Is that so much to ask? - The Last Goodbye [ Part One ]
Ah, yes. The beginning of the end. I was oringally going to make "The Last Goodbye" only one chapter, but it was getting extremely long and I was getting impatient, so it will be two chapters. Expect the last part - of the chapter, AND of the story [yes, that's right! Over!]- before next weekend. I'll write the my goodbyes and thanks in the next chapter, so I'll keep this note relatively short, I just wanted everyone to understand this was a two part chapter. Alright, everyone, on with the story!
As they had crept closer to what could be the group's final destination, he seemed to grow more silent, more solemn, as if he was saving up all of his thoughts. His muscles became more defined, almost, as if he was mentally preparing himself to face the evil that ate at his home.
Now he stood in the shadows, the dim ethereal light casting him in a glow that seem to radiate power and control. Behind him, he heard whispers in the haze, in the trees high above the dim forest path. He didn't turn around. He didn't need too -- he knew who was there. He knew they were watching, waiting for his signal.
Legolas's eyes locked on the large, dark citadel, tucked in among the blackness of Mirkwood's dangerously rolling hills and stark, dense trees and shadows. The glimpses of sky he could snatch between the thick, overlapping leaves was dark and forbidding -- thunder cackled with an invisible electricity and lightening smacked down somewhere in the distance. Rain slithered its way through the thick canopy; it wasn't heavy, nor dragging, but a light, irritating mist that seemed to obscure vision and add even more shadows to the interior of the forest.
The dark fortress of black magic loomed before them, dark but not quiet. Strange nosies came from the earth below it, leaving them to believe that underground chambers were being used to create evil. A strange orange-red glow came from the upper-most rooms, and orcs, goblins, and other ugly, misshapen wastes of life prowled around the front of the fortress, sparks and fires illuminating their hideous faces as they sharpened their tools.
Spiders were scarce in this area; they hadn't seen any in days. It was slightly forbidding that even creatures this evil were avoiding this place; but they took the good with the bad, and didn't complain.
The journey had gone steadily quieter as they had gotten closer to Dol-Guldur but now the quiet had disappeared and their slightest movement seemed to be magnified. The slip of Elladan's boot, the soft leather scraping across the rough bark echoed in their ears. Annore's breathing became labored as his limbs cramped from his stiff position in the tree directly above Legolas's shoulders and head and it roared in all of their ears. But the orcs, who were sharpening their weapons in the shadow of the great fortress, didn't look up.
Beneath them, Legolas narrowed his light eyes, his face taunt with concentration. He stood, half concealed behind a thin oak, his eyes and the sharp tip of the arrow the only things visible. His muscles stretched, as he hesitated, breathing softly. His fingers lined up directly on the bow as his back straightened, and his eyes zoomed in on one particularly large orc, we idling a whip and snarling at the other, smaller beasts, giving them his own form of encouragement. His eyes locked on the orc's head. Bull's eye.
Above him, they waited impatiently, Aragorn's arm muscles straining with the effort of supporting himself as he hung down from the trees. His arms were wrapped around a large branch, his ankles crossed over a smaller branch, his back parallel to the forest path as his body remained barely hidden by the thick trees. He ached, waiting for Legolas to give the word when he could jump down, running, and begin the battle.
But the elf prince waited. And hesitated, and they didn't know why.
His eyes were closed, Krystal could see. His eyes were closed and his head cocked, as if he was listening, to a song or a voice, or something. Or something.
But then he snapped out of it - his eyes fluttered open and suddenly, ever so slightly, his fingers moved. And like a shot, the arrow soared out from it's hiding place, streaking loudly past several of the Orcs and finally fatally piercing the large orc's thick skull. And with a shout, the battle began.
Aragorn swung down with relief from his perch, hitting the ground running. They poured out of their respective spots, weapons brandished. Krystal lagged a bit behind Tharros, catching Elladan's eye. "Stay hidden," he had told her before, during one of their content walks through the trees. "When the heat of the battle begins to simmer, it will be fast and furious. Orcs will be aiming for anything that moves, and we will not be able to watch you. Stay hidden, stay small and out of sight. If the battle begins to lull and either side looks to be faltering, and you feel strong enough, then maybe you should join. But only if."
