Author's note: Hello hello! I'm moving as fast as I can to update, but it
is growing exceedingly difficult given the fact that it is nearly the end
of term, and the teacher's seem to have only recently noticed and are
loading us up with assignments and such. It's pandemonium! Thank you to
my reviewers (wow, I have about three!!!). It is good to know that this
piece is appreciated by some, albeit a few ^_^.
Yes yes, I know I am being absolutely awful to Legolas, but is it for a reason which will be known come the end. And guess what? Things are going to get worse for the Elf prince and his Gondorian companion. I won't reveal anything, it just seems to be a good idea to whet a reader's appetite before they actually read.
Cheers! Thorn Dew'Pearled
_________________________________
Lying upon the uncomfortable ground they rested as they could, only as they could. Worry gnawed ever at them, fear for their companions, fear for what would become of them and their brave quest to destroy the most prominent and perilous evil in existence. Although it seemed that had never been meant, for what had at first appeared a near harmless voyage into the unknown had ended in disaster unable to be repaired.
And had it not been for his wanton pursuits, we may not be in such a hopeless situation.
Boromir lay awake, cursing his ill fate, cursing the ailing Elf who lay, drifting aimlessly within the waking world and without, at his side.
Had it not been for Gandalf and his utter lack of direction, we may have found another way. Had it not been for Aragorn, we would never have needed to endure this. And had - had Frodo merely bequeathed the Ring to me, this would not have been a necessity!
Hate seethed in the Son of Denethor, as his inherent pride was precipitated against his sensibility, as his mind argued he was undeserving whilst his heart debated there was none to blame. He could not rightfully put anyone at fault - but Boromir did not care. Innately arrogant, it was an impossibility to ever place himself within the seat of judgement. When careful plans went awry, to him there was always someone to blame; someone who had caused, whether intentional or not, those plans to go astray.
Yet it was never he who had committed the crime, done the wrong.
Hate turned to resent. Was he truly such an ignorant beast? Did he really condemn others less deserving of misery for the sake of his own reputation and comfort? Discomfiture wholly consumed anger.
'You grieve. Why?'
Legolas had awoken, roused by the battle the troubled Man waged inwardly. Boromir deliberately faced away from the Elf, curled upon his side. 'Go back to sleep,' he muttered. 'I am not grieved. You are misled. Go back to sleep.'
The Elf did not do as he was bid; instead he laughed softly. 'Oh Boromir,' he admonished gently, smiling. 'I do recall another speaking those words to one who hearkened but did not heed - so now I say, I hearken, but I will not heed. What grieves you?'
The Elf's voice was soft, soothing. Boromir wished then and there to pour out his heart to the prince; for his were ears that promised to listen, and his was a voice that promised respond kindly to Boromir's sorrowed words. But the proud and arrogant man of Gondor could not. He did not wish to demean himself anymore in the eyes of the Elven Prince, having already done so on numerous occasions. Surely Legolas had by now discerned his weaknesses, a humiliation which burned like a roaring conflagration within the Man.
'Go back to sleep,' Boromir repeated again, wishing desperately that Legolas would relent and do as he was told. Legolas appeared to understand, murmuring a 'Rest well, then, my friend,' and shifting in an attempt to ease his cramped and aching limbs. Indeed, pain was no stranger.
Yet the silence between them had stretched suddenly in to a vast expanse, measuring miles unable to be guessed. Awkwardness increased the distance, seperating Elf from Man, slowly drawing what little understanding they had possessed away from their grasp.
Gradually but eventually, Legolas and Boromir began to lose once another into a gaping void; for the selfishness of mind each still had, and the ideals of their kin to which they strongly adhered, blinded them to what truly lay there.
And in their current state of misfortune, theirs was an invisible foe, which would prove deadly to one before long.
Hatred is a powerful enemy; Away it must be ward. An ignorant man may try to strike, But the blind cannot wield a sword.
_________________________________
He had disappeared. With the lithe form and silent feet of his kind, he had vanished without a trace. Gimli groped at his chest, feeling for the shaft he was certain protruded from his heart, aware of an acute sense of numbness that was stealing over his body.
