Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended.
"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the
Broken Fellowship Series. It is
strongly recommended that you read the previous stories first.
Well, after trying to upload unsuccessfully for almost a week, here's the next chapter! Thanks to all who've written such great comments -- keep 'em coming! {g}
The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:
Window of the Sunset
Chapter 9: To the Cross-roads
by Lizardbeth Johnson
A biting chill breeze flowed through the chamber and the few lit torches flickered, as a dark miasma spread out from the ring. The men began to stir, muttering in their sleep and turning restlessly as their dreams grew shadowed.
Legolas hurried to his side of the chamber, where Sam still slept peacefully. After threading the ring back on its chain under his tunic, he buckled on Boromir's sword, trying to be quick but silent, and keeping a wary eye on the sleeping mortals. His cloak, then quiver and knife harness were next, slung over his head. A cough and grumble turned his head in alarm, but no one stirred yet.
Last, he bent to pick up his pouch of supplies and bow.
"Where are you going, elf?" the voice was loud, not far behind him.
Legolas dropped everything and whipped around, knife in his right hand. Other men were waking, but it was the dark haired man standing ten paces away that concerned him most. In the dim light, his eyes glittered.
"Why do you sneak out like a thief in the night?" the man demanded. His own belt knife was already drawn, Legolas noticed.
"What is your name?" Legolas challenged, hoping to distract him, just a moment.
The man's eyes narrowed, but he answered. "Angrod, son of Angbor of Lamedon."
"Angrod," Legolas repeated and nodded once. He lowered his knife, but did not re-sheathe it. "It is an honorable name, known in the lore of my people. Angrod, son of Finarfin, was slain during the Dagor Bragollach, in combat with the forces of Shadow. He was a wise prince of the west and mighty warrior." For just a moment, the dark gleam in Angrod's eyes faltered.
A confused voice near his feet interrupted, "Legolas? What's going on?"
Sam's voice distracted Angrod from Legolas' delicate call to the light, and the ring resumed its grip on the human, reaching to grasp others. Four moved to Angrod's side, while most others frowned from one to the other in confusion.
"We're leaving, Sam. Gather our things," Legolas ordered curtly, not taking his gaze off the men facing them but aware of other movements.
"You will not leave until you explain why you want to sneak out of our refuge," Angrod demanded. "Maybe you're going to tell Mordor where we're hiding, spy?"
Legolas raised his knife just slightly, but refused to give in to the taunt. "Never have the elves served Mordor. Can you say the same, mortal?"
"What's happening?" Sam demanded, his voice anxious. He was watching the men, too, while he packed.
"A fell darkness has touched everyone in this place," Legolas answered. Two more men had come to stand at Angrod's side, and Angrod was not the only one who had drawn a weapon.
"If there is, then you have brought it," Angrod snarled and stepped forward. "You will not leave." Legolas lifted his knife in warning and Angrod stopped.
Another man said, "I dreamed that you were lying, elf. You have something we want."
"And you won't leave until we have it," another said. There were six of them bunched around Angrod now, most with knives bared.
"Legolas?" Sam asked in a small frightened voice.
Legolas held out his left hand but dared not look away from the men. "Hand me my bow, Sam."
"But you can't kill them," he said. "They're our friends. Aren't they?" He raised his voice to address the men. "You gave your word that we would have refuge here. That no harm would come to us. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Yes, it does," another voice cut in and Mablung walked between the two groups, looking at his friends. "They aren't our prisoners, Angrod. If they want to leave, they can."
"They are prisoners," Angrod spat. "Lying thieves."
"Angrod--" Mablung tried again, holding out his hand in a gesture to calm down, but Angrod swiped at it with his knife. Mablung leapt back with a cry and he pulled his sword free. "Angrod! Have you forsaken your honor?"
The seven who were enthralled by the ring stalked forward. Everyone else seemed to stare dumbly, moving neither to help or hinder. Sam hurriedly shoved Legolas' bow into his hand and then pulled Sting.
"I have brought this evil among you," Legolas explained hurriedly and drew. The aimed arrow made the attackers pause again. At this range it would likely go through Angrod and kill the man behind him as well. But all the same, that would help only a little against these numbers in such a confined space. "I am sorry. I should never have come here."
Mablung scanned the cavern for aid and found none. He shouted, "Captain Faramir!"
Legolas held his target and started to shift sideways. "To the entrance, Sam. Hurry."
The three began to sidle carefully along the wall toward the exit, Angrod and his companions followed at the same pace. Then Sam stopped. "There are more."
Legolas darted a glance and saw two more men waiting for them, blades bared and glittering no less than their eyes. He shifted his target to them, trusting Mablung to watch his back and praying to Elbereth that the man would remain true.
