Title: Bait - Author: Legorfilinde, Dark Forest Singer - Rating: PG-13 (Maybe R later) - Summary: The ancient vampire Thuringwethil puts the bite on Legolas. Is Aragorn safe? Can Aragorn save his friend before Legolas is turned to Shadow forever? - Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Middle Earth or any of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters, ideas, stories, or histories. I am receiving no payment for this fan fiction piece.
Part Eleven
Râzgulduk frantically squirmed and writhed within Thuringwethil's relentless grip. The she-demon held him suspended in the air several feet above the stone flooring, her white hand clutching his scrawny throat and pressing his body into the stone wall of the dungeon cell. His scaly arms flailed about in the air at his sides as he tried desperately to escape from her grasp.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO KILL HIM YOU WITLESS DOLT!" she snarled into the orc's face.
The creature's huge eyes bulged and his black tongue protruded as she tightened her stranglehold upon his neck and his throat was compressed further.
"Nak deh!" he choked. "Nak deh!" His right arm lifted and he wildly pointed toward the makeshift bier of hastily assembled loose planks and barrels where the Elf's body lay sprawled and broken.
Thuringwethil's head tilted slightly and she leaned in closer to the orc's bloated face. "Not dead?" She turned her head to glance at the battered and beaten body of the Wood Elf and then turned back to the simpering orc. "Did he say anything about the Heir of Gondor?"
"Naa, ma laahdi," the terrified beast rasped. He had no wish to tell her that he and the other orcs had not even questioned the Elf about the human's whereabouts, only used him for their own amusement and torture. Should she learn of this lapse in his assigned task, he was surely dead.
Thuringwethil abruptly released the orc and his body plummeted to the floor, landing with a heavy thump in a tangle of arms and legs. Râzgulduk rubbed at his aching throat and sucked in hurried gasps of air, but he dared not move from the spot to which he had fallen. Although her attention was now focused upon the Elven being and her interest in him temporarily forgotten, he knew that Thuringwethil was not yet finished with him. He warily watched the she-demon as she approached the Elf's body. She leaned forward over the motionless figure, intently examining the wood Elf for any signs of life or breath.
One of the prince's slender pale arms dangled from the table, blood dripping from the numerous cuts and claw marks that covered its surface from shoulder to wrist. The chains that formerly encased his wrists had been removed by the orcs. They did not want him to have a weapon of any kind, and had no wish to be strangled by the long, hanging chain.
Once relieved of his shackles, they had tossed him into the pit, a filthy hole usually inhabited by half-starved wargs. This pit was a shallow depression dug out of the ground within the dungeon complex and filled with coarse sand and dirt. Legolas had been prodded and jabbed from above as the orcs pushed him to and fro toying with him and stabbing at his defenseless body with spears and scimitar blades until he was worn down and weakened. Then they had jumped into the pit with him to attack with their short knives and daggers and when those failed to bring the Elf down, their claws and teeth.
Thuringwethil clasped Legolas' bloody wrist and felt for a pulse. There was none detectable and she let the arm fall back as she bent over the Elf's torso to inspect in detail the damage done by the orcs. Three long, deep claw marks raked his chest from collarbone to waist and the broken ribs he had sustained from her previous fury were now framed with blue-black bruises. There were several bite marks upon his shoulders and a multitude of small thin cuts, obviously stab wounds from the orcs' spears and daggers.
Her gaze shifted to his head and face; once so exquisite and striking, his features were now a travesty framed by matted and bloodied strands of golden hair. His right eyebrow was cut, his eye swollen shut and his cheekbones bruised and bloody. His pale lips were cracked and bleeding and there was a large, jagged gash down his left cheek.
Thuringwethil indifferently stroked his battered face with her ivory palm. "Not so beautiful now," she stated, sliding her hand down his cheek to his neck, seeking the artery. She pressed her thin fingers to the translucent skin below his jaw. There was the barest trace of a pulse beneath her fingertips, thready and weak, but there. "Ahhhhhhh," she sighed with contentment. "So he is alive."
She turned her cold countenance back to the cowering orc and Râzgulduk shrank against the wall, his hands pressing against his aching throat. "I tell you he not dead," he whined.
"Be glad, you sniveling toad!" she growled. "Now get out and see that no one disturbs me!"
