Doomed
„I am lost in the black chamber
There's no way to turn it back
It takes me down forevermore
And death would be so sweet
I'm possessed by the old creature
Who has sweared to take my soul
Too late for me
In my hands it lies I thought
But I failed now he's in me
My soul is lost in his black chamber
I am gone"
„Black chamber" by Blind Guardian
I.
A roe licked her newborn twin fawns carefully, while nudging them, playfully, tenderly; to encourage them to try and do their first steps. Still she was exhausted from giving birth, but she seemed to feel safe, for her ears didn't play, and she was completely absorbed in the care for her fawns.
She knew that her associate, though invisible, kept guard nearby, and furthermore she was quiet because she knew she was in an elvish forest, where nothing threatened her or her kids´ life. She, which greatly feared the encounter with humans, did not flee the elves, not in Rivendell.
Then the trampling of hoofs interrupted the morning idyll, and the roe raised her head listening, but still there came no warning from her partner's side. Still she lay relaxed, even exhausted, but now she was on her guard.
In a case of emergency she would not only have to defend her life, but also the ones of her newborn. She doubled her efforts to bring them to their feet, encouraged them with silent, tender sounds.
Beside her, in the scrubs, stood the father of the small family, an impressive roebuck,
and tensely looked in the direction from which the sound approached. He was alert, too, now that his kids had finally seen the light of the world, but he had already scented the presence of elves. Thus he hesitated to alarm his wife. Elves had, so he had learned, a pleasant aura, and they would harm neither him nor his fawns. Perhaps there was no reason at all to scare them away from the place of their birth.
Now they became visible, horses with their riders, coming along in quite a hurry. The roebuck looked up, scenting, and he startled. Still he hesitated for a second, then his warning cry came, and the doe was on her feet instantly, her exhaustion forgotten, and pushed her fawns up with her nose. They suddenly stood, silently whining, but they stood, and followed their mother that had already vanished into the bushes. The roebuck followed, tensely looking back from time to time.
The elves approaching had no pleasant aura. A human observer would have fled them, too, had he seen Elrond and his warriors trying to detect Legolas´ tracks this morning.
They all wore grim, serious faces, and Elrond's was the most scaring one among them, although he didn't really show his wrath. It showed hidden, though, in the way he reigned his horse from time to time, impatiently, in the way the corner of his mouth twisted; or in the way his eyes looked to the floor not searchingly, but demanding.
Disaster seemed to follow them like a threatening cloud; and the animals of the wood fled them like every other common being. Only the trees of Rivendell remained unimpressed, and the wind rustled in their leaves.
II.
And angry also the wood elves were, which had heard the trampling of hoofs even before it was heard by the little roe family. Although they couldn't really know who was actually approaching, they suspected it and didn't hesitate to follow Mardin's sign to hide themselves in between the lowest branches of the trees around them. They were ten, but even for the keen eyes of an elf they´d become invisible, once they were hidden. So they expected the Rivendell elves.
III.
Elrond startled, being abruptly disturbed in his dark thoughts when a cold voice over him said: „One step further, and my first arrow will hit you!"
He reigned his horse with a violent gesture, and the other elves followed his example. The animal pranced on the spot, for it was not used to such a treatment, and it scented the danger, which made it additionally restless.
Anxious the Rivendell elves were, too, although they didn't show it. With sharp looks they eyed their surroundings, tried to detect their invisible enemy, but to no avail. The voice threatening their leader was disembodied, coming from somewhere out of the trees.
No one dared to reach for an arrow. The risk for Elrond – and for them all – was too big.
„Now you dare to threaten us even in our own lands." Elrond said to the trees, and his voice was cold from anger barely concealed. Instantly he´d recognised Mardin's voice. „What's the meaning of this masquerade? Give way before I loose my patience!"
The other elves, still not able to detect their enemies, looked alarmed at their leader, and one of the trackers, which had held his horse near to that of the elven king, made a calming gesture in Elrond's direction.
„Wood elves!" Elrond hissed without moving his lips. „About ten of them. They hide in the trees around us. Some of them have their bows ready."
He didn't seem anxious, but still very, very angry.