"I am leaving," he declared, to give fair warning. "Any man who seeks to stop me is my enemy and I will not hesitate to kill. But I would rather not shed the blood of Gondor."
But his warning fell on deaf ears. They were going to charge. Legolas could feel their intent to attack.
"Damrod!" Mablung called desperately. "Come back to your senses!"
A loud, strong voice cut in the dark and restless silence. "What is the meaning of this?" Faramir appeared behind the two at the entrance. "Damrod, why do you threaten our guests?" he snapped, a hand on his own sword-hilt. "Stand aside. Prince Legolas is leaving."
"But captain --" Damrod turned his head to look at Faramir.
The blank-faced rangers stirred slowly as though awakening from a dream.
"Let them pass, Damrod. I will not say it again."
Under the press of his strong words and noble carriage, the ring's influence, being stretched among so many, weakened. Damrod and his friend at the door moved toward the waterfall, out of the way. Damrod even looked somewhat ashamed.
Not taking his gaze from his people, Faramir called, "Legolas, you and Sam should go now."
Legolas agreed with that fervently and gave Sam a nudge to get going. At the entrance he looked at the young captain of Gondor and back at the friend who had guarded them. "Elbereth watch over you both. Beware -- darker times are coming."
"Fare you well, Legolas of the Forest," Mablung called back, and Faramir raised his hand.
Legolas retraced the steps that had brought them to Henneth Annûn, finding the path easily. There were few steps or turns and the men of Gondor had walked it often enough to leave a trail even a dwarf could follow.
Climbing out of the narrow canyon, he put his back to it and set a swift pace. He had to put as much distance between the men and the ring as he could, and place temptation out of their reach.
Yet he was dismayed by how easily and quickly the ring had taken hold of them. It was another reminder of the ring's power, which seemed to have strengthened this close to its home. It was a reminder that even an elf's strength was not endless.
His earlier joy at spring in the forest had been utterly replaced by wariness. He cursed every moment wasted along the journey, for now he was in a race with the ring's growing influence over him.
It was a race that Middle-Earth could not afford him to lose.
*~*~*~*~*~*
When the sun rose over the dark clouds above the Ephel Dúath, Sam took a deep breath and continued after his friend.
Spurred by some unspoken anxiety, Legolas had quickened their traveling pace and had returned them to the road for even swifter travel. The recent passing of the Haradrim army meant that the way was trampled and clear, even if they had to step around the occasional refuse and shockingly large leavings of the oliphaunts.
Sam could only tag along after Legolas, grateful for the miles of the journey that already lay behind or he would not have been able to keep up. Even so, he knew that if Legolas were alone, he would likely be running. For the first time, Legolas seemed to begrudge the slow pace. He glanced back over his shoulder whenever Sam lagged back. He said nothing, but the look was enough to prod Sam to quicken his steps. Sam, afraid that Legolas would simply keep going without him, struggled onward.
But finally Sam had to call a halt about mid-day. He needed a drink of water and something from the provisions Faramir had provided. He simply stopped, opened his pack and took out the pouch of dried fruit and nuts.
Legolas turned, noticed that Sam had stopped altogether and frowned. "What are you doing?"
"I realize that elves apparently need only air to live on," Sam replied, "but I need a bit of water and a bite to eat before I go one step farther. I'd rather you didn't leave me behind while I did that."
Legolas glanced southward, apparently considering just that, but his gaze returned to Sam. His body untensed, and he walked back to where Sam had stopped. "I am sorry. I have been pressing you hard," he murmured. "But since last night I have been on edge. There is an unnatural stillness to the forest," he lifted his gaze to the trees that lined the road. "I feel that it is waiting for something."
Now that he mentioned it, Sam noticed it too. The forest was quiet -- there were no birds, no rustlings in the undergrowth, and even the air seemed still and close. They had seen not a sign of another being or animal since the sun rose.
Very softly, Legolas added, "It feels as though a storm is coming. We cannot linger, Sam. Or we will be too late."
Sam swallowed his handful of mixed seeds and some water and placed the supplies back in his pack. "I'm ready."
Legolas' smile flickered and he didn't start yet, looking down at his smaller friend. "I will not leave you behind, Sam," he promised, "unless I have no other choice. If so, I want you to promise that you will make your way to Minas Tirith. Do not try to follow me."
"I don't know where it is," Sam protested, not entirely truthfully. He had looked at the map, so he had some general idea where the city lay.
"Go down to the river. You will see Osgiliath, the great ruined city of Gondor astride the Anduin," Legolas instructed. "From there you will be able to see Minas Tirith and the great walls of the Pelennor. Please, Sam, promise me."
