributing to the beauty of the moment when Gimli finally convinces him to visit the caves in Helm's Deep! It wouldn't be nearly so amazing without all this horrible stuff in his background. Yup… that's our sole motivation… uh-huh… torturing Legolas never even entered our heads… ; )
Well, Chloe, everyone has crosses to bear, and yours may very well consist of being related to us. You're not exactly the easiest person to live with either, you know… Either way, all that aside, thanks for the compliment! As it happens: *I* wrote that post, though Naraka is a little more Hannah's bad guy than mine (my villain is still in the future). As for their names: we'll explain that at the very end, so please be patient and leave the poor guys alone! ; )
And for heaven's sake, Halo, calm down! You're making me worried over here. Especially since we've barely even gotten started…*grins evilly, tries unsuccessfully to hide it*
So, yeah, a post:
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Death or Despair
By Sarah and Hannah
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
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Chapter 5
Mount Gundabad
Connected with the awful stench of orc was the very vivid smell of molted metal and scorched rock. Legolas turned quickly to take one last look at the entrance and he committed every detail to his memory; if they were ever to escape, they would need to know where freedom lay.
Even as high as the entrance the slaves felt waves of heat waft up towards them. As they descended further, one draft broke over them so strongly that it blew Legolas' hair back furiously. The elf tried to stay calm as the men continued to shove them down the pass further from the freedom outside.
Aragorn looked distastefully up at his friend as they were shoved roughly down an abrupt slant towards the sounds of clanging iron against steel and growling orcs below. The human had obviously gotten the same sense of foreboding as the elf and both knew that they were walking into serious danger.
"Keep moving you!" A guard barked giving Legolas a forceful shove. The graceful elf barely stumbled, but he could see plainly in Aragorn's vibrant eyes that the human had once more taken a very personal offence to the guard's behavior. Legolas passed him a slight smile and cocked a questioning eye brow at the guard, hoping to relieve the young ranger's tension. Aragorn's eyes briefly returned the smile and the friends returned their attention to the path before them so as to avoid stumbling on the steep incline.
The heat was beginning to thicken the air like tar; sweat collected on Aragorn's brow, and he felt dry heat burn his cheeks as they moved closer to the entrance below. He could already see the crimson shadows flickering across the wall and was left with no doubt of where they were being taken.
Even compared to the forges in the great mines in Moria, it was a large foundry. Legolas saw a few other slaves around him, but he did not recognize any beings other than humans, and many of these appeared to be men of such origin as Diinen and Nethtalt. The chamber was massive and strongly intimidating to the slaves; great fires burned at various points all across the room, sending shadows dancing, and whispering with satisfaction of the turmoil the slaves endured while caring for them. Cooling pools of water had been delved at three different points, fresh water from underground springs flowing into each one from sources in the wall, released only by a sluice gate. As they passed a tired looking slave was lowering the gate slowly back into place, wiping an arm across his scorched brow, and not even giving the newcomers a second look.
Echoing around them were the sounds of metal workers, the clang of hammers upon steel, the *shhick* of cutters and the sizzle of hot armor being placed in the cooling pools. In many places completed armor was being made and stacked in piles which were then moved to an antechamber.
The slaves at work, both in hauling and in hammering, were swift, but occasionally they stumbled in fatigue, and some took the goading of the overseers' whips to get them back on their feet.
Legolas saw Nethtalt move closer to the man next to him. The man was Kelegalen, with Diinen still resting against his shoulders, and he instantly freed a hand to place it reassuringly on the boy's shoulder.
"All right, keep moving!" Naraka growled and the line began to fill the chamber.
The new slaves were immediately split up to work at different stations in the foundry and Naraka purposefully split Aragorn and Legolas up. The two friends shared a quick reassuring glance before Aragorn was issued a task in the breastplate forges and Naraka ordered Legolas and several others to a separate crew, assigned to hammering out steel scimitars.
It was not until the last of the slaves were grouped that Aragorn caught sight of a man standing by the entrance. He was tall, like Naraka, but unlike Naraka his face was both stern and intelligent, rather than merely brutal. There was a twist of his mouth that suggested he could be cruel, and a glint in his eye that was unsettling, but it was deliberate, not volatile. Then Aragorn caught sight of the ring on his finger and realized who he must be looking at. Lord Furnmorth, his 'master'.
"Watch the others already stationed here," Naraka said in a clear and emotionless voice, "and either you will learn on your own, or you will be taught." He fingered the whip at his side for emphasis. Several of the slaves shuddered involuntarily, but Legolas and Stavhold, who was in his group as well, faced the threat without flinching. Naraka paused for a moment before speaking again. "Some of you may still lay claim to your former independent spirit, but you will soon find that it will gain you nothing but lashes down here. There is only room for total submission beneath this mountain." Turning on his heel, Naraka left them to his guards to be escorted to their stations.