„I advise you to choose your words more carefully." the disembodied voice resounded again. „It seems to me that it is you at the wrong end of the bows. What is more, you do not have the slightest right to command us, neither here nor elsewhere."
„Since when is it the way of wood elves to hide in the trees and ambush other elves, threatening them?" Elrond bellowed back. „Show yourselves, and I will speak to you further."
For a moment nothing happened. Fifteen pale, proud faces stared at the trees surrounding them, while Elrond was fretting and fuming. He from all the Rivendell elves was the only one not to fear for his life at the moment.
Then the branches above them separated, and a handful of wood elves emerged. They wore grim faces, and they still held their bows, arrows ready, although they weren't raised.
„I'm sorry having bothered you." The old warrior, whom Elrond had got to know as Mardin, said. „I beg your pardon." He slightly bowed. The sound of his voice was irritating; it was difficult to say if his polite words were in earnest or just mockery.
His next words made it clear, though. „But how could we guess that a few Rivendell elves – together with their mightiest leader – would decide to make a little morning ride today? We suspected us pursued – by orcs or similar ugly creatures."
His words were followed by angry whispers from the Rivendell elves, which Mardin choose to ignore. „Now, with our misunderstanding sorted out, we'll accompany you." His words sounded playfully. The look in his eyes was not.
Elrond sighed and forcefully controlled his anger, looked thoughtfully down on his horse's neck for a few seconds. The wood elves still held their bows, and still they looked far from peaceful. And they were free elves – he couldn't forbid them to follow him and his men. He could try, though, risking to turn a tense, but controllable situation into a quickly escalating one… with all of his elves right in the line of fire!
It was in his hands to calm the wood elves – for angry they were, or they wouldn't have threatened their elvish brothers – or to inflame it. If he did the latter, he risked the life of elves - a decision he didn't even consider to take.
He sighed again, and all his blind fury was suddenly wiped out. Mardin – or whoever had led Thranduil's elves here - was brighter than he had actually given him credit for. From some non point source they must have heard the rumours about the murder at the two guards – which wasn't actually surprising, since it was most likely the leading topic of conversation in Rivendell – and they pulled together this crime with the disappearance of their leader, Legolas, just like he and Saruman had done before. Instantly they had set out to find their lost king, even faster than the Rivendell-elves, only to get disturbed by them later. They laboriously had put together their knowledge, and now they had been confronted with the fact that this knowledge had been shared by other elves, which didn't think it necessary to share it with them. No wonder they were angry. Elrond most likely would have felt the same in their position.
„You know as well as I do that I cannot order you to stay back." he said. „And it seems to me that we're pursuing the same aim." Mardin nodded his head approvingly; he even smiled for a split second, then dropped his bow.
„We'll not be considerate of you, though, since we want to find Legolas Greenleaf fast. Unlike you we´re mounted..."
Mardin's smile deepened. „What are you waiting for, Lord Elrond?" he said. „Let us take care of the rest." The arrogance had returned in his words, but Elrond didn't doubt that he was in earnest, and that the wood elves actually would keep up their pace, even on foot.
Behind him the Rivendell elves again hissed in anger. Elrond sighed. Then he set spurs to his horse, causing the animal to make a startled, abrupt lunge, thus forcing Mardin to save himself swiftly from it's swinging hoofs with a jump aside. Mardin´s smile became distorted, but he took the challenge.
As fast as Elrond and the Rivendell elves rode – there were always the dark, gloomy shadows of the wood elves behind them, beside them, in front of them. They lay heavy on Elrond's soul.
IV.
Suddenly, from one second to another, he was awake, wide awake, his nerves all on edge, and still he didn't know neither where he was nor what had woken him. He felt like waking from one of those silent, crushing nightmares, in which you find yourself in your bed, sitting upright, your heart painfully in your mouth, covered in sweat, but with no memory of the dream which had caused your current bad condition. The memory is vivid, though, and you don't want to go to sleep again after such a dream.
It was fear which caused Legolas to come to his feet, and before he actually knew what he was doing his arms already had reached for his bow, the arrows, his knives, any weapon, in fluent movements, and when he finally came back to his senses, realising there was no weapon left to draw, he had already skidded on a wet stone; and only with a most ungracious kneefall he avoided a repeated fall into the green waters of the Loudwater.