Sam hesitated, but he realized Legolas was right. If the time truly came when he had no other choice, Legolas would go and he would be far too swift for Sam to follow. Sam was no tracker, and was not sure even Aragorn could successfully track Legolas. What Legolas suggested made sense -- yet it struck him as something he shouldn't like to tell the others as something slightly shameful. "Very well, I promise," he said at last. "But we should go, so you won't have to leave me behind."
They started off again at the same swift pace. As the afternoon wore on, Legolas slowed, perhaps realizing that they were not going to reach wherever it was he wanted to get by nightfall. He went to stand on top of the western edge of the road. Sam scrambled after him, grateful for the reprieve.
The sun was low in the west, shining in their eyes, so that Sam had to lift a hand to shade them. At their feet, Ithilien fell away, so the tops of the trees seemed almost to be a lawn, softly undulating down to the river. There was a haze down there, but Sam caught glimpses of sun glints on the water and vague grey outlines of something not made by nature in the river.
"Osgiliath," Legolas murmured and lifted his gaze slightly, toward the White Mountains. "And Minas Tirith. The great city of Gondor, crowned by the tower of Echthelion."
Try as he might, Sam could make out nothing of the great city, only the distant humps of the mountains.
"No one lives in Osgiliath do they?" Sam asked.
Legolas shook his head. "No. It is guarded, but it has not been a city for seasons beyond counting. It is ruined and its defenses are weak. If Mordor attacks in strength, Osgiliath will fall."
"And Minas Tirith?" Sam asked, looking up at Legolas' proud features, cast golden by the slanted sunlight. In that moment, it seemed he truly saw the print of his elvish friend's long life in his deep, sad eyes.
"There is still strength in the blood of Númenor, as Faramir showed. Yet so many fell to the thrall of the ring in the cavern..." his right hand crept upward to touch the ring beneath his shirt, "it seems that blood has become thin. Boromir said that the people had lost hope, and Steward Denethor's rule was failing. The city may fall."
"But Aragorn will find his way there," Sam said. He still found it strange that Strider was also the heir of Isildur and heir to the throne of Gondor, but now there was great hope in the thought as well. "He can save the city. Can't he?"
"Elrond named him Estel in Imladris, which means 'hope'," Legolas turned his gaze to Sam and smiled a bit. "If anyone can save Minas Tirith, Estel can." He ruffled Sam's hair, and Sam let out an indignant yelp and ducked away. "Let's make camp, Sam. We will move by daylight while this quiet lasts."
Sam started across the road to the other side, knowing they couldn't camp on the road itself. When he turned back to see where Legolas was, he saw the elf still looking toward Minas Tirith. Sam suspected he knew what Legolas was thinking, from the somber look on his face and a glance up to the sky -- he was praying that Aragorn had found his way to Minas Tirith and was even now preparing the city against the war to come.
The next day started out much like the day before, beginning just after dawn as soon as Sam had made some fresh mint tea for himself and eaten some of the dried fruit for breakfast. Legolas sipped his own lady's foot tea with an expression of distaste and ate nothing. Sam realized he hadn't seen Legolas eat anything for two days, but he forbore to ask. By his reckoning the elf's supply of lembas should be about two loaves now, but perhaps Legolas was stretching them out longer to make certain he had enough. No hobbit could do it, but elves were much stronger.
Legolas had them fill all their water skins at the stream before leaving, explaining, "The water of the Morgulduin is certain to be foul, and we may not have water at all on the other side of the mountains."
Sam frowned. "But there are Men in the Enemy's service. And even orcs have to drink, don't they?"
"I would not advise you drink from something tainted by orcs," Legolas said, his gaze momentarily hard and blazing. "They defile everything they touch."
Sam padded after Legolas, remembering what Bilbo had once said about elves long ago. "The elves hate all things of the Shadow, but especially orcs. The orcs were created by Morgoth in mockery of them -- foul where they are fair, bent where they are straight. I have heard that one elf alone will take on a band of twelve or twenty or more, for they think nothing of their own safety, only of killing the enemy."
Later experience with Legolas had shown Bilbo wasn't exactly right. Legolas had certainly killed his share of goblins in Moria, but he had done so with cold deliberation, not hot anger, and had never neglected protecting the fellowship first. Yet there was no doubting the hatred that he, like all elves, felt.
The strange stillness continued in the forest, straining Sam's nerves. They walked at the edge of the road, ready to scramble into hiding if Legolas sensed someone approaching. But there was nothing.
The forest opened out. The trees became larger and spread more widely apart, with grasses and early spring flowers forming carpets between. Thickets of gorse grew in the dry drainage courses at the sides of the road, making a near-impassable hedge stretching above Sam's head. Legolas walked more slowly, more warily, as the available cover thinned.
