Disclaimer: Hear no Copyright. See no Copyright. (Nah, actually, what I
mean is that I don't own anything that Tolkien owns).
Echoes of the Narbeleth
Spirit Star
Chapter 15: In which It begins.
As soon as the guards' footsteps had receded, Adariel whirled swiftly and placed the blade at her companion's throat. He froze, halfway in the middle of stepping towards her.
"It's not going to work," Adariel murmured softly, shaking her head. "I thought I had told you that already."
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"You'd be surprised. Now swear that you won't try to harm me, and I will lower the blade." When he didn't answer, and glared at her, she dug the blade in deeper. "Promise."
"No."
"Do it." She pressed harder, but more carefully, half wincing.
"Kill me first, being the creature that you are I am sure you will find pleasure in doing it." He narrowed his eyes.
"Look," Adariel said, letting her guard down and stepping backwards. "I'm only trying to –"
Her sentence was cut off as he swiftly maneuvered past her, bumping the blade out of her hands and gripping it tightly with practiced grace and pushing her to the soft, grassy floor. She felt the cold cut of the tip at her throat and the heavy weight of him pinning her down. The wind was cool on her flushed face inside the dark hood.
The blade drove in deeper, and she remembered herself, gasping out loud.
"Wait!" she grit her teeth, each sound making her throat rise against the blade. The iron taste of blood flooded her senses. "I'm only trying to help you!"
"Do I look like a fool?"
"Let me stand up, at least." He narrowed his eyes, but slowly let the pressure off her so she could sit up. When she raised her hands, the blade was immediately pressing back into the hollow of her neck. She shook her hands slowly to show that she wasn't about to attack or call for help and slowly, gently reached to the back of her hood.
The dark material glided under her hands as she slowly eased it off herself, glad as the air met her skin and loving the feel of the cold wind whip her styled hair about. She longed to tear out the ribbons that the maids had twined in it. It felt heavy, dragging her head back down.
There was a swift gasp, and the blade dropped from Legolas's hands. It fell heavily, and buried itself in the soft soil, but not before it scraped smoothly across Adariel's forearm, slicing it cleanly. Dark droplets of blood made wide pools in her sleeve, but did not seep out. She carefully rolled the material and inspected the cut. It was not deep, but not shallow either.
So quick was the cut that she had not felt any pain on contact, but now a swift pounding started from her arm and spread until it reached her head. She groaned and massaged it with her good arm.
There had been no reaction from her companion who was staring at her, no longer stupefied, but contemplating with a cautious look in his eyes. He spoke now, his voice low and saddened with grimness touching his ageless face.
"How could you?" he said, without anger but instead with disappointment.
She was suddenly angry, with the pounding in her arm like a drum, and her pulse beating.
"No," she snapped, "How could YOU?"
At his questioning look, she pushed him backwards. He retreated a couple of steps, surprised. "How could you have let yourself be captured? Was my sacrifice pointless? I'm back where I started for what cause?"
At his silence, she pushed him again, towards the edge of the lake. "How could you accuse me of such a thing that I find so disgusting? How could you even think that I would betray you? All of you. Aragorn, Gimli, Boromir, whom I had given my life to protect. Answer my question before you demand me to answer yours. How could YOU?"
They were at the edge of the lake now, and he had backed himself up against an aged willow tree with its curtain like leaves hanging. They were out of sight, inside the shelter of the willow strings. The sound of water being churned by the breeze was soothing, but not to Adariel.
She continued to push him until he was against the tree, pinned back. He made no move to defend himself, backing up with each step she came forward, and all the while with his face emotionless and thoughtful. It was almost as if he was trying to decide what to feel, and she hoped that he would decide upon remorse, and not pity.
She hated pity.
"Answer me!" she cried, her eyes wild and her lips flushed crimson as the blood rushed through her body from her pounding heart. The blood on her wound dripped slowly, thickly onto the creamy skin just beneath the rise of her collarbone. She tilted her head up and glared, waiting for a reaction, daring him to argue.
The answer was one she had not been expecting.
Warm lips met hers, smothering the still-formed word she had been about to utter. Her head was spinning and her heart was dull with want and ache. She tried half heartedly to push him away, but he bit her lip gently, chiding her. The wind was singing in her ear and the lull of the water washed back and forward, back and forward, back and forward…
Then it was over, and her eyes fluttered open. She had not even been conscious that they had been closed.
There was remorse in his eyes, but no regret. She wiped the faraway look off her face carefully and licked her lips, noting their glossy sheen. She could still feel the soft pressure on her lips, and the gentle, soft lingering taste that she would file away in her memory to be replayed some time when she was feeling less confused.
"I'm sorry…" he said when he saw the crystal tear form and drift down her cheek.
"No," she said, "I should be the one apologizing."