For a moment he remained in his kneeling posture, gasping catching his breath, desperately trying to force his aching muscles to move, to get up. His senses were overwhelmed by a merciless exhaustion, and only when he remembered the cold fear that had woken him from his slumber, his mind eventually functioned again.
His aching members protested painfully when he came to his feet. Legolas raised his head, listening. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled.
The fear which had disturbed his sleep had it's roots not only in a nightmare. It was a real one, for now he could hear it.
The sound of iron hoofs on a forest floor, the trampling of boots. The clank of metal. Someone would be here, and soon.
He supressed a curse, while he frantically, agitated looked around, but neither the cold, unperturbed waters of the Loudwater mirrored a possibility of escape, nor did it the vast, rocky river bank, provided that he managed to reach it. Most likely he wouldn´t even have enough time to try and reach it...
And on his stone he waited, determined to at least sell dear his life, and waited for the things fate had in store for him.
That was how they found him, Elrond and the wood elves, a lonely, dishevelled, wet, and torn figure, stranded on a river island, it´s face marked with horror, a horror which filled Elrond with grim satisfaction and nursed the grudge in his heart.
„You should have thought about this earlier, Legolas Greenleaf, before you betrayed us all." he thought. "You knew we would find you, sooner or later. From whom you hope to find mercy now? Do not expect it from my side..."
Mardin passed him by, so close that his horse unwillingly threw back his head, thus forcing the elven king to attend to it, calming it, and Mardin used these few moments of Elrond´s inattention to place himself in front of Legolas. Straddling he stood, solid as a rock, and there was happiness in his eyes when he anxiously searched Legolas´ face, and his crouched body, for a signs of injuries.
He found none, but a smile only lit his features when Legolas put a heavy hand on his shoulder and gave him a small, tired – oh, so tired – smile, thus assuring him that he was unhurt. An expression of utter relief was on Legolas´ face too, for a moment, when Mardin covered his hand with his own, armed one.
It escaped Elrond's notice, though, because Mardin blocked his sight on Legolas. Even if he had seen it – it would not have been enough to chase the coldness in his heart.
His signs for the two Rivendell elves beside him, though, were not overlooked.
Mardin frowned violently when suddenly two horses, literally being in deep water, emerged beside him, and hands started reaching for Legolas, dragging him up on one of the horses, more roughly than it was entirely necessary.
Legolas – was the prince really unhurt? – let it happen apathetically, as if he didn't notice the rough handling. Perhaps he really didn't...
His blue lips, the lids that already were closing again over his normally so vivid blue eyes, the grey colour to his skin – all these signs were very meaningful. Thranduil's last surviving son was freezing and exhausted and in desperate need of rest and warmth.
That was the reason, the only reason, why Mardin – and the other wood elves, on his sign- allowed the Rivendell elves to abscond with the prince like he was a war prize, without even turning once to the wood elves quickly falling back.
Mardin's frown deepened. Elrond and his elves rode back in a almost insane speed – well, Legolas had been found, he was secure now, soon being tended – but still why did he have those feelings of threat, why did they pursue him, determined, like a vicious dog, who obstinately sticks to his bone?
Mardin clenched his teeth and ignored the cold of the river water on his skin, and on the place Legolas' hand had rested, a few seconds before.
„Back!" he commanded. „As fast as you can." He didn't need to urge the other wood elves. They all ran silently. Anxious. Fast. But still to slow.
V.
All of sudden he felt cold, terribly cold, and a shivering had seized his body which he couldn't supress any longer. He didn't realise what kind of a look he offered: His clothes torn, soaked and filthy, his hairs in wild disorder, his left arm encrusted with dried blood, his face ashen, lips blue. There were dark shadows under his eyes; making them look enormous.
So he stood on Elrond's terrace, his heart full of things he had to tell the elven king, finally having reached his target, but still he found it difficult to find the right words to explain himself.
The urge to cough was in his throat, far too strong to be ignored, the desire for sleep overwhelming, and he knew he was not far from sinking to the floor unceremoniously, in front of Lord Elrond, and instantly falling into an exhausted sleep…
Only a small rest of his dignity held him from doing so. But he must have swayed, for suddenly two of the elves behind Elrond stepped forth, at his side, and gripped his upper arms, thus effectively holding him upright.