His fumbling hand met with no arrow - remarkably, there was not even a wound! Truth be told, the dwarf had not even felt the Elven dart strike its mark. Had he dreamt it then? He had found himself lying on the ground; perhaps he had stumbled and cracked his thick skull against a rock?
Had the Elf merely been a phantom conjured by his aching mind, a ghost born of his inner conscience? If a conscience he indeed possessed, for all feeling seemed to eventually become clear to others.
Using the stalagmite to lever himself to his feet, he set off again, his axe resting over his shoulder, mumbling and grumbling as was his wont.
Although, where he had been certain Legolas had stood and attempted to kill him, there seemed to burgeon a strange feeling, like chillness radiated by an inferno of ice. He knew, as the feeling in his limbs began to sleep, that the coldness of the air was the imprint of the malevolent Elf.
Gimli had not dreamt it. Legolas had been there after all.
_________________________________
'Merry! Merry, wake up!'
Pippin shook his cousin roughly, pleading him to open his eyes, which Merry did, if rather reluctantly. 'Pip?' he mumbled sleepily, pushing the frantic Took away. 'What's gotten into you?'
'Boromir tried to kill me,' Pippin whispered, his fists clenched at his cheeks, his eyes wide, gaping like his mouth.
'Boromir? What? Don't be ridiculous,' Merry scoffed, laughing. 'I think your dreams are a little fevered, dear cousin. Are you catching a chill?'
Concernedly he placed a hand against Pippin's brow, but the younger hobbit pushed it away indignantly. 'I saw what I saw,' he insisted obstinately, frowning darkly. 'Boromir came out of the dark, and I called to him, but he didn't answer. Then he lifted his sword, and brought it down - and everything went black ... then I woke up again,' he ended lamely, and blushed scarlet with what his cousin suspected was shame.
'See? It is as I suspected. You dreamt it all, silly,' said Merry, in an attempt at assurance. Although somewhere deep within he was afraid - Pippin was never one to make up untruths about serious matters. 'Anyway, if Boromir had had a mind to kill you, don't you think you would be dead?'
'He missed,' said Pippin sulkily. 'I'm certain I saw him! He was standing right there!'
He pointed, and gasped. Merry felt as if his blood had frozen in his veins.
For where Pippin directed his gaze, upon the treacherous ground, lay the evidence to the fervent Took's claims.
A boot print.
Identical to that of Boromir.
_________________________________
'What foul fortune! Frodo? Mr. Frodo? Oh, where's he gotten himself to now?'
Panicked, Sam was diligently searching high and low, seeking his missing master. So intent was he on finding the Ringbearer, he paid no heed to where he set his feet, and as consequence slipped, tumbling a short way and coming to a breathless halt.
Gandalf had forsaken him. Frodo had forsaken him. Legolas and Boromir and Gimli were gone, along with the Took and the Brandybuck, of whom Sam was not entirely fond, but did care for.
Climbing with difficulty to his sore and weary feet, he continued. Shadows skulked within shadows, darkness claimed darkness, crevices locked and ravines gaped. All was the same in this unpleasant underworld.
'It's not fair,' stated Sam sombrely to himself, the epitome of misery. 'Why'd it have to go and become like this? Why'd Strider have to go and get himself lost? Why'd Legolas and Boromir have to go after him? Things would never have turned this grim if we'd just stayed together, as a good fellowship ought.'
Sighing, he sat down to rest, his head supported heavily in his hands. '"It's a cruel world out there, Samwise; so don't go a-dabbling your toes in it," like my gaffer used to say,' he muttered to himself. 'And his words ring true. I don't think it could get much crueller then this! Though mayhap I shouldn't say that - evil things are wont to worsen when unwary people go and proclaim they couldn't. Well, there's nothing for it, Sam Gamgee, but to go on again. You're not going to find your master sitting hopelessly in the dark.'
And so the heavyhearted hobbit gardener heaved himself to his feet, and set off once more, oblivious to the reflective eyes that watched him from a distance. With a throaty mumble that sounded much like a gollum the hidden watcher skulked away.
_________________________________
Gandalf stared bleakly upon the crossroad. His chosen path diverged now with many and sprang away in dark branches, slender and treacherous. The rough roads were bordered with many a decrepit Dwarven structure, more often than not a hewn slab of stone into which was carved their runes; and also writing Elvish of origin, but rendered into the Dwarvish mode.
