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.
Getting close to the end here, folks. Hope you enjoy the ride.
The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:
Window of the Sunset
Chapter 10: Minas Morgul
by Lizardbeth Johnson
Across the broad valley, high on a rocky seat, Minas Morgul loomed over everything. Though all was in darkness around it, from the forbidding mountains behind it to the sky above, the towers and walls themselves were gleaming with light. But it was not the silver glow of the moonlight that once had been trapped and reflected in the walls, but rather a sickly, eerie glow of death and decay that illuminated nothing. Black windows were the bottomless eyes of a skull, staring straight at them.
It took Sam a few moments to realize that Legolas had moved. The elf walked slowly, as if in a dream, straight up the middle of the road toward the bridge that spanned the Morgulduin. On either bank of the river were shadowy fields of small white flowers. The flowers seemed lovely, until Sam realized that they glimmered with the same paleness as the walls of Minas Morgul, and gave off a faint but sweetly sickening scent of rot.
Stone figures guarded the ends of the bridge -- massive yet twisted, misshapen bestial men. With a jolt of sickening horror, Sam realized that the stone creature nearest him was crouched above what was clearly meant to be an elf. Sam averted his eyes before he could figure out exactly what loathsome thing the creature was doing to its bound prisoner.
But Legolas seemed not to notice, as he crossed the bridge and started up the road on the other side, his gaze fixed on the towers of Minas Morgul.
The vapors rising from the water were bitter cold and choking as Sam ran after his friend, catching him only a few steps off the bridge. He grabbed Legolas' free hand and jerked sharply. "No," he whispered urgently. "Legolas, no!" As softly as he spoke, it still seemed that the whole valley shuddered with the noise.
Legolas stopped, but when Sam looked upward, he could see the corpse-light of the walls reflecting in Legolas' eyes.
The elf's hand lay limply in both of Sam's, until he trembled and closed his eyes. "That's right," Sam coaxed in a murmur. "Come back, Legolas. Not that way. We don't want to go that way."
Legolas' hand tightened on his suddenly, holding painfully tightly, until he opened his eyes. With visible effort, he dragged his gaze away from the lure of the gleaming walls. His mouth opened but he could not speak. His eyes seemed to be pleading for Sam's help.
Not relinquishing his grip, Sam began to guide him back over the bridge to the north side of the road. All the elf's grace had fled, and he stumbled on a loose stone and might have fallen, except for Sam's grip on his hand. His steps, usually soundless and light, were heavy and left clear tracks in the dust.
Not far from the river-bank there was a wide gap in the stone wall, where there once might have been an archway or gate of some kind, since the wall to either side of the gap was higher. Sam made for that opening, intending to find a little cover while Legolas recovered his senses.
Through the opening, he found a wide path straight through a field of the sickly flowers, heading toward several boulders at the bottom of the jagged cliff-face. Halfway there, Legolas stopped and started to turn back, but Sam held tightly on to his hand and wouldn't let him. "No. That's not the way," he whispered. "Legolas, can you hear me? Don't listen to it."
Legolas continued to allow himself to be guided forward, his expression eerily vacant. Once within the dubious shelter of the towering boulders, his legs folded beneath him like a newborn colt's and he collapsed. Sam could do nothing to stop it, and winced when Legolas struck the rocky ground hard.
He tugged on Legolas' hand. "Come on. We can't stay here." But pulling on Legolas now was like tugging on the branch of an oak -- it was attached to something utterly immoveable. "It's not safe," he added urgently, pulling again.
Yet Legolas would not move. He closed his eyes, and Sam noticed he was shaking with constant small tremors like a leaf in the wind. "I ... cannot," Legolas forced out in a hollow voice. "The darkness ... calls ..."
Sam seated himself close beside Legolas, hoping his presence and warmth would help somewhat to keep the Shadow at bay.
But he glanced at the path, which was faintly gleaming, and hoped that nothing was walking it this night. It would take no effort for someone on the path to see them, and he was already frightened enough by the thought that there were Ringwraiths within the walls of Minas Morgul, all too near. The sense of creeping dread was too strong for Sam to do more than doze, and he continually started awake after only a few minutes, imagining someone or something watching them.
