Shadow of a Doubt
Chapter Seventeen: Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground
by Capella
A/N: HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Next chapter time! I was going to start this out with humble apologies for my lateness, since I did say I was going to update every two weeks, but you know....I want this to be good. I don't want to zoom through a chapter. But hey, in my freetime I got the entire story line done.
By the way - the story is now going to stop pretending to be canon and go way, way off the Tolkien track. But it's better that way. ^_~
Well that's it for this time - read and review and I'll love you forever.
Oh yes, just a little *warning* - one part of this chapter is a little bit violent. Not much, but just for the squeamish.
_____________________________
"If you can hear a piano fall
You can hear me coming down the hall
If I could just hear your pretty voice
I don't think I need to see at all
Soft hair and a velvet tongue
I want to give you what you give to me
And every breath that is in your lungs
Is a tiny little gift to me..."
-The White Stripes
______________________________
Harry woke that morning to a pair of tiny hands shaking his shoulders urgently. For a moment, still trapped in his dreams, he lashed out with flailing fists and caught something solid. An indignant "ouch!" of pain roused him finally from sleep.
Harry opened his eyes and saw a small figure crouching back on the floor, holding a hand to his nose, looking rather indignant. Harry winced.
"Merry, I'm sorry -"
"What were you dreaming to cause that?" Merry asked, voice sounding pained.
Harry opened his mouth to answer, then frowned. "I don't remember," he said slowly. "What did you want?"
Merry paused and his expressive brown eyes grew saddened, mouth turned down in dismay. He spoke tentatively. "Legolas is gone."
______________________________
"What the hell do you mean we can't go looking for him?"
"Harry, calm yourself, please -"
"I will damn well not calm myself, Aragorn! Legolas has been captured and you say that you have more pressing things to deal with? Give me a break, you -"
"Harry!" Aragorn's palms slapped down on the wooden table with a loud 'thud.' "You did not give me time to explain myself. Now please, sit down, listen, and maybe you will understand."
Gritting his teeth in anger, Harry sat down on one of the wooden stools pulled up to the old table of the main hall. Clenched fists were held tightly by his side as he listened to Aragorn speak.
"My kinsman have ridden down to aid me, and Theoden as well. I cannot possibly leave them, not now. War marches on our lands, and if we are not there to stop it, then all will be lost forever." Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Wait! Do not say anything yet. Theoden and I have discussed it and while you would be a great asset to us at Helm's Deep, we have decided that you would leave to search no matter what I say. We cannot possibly spare anyone else, but we will give you a horse and all the supplies you need." Aragorn's voice softened, and he laid a calloused hand on Harry's shoulder. "Find him for us."
______________________________
The swift hoofbeats of Harry's black mare thundered across the plains. The rushing wind pulled tears into Harry's eyes, and he let loose of the horse's hair for a moment to dash them out off his cheeks. His mind went in circles, most of the thoughts not pleasant.
Something just stuck out in his memory as he was searching for clues, looking for anyone who would have captured Legolas. He remembered so clearly those deep, black eyes of Saruman at Orthanc, as the wizard recognized him. He remembered the concern in Legolas's expression...and the contemplating look on Saruman's face when he saw it.
Harry wanted badly to be concerned. He wanted to be worried, he wanted to be upset - but the only emotion he could feel was a blanket of red anger hazing his mind.
Dead, thought Harry and grit his teeth. When I get my hands on him, he is going to die.
______________________________
Harry took rest that night in an old, decaying tower that had long since been forgotten in the annuls of Middle Earth. He stared up at its ancient majesty, stones crumbling, creepers clinging to the walls, and something struck a chord, deep inside of him. Somehow, in some past remembrance, he remembered coming with Orome, once, to this tower. He saw it for a moment in all its glory, part of a beautiful city with blue banners and silver walls.
Too weary to try and fight off the memories that wouldn't stop coming, Harry tied his horse to a large stone pillar and went to find a place to sleep inside the tower.
______________________________
The next morning rose deceptively lovely over the rolling hills of Rohan. The wind rushed by Harry as he rode, while he urgently spurred on his horse on with sharp heels to her sides. He was becoming desperate now, a sudden attack of pain knocking him unconscious for two days in the tower.