"Whatever for?" he asked, coming in closer and wiping the tear away with a slim finger. She stepped away quickly, and reached behind her, parting the willow curtain and stepping outside. He followed her out with swift steps and she saw him suddenly, as the image of the still body she had seen in the Mirror of Galadriel.
She felt cold, and bitter.
The lake was no longer a comfort, and the wind was no longer her friend nor the trees that looked down on her accusingly.
"I'm sorry," she said again, another tear leaking out the corner of her eye, followed by several more.
"For what?" he persisted, but stood still rather than corner her. She smiled, the tears stopping as she thought how small a gesture could represent so much, could tell of so many things. And how her reaction to it could express so many things about herself.
"I'm not sure I understand myself," she said slowly with a slight frown on her face as she tried to regain her composure. Her face smoothed out. Her eyes lost their vulnerable glaze so fast that Legolas wasn't even sure that it had been there in the first place. The images from her dreams, the mirror and her own wild conscience ran briefly through her head. She straightened. "Please. This isn't good for me, or for you."
"Don't speak for me," he said firmly, a faraway look in his eyes as if he was reliving a memory. "but I shall leave it be, as we have more pressing matters at hand."
At first she looked startled, then nodded seriously, her body stiff. "You believe me, don't you?"
"As always, I am forced to."
"Forced? I was under the impression that you were very liberal in your own opinion." Her hand flew to the disappearing trickle of blood at prick in her neck.
He apologized immediately and reached out a hand to her wound. She stepped back, her movements guarded and startled like a sitting bird when a splash of water had hit its wing. She relaxed, too late. He looked slightly offended and she felt guilty.
"Forced." He repeated himself, confirming it with his tone. She gulped, trying to look for a change in the mood and the subject.
"Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli are locked in my room, and I have the key. But I am unable to free them, because of the metal flooring. It echoes, to alert the guards underneath of my movements. Too many heavy footsteps will trigger alarm. There is no way that you may escape climbing out, as the walls are to smooth and they will be in perfect targeting range for all. My window faces the entrance."
She stopped for breath, knowing that she was speaking too fast, a little incoherently. Legolas chose to ignore it.
"Is there another way out?" he mused as he sat down on the grassy bank of the river. The evening moon reflected upon it with the silver-sprayed stars twinkling unevenly on the smooth surface. The wind had disappeared and the sweet scent of the surviving greenness drifted about them, twining itself between them. The silver light cast shadows as the willow strands stood still and the heavy feel of deep night fell about them, thick and smothering.
She was still standing, and felt the pull to sit beside him. Reluctantly, she gave in to the impulse and tucked her feet into her skirts.
He looked up, startled, then withdrew back into his thoughts, a moody look chiseled in his stance. "Aragorn would have been better at this," he admitted.
"But he might not have understood," she said, looking for an excuse and finding it.
"Do not judge Aragorn," Legolas said "He is not all he seems to be."
It was getting late, and Adariel heard the heavy sound of footsteps walk swiftly up the tunnel as the last star made its appearance in the onyx sky. She stood up quickly, with Legolas a pace ahead of her as she bent to pick up the glistening blade that had crimson droplets sprayed loosely at the tip.
He grabbed it out of her loosely gripped hands, and with swift cuts, a dozen shallow cuts appeared and trickles of blood ran down his cheeks. Adariel gasped in horror and mutely took the hilt of the blade that was offered to her.
"Hush," he hissed seriously, unnecessarily, turning away as if in pain.
The Orcs appeared with frozen snarls upon their scarred faces, and stood with squinted, glaring eyes staring at the scene before them. One of them smiled, the sides of their bloodless lips tipped up. The smile made Adariel sick, for it was a knowing smile, full of lust for blood and the memory of a first kill.
Unwillingly, Adariel smiled back tightly. An elf emerged through the tunnel and shoved his way roughly to the front, glaring at the Orcs as their piercing eyes narrowed at him. Ignoring the Orcs, the elf bowed hastily and jerked his head slightly.
"It's not safe outside when the moon is hidden within the clutches of the ithil-trees. Retire inside. Your father wishes it."
Adariel studied the elf, her face blank and expressionless. It was a silent battle of wills, although she suspected the elf himself wasn't aware of it. She was the one who gave in first, having no particular resolve against his suggestion. There was a silence that touched her skin and prickled at the pricked skin at her neck.
"Very well," she said reluctantly, and gestured to two of the Orcs. They looked at each other and then at Legolas with a gleam in their eyes.
"Don't forget my father's orders!" she warned them as they stepped forward with the spring of a pouncing cat. Satisfied that the Orcs' fear of Eltheran would be enough to contain them, she stepped through the opening that the group of Orcs had made and led them down the smooth, firelit tunnel and out into the fiery heat of the forge and work pits.