About mid-day they stopped for a brief rest at the edge of the road. Sam perched on a low boulder to give his legs a chance to recover and took out a piece of the salted meat from his provisions to chew on.
Legolas remained standing, still but poised like a hunting cat with all his senses focused outward. He said nothing.
For lack of anything better to do, Sam looked around. The mountains had curved in toward the road, and it seemed that not far ahead a dark, craggy shoulder of the mountain lay astride their intended path. They were even farther from the river here and Sam could see nothing of it westward, just the lower slopes of the forest of Ithilien.
All seemed peaceful and quiet, and yet it seemed that all the wood was quivering like a taut bowstring, near release.
It was something of a relief to move again.
Only a few hours later, Sam noticed that the road was heading steadily toward what seemed to be a high wall, but as the two came nearer, he realized that they were trees of immense size, twice as high and twice as broad as the others.
Legolas slowed and stopped. "I believe that is the cross-roads," he murmured. "Stay here, Sam. I will go ahead and see if there is a path around."
Sam nodded and settled himself into hiding at the side of the road, in the shade of a thorny, broad-leafed shrub. He waited, drank a little water, and watched the shadows creep along the ground as the sun sank lower.
He heard no footstep to indicate Legolas had returned, but suddenly he heard a soft call of his name. Sam scrambled out from under the branches and brushed off the dead leaves and dirt from his clothes.
"Well?" he asked when the elf said nothing.
Legolas shook his head once. "We will have to go through the crossroads. Above, toward the mountain, there is little cover and no paths. We will wait for twilight."
It was plain Legolas did not care for the delay, but he had no choice. They could not risk the road to Minas Morgul by daylight. Sam was not sure they should risk it by night either, as the Enemy could see as well during the night as the day, but there would be deeper shadows to hide in at night.
When the sun sank to the horizon, turning the leaves and road shades of red and gold, they started again.
The trees of the crossroads were set in a wide circle where the four roads came together. At their back lay the road to Morannon, to the right the road down to Osgiliath, ahead the road to Umbar and Far Harad, and to the left the road up to Minas Morgul and the Pass of Dread.
The trees were vast in size, but not the straight proud trunks of the mallorns in Lothlórien, instead gnarled and spread with age. Their tops were gaunt and broken as though blasted by a storm, and yet the trees clung to the ground as they had for a thousand years or more. They formed a towering wall all around, like a roofless vaulted hall, now crumbling into decay. Within the ring, there was scarcely a blade of grass that had not been trampled by the passage of thousands of feet and hooves.
Across the way, sheltered by the over-arching boughs, was a giant stone carving of a once-great king, sitting on his throne. Time had worn its edges, but mostly the violent hands of the enemy had hacked at it. The head was gone, and in its place a rough stone with a drawing of a grinning face and the red eye of Sauron above.
Sitting upon the false head was a large crow. Deepest black with yellow eyes, it looked at them the moment they emerged into the open. It was, no doubt, keeping watch on the crossroads. Whether for Sauron or Saruman, Sam could not tell, but either way it was a spy for the Enemy.
Keeping his eyes on it, Legolas slowly held up his bow and nocked an arrow. Sam was frozen, not wanting to startle the bird and spoil Legolas' shot.
With a loud caw, it abruptly jumped into the air. Legolas loosed, and a moment later, the arrow struck. With a louder shriek, the bird plummeted to the ground. Legolas raced across the open field, some four hundred paces, to retrieve his arrow.
Once that was done, Legolas gestured for Sam to go eastward. The two began to crept softly around on the edges, mirroring each other as warily as spies. The crow was dead, but still it seemed as though something could be watching them.
The brightness in the sky began to fade and the shadows grew thick at Sam's feet. Night fell quickly and under its cover, Legolas dashed across to rejoin him. The elf's presence eased Sam's nerves somewhat, but he still felt uneasy and more tired than he ought, after resting much of the day.
The road ran straight for some distance, and Sam didn't know if it was luck or some dark plan that kept it empty. They walked along the northern edge, where there was a low stone wall. But only in greatest need would Sam climb over it to hide -- in many places the crumbling wall was covered by dark vines that looked suspiciously like itch-ivy and in other places, the wall was on the other side of stinging nettles as high as his waist.
The road bent southwards, no longer keeping to its straight course, to curve around the bare, dark cliffs of the shoulder of the mountain that they had seen before. There was no wall there, just the sharp towering rockface above them, throwing deep shadows across the road.
Then they passed, and the road straightened once again, as the valley opened up before them. Suddenly, Minas Morgul came into view. Sam leaned against the rock wall at his back, gaze fixed on the city, as his knees grew weak in sudden fear. At his side, Legolas stopped.
Continued in Chapter 10: Minas Morgul