Some he stopped to peer at, others he passed swiftly by without further thought. His heart was gripped in the icy clutches of fear, for he knew of Frodo's plight, to which the hobbit himself was oblivious. How could the Halfling entrust himself into the care of one he knew was corrupt, regardless of the creature's words?
He is fearful, Gandalf answered his own query and sighed wearily. Light fell in cold white shafts, like Elven knives, through faults in the dark and high-vaulted ceiling. Glancing upwards, one could not clearly discern whether their eyes gazed upon the end of the vast mines, or into the sable depths of a moonless sky. Whether Isil or Anor reigned in the outside world none could tell.
Gandalf made for Dwarrowdelf, and understood his way would be difficult for his intended path no longer lay before him. And, gravely, he knew that it was not necessary that the roads of the others would lead them to assured safety. It was liable that their deaths had been met long ago.
The elderly man wished only to sink to his knees and weep but he strove bravely onwards, telling himself that it was only the life of the Ringbearer that mattered, and the others had come through selection by Elrond to protect that life. If they lay cold and without breath somewhere in the inestimable stretch of mined stone, Gandalf need not worry for their sake.
Frodo was the utmost priority, and the wizard needed desperately to find and succour him from the dangers into which he walked oblivious.
_________________________________
'Aragorn, I am weary and cold. May we have a brief rest, please?'
'Nay Frodo. We must press onwards. Time is no longer upon our side - we must make our own way. We can depend on no one, and no one can depend on us. Understand?'
'Yes,' mumbled the Halfling tiredly, and he yawned and stumbled. Aragorn caught him by the collar and shook him. 'Be careful!' he hissed roughly and thrust the hobbit away. Frodo staggered but balanced himself and stared upon the rugged face of the Ranger.
'Aragorn - ?' he asked, suddenly fearful. Memories came flooding back; he recalled that Aragorn was not the sole occupant of his body.
The heir of Isildur sneered unpleasantly and stabbed a finger ahead. 'Hasten,' he commanded churlishly. 'Long ways to go yet. Hurry.'
'N-no,' stammered Frodo, backing away in unease, clutching at the Ring upon its golden chain. 'You are not yourself - avaunt, you creature!'
Aragorn snarled and lunged for him. 'You will come with me you pathetic little man!' he screeched. 'Give me the Ring! Give it to me, or feel the bite of steel!'
Frodo cried in terror, but he fell heavily over a stone and scrambled backwards. The Ranger advanced, the glint of madness visible in the depths of his melancholy grey eye. Suddenly Aragorn halted, gazing blankly into the distance, and held a hand to his face, his shoulders trembling vehemently.
'I am sorry Frodo,' he whispered with an effort, and the hobbit knew this to be the true Strider. 'I try - truthfully I do - give me the Ring! ... No! Run, Frodo! Run!'
Terrified, Frodo did as bade and ran, as Aragorn fought an internal battle and collapsed upon the stone, twitching madly. Frodo stopped, and turned for him, but the Ranger was upon his knees and screamed, 'Run Frodo! Worry not for me: I do not matter. Run, Ringbearer! The wolf is hunting! Away with you!'
Weeping, Frodo ran from him. In agony, Aragorn curled upon the stone and hugged his knees. 'You weak, pathetic, pitiful insect!' Shenlar shrieked at him, and one hand was lifted to fall in a stinging blow upon the broken man's dirt-streaked face.
Helpless, bereft of all, the Ranger's tears fell in silence.
What has happened to me? I have become a wild beast!
_________________________________
Legolas' breathing had grown shallow, and rattled disquietingly in his chest. Boromir panicked, not knowing aught he could do. Covering the trembling frame of the ailing Elf with his cloak, he chaffed Legolas' hands fervidly in effort to warm him. 'Elves are supposed to be immune to ailments,' he muttered worriedly. 'Illness is a mortal trait - what then is this?'
A golden tendril of hair he brushed carefully from Legolas' brow, and thought suddenly how lordly and beautiful he looked. He knew the ethereal quality of the prince was born of his heritage, but he could not help but feel belittled and sore. And something else was pulling at his heartstrings unremittingly. Blatantly the Gondorian ignored it.