The blast of heat from the dug pits put a blush into her cheeks as she strode forward, keeping her eyes on the black shape that she knew to be the main hall. There came cries of mercy and pain from somewhere close by, but she dared not turn her head. She heard the party behind her snicker and laugh, wheezy snorts following her.
Through the open doors they strode, and immediately up the winding steps until they reached the top, and then to the room next to her own.
"Come hither," she turned to one of the Orcs, whose eyes had strayed toward the door of her own room, and to her bed outlined in the moonlight.
It turned, and leered at her unabashed. "Yes?" it said defiantly.
"Stay afterwards, and I shall give you a message to deliver to my father," she said coldly. It nodded, eyes looking bright with lust. Adariel turned away, sick.
Legolas looked defiant as the Orcs shoved him roughly into the black cell, skillfully avoiding contact with any of the other prisoners who had charged half-heartedly. Before he disappeared into the hungry darkness, Legolas lifted his eyes and looked at her, and she felt his eyes pierce through the shadows over her face cast by the hood. She lifted one had up slightly and tilted her head. He disappeared into the chamber.
The Orc she had asked behind was right behind her as she spun around. She gave a slight cry in surprise, then seethed in rage. She knew exactly what she was going to write on that parchment that this disgusting creature would hand to her father. "You, wait here," she said, pointing to the very spot outside the shut cell door. She strode into her room and grabbed a blank white piece of paper, and dipped her finger into the ink when she was unable to locate a quill.
Sealing it tightly, she shoved the folded parchment into the waiting hands of the creature and motioned to the stairs. It looked her up and down, the slowly drifted back up again. She gave it a shove and it went sprawling.
"Never. Do. That. Again," she said, biting each word and cutting the sounds off with her teeth. The Orc walked triumphantly, its arched back straightened to its capacity, and its sword clanking at its side inside the scabbard carved with strange words.
The clanking footsteps faded into silence as their echoes disappeared somewhere below her. She turned and tried to peer into the cell through the bars of a small window, but no matter how hard she tried, no shape was to be sought. She remembered the set of keys that she had hung under her neckline, and thought about unlocking the door. Then she lowered her hand. No doubt there would be spies about. Better to leave it, and perhaps look for another chance by the light of day.
"Goodnight," she whispered to nobody in particular. There was no answer, and she left, her hand lingering on the door frame of the dreaded prison.
That night, the dreams that had been subdued for so long came back full force. Shadows danced before her eyes, and wild things clawed their way from the tops of the dark and silent trees. Silver blood, laced with dark streaks ran like a waterfall by her feet, and she heard the phantom laugh of the wicked.
Flowers in bloom wilted and were crushed by an invisible force that ran circles around her and when her dream eyes blinked, the scene changed. From burning trees to the blood stained battle ground, from the tops of the Misty Mountains to the dulling leaves of the Golden Wood. And through it all was the dripping of a liquid thicker than water, and the glint of a white flashing blade in front of blind white eyes.
From shadows leapt the fury of a thousand fires that whirled in a tornado of red and orange, as ashes that smelt of burnt flesh rippled in waves. This was the Sea of the Damned, and these were the Souls of the Damned that cried out for mercy, and the limbs that paled in the otherworldly flames of the Fire Unquenched clawed at her dream self.
Not even the morning sun brought her any comfort. The night had seemed a thousand years.
As the first of the clouds unraveled and thinned, Adariel sat up as she shook off the last phantom hand and opened her eyes without squinting or blinking. The room was dark still, although the stirrings from below told her that morning had come for her at last.
She brushed her hair slowly, deliberately, jerking hard until it hurt and then releasing so suddenly that it felt as if a thistle had jabbed her. She saw nothing in front of her, and when the first maid rushed in to help her dress, she stared at her blankly, unseeing.
The maid uttered a cry, and took a step backwards and pointed to the mirror. Adariel's sight cleared. She saw the finger directed past her into the shiny glassy surface of the silver mirror, and she turned.
The girl inside was still Adariel, but there was something not right about her. Adariel peered closer. It was like chasing sunlight, or moonlight. Something that slipped between your fingers, just out of reach, just out of sight. She blinked, and gasped. The eyes, they were changing colour, darkening to the usual gray-blue color. They had been blank before, just white.
Her cheeks began to redden from their ash color.
The maid was still frozen when Adariel turned back to face her. Gravely, hiding her fear behind a cold barrier, Adariel said "Tell nobody of this, and live. Utter one word, and you will have spoken your last."
The elf nodded, regaining composure and backing away. As soon as she was out of sight, Adariel heard the quick footsteps that indicated running.