"Yes, yes!" the orc howled, scrabbling toward the door and fleeing from the cell before the she-demon changed her mind and decided to impale him from one of the iron hooks dangling from the ceiling. As he hastily disappeared from the dungeon, Haqdû, her black goblin scout pushed his way into the cell.
Irritated by the interruption of the ghoul, Thuringwethil gave the creature a withering glare. "What is it?"
Haqdû bowed and scuttled forward. "Movement outside the tower," he hissed. "Dwarves and an ancient one near the bridge. There are Elves in the woods. I smell them."
The shadow creature's interest was instantly peaked. "Was there a human with them?"
"I see no human," the goblin replied.
"I'm sure he's there," she smiled triumphantly, yellow eyes glowing with victory. "Keep a close watch on them, Haqdû. It won't be long now." She waved a hand at him in dismissal. "Now leave me."
The goblin nodded and retreated, the metal door clanging shut behind him. Once the beast was gone, Thuringwethil turned back to Legolas. She glanced at his body again, noting that his leggings were ripped and shredded in several places and there were no boots upon his feet. A jagged and severe bite covered one of his ankles and a short orc dagger still protruded from his upper thigh. She placed her hand upon the knife's hilt and deftly pulled it from his leg. The short dirk came away with a wet, sucking noise and fresh, red blood oozed from the wound. At the sight of the crimson rivulet, her yellow eyes glittered with hunger.
"Not dead yet," she whispered, "but soon." Ignoring her own blood thirst, she drew the dagger across her right wrist and the black ichor of her noxious blood gushed from the cut. She moved to Legolas' head and pressed her wrist onto his cold lips letting the poisonous liquid drain into his mouth and down his throat. After several moments he started choking and gagging, but she pressed the open wound closer to his lips, sliding her left hand under his head and holding it firmly against her slashed wrist.
The Elf's eyelids fluttered open and a look of revulsion and horror filled his blue eyes as he began to realize what was happening to him. He tried to pull his head away, but Thuringwethil would not release her grip upon the back of his neck and he was forced to drink the foul and lethal blood. After a time however, his desire to resist was broken and he began to suck on the gash with stronger and stronger gulps as the uncontrollable hunger within him overrode his will. He rose up upon the table and clasped the demon's arm to his mouth, drinking greedily and deeply of the ancient evil. The gnawing hunger her blood had stirred within him was now too overpowering and all consuming to stop.
"Enough," she hissed, snatching her arm away and stepping back from the table.
She warily studied Legolas as he slowly slid off the boards and stood to face her. He stared at her with iridescent, red eyes that shimmered with renewed life as the venomous fluid raced through his system, but there was no trace of the Elf's spirit in those luminous orbs. The open cuts and gashes upon his body began to visibly close and heal as the morgul blood worked its black spell upon his body. The bites and stab wounds faded and disappeared, and he could feel an incredible strength and power flowing throughout his limbs. When the change was complete, his features, once merely beautiful, were now transformed into something ethereal and otherworldly. He seemed to be a creature of another time and place, ancient even to the race-memory of the Elves.
Aroused by his stunning appearance and vampiric sensuality, Thuringwethil slid closer to him and ran her hands across his smooth and sculpted chest. No traces of any wounds or mauling remained upon his cool, marble skin. "Ahhhh," she smiled up at him. "Beautiful again."
Legolas' expression remained impassive and without interest as he looked at her with empty, soulless eyes. He had no will, no desire, no feeling, only a faint, nagging sense that he should not submit to the shadow and the darkness, but he could not hold on to that thought and it slipped away into the misty red fog.
"Come," the shadow woman commanded. "I have plans for you." She laughed maliciously as the Elf obediently followed her from the prison cell.
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Aragorn and Mithrandir looked up expectantly from their seat under the canopy of leaves as the Dwarves returned through the trees. Lomli was grumbling about something to the others and they were nodding their agreement. All four halted in front of the wizard and leaned upon their axes, waiting for their leader to speak.
"We've assessed the tunnels and have concluded that we cannot enter by way of the river passage," he began. "It is flooded and would take us weeks to drain. The corridor along the tower wall is not much better," he reported.
"But you can dig through it can you not?" asked Strider.