'Boromir?' Legolas whispered weakly, stirring and reaching out a hand. 'Boromir - it is dark, I cannot see. Is night come?'
Boromir froze in sudden horror. There was light enough for his eyes to descry what lay at least two feet before and behind him. He hoisted the limp elf from the ground and held him at arms length. Legolas' head fell onto his shoulder, and he blinked wearily. And what Boromir saw there frightened him terribly.
'Is night come?' he repeated, and his fair features crossed suddenly with terror as realisation dawned upon him. 'By Elbereth! I am blind!'
He held his hands to his face and waved his hands before his eyes, white as ivory marbles and nearly featureless save for rings of pale grey. There was none of the erstwhile and beautiful blue he had possessed, no acuity of sight for he had none.
The Elf collapsed into Boromir's arms and began to weep noisily, one fist to his mouth as he tried to stem his grief, but to no avail.
In utter misery, Boromir embraced his companion tightly and cried with him, and each one's tears pattering mournfully upon his companion's shoulder.
'What is this devilry?' Legolas sobbed frantically, clutching the material of Boromir's tunic in his horror and sorrow. 'Why is this so?'
'I do not know,' Boromir replied, choked. 'I do not know, my friend - you are running a fever Legolas,' he added rather irrelevantly, and frowned.
Truthfully, what devilry is at work here?
_________________________________
Skulking in the shadows, Aragorn found his lips were burning. Passing a tentative hand across them, he felt the heat upon his fingertips, and wondered at it.
Shenlar laughed wickedly. 'I fear your Elven friend no longer possesses his inherent keenness of eye,' he said mysteriously.
Aragorn stared. 'What do you mean?' he began in confusion, and then his mind answered his own question. 'Oh Valar ... I - you have blinded him! You - unspeakable wretch!' 'Hush,' Shenlar ordered, glaring. 'You are nearly gone, so perhaps it would be wiser not to challenge or insult me. Now move!'
_________________________________
So now there are two creatures on the loose - Aragorn's invader Shenlar, and the erstwhile master of the Ring, Gollum. And now that Frodo is companionless and Sam has the Ring's former master behind him, what will become of the sundered Fellowship. What are these phantoms in truth? Will Boromir learn to deal with his companion's disability, and can Legolas come to terms with it? Hmm - I'll try to get that information to you A.S.A.P ^_^. Thank you!
Yes yes, I know I am being absolutely awful to Legolas, but is it for a reason which will be known come the end. And guess what? Things are going to get worse for the Elf prince and his Gondorian companion. I won't reveal anything, it just seems to be a good idea to whet a reader's appetite before they actually read.
Cheers! Thorn Dew'Pearled
_________________________________
Lying upon the uncomfortable ground they rested as they could, only as they could. Worry gnawed ever at them, fear for their companions, fear for what would become of them and their brave quest to destroy the most prominent and perilous evil in existence. Although it seemed that had never been meant, for what had at first appeared a near harmless voyage into the unknown had ended in disaster unable to be repaired.
And had it not been for his wanton pursuits, we may not be in such a hopeless situation.
Boromir lay awake, cursing his ill fate, cursing the ailing Elf who lay, drifting aimlessly within the waking world and without, at his side.
Had it not been for Gandalf and his utter lack of direction, we may have found another way. Had it not been for Aragorn, we would never have needed to endure this. And had - had Frodo merely bequeathed the Ring to me, this would not have been a necessity!
Hate seethed in the Son of Denethor, as his inherent pride was precipitated against his sensibility, as his mind argued he was undeserving whilst his heart debated there was none to blame. He could not rightfully put anyone at fault - but Boromir did not care. Innately arrogant, it was an impossibility to ever place himself within the seat of judgement. When careful plans went awry, to him there was always someone to blame; someone who had caused, whether intentional or not, those plans to go astray.
Yet it was never he who had committed the crime, done the wrong.
Hate turned to resent. Was he truly such an ignorant beast? Did he really condemn others less deserving of misery for the sake of his own reputation and comfort? Discomfiture wholly consumed anger.
'You grieve. Why?'
Legolas had awoken, roused by the battle the troubled Man waged inwardly. Boromir deliberately faced away from the Elf, curled upon his side. 'Go back to sleep,' he muttered. 'I am not grieved. You are misled. Go back to sleep.'