He was starting to fear for Legolas's life.
In his mind he kept seeing what Saruman might have done to the elf, what that -- that thing that the wizard kept in the pits of Orthanc might have done to Legolas.
Suddenly, of in the distance somewhere, Harry caught a flash of light...like the morning sun glinting off black stone. Harry smiled grimly to himself. One day at most, he thought. One day, and I'll have Legolas back.
______________________________
"Saruman!"
Red sparks flew off black stone.
"Get the hell out here, Saruman!" Harry screamed, flinging spell after spell on the impenetrable walls. They bounced off and showered rainbow colors in deadly sprays of light.
"I swear to God, Saruman, if you don't get out here in three seconds -" Harry lifted his wand to do another futile spell and, at the same time, the door opened a crack. Harry didn't hesitate.
"STUPEFY!" he yelled, watching in pleasure as the limp figure of Wormtongue crumpled to the ground with blood leaking out a thin nose. He stepped over the body and into Orthanc.
A loud voice seemed to shake the tower from its roots and the walls shook with the force of it. "Who dares come here uninvited?" Saruman's voice boomed.
Harry's lips curled into a feral snarl. "Someone you'll wish you had never pissed off," he muttered as he raced toward the throne room, wand held aloft. The huge doors burst open before he got there, and the first spell was cast even as he stepped into the room.
It took him by surprise, like a punch to the gut, and he fell heavily to the ground. He realized suddenly that he had never really fought against Saruman. His vision glazed over a bit as he cast his attack.
"Annihilare!"
Saruman moved with surprising speed for his age, rolling from his throne into a crouch on the floor. He looked wild and hunted. Harry thought that he himself probably looked the same.
The old wizard said no words, but simply pointed his staff and what he wanted to happen, did. While dodging a tricky attack, Harry realized that he somehow knew he'd done that before too. He closed his eyes, imagined chains wrapping Saruman from head to toe, and pointed his wand. It was almost too easy.
All noise in the chamber stopped.
Harry opened his eyes.
There, lying on the floor and looking murderous, was Saruman. Immobile. Harry smiled in satisfaction.
His bootsteps echoed ominously as they rang on the stone floor. Harry's dark cloak swished around him and he must have looked terrible, because Saruman shrank back the tiniest bit. Only a bit, but it was enough to let Harry know he had a chance. Finally reaching the wizard, Harry bent down to one knee and looked Saruman in the eye.
"Where is he?" Harry said softly, dangerously.
Saruman gazed back impassively, back to his arrogant self. "Whom do you speak of?"
"Don't play games with me, Saruman!" Harry's palm slapped against the cold floor. "Tell me where Legolas is, or I swear I'll bring this tower down on your head!"
"Ah, you must mean the elf," Saruman said, voice silky and sinuous. "You care for him, do you not." It was not a question.
Harry grit his teeth. "What are you getting at, old man?" he ground out, gripping his wand until his knuckles turned white. He itched to cast an Unforgivable. Saruman stared at him, triumphantly, not answering. Finally reaching the end of his limited patience, Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it straight between Saruman's eyes, glaring at the wizard. "Where is he? If you don't answer I swear, I'll -- I'll kill you."
"He is gone, a day and a half hence with a band of Orcs." At Harry's narrowed eyes, Saruman elaborated smugly. "To Mordor."
Harry's eyes widened in horror. Of all the places for Legolas to be sent. ...
It was a trap, of course. It couldn't have been more obvious than if Sauron had sent him an invitation.
But it was a trap that Harry couldn't help walking straight in to.
Harry bent over the neck of his horse, clenching teeth that would have been chattering if his lips weren't pressed together until they went white. A tiny trickle of blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth. Another explosion of pain nearly knocked Harry off his horse. His stomach felt on fire.
He couldn't afford to stop now. God, in the panic he'd been in about Legolas being sent to Mordor, he'd nearly forgotten one of the more horrifying things Saruman had casually mentioned.
...with a band of Orcs...
_________________________________
The ropes binding his wrists and ankles had been tied too tightly, blood already beginning to glue rope to skin from struggles.