Lomli nodded slowly. "Aye, we can. But it will take some time. There's been a cave-in where this passage connects to the river tunnel; there might be flooding there as well. We won't know until we get through the fallen rock and debris. No telling what we'll find on the other side of that wall of rubble."
Aragorn stood upright. "Then we best get to it," he stated as he bent down to pick up a shovel and pickaxe from the small pile beside the wagon.
The Dwarves looked surprised and baffled by his words and actions.
"Are you planning to dig?" asked Hulir. The young Dwarf was incredulous that anyone who was not a Dwarf would even know how to dig.
"We are running out of time, gentlemen. If I can help, I will do so," answered the ranger.
The Dwarves were about to protest further when the Grey Elf Eäráng abruptly materialized out of trees. His silent and unobserved entrance to their camp gave the Dwarf miners a serious fright.
"Aiiii!" shouted Glaran, the first of the Dwarves to spot the Elf warrior. "Damnable Elf! Creeping about…"
There was much huffing and grumbling while the Dwarves collected themselves and tried to appear unaffected by the Elf's sudden manifestation. Ignoring the Dwarves completely, Eäráng walked quickly over to Strider and began speaking earnestly and quietly in Elvish to the young ranger.
"You can at least speak so we can all understand," groused Lomli and the others nodded, arms firmly crossed against their bulky chests.
The Elf captain's face showed the slightest hint of distaste, but he nodded slightly toward the Dwarves and continued. "You are being watched. They know you are here."
Gandalf rose to his feet and moved over to the Sindarin archer's side. "You are sure of this?"
The Grey Elf nodded. "We followed a party of orcs early this morning. While they were returning to the tower they spotted your wagon." He looked haughtily down at the Dwarves. "The Dwarves were making such a racket I'm surprised they weren't heard in Mordor."
Gandalf laid a strong hand upon Lomli's shoulder before the Dwarf leader could reply, and said, "Good."
"What?" asked Glaran. "I thought this was supposed to be a secret expedition."
The wizard turned to the sturdy miner and smiled cryptically. "It is, Master Dwarf. However, what they think they see is not what it appears to be."
The Dwarves looked confused and ready to start another raucous round of shouting, but the mage raised his hand for silence. "We are wasting time talking. The digging must be complete before dusk." He glanced at Lomli. "Can this be accomplished?"
The portly leader glanced at his companions and back to the wizard. "We only have about five hours of daylight left, Master Wizard. I cannot promise that we'll be through to the tower by then."
"Then we must make all speed gentlemen," said Strider, hefting the digging tools upon his shoulder. "We have run out of time. I will enter that tower as soon as a way is cleared." He glanced significantly at Gandalf. "Day or night."
Before the wizard could reply, Strider started walking toward the dark tower. Without any further word, the four Dwarf rock cutters followed behind him and they too, soon vanished from sight. Gandalf shook his head sadly and turned his attention back to Eäráng.
"If he enters after dark, you will have to contend with the orcs. Are your warriors ready?" he questioned the Elf captain.
The Sindarin nodded. "Yes, Mithrandir."
"I pray it does not come to that," the ancient sage sighed. "But if it does, I will attempt to cause enough of a diversion to draw the orcs out of the tower and into the woods. Your troops should be able to pick them off from the trees." He turned back to face the elder Elf. "I will try to give you a signal."
"What signal?" asked the captain.
"You will know it when it comes," was his cryptic reply.
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Strider waved another cloud of rock powder out of his face and swiped a gritty sleeve across his dusty face trying to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. His dark hair clung to his forehead in damp strands and he was winded and out of breath. A new admiration for the stout Dwarves and their physical prowess built within him as he forced his aching shoulders to swing the pick at the rock wall one more time.
Lomli, busily digging away to his left, glanced at the ranger and hid a smile behind his rough beard. The labor was beginning to tell on the human, but he nonetheless continued hacking away at the stones. The Dwarf leader was about to suggest that they take a few minutes rest, when a slow creaking, cracking sound began to emanate from the stone wall. Lomli immediately stepped back and scanned the wall trying to determine where the stone was going to give way.
"Get back there, Strider," he called. "The wall is starting to shift."