Their grip was too tightly to be pleasant, and Legolas exhaled sharply when acute pain from his bruised shoulder passed through him. He tried to move his right arm, but the grip of the elf holding him did not loosen.
The pain was not bad though. It chased the dark veils subsiding onto his consciousness, and his will to comply his duty grew stronger. He moistened his suddenly dry lips.
„Lord Elrond..." he started to speak, but his voice sounded weak in his own ears, high and thin, and he ceased confused when Elrond made a step in his direction, approached him, closing in so near on him, that he, surely not small himself, had to look up to the elven king.
Elrond stood proudly erected, and his look was not warmer than the cool night air surrounding them. His eyes gleamed in a strange light. The grip around Legolas´ upper arms tightened. He just wished he could get rid of the elves supporting him, but he didn't have the strength to try and free himself, and again a shuddering went through his body. Caused by the chill of the night, or by the cold Elrond radiated, he couldn´t tell.
„He already knows..." said a small voice in the back of his mind. „He already knows about Saruman´s treacheries. No wonder he's angry, and desperate." „You already know?" he tried to speak up again, and Elrond's lips became a thin line.
„Yes, Legolas Greenleaf, I already know." he said in a voice which reminded of distant thunder. „I already know."
„Good." Legolas said, dizzy from sudden relief, and he involuntary smiled. For the first time in what seemed to be eternities he felt sudden, intensive joy, and the warmth of hopes unexpectedly fulfilled filled his heart.
Elrond still stared at him, his face ashen, and Legolas finally found the words he'd searched in vain before. „Saruman!" he gushed forth. „The white wizard... he has lost his mind!"
„Legolas Greenleaf..." Elrond gravely said, as if Legolas hadn't spoken. His face was an expressionless mask, but his hands, moving restlessly, betrayed him. „I arrest you because of treason."
„...lost his mind. He did pursue us..."
Legolas' voice faltered when Elrond's words finally reached his consciousness, but still his mind refused to accept their meaning. His arms fell.
Elrond still seemed calm, very calm, when he continued: „And because of several murderous attacks. On two of our guardians at the north wall."
„No!" Legolas whispered, all the words he´d wanted to say dying on his lips. Still he didn`t really understand, but a cold hand began seizing his heart.
The hope in him died, leaving nothing but a bitter taste on his tongue.
„And because of the murder on Elwyne Thornbush."
„No!" Legolas repeated, in a small voice, very quiet, very desperate. „No! It's not true. Please! Please, tell me it´s not true…"
Only now he understood the animosity Elrond radiated, and all the other elves. He looked around agitated, like a cornered animal, and saw an ocean of hostile faces.
Out of the corner of his eyes he caught a glimpse at Aragorn´s face, in which disbelief and abhorrence visibly struggled. „Tell me that Elwyne..." a sob suffocated his voice. „...is not dead..."
Aragorn avoided his eyes.
„No!" Legolas screamed, his face distorted in pain. „No!" Darkness began creeping into his mind. „No." Tears fell from his eyes, unnoticed.
If it hadn't been for the two elves at his side, gripping him tightly, imperturbable, he would have fallen to his knees.
„No." The agony in his voice would even have irritated the grimly resolute Elrond, if it hadn't been for a silent laugh, devoid of every gaiety, from behind them. Saruman had emerged from the corner he´d been hidden thus far. He smirked.
„A brilliant display of grief, my young prince." he said. „It´s a pity we are not that easily fooled. Is your desperation based on delayed ruefulness; or only on the fact that you've been caught by poisoning your elder brother?"
Legolas stared at him, and the darkness in his mind grew stronger. In front of him there stood the man which was to blame for all his – their - suffering, and hate sprawled in him, to a dark, suffocating power, stronger and mightier even than the hate he had felt against the orcs in those first days after the destruction of the Mirkwood.
The hate conferred him unexpected strength.
Elrond stood too tightly, much too tightly before him... and Legolas was fast, even for an elf.
With a sudden jerk he freed his right arm from the grip of one of his guardians to grab the knife in Elrond's belt. He managed to get a hold on it; even though hate and tears blurred his vision. Even Elrond stepped back from the look in his eyes.