The night crept past so slowly it was as though Middle-Earth itself resisted the coming dawn. Yet even the powers of the Ringwraiths could not completely embrace the sky above. For a brief moment, there was an opening in the clouds toward the west, and the bright light of the star Eärendil shone upon them.
Legolas' head turned upward and his lips moved in soundless elvish prayer, even after the clouds covered the stars once more and the night grew dark. His hand gently clutched Sam's shoulder. "We should go," he whispered.
Sam looked into his face intently, checking to see if truly Legolas was recovered. It seemed he was. He was shining faintly as though he was still beneath star-light, bright enough that Sam could see him clearly even in the dark. "Are you all right?" Sam asked.
Legolas hesitated. "Better," he murmured. "We must not linger so close." He rose to his feet cautiously, careful to keep the bulk of stones between him and the fortress on the far hill.
At the very moment Legolas stood -- Sam had only just begun to rise -- a heavy thumping boom, like thunder, filled the valley. The noise made the ground tremble beneath their feet.
In alarm, fearing they had been discovered, Sam jumped to his feet and put his hand on Sting's hilt. But Legolas' free hand closed over his forearm, preventing him from moving rashly.
While the two remained poised there, frozen like a rabbit between wolves, the deep boom sounded again. As soon as the echoes died away, Legolas pulled on his arm, forcing Sam to stumble after.
They continued up the path that Sam had found, as it twisted and wound its way up the north face of the valley. Every few steps that bone-rattling boom sounded again.
They rose above the sickly and vile stench of the flowers into fresher air, and Sam's mind cleared.
It was a drum, Sam decided, some kind of huge drum within Minas Morgul making the noise. Though why it was sounding now, he had no idea, except that every time it crashed he thought it meant doom.
With every step his limbs seemed leaden. It was an effort to continue marching upward along the narrow, dark path, following Legolas. Even the elf seemed weary, walking with slow deliberation ahead and occasionally catching himself on a boulder to support himself. He also glanced backward often, which made Sam do the same, fearing that someone was creeping up behind him. There was never anyone there -- only the ever-present weight of Minas Morgul watching them.
They had risen quite a ways off the valley-floor, through switch-backs and winding paths when Legolas stopped for no obvious reason.
"What is it?" Sam muttered.
Legolas only gestured upward with his bow, indicating the rising path. Sam peered upward, seeing that the path was narrowing and turning to steps that climbed steeply eastward, sliced through the rock. He could not see the end of it. The mere thought of climbing it made him feel exhausted.
"You have found Cirith Ungol, Sam. We'll rest here," Legolas murmured. "I also want to see what the Enemy is doing." He perched himself on a rock, wrapped his cloak about him and settled to watch Minas Morgul from their shelf in the cliff, about half way to the ridgeline.
Sam joined him, sitting on the ground with his back to the same rock. But he did not look at the poisonous fortress after the first glance. It made him shiver to look at it, to see those empty window-eyes peering straight across the valley into his heart. At least soon it would be daylight -- surely even the Morgul valley would look better by day.
Or so Sam thought.
But a ruby red light suddenly glowing in the east, underneath the cloud-cover, was not the sun. It stained the undersides of the clouds like blood. Shortly afterward, a hot and dry wind blew from the east, carrying with it a sulfurous reek and the taint of grey ash that seemed to cling to the inside of Sam's mouth and nose. He coughed into his sleeve, trying to stifle it, and wiped his watering eyes. It was impossible to even doze, breathing that muck.
The sun rose somewhere behind that choking, thick air and turned their surroundings into a flat, shadowless gloom. The merciless non-light made everything have jagged, harsh edges, and the lack of anything living but those nasty flowers was even more creepy. There was just bare, black stone and grey dust. The pallid walls of Minas Morgul continued to stare at him, whispering that his death was at hand.