The Elf did not do as he was bid; instead he laughed softly. 'Oh Boromir,' he admonished gently, smiling. 'I do recall another speaking those words to one who hearkened but did not heed - so now I say, I hearken, but I will not heed. What grieves you?'
The Elf's voice was soft, soothing. Boromir wished then and there to pour out his heart to the prince; for his were ears that promised to listen, and his was a voice that promised respond kindly to Boromir's sorrowed words. But the proud and arrogant man of Gondor could not. He did not wish to demean himself anymore in the eyes of the Elven Prince, having already done so on numerous occasions. Surely Legolas had by now discerned his weaknesses, a humiliation which burned like a roaring conflagration within the Man.
'Go back to sleep,' Boromir repeated again, wishing desperately that Legolas would relent and do as he was told. Legolas appeared to understand, murmuring a 'Rest well, then, my friend,' and shifting in an attempt to ease his cramped and aching limbs. Indeed, pain was no stranger.
Yet the silence between them had stretched suddenly in to a vast expanse, measuring miles unable to be guessed. Awkwardness increased the distance, seperating Elf from Man, slowly drawing what little understanding they had possessed away from their grasp.
Gradually but eventually, Legolas and Boromir began to lose once another into a gaping void; for the selfishness of mind each still had, and the ideals of their kin to which they strongly adhered, blinded them to what truly lay there.
And in their current state of misfortune, theirs was an invisible foe, which would prove deadly to one before long.
Hatred is a powerful enemy; Away it must be ward. An ignorant man may try to strike, But the blind cannot wield a sword.
_________________________________
He had disappeared. With the lithe form and silent feet of his kind, he had vanished without a trace. Gimli groped at his chest, feeling for the shaft he was certain protruded from his heart, aware of an acute sense of numbness that was stealing over his body.
His fumbling hand met with no arrow - remarkably, there was not even a wound! Truth be told, the dwarf had not even felt the Elven dart strike its mark. Had he dreamt it then? He had found himself lying on the ground; perhaps he had stumbled and cracked his thick skull against a rock?
Had the Elf merely been a phantom conjured by his aching mind, a ghost born of his inner conscience? If a conscience he indeed possessed, for all feeling seemed to eventually become clear to others.
Using the stalagmite to lever himself to his feet, he set off again, his axe resting over his shoulder, mumbling and grumbling as was his wont.
Although, where he had been certain Legolas had stood and attempted to kill him, there seemed to burgeon a strange feeling, like chillness radiated by an inferno of ice. He knew, as the feeling in his limbs began to sleep, that the coldness of the air was the imprint of the malevolent Elf.
Gimli had not dreamt it. Legolas had been there after all.
_________________________________
'Merry! Merry, wake up!'
Pippin shook his cousin roughly, pleading him to open his eyes, which Merry did, if rather reluctantly. 'Pip?' he mumbled sleepily, pushing the frantic Took away. 'What's gotten into you?'
'Boromir tried to kill me,' Pippin whispered, his fists clenched at his cheeks, his eyes wide, gaping like his mouth.
'Boromir? What? Don't be ridiculous,' Merry scoffed, laughing. 'I think your dreams are a little fevered, dear cousin. Are you catching a chill?'
Concernedly he placed a hand against Pippin's brow, but the younger hobbit pushed it away indignantly. 'I saw what I saw,' he insisted obstinately, frowning darkly. 'Boromir came out of the dark, and I called to him, but he didn't answer. Then he lifted his sword, and brought it down - and everything went black ... then I woke up again,' he ended lamely, and blushed scarlet with what his cousin suspected was shame.
'See? It is as I suspected. You dreamt it all, silly,' said Merry, in an attempt at assurance. Although somewhere deep within he was afraid - Pippin was never one to make up untruths about serious matters. 'Anyway, if Boromir had had a mind to kill you, don't you think you would be dead?'
'He missed,' said Pippin sulkily. 'I'm certain I saw him! He was standing right there!'
He pointed, and gasped. Merry felt as if his blood had frozen in his veins.
For where Pippin directed his gaze, upon the treacherous ground, lay the evidence to the fervent Took's claims.
A boot print.
Identical to that of Boromir.