The second guardian still hadn't loosened his grip. Legolas used his weapon to lacerate his underarm, and so overwhelming was his desire to kill the hatred wizard, that even his cry of pain did not cause pricks of conscience to have hurt someone from his own race.
With a gasp he finally tore himself free; and advanced against Saruman.
Several bows had already been raised, pointed right at him, and even Aragorn's hand rested for a moment on the hilt of his sword. Elrond had drawn his remaining dagger.
With a fast show of hands Saruman held back the Rivendell elves. His eyes rested on Legolas, only on Legolas. „Showing your true face, elf?" he calmly said.
Legolas hissed something and threw his knife. Although his hand had been sure, although he'd aimed precisely, Saruman avoided the weapon with surprising ease.
Legolas saw it, and hate constricted his throat. He trembled with hate. Saruman gave him another mocking glance.
„You've lost, elf." he cruelly said, and only Legolas really understood what he meant.
Then Saruman raised his hand again, and a terrible stroke hit Legolas, violently throwing him backwards. His head forcefully crashed against the wall.
Half unconscious he sank to the floor. Only the terrible pain in his mouth kept back the darkness threatening to overcome him.
Blood rushed out of his nose, and his mouth was quickly filling up with it. He´d bitten his tongue. Deeply, deeply he inhaled, trying not to choke on it, and he turned himself on his stomach to spit it out more easily. In his confused mind there was not a single clear thought left, except the one that he would suffocate on his on blood if he weren't careful. Breathe. Breathe, carefully. Spit the blood. Do not swallow it…
Like distant bee-buzzing the voices of the others surrounded him, and when they dragged him to his feet, turned his hands behind his back, his breathing became confused instead of his precautions, and blood trickled down his throat, left him coughing and choking. The urge to vomit clenched his stomach, and his tongue was already so swollen it additionally blocked his respiration.
All the clearer his mind suddenly worked. „You've lost, elf!" Saruman´s sneering voice repeated in his head. „You've lost, elf!" and Legolas finally understood that the wizard was right. He'd lost, lost completely.
While he had fought his way back to Rivendell through the rows of the orcs, Saruman had not stayed idle, and Elrond had not been the only one which had been in need of a warning...
Elwyne was dead... doubtlessly killed by Saruman, which had shifted the blame on him. Elwyne dead... Again tears welled up in his eyes, and only the last remaining piece of dignity held him from starting to cry in front of his tormentors. Lost...
With his hate-inspired attack on Saruman he'd played right into the hands of the wizard one last time, by vividly demonstrating his anger, his hate, as well as his readyness to kill.
It had been the anger, and the hate, of a victim, which had just suffered too much injustice, but nobody would believe him, even when he still would have had the time to explain himself, or someone had been willing to listen to him. His tongue was so swollen that he could utter nothing more than unarticulated stammering, and now they already brought him away.
Legolas didn't resist. The certainty about his devastating defeat was so crushing that he was barely able to walk. Lost. Lost. Lost...
VI.
The blood from his mouth and nose had dried to a sticky mask on his face long ago, as well as the noticeable bloodstains around him.
Legolas didn't care. He sat, legs tucked up, with his back against the cell wall; and stared into nothingness.
At first, when they had brought him into one of the few prison cells existing in Rivendell, and had pushed him in without a further word, closing the door, tears had still burned in his eyes. He´d wept for Elwyne, dying because of his errors, although it had been Saruman who had actually killed him.
Even harder to endure was the thought of the catastrophe Saruman would bring over Rivendell soon, and the certitude that he, Legolas, had had it in his hands to avoid it. He had vastly underestimated Saruman, and overestimated himself...
He now paid a cruel price for it, paid with the life of his brother, most likely with the life of the little hobbit out in the woods, and the lives of many elves. His eyes were dry, but unshed tears still burned in his throat.
The thought of his failure became more tormenting with every minute passing by. He knew nothing whatsoever about what was happening in the outside world. His fantasy, though, made a special effort to envision it in the most horrible colors; and he saw battles, attacking orcs, elves slain or taken, Rivendell, bloodstained and destroyed, and in the background there were always these seas of flames merciless devouring the Mirkwood, his home.