Out of the corner of her eye, Adariel saw that she looked absolutely normal again, although a little shaken. She touched her cheek, and slowly wiped away a glittering tear. Her gown rustled slightly with the movement of her arm. For a long time, she did not move, staring at the mirror yet not at all. Memories of another mirror she had chanced to peer into came back to her. A shadow of a chill ran up her spine.
It had started. Adariel knew that it would sweep her through, and she felt the mysterious feeling that had eluded her since her arrival in the dug valley name itself.
It was Despair, child of Fear and Helplessness.
The knowledge scared her more than her image in the mirror had. She knew now the name of it all, just as she felt it in her blood. The Change. It was waking within her, stirring like the sleeping monster it was. And it was not Pain as Adariel had originally thought that snapped it out of its slumber. It was Despair, caged in the heart of every element, every living thing and hidden by the light of Hope.
She had shed her last tear. She would cry no more.
Adariel had expected to feel horror, but instead, felt an indifference that startled her. Something was controlling her emotions, and she could feel it slyly tugging at the edge of her mind as well, fighting for control. Once started, the Change could not be stopped or reversed. It could only be put off and dragged out at a later time.
Vaguely Adariel wondered if somewhere, a reflection of herself would project itself onto the still waters of the Mirror of Galadriel, or maybe in the haunted dreams of some other being, cursed and gifted with the sight of Seeing.
The movement in the next room roused her. The hushed voices of people she had come to trust, against her good judgment. Yet she felt nothing. But that didn't stop her, and her resolve was still her own.
They had to escape, and soon. They had been chosen, and they had to continue their purpose. Her journey ended here, in the darkness of the valley that she had started off in. Maybe it was all for nothing, she mused. Whatever was going on inside of her, she knew by instinct that the prisoners must escape soon, and it was that basic thought that she imprinted deep inside the hidden walls of her mind, away from the snatching tendrils that had started to reach out and overtake her.
One step at a time, at least.
A rough grumble floated through from the chamber next to her own. She had neglected her charges. Adariel felt hatred bubble inside her. It was pure hatred, not laced with anything but the source that drove it on. There was no planning, no plotting, no annoyance. It was simply there, reaching up through her heart and clawing its way out.
She ruthlessly pressed it down.
Adariel changed her mind. They had to escape. Today, or at the latest, tonight.
One step at a time, one thought at a time. Cautiously, slowly, deliberately. The dark claws of Change would not take all of her yet.
"Whither are you?" a voice called softly. Adariel stirred from her spot, hand immediately grabbing at the key around her neck and clenching shut.
"I am here," she said softly and walking quickly to the slot of the door where Aragorn, Gimli, Boromir and Legolas were shut away. Her footsteps rang out softly and Adariel tried to remember to include metal floors into her plans.
"Legolas has told us what he could," Aragorn's voice came through. It was still strong, although a little rusty.
"He had better be right," Gimli cut in, and there was a soft clang as if something had been hit. Adariel guessed it was the wall. "You had better not be the witch that I had first thought—"
The last word became muffled like something had smothered it. Despite the situation, Adariel could still detect a speck of humor in Aragorn's voice. "Legolas. Gimli," he said firmly.
"How is Boromir?" she asked, eager to understand all that she could.
"He is faring the best out of us all," Aragorn confirmed. Adariel thought the lack of pain in her body might have been a good sign that Boromir was not being treated too roughly, or at least, not for the time being.
"You must find a way out," Adariel said. "Today."
More rustling inside the deep darkness. Some whispers and movement rolled around, then was still, and Adariel heard the clanking of heavy footsteps up the stairs.
"I must go, but if it were my choice, I would willingly trade places with all of you, the Dwarf included," Adariel said quickly and stepped away from the door.
A second later, the faces of a company of Orcs appeared on the landing. They looked from the door to Adariel suspiciously, and Adariel wondered without emotion if they were smarter than they seemed to be when not preoccupied with blood lust.
"Yes?" she asked.
"One of our number was slaughtered last night," one of them stepped forward. Brave, Adariel noted. "He was the one that you requested stay behind."
"Ah, of course." Adariel thought back to her hurried script on the parchment and felt the Change stir satisfyingly. What was it that she had written? Oh yes.
Father.
I find this creature disgusting and imprudent. Kill him.
The orc said no more, but stepped back, afraid at the different manner in which Adariel acted. He could almost feel the gaze upon him and it burnt into his skin.
Inside Adariel's heart, another black tendril snacked its way up another layer. But woven inside the darkened waters of her heart-stream, a flash of silver struggled its way up to the top of the murky black. It was silver, like a fish as it struggled upstream into her heart of hearts. Within it, it carried the hazy memory of a soft evening kiss.
1.1 End of Chapter 15
Reviews please! NO FLAMES but constructive criticism is very welcome! –Spirit Star
Hmm, a little moody I know, but I'm extremely annoyed with my mother at the moment so I guess it sort of reflected into my writing. Forget annoyed, I'm peeved.