_________________________________
'What foul fortune! Frodo? Mr. Frodo? Oh, where's he gotten himself to now?'
Panicked, Sam was diligently searching high and low, seeking his missing master. So intent was he on finding the Ringbearer, he paid no heed to where he set his feet, and as consequence slipped, tumbling a short way and coming to a breathless halt.
Gandalf had forsaken him. Frodo had forsaken him. Legolas and Boromir and Gimli were gone, along with the Took and the Brandybuck, of whom Sam was not entirely fond, but did care for.
Climbing with difficulty to his sore and weary feet, he continued. Shadows skulked within shadows, darkness claimed darkness, crevices locked and ravines gaped. All was the same in this unpleasant underworld.
'It's not fair,' stated Sam sombrely to himself, the epitome of misery. 'Why'd it have to go and become like this? Why'd Strider have to go and get himself lost? Why'd Legolas and Boromir have to go after him? Things would never have turned this grim if we'd just stayed together, as a good fellowship ought.'
Sighing, he sat down to rest, his head supported heavily in his hands. '"It's a cruel world out there, Samwise; so don't go a-dabbling your toes in it," like my gaffer used to say,' he muttered to himself. 'And his words ring true. I don't think it could get much crueller then this! Though mayhap I shouldn't say that - evil things are wont to worsen when unwary people go and proclaim they couldn't. Well, there's nothing for it, Sam Gamgee, but to go on again. You're not going to find your master sitting hopelessly in the dark.'
And so the heavyhearted hobbit gardener heaved himself to his feet, and set off once more, oblivious to the reflective eyes that watched him from a distance. With a throaty mumble that sounded much like a gollum the hidden watcher skulked away.
_________________________________
Gandalf stared bleakly upon the crossroad. His chosen path diverged now with many and sprang away in dark branches, slender and treacherous. The rough roads were bordered with many a decrepit Dwarven structure, more often than not a hewn slab of stone into which was carved their runes; and also writing Elvish of origin, but rendered into the Dwarvish mode.
Some he stopped to peer at, others he passed swiftly by without further thought. His heart was gripped in the icy clutches of fear, for he knew of Frodo's plight, to which the hobbit himself was oblivious. How could the Halfling entrust himself into the care of one he knew was corrupt, regardless of the creature's words?
He is fearful, Gandalf answered his own query and sighed wearily. Light fell in cold white shafts, like Elven knives, through faults in the dark and high-vaulted ceiling. Glancing upwards, one could not clearly discern whether their eyes gazed upon the end of the vast mines, or into the sable depths of a moonless sky. Whether Isil or Anor reigned in the outside world none could tell.
Gandalf made for Dwarrowdelf, and understood his way would be difficult for his intended path no longer lay before him. And, gravely, he knew that it was not necessary that the roads of the others would lead them to assured safety. It was liable that their deaths had been met long ago.
The elderly man wished only to sink to his knees and weep but he strove bravely onwards, telling himself that it was only the life of the Ringbearer that mattered, and the others had come through selection by Elrond to protect that life. If they lay cold and without breath somewhere in the inestimable stretch of mined stone, Gandalf need not worry for their sake.
Frodo was the utmost priority, and the wizard needed desperately to find and succour him from the dangers into which he walked oblivious.
_________________________________
'Aragorn, I am weary and cold. May we have a brief rest, please?'
'Nay Frodo. We must press onwards. Time is no longer upon our side - we must make our own way. We can depend on no one, and no one can depend on us. Understand?'
'Yes,' mumbled the Halfling tiredly, and he yawned and stumbled. Aragorn caught him by the collar and shook him. 'Be careful!' he hissed roughly and thrust the hobbit away. Frodo staggered but balanced himself and stared upon the rugged face of the Ranger.
'Aragorn - ?' he asked, suddenly fearful. Memories came flooding back; he recalled that Aragorn was not the sole occupant of his body.
The heir of Isildur sneered unpleasantly and stabbed a finger ahead. 'Hasten,' he commanded churlishly. 'Long ways to go yet. Hurry.'
'N-no,' stammered Frodo, backing away in unease, clutching at the Ring upon its golden chain. 'You are not yourself - avaunt, you creature!'
Aragorn snarled and lunged for him. 'You will come with me you pathetic little man!' he screeched. 'Give me the Ring! Give it to me, or feel the bite of steel!'