The worst of the noxious wind passed by, leaving heavy, still air. Sam tried to wash away the worst of the taste with a swallow of water but it didn't help.
Nor did the drum which continued to beat, throbbing in his blood louder than his own heart. There was no real possibility of sleep with that insistent noise ringing in his ears like a clap of thunder and making the ground tremble.
Legolas decided the same and came to his feet. "They do not seem to be moving yet."
"You know what's going on?" Sam asked. "It is a drum, isn't it?"
"A drum, yes." He cocked his head slightly, glancing across the valley. "I hear an army behind the gates of the city: horses, and men, and orcs. A great many orcs."
Sam's gaze returned to Minas Morgul and the deserted road below. "They're going to war against Gondor," he whispered and followed the road westward until it disappeared around the curve of the mountain.
"I fear so," Legolas agreed. "Yet it may be good for us."
Sam frowned up at him, curious how he came to that conclusion.
"If the Dark Lord prepares for war, he will not be keeping a close eye on his interior. This may be our best chance to get past the border. Come, let us try the stairs."
Wearily, Sam shouldered the pack which seemed to have gained heavy stones in it since he had put it down, and followed.
They began the long climb. The stairs were endless, one after another, without a landing or a change in direction, just ever upward between two smooth towering walls. Sam glanced back once and wished he hadn't -- there were no railings here, and nothing to prevent him from falling all the way to the bottom. It was really more like a ladder up to the heavens, than stairs.
Still Sam trudged on, not daring to stop since he knew his legs would collapse like jelly if he stopped. He had to watch his footing carefully, since the steps were uneven. A slip or the turn of a loose stone under his foot would mean a long fall.
Yet he was not the one to lose his footing. Instead it was the usually sure-footed elf, whose boot landed on a step that utterly crumbled away. He crashed down and began slide toward Sam, loosening an avalanche of loose stones and pebbles ahead of him.
Sam looked up in horror -- in the narrow defile there was nowhere to go to escape the onrush. He pressed himself to one wall, trying to avoid the stones and frantically wondering how he was going to stop Legolas and keep from falling himself.
Legolas stretched out his legs to drag them against the walls, while his hands groped for the steps to slow his backward fall. With a last shower of dust, he stopped only a few steps above Sam. The last bits of stone fell to the bottom of the stairs and as the last echoes died away, Sam listened nervously for a sign the enemy had heard.
All was as silent as a barrow after the last mourner had gone home.
Legolas slowly got to his feet, but did not seem harmed. He paused to listen as well, and let out a relieved breath at hearing nothing. He brushed off the worst of the dust and unexpectedly flashed a bit of a smile at Sam, his teeth white in his dust-covered face. "I would ask you not speak to Aragorn about my sudden clumsiness. He would tell Elladan and Elrohir, and forever is a very long time to hear about it."
Sam smiled tiredly back. Though he had met the twins only briefly in Rivendell, he had noticed that they treated Legolas like a younger brother and were not above teasing him. The moment of levity seemed to push the gloom a little farther away. "I promise."
They continued their journey without further mishap. At last the stairs came to an end. Sam lifted his leg for another step and nearly fell on his nose when there was no step there.
There was a landing, which was a wide ledge high up from the valley floor. The path continued on the other side, more gradually rising and winding around some pitched and jagged rocks. Sam sat down, his legs unable to support him anymore they were trembling and cramping so badly. He rubbed at them and cast disgusted glares at Legolas, who remained standing and was not even breathing hard.
Instead the elf wandered to the edge of the ledge, climbing up on a sharp pinnacle of stone to look down into the Morgul valley. Sam could just see the top of the highest tower between the rocks on the edge.
"What do you see?" Sam asked. He considered asking Legolas to come down from his dangerous perch but was too tired.
Legolas shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing stirs. Eat something and rest, Sam."
Sam nodded, agreeing with the wisdom of that, even if Legolas didn't follow it for himself. He ate a handful of the nuts and dried fruit and a strip of dried meat, washing it all down with a carefully rationed swallow of water. He had yet to hear even a trickle of flowing water, though he would have to be dying before risking a drink of water so close to Minas Morgul.