Happy Easter by the way!
Echoes of the Narbeleth
Spirit Star
Chapter 15: In which It begins.
As soon as the guards' footsteps had receded, Adariel whirled swiftly and placed the blade at her companion's throat. He froze, halfway in the middle of stepping towards her.
"It's not going to work," Adariel murmured softly, shaking her head. "I thought I had told you that already."
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"You'd be surprised. Now swear that you won't try to harm me, and I will lower the blade." When he didn't answer, and glared at her, she dug the blade in deeper. "Promise."
"No."
"Do it." She pressed harder, but more carefully, half wincing.
"Kill me first, being the creature that you are I am sure you will find pleasure in doing it." He narrowed his eyes.
"Look," Adariel said, letting her guard down and stepping backwards. "I'm only trying to –"
Her sentence was cut off as he swiftly maneuvered past her, bumping the blade out of her hands and gripping it tightly with practiced grace and pushing her to the soft, grassy floor. She felt the cold cut of the tip at her throat and the heavy weight of him pinning her down. The wind was cool on her flushed face inside the dark hood.
The blade drove in deeper, and she remembered herself, gasping out loud.
"Wait!" she grit her teeth, each sound making her throat rise against the blade. The iron taste of blood flooded her senses. "I'm only trying to help you!"
"Do I look like a fool?"
"Let me stand up, at least." He narrowed his eyes, but slowly let the pressure off her so she could sit up. When she raised her hands, the blade was immediately pressing back into the hollow of her neck. She shook her hands slowly to show that she wasn't about to attack or call for help and slowly, gently reached to the back of her hood.
The dark material glided under her hands as she slowly eased it off herself, glad as the air met her skin and loving the feel of the cold wind whip her styled hair about. She longed to tear out the ribbons that the maids had twined in it. It felt heavy, dragging her head back down.
There was a swift gasp, and the blade dropped from Legolas's hands. It fell heavily, and buried itself in the soft soil, but not before it scraped smoothly across Adariel's forearm, slicing it cleanly. Dark droplets of blood made wide pools in her sleeve, but did not seep out. She carefully rolled the material and inspected the cut. It was not deep, but not shallow either.
So quick was the cut that she had not felt any pain on contact, but now a swift pounding started from her arm and spread until it reached her head. She groaned and massaged it with her good arm.
There had been no reaction from her companion who was staring at her, no longer stupefied, but contemplating with a cautious look in his eyes. He spoke now, his voice low and saddened with grimness touching his ageless face.
"How could you?" he said, without anger but instead with disappointment.
She was suddenly angry, with the pounding in her arm like a drum, and her pulse beating.
"No," she snapped, "How could YOU?"
At his questioning look, she pushed him backwards. He retreated a couple of steps, surprised. "How could you have let yourself be captured? Was my sacrifice pointless? I'm back where I started for what cause?"
At his silence, she pushed him again, towards the edge of the lake. "How could you accuse me of such a thing that I find so disgusting? How could you even think that I would betray you? All of you. Aragorn, Gimli, Boromir, whom I had given my life to protect. Answer my question before you demand me to answer yours. How could YOU?"
They were at the edge of the lake now, and he had backed himself up against an aged willow tree with its curtain like leaves hanging. They were out of sight, inside the shelter of the willow strings. The sound of water being churned by the breeze was soothing, but not to Adariel.
She continued to push him until he was against the tree, pinned back. He made no move to defend himself, backing up with each step she came forward, and all the while with his face emotionless and thoughtful. It was almost as if he was trying to decide what to feel, and she hoped that he would decide upon remorse, and not pity.
She hated pity.
"Answer me!" she cried, her eyes wild and her lips flushed crimson as the blood rushed through her body from her pounding heart. The blood on her wound dripped slowly, thickly onto the creamy skin just beneath the rise of her collarbone. She tilted her head up and glared, waiting for a reaction, daring him to argue.
The answer was one she had not been expecting.
Warm lips met hers, smothering the still-formed word she had been about to utter. Her head was spinning and her heart was dull with want and ache. She tried half heartedly to push him away, but he bit her lip gently, chiding her. The wind was singing in her ear and the lull of the water washed back and forward, back and forward, back and forward…
Then it was over, and her eyes fluttered open. She had not even been conscious that they had been closed.
There was remorse in his eyes, but no regret. She wiped the faraway look off her face carefully and licked her lips, noting their glossy sheen. She could still feel the soft pressure on her lips, and the gentle, soft lingering taste that she would file away in her memory to be replayed some time when she was feeling less confused.
"I'm sorry…" he said when he saw the crystal tear form and drift down her cheek.
"No," she said, "I should be the one apologizing."