Frodo cried in terror, but he fell heavily over a stone and scrambled backwards. The Ranger advanced, the glint of madness visible in the depths of his melancholy grey eye. Suddenly Aragorn halted, gazing blankly into the distance, and held a hand to his face, his shoulders trembling vehemently.
'I am sorry Frodo,' he whispered with an effort, and the hobbit knew this to be the true Strider. 'I try - truthfully I do - give me the Ring! ... No! Run, Frodo! Run!'
Terrified, Frodo did as bade and ran, as Aragorn fought an internal battle and collapsed upon the stone, twitching madly. Frodo stopped, and turned for him, but the Ranger was upon his knees and screamed, 'Run Frodo! Worry not for me: I do not matter. Run, Ringbearer! The wolf is hunting! Away with you!'
Weeping, Frodo ran from him. In agony, Aragorn curled upon the stone and hugged his knees. 'You weak, pathetic, pitiful insect!' Shenlar shrieked at him, and one hand was lifted to fall in a stinging blow upon the broken man's dirt-streaked face.
Helpless, bereft of all, the Ranger's tears fell in silence.
What has happened to me? I have become a wild beast!
_________________________________
Legolas' breathing had grown shallow, and rattled disquietingly in his chest. Boromir panicked, not knowing aught he could do. Covering the trembling frame of the ailing Elf with his cloak, he chaffed Legolas' hands fervidly in effort to warm him. 'Elves are supposed to be immune to ailments,' he muttered worriedly. 'Illness is a mortal trait - what then is this?'
A golden tendril of hair he brushed carefully from Legolas' brow, and thought suddenly how lordly and beautiful he looked. He knew the ethereal quality of the prince was born of his heritage, but he could not help but feel belittled and sore. And something else was pulling at his heartstrings unremittingly. Blatantly the Gondorian ignored it.
'Boromir?' Legolas whispered weakly, stirring and reaching out a hand. 'Boromir - it is dark, I cannot see. Is night come?'
Boromir froze in sudden horror. There was light enough for his eyes to descry what lay at least two feet before and behind him. He hoisted the limp elf from the ground and held him at arms length. Legolas' head fell onto his shoulder, and he blinked wearily. And what Boromir saw there frightened him terribly.
'Is night come?' he repeated, and his fair features crossed suddenly with terror as realisation dawned upon him. 'By Elbereth! I am blind!'
He held his hands to his face and waved his hands before his eyes, white as ivory marbles and nearly featureless save for rings of pale grey. There was none of the erstwhile and beautiful blue he had possessed, no acuity of sight for he had none.
The Elf collapsed into Boromir's arms and began to weep noisily, one fist to his mouth as he tried to stem his grief, but to no avail.
In utter misery, Boromir embraced his companion tightly and cried with him, and each one's tears pattering mournfully upon his companion's shoulder.
'What is this devilry?' Legolas sobbed frantically, clutching the material of Boromir's tunic in his horror and sorrow. 'Why is this so?'
'I do not know,' Boromir replied, choked. 'I do not know, my friend - you are running a fever Legolas,' he added rather irrelevantly, and frowned.
Truthfully, what devilry is at work here?
_________________________________
Skulking in the shadows, Aragorn found his lips were burning. Passing a tentative hand across them, he felt the heat upon his fingertips, and wondered at it.
Shenlar laughed wickedly. 'I fear your Elven friend no longer possesses his inherent keenness of eye,' he said mysteriously.
Aragorn stared. 'What do you mean?' he began in confusion, and then his mind answered his own question. 'Oh Valar ... I - you have blinded him! You - unspeakable wretch!' 'Hush,' Shenlar ordered, glaring. 'You are nearly gone, so perhaps it would be wiser not to challenge or insult me. Now move!'
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So now there are two creatures on the loose - Aragorn's invader Shenlar, and the erstwhile master of the Ring, Gollum. And now that Frodo is companionless and Sam has the Ring's former master behind him, what will become of the sundered Fellowship. What are these phantoms in truth? Will Boromir learn to deal with his companion's disability, and can Legolas come to terms with it? Hmm - I'll try to get that information to you A.S.A.P ^_^. Thank you!