At the beginning he managed to keep these images at bay, in the moments he still believed that they would come to listen to him, and he had figured out the words he would need to persuade Elrond from his innocence; and from Saruman's betrayal, Elrond, Gandalf, Aragorn, or whoever would enter his cell. But time elapsed – he could only guess how fast – and no one came.
The cell in which they had brought him was dark. A miserable strip of half-light fell through a very small window at the ceiling, but it accentuated the darkness more than it chased it. The cell was small. It's stones laid themselves on the soul of it's occupant, and they reminded Legolas of something he couldn't really specify.
Hour after hour he just sat there, an occasional shudder shaking his body, torn between hope and desperation, the latter getting the upper hand more and more.
The moment came when he knew he had to shake off his gloomy thoughts; or he simply would loose his mind. So he decided to observe the half-shady circle of light in front of him, coming from the small window, or the dried blood on the stone floor, and while he sat there in his semiconscious state, he suddenly knew what the cell had reminded him of: A tomb.
VII.
Already quite a while Saruman looked through the small window leading to the prison cell in which they had brought Thranduil´s son. He didn't move yet, had become as absorbed in the sight which was offered him like the elf he watched had sunk into desperation. He still hadn´t noticed the approaching of the wizard.
„What fragile creatures these elves are." Saruman thought. „They know to give eloquent speeches, they're clever, and knowingly, more than humans ever will be, and terrific warriors – and still their grace, their haughtiness, and their braveness are all quickly lost if they´re deprived from light."
He mechanically smiled. „And dark times lie ahead of them, in the truest sense of the word! All, all of them, even Galadriel and Elrond, will lick my boots, as soon as I have gained the three rings!"
Then his gaze as well as his thoughts wandered back to the imprisoned elf. „It is strange...," he thought, „... what an important part of my plans this Greenleaf has become. As a last obstacle he still stands between me and his father's ring, has thus far managed to spoil my plans concerning it – but then again it will be him who will play Elrond's ring in my hands… He and his wood elves."
Now the crouched, miserable figure in the corner of the cell raised his head, and for an instant Saruman looked right into Legolas´ burning eyes. He smiled. Greenleaf had finally noticed his presence. So his sharp senses weren't completely dulled yet.
Furthermore, he'd seen the fear in the eyes of his opposite. „Well." he rejoiced. „You do not fear enough yet." And he entered the dungeon.
Legolas, having heard his coming, had risen. He was a horrific sight: The eyes blood-shot, shrunken, dried blood still covering his face and clothes, his hair dishevelled hanging over his shoulders. His clothes were torn and filthy, thus contrasting sharply to the clean white of the bandages that covered the worst of his wounds.
The Rivendell elves had tended to his injuries. "They just couldn´t help it…" Saruman thought angrily, but the memory of Legolas, trying frantically to explain himself while choking on his own blood, with no one listening to him, filled him with grim satisfaction.
There was a blue tinge to Legolas´ face, accented from the pale light of the dungeon, and for a fleeting, irrational moment Saruman got the impression that the elf was already fading, physically as well as mentally, an impression that was intensified when he addressed Greenleaf.
„You know why I'm here.," he said. „Give it to me freely, or I'll take it forcefully. You're not in a position to put up any resistance." He stepped forth, and Legolas instinctively gave way, until he hit the wall of his cell with a thud, wide-eyed, and he didn't meet Saruman's stare.
„The ring." Saruman repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, but with a malice that sent a shiver down his victim´s spine. His words seemed to echo from the small room. „Give it to me. Or I'll go and get it." The elf retreated further. He seemed to sink down even more.
„He's already broken!" This thought rushed into Saruman's mind. His smile became abjectly. „That was faster than I thought!"
For a fleeting moment he suspected the elf to act, trying to deceive him with his submissiveness; only to attack him in a moment of carelessness. But then he rejected the thought. Legolas radiated desperation, not agressiveness.
He advanced another step, reached out with one hand and touched Legolas' head, laterally, at his left temple. His breathing was heavy. The greed for the first elven ring again became uncontrollably strong, made him forget everything else. Then he loosened his magic power into the elf.