"Whatever for?" he asked, coming in closer and wiping the tear away with a slim finger. She stepped away quickly, and reached behind her, parting the willow curtain and stepping outside. He followed her out with swift steps and she saw him suddenly, as the image of the still body she had seen in the Mirror of Galadriel.
She felt cold, and bitter.
The lake was no longer a comfort, and the wind was no longer her friend nor the trees that looked down on her accusingly.
"I'm sorry," she said again, another tear leaking out the corner of her eye, followed by several more.
"For what?" he persisted, but stood still rather than corner her. She smiled, the tears stopping as she thought how small a gesture could represent so much, could tell of so many things. And how her reaction to it could express so many things about herself.
"I'm not sure I understand myself," she said slowly with a slight frown on her face as she tried to regain her composure. Her face smoothed out. Her eyes lost their vulnerable glaze so fast that Legolas wasn't even sure that it had been there in the first place. The images from her dreams, the mirror and her own wild conscience ran briefly through her head. She straightened. "Please. This isn't good for me, or for you."
"Don't speak for me," he said firmly, a faraway look in his eyes as if he was reliving a memory. "but I shall leave it be, as we have more pressing matters at hand."
At first she looked startled, then nodded seriously, her body stiff. "You believe me, don't you?"
"As always, I am forced to."
"Forced? I was under the impression that you were very liberal in your own opinion." Her hand flew to the disappearing trickle of blood at prick in her neck.
He apologized immediately and reached out a hand to her wound. She stepped back, her movements guarded and startled like a sitting bird when a splash of water had hit its wing. She relaxed, too late. He looked slightly offended and she felt guilty.
"Forced." He repeated himself, confirming it with his tone. She gulped, trying to look for a change in the mood and the subject.
"Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli are locked in my room, and I have the key. But I am unable to free them, because of the metal flooring. It echoes, to alert the guards underneath of my movements. Too many heavy footsteps will trigger alarm. There is no way that you may escape climbing out, as the walls are to smooth and they will be in perfect targeting range for all. My window faces the entrance."
She stopped for breath, knowing that she was speaking too fast, a little incoherently. Legolas chose to ignore it.
"Is there another way out?" he mused as he sat down on the grassy bank of the river. The evening moon reflected upon it with the silver-sprayed stars twinkling unevenly on the smooth surface. The wind had disappeared and the sweet scent of the surviving greenness drifted about them, twining itself between them. The silver light cast shadows as the willow strands stood still and the heavy feel of deep night fell about them, thick and smothering.
She was still standing, and felt the pull to sit beside him. Reluctantly, she gave in to the impulse and tucked her feet into her skirts.
He looked up, startled, then withdrew back into his thoughts, a moody look chiseled in his stance. "Aragorn would have been better at this," he admitted.
"But he might not have understood," she said, looking for an excuse and finding it.
"Do not judge Aragorn," Legolas said "He is not all he seems to be."
It was getting late, and Adariel heard the heavy sound of footsteps walk swiftly up the tunnel as the last star made its appearance in the onyx sky. She stood up quickly, with Legolas a pace ahead of her as she bent to pick up the glistening blade that had crimson droplets sprayed loosely at the tip.
He grabbed it out of her loosely gripped hands, and with swift cuts, a dozen shallow cuts appeared and trickles of blood ran down his cheeks. Adariel gasped in horror and mutely took the hilt of the blade that was offered to her.
"Hush," he hissed seriously, unnecessarily, turning away as if in pain.
The Orcs appeared with frozen snarls upon their scarred faces, and stood with squinted, glaring eyes staring at the scene before them. One of them smiled, the sides of their bloodless lips tipped up. The smile made Adariel sick, for it was a knowing smile, full of lust for blood and the memory of a first kill.
Unwillingly, Adariel smiled back tightly. An elf emerged through the tunnel and shoved his way roughly to the front, glaring at the Orcs as their piercing eyes narrowed at him. Ignoring the Orcs, the elf bowed hastily and jerked his head slightly.
"It's not safe outside when the moon is hidden within the clutches of the ithil-trees. Retire inside. Your father wishes it."
Adariel studied the elf, her face blank and expressionless. It was a silent battle of wills, although she suspected the elf himself wasn't aware of it. She was the one who gave in first, having no particular resolve against his suggestion. There was a silence that touched her skin and prickled at the pricked skin at her neck.
"Very well," she said reluctantly, and gestured to two of the Orcs. They looked at each other and then at Legolas with a gleam in their eyes.
"Don't forget my father's orders!" she warned them as they stepped forward with the spring of a pouncing cat. Satisfied that the Orcs' fear of Eltheran would be enough to contain them, she stepped through the opening that the group of Orcs had made and led them down the smooth, firelit tunnel and out into the fiery heat of the forge and work pits.