She remembered what he said, and followed it -- it had finally hit her that this was actually dangerous. She dove to the ground as their group broke into the clearing, the orcs looking up with grunts and roars, rolling behind a tree to watch the battle.
Aragorn struck flesh first, his sword slicing through the shoulder of one of the mangled goblins with a grunt. Blood splattered into his face and he wiped it away as it mingled with the sweat. He spun around as another orc lunged at him, but he wasn't so lucky this time and the dull, dirty orc blade caught his knee, ripping out a hunk of flesh as he staggered. More orcs poured out of the fortress and more out of the trees, hurrying towards the heart of the battle. Legolas had abandoned his bow, and flipping his hair back, he heard Aragorn cry, raising his eyes and searched for the young human. The orcs swam in among them now, and no one spoke -- the high pitched clash of steal on steal, the grunts as force met force, the heavy footsteps and dull roar of reinforcements filled their ears. He raced towards Aragorn, who had broken off away from the group as another Orc swung his blade in an arc, dangerously close to Aragorn's neck. Legolas rose his arms, deflecting the blade from his friend's neck. The elf put his back to the human's, helping him up, grunting, "Are you okay?"
Aragorn grimaced. "Yes," he muttered, once again raising his blade. They turned in tight circles, their friendship having made their battle techniques known to one and other so they didn't interfere with each others fighting. The orcs circled them, closing in, their hideous faces hungry for blood.
Legolas panted, sparing a moment to wipe his brow. His heart pounded in his chest so loud it roared in his ears, and the mix of fear, for himself and others along with the rush of battle was surging through him. His sense screamed as Aragorn and Legolas turned sharply, clashing their weapons. His body shook slightly from the adrenaline but he paid no attention to it - this was a battle they would not -- could not -- lose. Aragorn gagged at the stench of orcs that rose in his throat, choking on the mixture of dust. In front of him, several orcs bumbled up and charged at him, brandishing their weapons. There were too many of them; something needed to be done now and Aragorn made a split second desicion. "LEGOLAS," he cried in advance, "DUCK!"
Circling his arms upward, Aragorn grabbed the closest Orc underneath his stubby, hairy arms and raised him enough to bring his knees up, catching the animal in the stomach with his boots. The animal catapulted over his head, over Legolas as well. Caught unaware, the orcs Legolas had been facing didn't even see the larger beast coming their way, and he landed on top of them, the group of them collapsing in a heap. Legolas and Aragorn glanced at each other as the orcs roared at each other, turning their blades upon themselves for a brief instant. "RUN!" Krystal whispered fervently to herself. "NOW!"
Both of them charged forward and when the orcs looked up, they had disappeared back into the melee of the fray.
Meanwhile, Elrohir and an unusally agile and strong orc had broken off from the group. They were circling around each other, constantly rebuffing their jabs. The elf was easily outmatched as far as size and strength, but he was more intelligent and faster. Krystal turned her eyes towards them nervously, unable to spot anyone else in the rising, lingering dust.The orc jabbed, stepping forward with a snarl but Elrohir immediately dodged the blow and countered with a sweeping strike of his own, but the orc managed to sidestep just in time, the blade whispering by his thick neck. Angry at the close call, the orc lashed out, catching Elrohir's thigh. The blade snuck deep into the flesh and Elrohir gasped, stars flashing before his eyes. Grabbing the elf's arm, the orc yanked the fair being towards him, sending the blade even further in. Elrohir blanched dramatically, staggering into the heavy orc's chest. The orc smiled grimly, clutching Elrohir's arm and twisting it. It cracked, broken as Elrohir's head reeled back. Consciousness dangled in front of his eyes, but with the last thread of consciousness, his slowly transferred his dagger to the other hand. The orc, who was continuing to twist his arm, slowly and painfully, never saw the dagger that slammed into the thick skin at the nape of his neck. The orc slowly dropped to the ground as life fled. Elrohir collapsed two feet away, gasping as darkness finally claimed him on the outcasts of the forest.
The group had split up into several smaller groups, but the orcs were steadily and surprisingly intelligently pushing them apart, away from aid and help. Elladan was currently being singled out by a large array of a mixture of goblins and orcs. Fell monsters shrieked as night steadily fell with the darkening rain, and the hope for success of the party diminished.