The Orc, towering above from where Legolas lay in the dirt, laughed and bent down to prod Legolas roughly. He refused to cringe or back away, even when the Orc found a particularly sore spot from a broken rib. The Orc laughed again and said something to his comrades, who looked down at the elf with hungry eyes. Legolas ignored them all.
They had caught him unaware, a ways off from the Coomb, a small band of Orcs that had somehow gone unnoticed in the confusion of battle. Before Legolas had even the time to string his bow, the Orcs had his hands and feet bound as he struggled. One of them had clubbed Legolas across the neck and the elf had fell into a blissful blackness.
He had awoke an indeterminate time later, to find his wrists and feet bound too tightly; a rope had been looped about his neck and connected to his hands in such a fashion that if he struggled at all it would cut off his air supply. He had spent most of his time the first night like that, gasping desperately for air as the Orcs loomed above him and laughed in malicious delight.
He still hadn't given up hope completely. It was only the third night, and he had yet to go anywhere or meet anyone. The Orcs had stopped for a long while the second day, leaving him blindfolded and shivering on the ground in the cold morning chill.
A huge, clawed hand ran up his leg and he glared up at his captor, a bit of real fear emerging from the shell of aloofness. The Orc above him grinned, showing foul yellow teeth. Legolas had to bite his already broken bottom lip to keep from making noise as the Orc drug his hand back down Legolas's flank, claws dug in deep. Long ribbons of blood painted Legolas's leg and tattered trousers. The Orc stared at him a little dangerously.
Legolas resisted the urge to cringe as the other Orcs, attracted by the smell of blood and their leader's arousal, crowded around him. The leader still stared at him, bending down to stroke Legolas's bloody leg like the feel of his skin was getting the Orc off.
"Stop," Legolas said, voice breaking.
The leader grabbed Legolas by his hair and hauled the elf up to his feet. The Orc bent forward and bit Legolas's shoulder, drawing blood to run down Legolas's chest. Snarling, Legolas reared back and spit in the Orc's face.
A stinging backhand sent Legolas sprawling, face down in the dirt, reflexive tears streaking his cheeks. He realized suddenly with a growing amount of horror that his trousers were nothing more than a few shreds hanging off his hips and legs. He stared up at the Orcs.
"No," he whispered, but they were closing in swiftly on him, hunger plain on their faces. He closed his eyes as the first Orc reached for him, hope fading away into pain and humiliation, and then darkness.
______________________________
The Orcs had been in plain view two days later.
Rising yet another slope, his horse panting and close to collapse, Harry spotted a lone Orc topping the next hill and disappearing behind it. His breath caught in his throat.
"God, let that be them," he hissed under his breath, spurring on his horse. It rolled its eyes, shy of getting too close.
Harry followed the Orcs all through that day. He came upon numerous evidence of their trail: heavy footsteps in the mud of the marshes, blood from some long-dead animal. A few times he found cattle or horses, ripped apart and mangled. Once he found some nameless person; he had to lean over his horse to empty his stomach after that.
As Harry topped the next hill, he caught sight of a few Orcs going behind the next. Fear quickened his heart. Only one Orc looking back, only one...that's all it would take...bile rose to his throat at the memory of the torn-apart man. There had been peices ripped out that Harry had never wanted to see.
Suddenly an overwhelming fear gripped heart and his stomach fluttered nervously. He looked up from where he'd been tracking the band of Orcs and stopped the horse.
Towering in the distance only a few miles away was the Black Gate.
The Orcs went straight in.
How the hell was he supposed to get into that? There was no way he could pass for an Orc, and he very much doubted that anything human passed those gates often. Trying to get through would arouse at best suspicion and doubt. Harry didn't really want to think of the other possibilities.
As he stroked the mane of his horse, he glanced around the barren wasteland. His gaze tracked a small, almost-hidden path down into a pocket of shadows.
His eyes abruptly rolled back into his head and his spine stiffened as a particularly strong vision/premonition/memory rolled over his mind.
Before he even knew what he was doing, Harry was on his horse and spurring it towards that path; a path leading to a place he knew now as Cirith Ungol.