The slaves already working there seemed glad for the help and quickly explained the process, how to take the molten steel and use the presses to flatten the metal into sheets, and how to hammer out daggers so that the ends would become sharp. Legolas was assigned the duty of submerging the completed scimitars in the cooling pool, soon the high hiss of hot metal against cold water filled his ears. The dust from the coal pits, and the heat from the fires soon dirtied and flushed his fair cheeks, and his hair was beginning to plaster to his neck with sweat as he leaned over to take up another red-hot weapon.
Far across the great foundry he could see Aragorn. The ranger moved with great swiftness between two stations, hammering out the edges to several helmets, trying to spare as much metal as possible. Legolas was heartened to see his friend's ease even in such a predicament. Clamping the tongs firmly around another scimitar, Legolas dunked the heavy piece of metal into the water, the sizzle filled the air, and threw it onto the ever growing pile of weapons. Naraka was wrong, they could not break his or Aragorn's spirits, no matter how hard they tried.
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Naraka had half seen his lord in the entrance when the slaves were being separated out, but when he had turned, the man had already left. It was not unusual for the lord of Mt. Gundabad to behave thus — he had made regular visits to his foundries since the day they were built — but as Naraka had already been under orders to report to the lord's chambers with a full description of the purchased merchandise, he wondered why the man had wasted his time coming down. Well, it was not for the captain to say.
Up the subterranean passages that hid the sprawling foundry from view, and into the mountain proper Naraka went, accepting the respect of his human soldiers, and the groveling of the few orcs who had duties above ground. In Gundabad, orcs were trusted with very little — not even the overseeing of the slaves. The important duties were given to Naraka's contingent of men.
At last, the captain came to his lord's chamber door, which was standing open, and waited respectfully in the doorway. For a time there was silence as the dark-haired man continued to write, undisturbed, as if he had truly been sitting there the whole while, and then he said, without looking up, "Enter."
Naraka obeyed, bowing as he approached the desk, "My Lord Furnmorth, I have brought the slaves."
"Good." Furnmorth answered, finally placing his quill away and raising his eyes to the captain's face. "Are there as many as ordered?"
Naraka shook his head, "No sir — Seregoer claimed he could carry no more than ninety."
"I see. You will be careful with the ones we have, then, correct? The days are running short." Furnmorth's eyebrows were raised, almost pleasantly, knowing well the tendencies of his captain.
Naraka recognized the tone of command and agreed, "Of course, my lord."
"Then I require no more of you. Continue with your duties." Furnmorth dismissed Naraka with a slight nod.
The captain turned towards the door, his cloak billowing, but paused at the last minute, a frown creasing his forehead, "My lord?"
Furnmorth looked up, surprised that the Naraka was still standing there, "Yes?"
"Amongst other items, Seregoer sold us an elf." Furnmorth's eyebrows rose ever so slightly and Naraka continued, "He is rebellious, and I fear he may cause problems amongst the other slaves — more problems than would balance the value of keeping him. I request to eliminate him from the group immediately."
Furnmorth's eyebrows now came together, a frown flickering across his brow as he looked his captain directly in the eye, as if reading something written inside Naraka's head. At last he moved in a slow, sinuous way, shaking his head, "No, captain. When death is unavoidable, then the slaves will die, but not until then. You are dismissed."
Biting back frustration, Naraka bowed once more and left.
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Aragorn had lost all track of time — it could have been hours since they had arrived at this place, or it could have been days, he did not know, but after a long while they were finally given a halt and sent off to sleep. The lord of the mountain was no fool, Aragorn easily saw: he knew that to keep his slaves alive he would have to keep them well rested. Though right now the ranger was not half so sleepy as he was fatigued, he was sure it would not be long before he would wish desperately for sleep.
They were led from the foundry down through several stone passages to a large chamber where the slaves all dwelt together. Already another shift of slaves were moved out to continue the work. Aragorn instantly looked around for Legolas, but his friend was no where in sight; a nearby slave caught his wandering gaze and put in helpfully, "Occasionally the groups arrive at different times." The man was young with pale blonde hair much like Legolas', but his eyes were deep green. "I am Bronadui of Ered Ladin, in the Misty Mountains." The young man greeted, reaching for Aragorn's hand.
"Strider, a Ranger from the North," he clasped Bronadui's hand in return.
"You came with the new lot," Bronadui confirmed
"Yes I did," Aragorn nodded in agreement. "I have a friend here with me."