The blast of heat from the dug pits put a blush into her cheeks as she strode forward, keeping her eyes on the black shape that she knew to be the main hall. There came cries of mercy and pain from somewhere close by, but she dared not turn her head. She heard the party behind her snicker and laugh, wheezy snorts following her.
Through the open doors they strode, and immediately up the winding steps until they reached the top, and then to the room next to her own.
"Come hither," she turned to one of the Orcs, whose eyes had strayed toward the door of her own room, and to her bed outlined in the moonlight.
It turned, and leered at her unabashed. "Yes?" it said defiantly.
"Stay afterwards, and I shall give you a message to deliver to my father," she said coldly. It nodded, eyes looking bright with lust. Adariel turned away, sick.
Legolas looked defiant as the Orcs shoved him roughly into the black cell, skillfully avoiding contact with any of the other prisoners who had charged half-heartedly. Before he disappeared into the hungry darkness, Legolas lifted his eyes and looked at her, and she felt his eyes pierce through the shadows over her face cast by the hood. She lifted one had up slightly and tilted her head. He disappeared into the chamber.
The Orc she had asked behind was right behind her as she spun around. She gave a slight cry in surprise, then seethed in rage. She knew exactly what she was going to write on that parchment that this disgusting creature would hand to her father. "You, wait here," she said, pointing to the very spot outside the shut cell door. She strode into her room and grabbed a blank white piece of paper, and dipped her finger into the ink when she was unable to locate a quill.
Sealing it tightly, she shoved the folded parchment into the waiting hands of the creature and motioned to the stairs. It looked her up and down, the slowly drifted back up again. She gave it a shove and it went sprawling.
"Never. Do. That. Again," she said, biting each word and cutting the sounds off with her teeth. The Orc walked triumphantly, its arched back straightened to its capacity, and its sword clanking at its side inside the scabbard carved with strange words.
The clanking footsteps faded into silence as their echoes disappeared somewhere below her. She turned and tried to peer into the cell through the bars of a small window, but no matter how hard she tried, no shape was to be sought. She remembered the set of keys that she had hung under her neckline, and thought about unlocking the door. Then she lowered her hand. No doubt there would be spies about. Better to leave it, and perhaps look for another chance by the light of day.
"Goodnight," she whispered to nobody in particular. There was no answer, and she left, her hand lingering on the door frame of the dreaded prison.
That night, the dreams that had been subdued for so long came back full force. Shadows danced before her eyes, and wild things clawed their way from the tops of the dark and silent trees. Silver blood, laced with dark streaks ran like a waterfall by her feet, and she heard the phantom laugh of the wicked.
Flowers in bloom wilted and were crushed by an invisible force that ran circles around her and when her dream eyes blinked, the scene changed. From burning trees to the blood stained battle ground, from the tops of the Misty Mountains to the dulling leaves of the Golden Wood. And through it all was the dripping of a liquid thicker than water, and the glint of a white flashing blade in front of blind white eyes.
From shadows leapt the fury of a thousand fires that whirled in a tornado of red and orange, as ashes that smelt of burnt flesh rippled in waves. This was the Sea of the Damned, and these were the Souls of the Damned that cried out for mercy, and the limbs that paled in the otherworldly flames of the Fire Unquenched clawed at her dream self.
Not even the morning sun brought her any comfort. The night had seemed a thousand years.
As the first of the clouds unraveled and thinned, Adariel sat up as she shook off the last phantom hand and opened her eyes without squinting or blinking. The room was dark still, although the stirrings from below told her that morning had come for her at last.
She brushed her hair slowly, deliberately, jerking hard until it hurt and then releasing so suddenly that it felt as if a thistle had jabbed her. She saw nothing in front of her, and when the first maid rushed in to help her dress, she stared at her blankly, unseeing.
The maid uttered a cry, and took a step backwards and pointed to the mirror. Adariel's sight cleared. She saw the finger directed past her into the shiny glassy surface of the silver mirror, and she turned.
The girl inside was still Adariel, but there was something not right about her. Adariel peered closer. It was like chasing sunlight, or moonlight. Something that slipped between your fingers, just out of reach, just out of sight. She blinked, and gasped. The eyes, they were changing colour, darkening to the usual gray-blue color. They had been blank before, just white.
Her cheeks began to redden from their ash color.
The maid was still frozen when Adariel turned back to face her. Gravely, hiding her fear behind a cold barrier, Adariel said "Tell nobody of this, and live. Utter one word, and you will have spoken your last."
The elf nodded, regaining composure and backing away. As soon as she was out of sight, Adariel heard the quick footsteps that indicated running.
Out of the corner of her eye, Adariel saw that she looked absolutely normal again, although a little shaken. She touched her cheek, and slowly wiped away a glittering tear. Her gown rustled slightly with the movement of her arm. For a long time, she did not move, staring at the mirror yet not at all. Memories of another mirror she had chanced to peer into came back to her. A shadow of a chill ran up her spine.