______________________
A/N: Wish I didn't have to stop the chapter here -- the next one is going to be so freaking cool (...I have to be unmodest, sorry to offend). I've been waiting to write these next few chapters since I started this story. *excited*
Chapter Seventeen: Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground
by Capella
A/N: HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Next chapter time! I was going to start this out with humble apologies for my lateness, since I did say I was going to update every two weeks, but you know....I want this to be good. I don't want to zoom through a chapter. But hey, in my freetime I got the entire story line done.
By the way - the story is now going to stop pretending to be canon and go way, way off the Tolkien track. But it's better that way. ^_~
Well that's it for this time - read and review and I'll love you forever.
Oh yes, just a little *warning* - one part of this chapter is a little bit violent. Not much, but just for the squeamish.
_____________________________
"If you can hear a piano fall
You can hear me coming down the hall
If I could just hear your pretty voice
I don't think I need to see at all
Soft hair and a velvet tongue
I want to give you what you give to me
And every breath that is in your lungs
Is a tiny little gift to me..."
-The White Stripes
______________________________
Harry woke that morning to a pair of tiny hands shaking his shoulders urgently. For a moment, still trapped in his dreams, he lashed out with flailing fists and caught something solid. An indignant "ouch!" of pain roused him finally from sleep.
Harry opened his eyes and saw a small figure crouching back on the floor, holding a hand to his nose, looking rather indignant. Harry winced.
"Merry, I'm sorry -"
"What were you dreaming to cause that?" Merry asked, voice sounding pained.
Harry opened his mouth to answer, then frowned. "I don't remember," he said slowly. "What did you want?"
Merry paused and his expressive brown eyes grew saddened, mouth turned down in dismay. He spoke tentatively. "Legolas is gone."
______________________________
"What the hell do you mean we can't go looking for him?"
"Harry, calm yourself, please -"
"I will damn well not calm myself, Aragorn! Legolas has been captured and you say that you have more pressing things to deal with? Give me a break, you -"
"Harry!" Aragorn's palms slapped down on the wooden table with a loud 'thud.' "You did not give me time to explain myself. Now please, sit down, listen, and maybe you will understand."
Gritting his teeth in anger, Harry sat down on one of the wooden stools pulled up to the old table of the main hall. Clenched fists were held tightly by his side as he listened to Aragorn speak.
"My kinsman have ridden down to aid me, and Theoden as well. I cannot possibly leave them, not now. War marches on our lands, and if we are not there to stop it, then all will be lost forever." Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Wait! Do not say anything yet. Theoden and I have discussed it and while you would be a great asset to us at Helm's Deep, we have decided that you would leave to search no matter what I say. We cannot possibly spare anyone else, but we will give you a horse and all the supplies you need." Aragorn's voice softened, and he laid a calloused hand on Harry's shoulder. "Find him for us."
______________________________
The swift hoofbeats of Harry's black mare thundered across the plains. The rushing wind pulled tears into Harry's eyes, and he let loose of the horse's hair for a moment to dash them out off his cheeks. His mind went in circles, most of the thoughts not pleasant.
Something just stuck out in his memory as he was searching for clues, looking for anyone who would have captured Legolas. He remembered so clearly those deep, black eyes of Saruman at Orthanc, as the wizard recognized him. He remembered the concern in Legolas's expression...and the contemplating look on Saruman's face when he saw it.
Harry wanted badly to be concerned. He wanted to be worried, he wanted to be upset - but the only emotion he could feel was a blanket of red anger hazing his mind.
Dead, thought Harry and grit his teeth. When I get my hands on him, he is going to die.
______________________________
Harry took rest that night in an old, decaying tower that had long since been forgotten in the annuls of Middle Earth. He stared up at its ancient majesty, stones crumbling, creepers clinging to the walls, and something struck a chord, deep inside of him. Somehow, in some past remembrance, he remembered coming with Orome, once, to this tower. He saw it for a moment in all its glory, part of a beautiful city with blue banners and silver walls.
Too weary to try and fight off the memories that wouldn't stop coming, Harry tied his horse to a large stone pillar and went to find a place to sleep inside the tower.
______________________________
The next morning rose deceptively lovely over the rolling hills of Rohan. The wind rushed by Harry as he rode, while he urgently spurred on his horse on with sharp heels to her sides. He was becoming desperate now, a sudden attack of pain knocking him unconscious for two days in the tower.