"It is not wise to have friends in such a place, Ranger." This came from directly behind Aragorn and he turned quickly to see another man. He had brown hair and darker eyes, as well as many marks from his hard labor. There was a strange look in his face: it was the shadow cast by callused pain and it veiled his deep brown eyes like a dense mist. "Often you will not have them long," the man continued, "and it is best not to attach yourself too firmly to what does not last. I have been here many hundreds of days, and you may believe me: there is no comfort to be found here, even in the friends you believe you have. Here you have either death or despair. There are no other alternatives or choices offered. And you can not stay alive depending on hope; it will only fail you."
Aragorn felt the words pierce him deeply — something in them seemed to very nearly ring true, as if they were a quiet prediction of something to come, but Bronadui broke in with a strangely unconcerned laugh.
"Strider, this is Helkhmorn, please forgive his rudeness. He, as well as I, were here during the accident."
"Accident?" Aragorn frowned.
"Yes," Helkhmorn nodded firmly. "A terrible cave-in from too much heat — it killed over half of the first slaves here. Those who hadn't already died from the hard labor."
"We survived along with about forty others," Bronadui explained, "but Helkhmorn believes we are all doomed to ruin in this place." The man gave a puzzled shrug, his eyes more bemused than distressed. "I, for one, cannot claim to understand his meaning, for I have never found anything to be so totally desperate as that, wouldn't you agree?"
Aragorn nodded slightly, but still Helkhmorn's words haunted him, and the thought of all those people being killed within these depths made his heart lurch terribly.
"Strider!" The sudden call was like a ray of sun in the morbid thoughts of Aragorn's mind —Legolas was moving quickly over to him.
"Legolas!" He returned the call and the two friends embraced swiftly, both relieved to see the other unharmed. "It is good to see you my friend." Aragorn smiled for the first time in a while.
"I must find a place to rest for the next few hours," Bronadui said in the way of parting. Aragorn bid him farewell and realized then that Helkhmorn had all ready gone.
"It is good to see you well," Legolas returned, turning the ranger's attention back to him. "This is a bitter place and without your company it seems nearly unbearable." Aragorn had to agree with that.
The two sat near the place Kelegalen had chosen to settle. Most of the slaves were already in an exhausted sleep when they entered, and the two friends were grateful just to be away from the heat for a while. Aragorn leaned against the wall and shut his eyes for a moment, ready to relax into the growing silence.
Abruptly there came a raucous shriek from just beside him. Aragorn jumped and turned, feeling Legolas tense next to him as well. Directly at the ranger's left was a vent about the length of his forearm and the same in height: from it had come the growl. Now more noises issued through to them and Aragorn glanced at his friend who shook his head in confusion.
"Do not worry about it." Kelegalen whispered in a half asleep tone. The two friends turned to him, but the man did not bother to open his eyes. "I heard one of the slaves say that the chamber next door is where Furnmorth's orcs bed down at night."
For a while the growls and shrieks ricocheted through the slave chambers, but all were so exhausted, they paid them no mind. Aragorn shuddered at the sounds and Legolas moved away from the vent, but after a while the commotion began to die down, and slowly it dissipated to low, snorting growls as the agitated brutes finally slept themselves. The ranger turned to Legolas after a moment and he was frowning slightly. "Why are there orcs, Legolas?" He asked quietly.
The elf glanced at the vent for a moment. "I know not," he said finally. "They are never about the foundries, yet I hear their growls and curses often from the storage antechamber, and one of the slaves spoke briefly of the digging of a tunnel."
"Tunnel?" Aragorn seemed to consider that. "Do you not wonder what all this armor is for?"
"Indeed I do," Legolas nodded, "although orcs and armor can only truly mean one thing."
"They are creating an army." Aragorn finished.
"But for what?" Legolas continued, leaning against the cold rock wall and letting his eyes drift shut. "That is the question." The elf was beginning to fall asleep when suddenly Aragorn spoke up.
"Legolas?"
"Mmm..." The elf returned as fatigue slowly over took him.
"Would you consider sleeping with your eyes open? It would put me at ease. I feel nervous when you sleep like that."
Legolas laughed quietly and opened his eyes, placing a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Do not fear my friend; if it would put you at ease then I will do as you ask."
After Aragorn had fallen asleep, Legolas watched the flickering reflections of the entrance torches on the rock walls, and he longed for the light of the stars... He needed the stars. Leaning again against the wall, he willed sleep to come, but it evaded his grasp and after a moment he resolved to stay awake until they were to return to work — he would remain awake and think about the stars outside.
Carefully he put an arm around the ranger beside him and, as he did, Aragorn curled up against him in his sleep. Legolas smiled slightly and leaned back one last time. He stared up at the rough hewn ceiling, trying to imagine the stars past the seemingly endless miles of solid rock, and before he knew what had come upon him, sleep pulled him down into a sudden peaceful security.
TBC…