Disclaimer: You know what? I'm soooo sick of the same disclaimer over and
over and over…so here goes. Mary had a disclaimer, disclaimer, disclaimer.
Mary had a disclaimer which was really long. To read about the disclaimer,
disclaimer, disclaimer, to read about the disclaimer, flip back a page!
Echoes of the Narbeleth
Spirit Star
Chapter 17: In which dawns a new day
There was a gloomy silence that trailed them as they hurried as far away as possible from the pitiful place. The night swallowed them up. It was the third night and they had not stopped to rest, although their pace had slowed considerably due to the heavy weight of sleep pressing on their minds.
With the dawning came the wild spirals of light that valiantly fought its way to the dark floor of the wood. It spun triumphantly then winked out like a candle as they trampled in and out of shadows. Sometimes they heard Gandalf muttering under his breath, shifting slightly off the path or picking up the pace.
Suddenly in the still air of the early morning they found themselves down the bank of the Entwash, and hurried on until they stood upon the grass beyond the eaves of the Fangorn. Then they breathed a sigh of relief, although it was short lived.
"Do they follow?" Boromir asked hoarsely, peering behind him until Aragorn stepped in to block his view.
"Nay," Aragorn said, "but to look back into the dark is folly."
There were no sign of the horses that had mysteriously stolen away into the night, and their spirits dampened a little as they realized that a long and weary walk awaited them.
"A long road indeed," said Gandalf, "but perhaps not as weary just yet." He let out a long high whistle and was still as the others looked about themselves in wonder that such a sound could have come from the old tattered figure in front of them in his ragged traveling cloak.
Three times the whistle came, and three times it faded away into the heavy air. On the third whistle there was a faint far off sound that seemed like the whinny of a horse borne upon the east wind. Time pressed on and they waited. Hoof beats sounded and only Aragorn felt the tremor on the ground as he lay upon it, growing steadier and clearer to a quick consistent beat.
"There is more than one horse coming," said Aragorn.
"Certainly," Gandalf replied. "We are too great a burden for one."
"Three horses," reported Adariel, gazing into the distance. "There is Hasufel and Arod and also another great horse beside him a little in front of Redmark!."
"That is Shadowfax," Gandalf said. He is the chief of the Mearas. The best in the land of Rohan, and he is a great beast that none has looked upon without some admiration. Look how he shines like silver and runs as smoothly and as swiftly as a stream. He has come for me: the horse of the White Rider, and we are going into battle together."
They came, and the great horse was in the lead with his coat glistening and his mane flowing in the wind. The others were now far behind, their strides shorter and without the grace of Shadowfax. As soon as he saw Gandalf, Shadowfax gave a loud whinny and trotted gently forward until he stooped his proud head and nuzzled the old man's neck.
Gandalf caressed him. "It's a long way from Rivendell, my friend," he said; "but you are wise and swift and come at need. We must ride together a long way yet, and may we not part in this world again."
The two other horses came and stood quietly, waiting. "We go to Meduseld, the hall of your master Theoden." Gandalf spoke to them gravely and they arched their heads. "Time presses and we will ride. We beg you to use all the speed that you can. Hasufel shall bear Aragorn, and Gimli shall ride with me."
"Now I understand the riddle from the night some days back," said Legolas as he sprang lightly onto Arod's back. "Whether they fled at first in fear, or not, our horses met Shadowfax who is their chieftain and greeted him in joy."
"Ah, but there is one horse short for the number of our company," Boromir said. "Or at least, one horse short than there were that started upon this dark road."
"Perhaps," Gandalf answered, "but I do not know of it. I do not take a count of the mounts you choose to bring with you. Take heart, for this is the time to ride forth. To Eudoras! To Eudoras!" And Gandalf slipped lightly onto Shadowfax, who reared up and tossed his proud head.
As Adariel watched the men mount up and shorten the stirrups, she said, "This is where our road parts, and I wish you safe journey. Sweet it was when first we met, but bitter now must be our parting. Ride to Eudoras or where you may, and swiftly for you have no errand to keep you in this part anymore."
They all turned and looked down at her, standing tall and grim. Their eyes spoke of their disbelief and confusion.
"Surely you do not speak of returning!" Legolas cried, regret and horror lodging in his throat.
"I do; I must," she said curtly.
"You speak as one who is mad with fever…or something more." Aragorn said, shaking his head. "What trickery is this? Why do you not ride with us?"