After that, he wrapped himself in his cloak and tried to sleep.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
They would march at nightfall.
Legolas didn't know how he knew that, but he was as certain it was a fact as he was that the sun would set somewhere behind the thick clouds of dust.
He wanted to watch the army pour through the gates. He knew there were many, but he wanted to see the numbers and strength of them. He remembered the waves on waves of goblins mounted on wargs that he had faced at the Battle of the Five Armies, and a thousand years before that, confronting the remnants of the army of Angmar in the upper vales of the Anduin after the fall of Fornost.
It was a somewhat perverse desire to want to watch, he realized. He should be hurrying through the pass, not waiting here to see the hammer poised to fall on Osgiliath. But he needed to rest. The darkness in this place was an oppressive weight, and the ring seemed more determined to bring him to its notice. The brief glimpse of Eärendil had restored him to himself, when the ring had slipped into control while he had been reeling from the impact of looking upon the fell evil of Minas Morgul. But the star had not given him back his strength or endurance, and he feared it might not return at all while he walked the lands of Shadow.
Behind him, Sam was breathing softly in his sleep. The hobbit was exhausted, yet continued to plod ahead with impressive and inspiring courage. As long as he refused to give up, Legolas could do no less.
Though he could not see the sun, he felt the moment it dropped beneath the horizon. The dull brown gloom immediately sank into dark night, without soft golden twilight.
The ground trembled beneath him, and he straightened. It was beginning.
A deep rumbling noise, louder than any before, throbbed in the ground and the air, echoing in the crevasses of the mountains. Sam started awake, "What's -- what's happening?"
But Legolas did not answer. From his vantage point, he saw the eastern sky leap with flame and his own heart answered that call, kindling with eager fire.
Thunder crashed, as lightning shot with great brilliant spears from the spires of Minas Morgul to the over-hanging clouds.
A fierce cold wind blew back his cloak, as lightning struck the ground all along the ridge, inching ever closer to Legolas. Yet nothing struck him. The thunder was continuous and deafening, but it could not harm him.
He threw out both hands and tipped back his head, laughing.
"Legolas! Legolas, get down!"
But the voice seemed distant and small. Easy to ignore like the buzzing of a bee.
The glory of the storm enraptured him, and he felt that he could call those lightnings into the palm of his hand. He could throw the lightning bolts and destroy his enemies. And all would cower before the one could wield the lightning --
A bolt struck the rock beside him, not ten paces away, startling him into awareness again. For an instant pale white energy webbed across the face of the stone before it exploded.
He held an arm over his face, turning away and crouching low. Sharp fragments of rock pelted him, stinging like little knives in his back and shoulders and nearly pushing him from his perch.
In the aftermath, the high screams of terrified horses mixed with a familiar, chilling wailing shriek that silenced all other sounds.
Legolas turned back to look down into the valley, a sudden frost touching his heart.
The gate was open.
The host of the enemy marched forth, an inky stain pouring from the gaping mouth of Minas Morgul. Their weapons glinted, but all else about them was dark, like deepest shadow. They were orcs, thousands and thousands of orcs, marching in well-ordered troops. Cavalry led them -- horses dyed dark or covered with cloth and armor, carrying mounted men.
At their head rode their general, astride a black horse and robed in black, except for the iron helm, like a crown, that flickered with corpse-light.
Once Legolas saw the figure, his gaze could not tear away. The Witch-King. Lord of the Nazgûl. General of Sauron. Legolas' left hand burned with cold fire that crept up his arm to lodge in his chest so he couldn't breathe.
The Witch-King halted on the bridge, and all his army stilled in eerie silence behind him.
The helmed head turned and seemed to sniff the air, searching for what it sensed had drawn near.
Into that stillness Legolas knew he should move. He was standing less than a league from the Witch-king in plain view on his pinnacle of rock and he knew the elvish shimmer of starlight around him would be visible.