Fell resolution simmered in Elladan's expression as he whirled and swayed, his knuckles white as he clenched his sword tightly. Dangerously, he parried back at forth, the furious and demanding pace at which the orcs attacked him with not yet draining on his physical strength, but he knew it would soon. He ducked low, ducking his chin into his knees before lunging upward, rising up quickly and parrying, spinning to keep up with the arrows and daggers goblins were launching at him. Behind him, the large, dense, overwhelming outer wall of the citadel was drawing closer with every step he took.
The forest crowded in around them, almost hungrily, as if to watch and it seemed as if the trees were speaking to each other in excited whispers. Orcs were rapidly closing in around him and neither Elrohir nor Glorifindel, who he had been fighting alongside, were anywhere to be seen. These thoughts raced rapidly through his mind as he grunted, an orc charging at him with a low, foul moan. Bringing his sword up, he caught the orc on the long blade killing the ugly beast. His options were rapidly disappearing and in a calculated attempt to maneuver better in the decreasing space he moved back towards the high stone behind him. He sliced through beast after beast, but their empty places kept refilling. More just kept lunging at him, causing his tight, controlled steps to slip further back against the wall. He felt the cool stone brush the back of his tunic and froze; he was almost out of maneuvering room. Abandoning all pretense, he continued to fight, but his eyes flashed with the gruesome flash of fear and the orcs could sense it. He tried to ignore it but he shone clearly in his eyes as he rose his long, blood stained sword in an arc and the handle of the weapon smacked into the wall. He was unable therefore to complete the swing, and his fear rose dramatically as the orcs spotted his newfound weakness and lunged forward dramatically, evil smiles now on their mutinous faces.
Simply unfocused, and not using his senses, Elladan's footing was unstable. Dodging a dangerously close blow to the head, he sidestepped. His normally graceful movements were gravely off and his foot lodged under a small tree root. He jerked his foot up desperately, but it only wedged in deeper and tighter and he swung, precariously off balance. A goblin dashed towards him and the elf, in a last ditched attempt, threw himself at the approaching creature. But his foot jerked him backwards and the goblin's dagger slipped right into the fleshy underpart of his collar bone; his misstep was proving fatal and he lurched painfully, not only from the wound to his collar but also from the sudden, jabbing pain in his ankle. Glancing down, he blanched, seeing the startling white of his bone just visible through the bloody red of his flesh. His foes hesitated only one-second before seizing the opportunity, attacking the elf with a tackle. His ankle was torn painfully out of the tree root as he body slammed against the dark wall of the citadel. His head smacked against the stone, his shoulders pinned by the Orc's strong hands. Down the elf went and a dull cheer rose instead, the orcs delighted with their enemies weakness.
An orc and a goblin roughly seized Elladan, smashing him to the ground, landing him flat on his stomach. His face grounded into the dirt and he gasped, gagging as several clumps of earth were sucked down his throat, clinging to his lungs. Reflexively, he tried to cough the thick dust out of his throat but only inhaled more, this new evil adding to his panic as the adernaline siezed him. Fear rose in the back of his throat and he couldn't even scream for help; he called out in his thoughts for Elrohir, but disturbingly, there was no reply. And suddenly, a sound he had heard before and had visited him many times in his nightmares growled low in his ears; wargs had been let loose. Several animals prowled the area; he could hear more, but directly in his line of sight, his body parallel to the wall, was only one, demented looking creature. Drool dribbled down his long, thin lips, his fangs snapping in Elladan's ears. The orcs kept a strong hold on the warg, but it was close enough that he could smell it's putrid breath. He flinched, taking a deep breath. His eyes closed and he began to pray.
Meanwhile, Glorifindel and Tharros, who had slowly joined forces with Aragorn and Legolas but were gradually being separated, had their own troubles. Annore, who had been at Tharros side when the chaos had begun, was no where to be seen. Glorifindel was still rigid with determination, but he too realized that with every halting step he took, the Orcs were forcing him and Tharros towards the center of the clearing, which would leave them in open territory and extremely vulnerable. Taking a deep, quick breath, the fair elf slammed the blade of his sword deep into the ground. Wrapping his wrists around the pommel of the sword, he lunged into the air, spinning. His body flew in a sharp circle, his legs kicking out and smacking several orcs in the face. He pushed his knees down hard and fast, almost as if he was running on their faces. He completed a full circle before he slipped to the ground, landing in a crouch. The orcs in his immediate area were all reeling from his vicious kicks, and Glorifindel took advantage of the time to gather his breath from his dangerous stunt, before rising and jerking the blade out of the thick, heavy ground.