He was starting to fear for Legolas's life.
In his mind he kept seeing what Saruman might have done to the elf, what that -- that thing that the wizard kept in the pits of Orthanc might have done to Legolas.
Suddenly, of in the distance somewhere, Harry caught a flash of light...like the morning sun glinting off black stone. Harry smiled grimly to himself. One day at most, he thought. One day, and I'll have Legolas back.
______________________________
"Saruman!"
Red sparks flew off black stone.
"Get the hell out here, Saruman!" Harry screamed, flinging spell after spell on the impenetrable walls. They bounced off and showered rainbow colors in deadly sprays of light.
"I swear to God, Saruman, if you don't get out here in three seconds -" Harry lifted his wand to do another futile spell and, at the same time, the door opened a crack. Harry didn't hesitate.
"STUPEFY!" he yelled, watching in pleasure as the limp figure of Wormtongue crumpled to the ground with blood leaking out a thin nose. He stepped over the body and into Orthanc.
A loud voice seemed to shake the tower from its roots and the walls shook with the force of it. "Who dares come here uninvited?" Saruman's voice boomed.
Harry's lips curled into a feral snarl. "Someone you'll wish you had never pissed off," he muttered as he raced toward the throne room, wand held aloft. The huge doors burst open before he got there, and the first spell was cast even as he stepped into the room.
It took him by surprise, like a punch to the gut, and he fell heavily to the ground. He realized suddenly that he had never really fought against Saruman. His vision glazed over a bit as he cast his attack.
"Annihilare!"
Saruman moved with surprising speed for his age, rolling from his throne into a crouch on the floor. He looked wild and hunted. Harry thought that he himself probably looked the same.
The old wizard said no words, but simply pointed his staff and what he wanted to happen, did. While dodging a tricky attack, Harry realized that he somehow knew he'd done that before too. He closed his eyes, imagined chains wrapping Saruman from head to toe, and pointed his wand. It was almost too easy.
All noise in the chamber stopped.
Harry opened his eyes.
There, lying on the floor and looking murderous, was Saruman. Immobile. Harry smiled in satisfaction.
His bootsteps echoed ominously as they rang on the stone floor. Harry's dark cloak swished around him and he must have looked terrible, because Saruman shrank back the tiniest bit. Only a bit, but it was enough to let Harry know he had a chance. Finally reaching the wizard, Harry bent down to one knee and looked Saruman in the eye.
"Where is he?" Harry said softly, dangerously.
Saruman gazed back impassively, back to his arrogant self. "Whom do you speak of?"
"Don't play games with me, Saruman!" Harry's palm slapped against the cold floor. "Tell me where Legolas is, or I swear I'll bring this tower down on your head!"
"Ah, you must mean the elf," Saruman said, voice silky and sinuous. "You care for him, do you not." It was not a question.
Harry grit his teeth. "What are you getting at, old man?" he ground out, gripping his wand until his knuckles turned white. He itched to cast an Unforgivable. Saruman stared at him, triumphantly, not answering. Finally reaching the end of his limited patience, Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it straight between Saruman's eyes, glaring at the wizard. "Where is he? If you don't answer I swear, I'll -- I'll kill you."
"He is gone, a day and a half hence with a band of Orcs." At Harry's narrowed eyes, Saruman elaborated smugly. "To Mordor."
Harry's eyes widened in horror. Of all the places for Legolas to be sent. ...
It was a trap, of course. It couldn't have been more obvious than if Sauron had sent him an invitation.
But it was a trap that Harry couldn't help walking straight in to.
Harry bent over the neck of his horse, clenching teeth that would have been chattering if his lips weren't pressed together until they went white. A tiny trickle of blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth. Another explosion of pain nearly knocked Harry off his horse. His stomach felt on fire.
He couldn't afford to stop now. God, in the panic he'd been in about Legolas being sent to Mordor, he'd nearly forgotten one of the more horrifying things Saruman had casually mentioned.
...with a band of Orcs...
_________________________________
The ropes binding his wrists and ankles had been tied too tightly, blood already beginning to glue rope to skin from struggles.