But he couldn't move. The oppressive silence weighed him down. He was a fly caught in tree-sap, unable to fly free as it poured slowly over him.
Part of him thirsted to put on the ring, which would surely draw the Witch-king's notice. But somehow the desire was also distant, a scratching at the window when he stood within an empty hall.
If he put on the ring, the power of the lightning would be his, a treacherous voice whispered in the emptiness. He could call the power forth and cast it down. He could destroy the Nazgûl and his army. He could save Gondor.
He heard the whisper, but he did not move.
The Witch-King turned and spurred his horse across the bridge.
Legolas felt the grip of darkness loosen and closed his eyes in relief, letting out a long silent breath. Too close. The temptation had been so strong, the lure of it so great when confronted by his enemy, he had almost put on the ring.
There was little time left now. He had to destroy it, before its seduction became too strong to resist.
But he stayed several minutes to watch the enemy below. The Witch-King's army followed their leader, more than ten thousand marching out of sight to the west. It was a larger force than Legolas had ever seen before, surely greater than any since the Second Age. With a chill, he realized the vast army did not include any Haradrim or Easterlings. Where were they? Where were the rest of the Nazgûl and their foul beasts of the air? Did Mordor have yet another army marching this night, to catch Gondor between two hammers?
"Legolas?" Sam's small voice caught his attention, rousing him from his speculation of horror.
Legolas turned and lightly jumped down to the path. Sam's broad face was worried. The hobbit asked, "Are you all right?"
Legolas ignored the question as one he was not prepared to answer. "The army has marched from Minas Morgul," he murmured. "Led by the Witch-King." He shook his head once, seeing the size of the force again in memory. "Their numbers are like the stars, Sam. Osgiliath will fall, and Minas Tirith after it."
Sam swallowed hard. "Unless we destroy the ring."
Legolas hesitated, but he pushed the reluctance away. "Yes, of course. We must continue on."
He led the way again, through a narrow rising passage to where it opened out into treacherous scattered rocks. Then to another stairway.
Sam paused to look in dismay. "More steps?" he muttered and heaved a sigh of resignation before beginning the climb.
But these stairs were not so difficult and steep as the one before, switching back and forth as it climbed, ever coiling back on itself until Legolas was nearly tempted to climb straight up and across the face, to take the short way. But he knew Sam would never be able to follow him, and in his own present weariness and weakness, it was likely too perilous for him as well.
It did not help his frustration that he began to catch a faint whiff of some new foul scent as they climbed. It passed so swiftly he could not identify it, but it made him uneasy. He did not believe the path was wholly deserted.
The path came to the crown at last and Sam sat down with a weary sigh, to drink a mouthful of water and idly chew some dried fruit. "What's that, do you suppose?" he gestured off east where there was a reddish glow beneath the clouds and a tall spire thrusting upward from the distant ridge.
Legolas could see it more clearly, outlined by the light behind it. "A guard tower on the pass, I suspect," he murmured. "That seems to be the direction our path turns. It looks Gondorian. I suspect it was put there to watch Mordor in the early years of this age."
"And the Enemy took it."
"Long ago," Legolas agreed. "The sun will rise as we get nearer. I should see more detail. Perhaps we will be able to evade their notice."
Sam just nodded. Then he lifted his head sharply, wrinkling his nose. "What's that smell? Like spoiled food and moldy old books."
Legolas had caught the scent as well and his grip tightened on his bow. Pure liquid hate seemed to flow in his veins instinctively in the moment he recognized the smell. Elves of Mirkwood loathed spiders only a hairsbreadth less than orcs, sometimes more since the multi-legged monsters were more common under the eaves of the forest. "Spiders," he hissed.
"Where?" Sam jumped to his feet and glanced around in panic.
"Not here," Legolas gestured with his free hand for Sam to calm down and be easy. "But close. It is the smell of a spider lair. Stay near me."
Sam nodded, his eyes wide and frightened. He grasped the hilt of Sting as they walked and stared into the shadows to either side, very nearly on Legolas' heels.
Continued in Chapter 11: The Dark Lair