Legolas gave a small sound of pain, writhing under Saruman's grip, but now the wizard also used his other hand, forcing his victim to remain motionless, with strength far beyond anything Legolas ever had witnessed. For a few seconds they both stood frozen, without moving, with Saruman tilting his head, as if he were listening intently.
Then he released Legolas with a deep sigh and withdraw himself. „You do not have the ring.," he said, and it was a statement, not a question. „It is one of Gandalf's little friends, the curious one, who has it."
The elf turned his head, looked straight into his eyes, unblinkingly. „No." he whispered, and his voice was small and hoarse, as if not used for a long time. „No! I've thrown it away, while hurrying back to Rivendell. The hobbit does not have it."
Saruman watched him with an amused smile. „Your lies are futile." he retorted. „I've read your thoughts. There was nothing in your mind you could have hidden from me.
The hobbit has the ring – but he'll not enjoy it for long. My orcs will find him quickly – and kill him instantly, if they are in a merciful mood. Then again it is more likely that they use him for their sport, before they kill him."
„They wont!" The elf shot back, passionately. His breath came jerkily.
„Ah, there's still more fighting spirit left in him than I gave him credit for." Saruman thought. „Not for himself, but for his friends."
Aloud he said: „We'll see, elf. We'll see."
He turned to leave, while making a small sign with his right hand. The dim light from the ceiling, the only light source of the elf´s dungeon, expired. Darkness spread.
„We'll see." Saruman repeated, giving one last glance to the prisoner. Then he left.
VIII.
„He's innocent!" Aragorn said, passionately, heated, and his face mirrored the amplitude of his emotions: Fury, sorrow, anger, anxiety. And uncertainty. Arwen, which could read it like an open book, more than he probably suspected, felt her heart ache with pity.
Aragorn had abandoned his nervous pacing and now directed his gaze on her. His eyes searched her face. „He's innocent!" he repeated, but his voice had lost it's vehemence, and there were doubts in it, too.
He was a soul in hell, that much was clear to her, and she felt a wave of anger against no one in particular when she thought about how little peace her lover had had, the last days and month. As little as her father. He was worried sick as well, although he didn't show it like Aragorn.
„I do not know Legolas Greenleaf." she softly said and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. „But if you say he is innocent, I will believe you." Her deep blue eyes looked at him with so much confidence that Aragorn suddenly found it difficult to breathe regularly. Arwen always had this effect on him.
„Thank you." He said and forced a smile on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes, and he knew it wouldn't fool her for a second.
„I cannot endure this inactivity any longer!" he exclaimed, and the hunted expression was back in his eyes. „The wood elves will be deaf for every further word the moment they hear that Legolas is under suspect of having killed his brother. Here, no one believes in his innocence but you and me – but they will believe in it, and fiercely."
„You fear they will turn against my father – and against us all." Arwen voiced the sum of all his worries, and her melodious voice was a strange contrast to her terrible words.
Aragorn suddenly looked distant, as if he was thinking about something.
Arwen uneasily moved her shoulders, and again she read his thoughts without effort. Aragorn had stopped to puzzle over this long ago.
„You'll heal Elwyne." she said. „If he regains consciousness and claims Legolas' innocence, then father will have to release him. He even will apologize for his errors. The wood elves will be satisfied, for they do not bear a grudge against us. They´re only desperate."
"Exactly." Aragorn answered, and his eyes shone in excitement. „And I´ve heard one of the healers say that they need the "Poison-Lady-Weed" in order to save Elwyne. Their supplies have been used to the last leaf only to stabilise him… If we manage to get the weed…but…"
"But?" Arwen asked, arching one eyebrow, looking very much like her father for a moment.
"The herb is rarely found." he answered, his spirits sinking. "And usually it grows in summer, with only the primary leaves present in spring." He gave her a worried glance. "Furthermore there could be orcs in the woods of Rivendell as well as elsewhere by now."
"I´ll get the horses." she said, thus nipping the imminent discussion about female participation in the bud. "It will raise less suspicion if I ask for them. Await me at the main gate." Aragorn supressed a sigh.
"Just like father if he doesn´t have the heart to refuse one of my requests." Arwen thought and hid a smile. Then became serious again.