The Orc, towering above from where Legolas lay in the dirt, laughed and bent down to prod Legolas roughly. He refused to cringe or back away, even when the Orc found a particularly sore spot from a broken rib. The Orc laughed again and said something to his comrades, who looked down at the elf with hungry eyes. Legolas ignored them all.
They had caught him unaware, a ways off from the Coomb, a small band of Orcs that had somehow gone unnoticed in the confusion of battle. Before Legolas had even the time to string his bow, the Orcs had his hands and feet bound as he struggled. One of them had clubbed Legolas across the neck and the elf had fell into a blissful blackness.
He had awoke an indeterminate time later, to find his wrists and feet bound too tightly; a rope had been looped about his neck and connected to his hands in such a fashion that if he struggled at all it would cut off his air supply. He had spent most of his time the first night like that, gasping desperately for air as the Orcs loomed above him and laughed in malicious delight.
He still hadn't given up hope completely. It was only the third night, and he had yet to go anywhere or meet anyone. The Orcs had stopped for a long while the second day, leaving him blindfolded and shivering on the ground in the cold morning chill.
A huge, clawed hand ran up his leg and he glared up at his captor, a bit of real fear emerging from the shell of aloofness. The Orc above him grinned, showing foul yellow teeth. Legolas had to bite his already broken bottom lip to keep from making noise as the Orc drug his hand back down Legolas's flank, claws dug in deep. Long ribbons of blood painted Legolas's leg and tattered trousers. The Orc stared at him a little dangerously.
Legolas resisted the urge to cringe as the other Orcs, attracted by the smell of blood and their leader's arousal, crowded around him. The leader still stared at him, bending down to stroke Legolas's bloody leg like the feel of his skin was getting the Orc off.
"Stop," Legolas said, voice breaking.
The leader grabbed Legolas by his hair and hauled the elf up to his feet. The Orc bent forward and bit Legolas's shoulder, drawing blood to run down Legolas's chest. Snarling, Legolas reared back and spit in the Orc's face.
A stinging backhand sent Legolas sprawling, face down in the dirt, reflexive tears streaking his cheeks. He realized suddenly with a growing amount of horror that his trousers were nothing more than a few shreds hanging off his hips and legs. He stared up at the Orcs.
"No," he whispered, but they were closing in swiftly on him, hunger plain on their faces. He closed his eyes as the first Orc reached for him, hope fading away into pain and humiliation, and then darkness.
______________________________
The Orcs had been in plain view two days later.
Rising yet another slope, his horse panting and close to collapse, Harry spotted a lone Orc topping the next hill and disappearing behind it. His breath caught in his throat.
"God, let that be them," he hissed under his breath, spurring on his horse. It rolled its eyes, shy of getting too close.
Harry followed the Orcs all through that day. He came upon numerous evidence of their trail: heavy footsteps in the mud of the marshes, blood from some long-dead animal. A few times he found cattle or horses, ripped apart and mangled. Once he found some nameless person; he had to lean over his horse to empty his stomach after that.
As Harry topped the next hill, he caught sight of a few Orcs going behind the next. Fear quickened his heart. Only one Orc looking back, only one...that's all it would take...bile rose to his throat at the memory of the torn-apart man. There had been peices ripped out that Harry had never wanted to see.
Suddenly an overwhelming fear gripped heart and his stomach fluttered nervously. He looked up from where he'd been tracking the band of Orcs and stopped the horse.
Towering in the distance only a few miles away was the Black Gate.
The Orcs went straight in.
How the hell was he supposed to get into that? There was no way he could pass for an Orc, and he very much doubted that anything human passed those gates often. Trying to get through would arouse at best suspicion and doubt. Harry didn't really want to think of the other possibilities.
As he stroked the mane of his horse, he glanced around the barren wasteland. His gaze tracked a small, almost-hidden path down into a pocket of shadows.
His eyes abruptly rolled back into his head and his spine stiffened as a particularly strong vision/premonition/memory rolled over his mind.
Before he even knew what he was doing, Harry was on his horse and spurring it towards that path; a path leading to a place he knew now as Cirith Ungol.
______________________
A/N: Wish I didn't have to stop the chapter here -- the next one is going to be so freaking cool (...I have to be unmodest, sorry to offend). I've been waiting to write these next few chapters since I started this story. *excited*