Before either the Dwarf or the human could move, the rock wall exploded outward in a shower of stone and dust; and then a huge cascade of cold, stagnant channel water gushed out of the rock and completely inundated Lomli and Strider, knocking them off their feet and sweeping them down the corridor like logs in a flooding river. Strider crashed heavily into the granite wall and frantically tried to grab onto something to halt his progress, but the water only served to make the stone walls more slippery and his hands could find no purchase.
Lomli fared no better, bobbing up and down like a cork as he was pulled under the water and then popped up again further down the passageway. The Dwarf had somehow managed to hold on to his pick and after several thwarted attempts, hooked his digging tool into the stone wall and hung on as the water rushed past him. He watched helplessly as Strider was swept away down the tunnel along with the torrent of muddy, roiling water.
As suddenly as it began, the waters started to calm and recede as they leveled out, leaving the tunnel filled with several feet of murky, black water. The Dwarf let go of his pick and dropped down into water up to his waist. He started to slog his way down the corridor in search of the human, but in no time he caught sight of Strider making his slow way back up toward the breached wall.
"Was that your plan?" asked Strider as he came into sight of the Dwarf. His sarcastic expression was not lost on the Dwarf.
Lomli looked offended and glared up at the dripping ranger. "I warned you there might be water."
Irritated and quite disgruntled about being drenched, Aragorn sloshed his way past Lomli and headed for the broken edges of the wall. On his way, he grabbed a torch from its seat in a wall bracket. Miraculously the flame had escaped the surging waters and he held it aloft as he peered into the gaping hole. The tunnel beyond was in total darkness and he could see nothing beyond the small halo of light that shone inward from the torch's flames.
He glanced back at Lomli. "Get the rest of your fellows. I'm going on ahead."
Lomli nodded his assent although he was still irked by the ranger's mocking remark about his skills as a tunnel digger. He carefully waded back toward the outside entrance where the other Dwarves had been left to unload the rock and debris from their earlier excavations of the tower tunnel. By now, the flowing waters from the break in the wall would have reached the opening and his companions would be hurrying toward him to find out what had happened; and, as if on cue, three excited Dwarves splashed around a corner and stood facing their waterlogged leader.
"Lomli! Are you well?" asked Glaran. "Where's Strider?"
The others were all shouting at once and Lomli had to yell over them to be heard. "Here now! Quiet!" he cried. "We're fine. Come on, we have work to do."
The foursome hurried through the swirling waters as quickly as they could and eventually reached the broken tunnel wall where Strider had entered alone. Fortunately, both Glaran and Hulir had thought to bring their lanterns with them and they went through the opening first, lighting the way. Lomli and Roifur followed carrying the extra picks and shovels. They soon found Aragorn standing in about a foot of water and surveying another wall at the end of the short tunnel.
Glaran stepped up to the ranger's side and ran his hands along the stone blocks comprising this walled-in section of the tunnel. The blocks had been placed across an entryway and had been mortared together. The plaster was damp with mildew and mold. He gestured for Roifur to bring him a pick and when the ruddy Dwarf handed him the tool, he nodded his thanks.
"This is the tower keep," Aragorn stated. "How long to break through?"
Glaran looked up at the tall ranger and shrugged his burly shoulders. "As long as it takes," he muttered. "Stand back and let us work."
The other miners shouldered their way past Strider and began to position themselves along the entryway. Methodically they began to strike pick to stone and the mortar and rock began to chip away. Strider moved back out of the way and let the Dwarves work. He knew they were swiftly running out of time and daylight; if he was going to hold to his resolve to enter as soon as they opened this wall, then he was going to have to face the fact that he would now have to deal with the tower inhabitants in the dark of night. He would also have to trust Gandalf and hope that the wizard's plan to divert the orcs' attention would work. As more stone began to break away and crumble, he again moved impatiently over to Lomli's side.
"How long, Master Dwarf?" he asked again.
Lomli looked up with an aggravated frown. "Get what you need from your camp and be back here in an hour's time. We'll have an opening by then."
Strider nodded at the stocky miner and then turned and headed back toward the tunnel's entrance. Lomli watched the ranger's retreating back and slowly shook his head in weary resignation.
"We had better have this wall down when the ranger returns, lads," he grumbled. "He'll be going through it, open or not."