The goblins had singled out Tharros, for some reason deciding he looked weaker then Annore. It probably had to do with the slow limp he still had from his time in Moria, but he perfected the defense of his legs during his time in Mirkwood, during the long, boring walks filled with uneventful spider attacks and dangerous magic rivers. A goblin charged at him, but to his chagrin, Tharros met his blow, parrying quickly and giving up little ground. He spun around and ducked underneath an arched swipe at his neck before straightening up and lunging, slamming the pommel of his sword into the face of the goblin. It squealed, off balance before tumbling to the floor, and Tharros ended his misery with a quick, clean swipe. He reached up, wiping the blood from his forehead before slowly looking for his next opponent.
Annore's eyes watered from the truculent smell of the orcs that surrounded him, but he forced himself to continue moving. Night was casting dark, gloomy shadows around him and made his enemies harder to see, but he could still hear, and knew that he was being pushed away from the members of his group. He had been next to Tharros, but now he only heard his brethren shout and groan as the orcs continued their violent assault.
The element of surprise had been on their side, but it had completely been blown away within the first few minutes of attack. They had completely underestimated the sheer force and amount of orcs, and that was only their adversaries outside of the dark fortress.
But even as these thoughts crossed Annore's mind, and he ducked under a swooping blow by an orc, he felt a sharp arrow slice through his shoulder, ripping apart tendons and tearing at his flesh. He gasped, his hand going to his shoulder protectively before the blunt end of an orc's sword's pommel came rushing up to meet him in the face. The world went dark, but he could still hear as the pommel crushed his eyes and forehead. "MY EYES!" he groaned. "MY EYES!"
Legolas glanced over at the horrified scream and his face paled when he saw Annore on his knees, his shoulder bleeding freely and tendrils of red blood seeping through his fingers where he clutched at his eyes. A flap of pale, detached skin dangled from Annore's finger tips and with a sickening lurch, Legolas knew Annore would never see again.
He glanced at Aragorn, who was currently sliding his blade down the spine of a tiny, wretched goblin, while raising his broadsword and deflecting an arrow from his temple. "Aragorn, I must see to Annore," Legolas called anxiously, unwilling to leave either man alone. Aragorn glanced up for a brief second; their eyes locked and Legolas directed his friend's gaze to where Annore was currently curling up on the floor, some four hundred meters away. Orcs were closing in on him from all sides; Legolas had only seconds to reach him. Aragorn understood the situation instantly. "Go!" he roared as several large, gorilla sized orcs spotted the pair and began to head their way. "I'll hold them off."
With the barest of nods, Legolas deflected a arrow that was flying his way, and his heart pounded when he realized that their was a supicious thick brown paste coated on the arrows - they were coated in orc poision. He let the arrow fall behind him as he forced his legs to reach Annore; he dropped into a crouch besides the man, who looked up anxiously, though he was still clutching at his eyes. "Whose there?!" he screamed, near hysteria. "Who's there?"
Legolas took a pitying glance at Annore, but suddenly orcs were washing down upon them. "It's me," he answered shortly, taking a large step forward. He braced his feet, legs spread, while Annore struggled behind him. "Legolas?" Annore whispered, dazed and confused. "Yes," Legolas answered soothingly, raising his sword. He ducked as a dagger went flying at his neck. Spinning quickly on the balls of his feet, he reached up, kicking one orc in the neck. The orc's head went flying backwards and the orc landed with a loud, painful thump and Legolas immeaditey wrapped his arm around an arrow and slammed it into the orcs stomach, before turning around quickly and driving it through a goblin's forehead. Annore struggled to stand as Legolas quickly covered the man, but Annore could see nothing and his eyes still bleed freely. He could still feel though, and hear; and as he struggled desperately to stand, her head Legolas gasp. "Oh, valar," the elf hissed beneath his teeth, his eyes wide and frightened. He froze, but no attack came for everyone in the clearing had frozen as well, their eyes transifxed on the same spot. "What is it?" Annore asked desperately. "Legolas, what's happened?"
Legolas did not remove his gaze. "The doors have opened, Annore." He answered softly. "Dol-Guldur has opened."