It had started. Adariel knew that it would sweep her through, and she felt the mysterious feeling that had eluded her since her arrival in the dug valley name itself.
It was Despair, child of Fear and Helplessness.
The knowledge scared her more than her image in the mirror had. She knew now the name of it all, just as she felt it in her blood. The Change. It was waking within her, stirring like the sleeping monster it was. And it was not Pain as Adariel had originally thought that snapped it out of its slumber. It was Despair, caged in the heart of every element, every living thing and hidden by the light of Hope.
She had shed her last tear. She would cry no more.
Adariel had expected to feel horror, but instead, felt an indifference that startled her. Something was controlling her emotions, and she could feel it slyly tugging at the edge of her mind as well, fighting for control. Once started, the Change could not be stopped or reversed. It could only be put off and dragged out at a later time.
Vaguely Adariel wondered if somewhere, a reflection of herself would project itself onto the still waters of the Mirror of Galadriel, or maybe in the haunted dreams of some other being, cursed and gifted with the sight of Seeing.
The movement in the next room roused her. The hushed voices of people she had come to trust, against her good judgment. Yet she felt nothing. But that didn't stop her, and her resolve was still her own.
They had to escape, and soon. They had been chosen, and they had to continue their purpose. Her journey ended here, in the darkness of the valley that she had started off in. Maybe it was all for nothing, she mused. Whatever was going on inside of her, she knew by instinct that the prisoners must escape soon, and it was that basic thought that she imprinted deep inside the hidden walls of her mind, away from the snatching tendrils that had started to reach out and overtake her.
One step at a time, at least.
A rough grumble floated through from the chamber next to her own. She had neglected her charges. Adariel felt hatred bubble inside her. It was pure hatred, not laced with anything but the source that drove it on. There was no planning, no plotting, no annoyance. It was simply there, reaching up through her heart and clawing its way out.
She ruthlessly pressed it down.
Adariel changed her mind. They had to escape. Today, or at the latest, tonight.
One step at a time, one thought at a time. Cautiously, slowly, deliberately. The dark claws of Change would not take all of her yet.
"Whither are you?" a voice called softly. Adariel stirred from her spot, hand immediately grabbing at the key around her neck and clenching shut.
"I am here," she said softly and walking quickly to the slot of the door where Aragorn, Gimli, Boromir and Legolas were shut away. Her footsteps rang out softly and Adariel tried to remember to include metal floors into her plans.
"Legolas has told us what he could," Aragorn's voice came through. It was still strong, although a little rusty.
"He had better be right," Gimli cut in, and there was a soft clang as if something had been hit. Adariel guessed it was the wall. "You had better not be the witch that I had first thought—"
The last word became muffled like something had smothered it. Despite the situation, Adariel could still detect a speck of humor in Aragorn's voice. "Legolas. Gimli," he said firmly.
"How is Boromir?" she asked, eager to understand all that she could.
"He is faring the best out of us all," Aragorn confirmed. Adariel thought the lack of pain in her body might have been a good sign that Boromir was not being treated too roughly, or at least, not for the time being.
"You must find a way out," Adariel said. "Today."
More rustling inside the deep darkness. Some whispers and movement rolled around, then was still, and Adariel heard the clanking of heavy footsteps up the stairs.
"I must go, but if it were my choice, I would willingly trade places with all of you, the Dwarf included," Adariel said quickly and stepped away from the door.
A second later, the faces of a company of Orcs appeared on the landing. They looked from the door to Adariel suspiciously, and Adariel wondered without emotion if they were smarter than they seemed to be when not preoccupied with blood lust.
"Yes?" she asked.
"One of our number was slaughtered last night," one of them stepped forward. Brave, Adariel noted. "He was the one that you requested stay behind."
"Ah, of course." Adariel thought back to her hurried script on the parchment and felt the Change stir satisfyingly. What was it that she had written? Oh yes.
Father.
I find this creature disgusting and imprudent. Kill him.
The orc said no more, but stepped back, afraid at the different manner in which Adariel acted. He could almost feel the gaze upon him and it burnt into his skin.
Inside Adariel's heart, another black tendril snacked its way up another layer. But woven inside the darkened waters of her heart-stream, a flash of silver struggled its way up to the top of the murky black. It was silver, like a fish as it struggled upstream into her heart of hearts. Within it, it carried the hazy memory of a soft evening kiss.
1.1 End of Chapter 15
Reviews please! NO FLAMES but constructive criticism is very welcome! –Spirit Star
Hmm, a little moody I know, but I'm extremely annoyed with my mother at the moment so I guess it sort of reflected into my writing. Forget annoyed, I'm peeved.
Happy Easter by the way!