„I just hope you're worth the trouble, Legolas Greenleaf.," she thought. „If you break Aragorn's heart, do not count on my pity."
IX.
„Ah, by the way..." Saruman said slowly, casually. „Do not wait any longer for the return of your leader."
He turned to leave, only to be stopped abruptly by Mardin having caught his right sleeve quite unceremoniously. "What do you mean by that?" the old warhorse angrily asked. "Stop talking in riddles, for heaven´s sake!"
"Am I to hear this from an elf?" Saruman thought, narrowing his eyes. The temporary leader of the wood elves, an old, evil looking elf, seemed not to have much respect for him, Saruman, for some reason. Most likely because he was so much older…
Well, it didn´t really matter, for this elf still had to play his role in Saruman´s game, and soon enough he would be punished cruelly for his insolence. There was no reason to teach this pawn a lesson, thus making him loose his usefulness too early…
"You do not know yet?" he continued, well played incredibility in his voice as well as in his face, and the worried expression, which could be detected on the face of his opposite for a split second, bore no small satisfaction for the wizard.
"That will teach you respect, damned elf!" he thought, but aloud he said:
„Lord Elrond has ordered to incarcerate your prince, over there, in Rivendell. He´s accusing him of the murder of his brother."
A whisper went through the crowd of the gathered wood elves, like an icy wind through the leaves of autumn trees, and Saruman suddenly saw himself confronted with a sea of dark, proud faces turned towards him. The eyes of the elves burned like coals.
"You didn´t know." Saruman finished and let his voice falter, as if having realised the mistake he just made, then he cleared his throat and continued more strongly: "Well, you would have known soon enough. Even Elrond would not dare to order Legolas Greeleaf´s incarceration without noticing you."
The arrogant elf in front of him staggered back, as if he had caught a fist right into his stomach. Saruman saw it with no small satisfaction, which he carefully hid behind a neutral expression. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw faces distorted in anger, fists risen, and tightly gripped weapons.
With an arrogant gesture Saruman tied up his coat.
"The murder of a king is punished with dungeon, or death occasionally, when the times are hard. As far as I know Elrond hasn't given a judgement yet. He's still hesitating. To condemn an elf – an elf even of royal blood – no one would take such a decision lightly. But then again there is much anger, sorrow, and anxiety brewing in him. The bale which has afflicted the Mirkwood is still fresh in his mind, and he greatly fears that it will reach Rivendell, too."
Saruman just couldn't help to carefully observe Mardin's face, and that of other elves nearby, to see their reaction on his little, well planed speech.
What he saw pleased him. „Let's hope that the bale has not yet foiled Elrond's discernment."
„I hope it for him." Mardin filled in, cold, but with a vehemence that even scared Saruman for a moment. „Or he will soon regret his false judgement." More fists were pushed into the air.
To be continued…
To Daylight:
After getting your review I just couldn´t wipe out the silly grin on my face for the rest of the day; just like the one appearing when I first saw "The Two Towers". I still find it difficult to come back to reality… But anyway, thanks a lot for your praise as well as your suggestions to allow anonymous reviews. I surely will.
Did you read that, all of you out there? Anonymous reviews possible now! Pleease….
Anyway, I wish you a pleasant rest of your Christmas holidays and I hope you´ve finished your exams with ease.
(Or shouldn´t I have mentioned them at this time? J)
To Elise:
I almost had a bad conscience getting your review – after your vivid description of the state you were in while writing it I got the impression that bed rest would have done you better than sitting in front of the computer. But luckily you didn´t do it – lucky for me, for I got not only one, but two nice reviews.
It´s true, I was a bit disappointed I didn´t get more reviews – it´s not the writing itself ( I cannot help writing, it seems to me. How else could I survive until "The return of the king?!?) but the fact that I write in English, which is, as I wrote before, not my mother tongue. My stories are usually written in german, and so it´s important to me to know if they´re read at all, or else I can spare me the trouble of translating them. What is more important, I need to know if they´re making sense, but at least to you they seem to do. I´ll heed to your suggestion though, and I think I finally find enough time to read your story, too.
Ps. I`m on someone´s favourite list. I think I´m getting megalomaniac!!!
Ps 2: You´re right: Brandy´s a very precious medicine against a cold!!!