"Leave her be," said a strong voice, and it was Gandalf who spoke. "There is a will here that is beyond our understanding, and we must away! To Eudoras, I say, and to Eudoras our road leads us. Away Shadowfax, away!"
Swift was Shadowfax to stir, and swift he was in his stride. The stallion flew like a streak of white and Gandalf did not look back. One by one, the men lingered eyeing the still figure on the ground before then, and led by Boromir, they all wheeled their steeds and gave a kick, galloping away after Gandalf.
Last to leave was Legolas who gave her a look that for a moment, made Adariel feel like the tides of the sea had pulled back towards the moon.
"You know I like it not that you remain here in this dark place," he whispered urgently. "Why do you stay?"
"I cannot say," she answered, "but that my words bind me here, and something more. Already it is pulling me bodily back."
Then he looked long into her eyes and leant down swiftly as if to kiss her, but she stepped away, albeit somewhat regretfully. "Go, for Shadowfax is a great steed and he carries your guide swiftly away. You are needed elsewhere."
Unsaid words and meanings passed between them, until Adariel looked away. And then he was gone, the echoes of Gandalf's words in his head and the sound advice pressing down his worries.
He did not look back, and perhaps it was lucky he did not for he would have seen the figure behind him collapse to the ground in weariness.
Things began to grow gray when Gandalf rode away on Shadowfax, and Adariel felt the new clarity in thought begin to ebb away. Slowly, the gradual pounding in her head grew in volume, consuming her mind and bending it into one thought: return.
But as she fought the battle inwardly, she could feel herself losing, slipping away into the dark pool that awaited her. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes until she was consumed by the darkness, choosing to face it on her own terms. A headache swelled, one that she was not used to as she was unused to being ill. Her heart missed a beat.
She fell on her side, and the darkness deepened as she hit the ground.
It was the calling of the night that woke her; the darkness was like daylight to her. She stood, unaware that she had done so and her feet carried her almost automatically back to the forest edge that she had just broken out of. She could hear the flow of the Entwash but could not see it.
There were no shadows, nor was there a moon. Adariel did not know where she was walking to and did not care for she felt in her heart the pulling of the destination. There was an urge to follow orders. She walked on blindly, unseeing and unheeding. The trees called out to her, but she did not hear them, and the sun burnt her. She walked on.
The seventh morning dawned when she arrived undisturbed at the gate to Morladris. It was tended by two orcs, both grunting in the new-risen sun.
There was an odd silence about that was confusing. It seemed that there was nobody on the other side of the gates for there was no sound of clanging metal, nor heat radiating from the fires that were never put out. A cool breeze from the north swept down to her, and all was still.
The gates swung open, and the guarding orcs snorted.
It was almost empty, and the steps were stamped with undisturbed footprints in the dark. Adariel did not stop to think; she could not focus her mind on anything for long periods of time. The confusion registered, but just barely. Abandoned workstations and a few laboring elves stopped to glare at her.
Still undisturbed, and partially unnoticed, she stopped at the main building, eyes gazing up at the small window on the highest floor and shuddering. The doors were already open. She stepped in, and took a minute to get used to the gloom. The inner chambers were closed off, and there were no guards at the door, nor was there any sound from the armory.
Physically, she had to push the heavy metal doors of the throne room open. They didn't budge. She tried again, calling on a little of her unnatural strength that the darkness offered. The doors creaked open a little at a time, and slowly she entered into the slight gap that she had laboriously managed to create.
The door slammed shut with a clang. The darkness set in. Nobody was inside.
There was logic enough left in Adariel to realize that she was actually stuck, as the main doors opened from the outside, and she did not know how to operate the newly crafted side entrances. She stood dumbly and waited, although she did not know what it was she was waiting for.
The air grew thicker as it swirled about like a trapped animal.
A footstep in the dark, and then another. Adariel's eyes cleared a little. There was a figure pacing up and down, then stopped to stare at Adariel before moving on. The figure was hunched, wearing shabby clothes. He paused for another moment, then stopped and finally addressed the feminine figure standing in front of the door.
"Yes?" Urogkuul growled, spittle flying.
"Where is the master of Morladris?"
"He has fled away," Urogkuul smirked. "He is hidden somewhere in this place, and you shan't find him."
"Shan't I?" Adariel said flatly. The conversation seemed rather pointless to the ordinary bystander, but inside a war was waging. A twist, a pull, and the battle of wills engaged once more. One blackness threatened to swallow the other, and engulf it into the masses of darkness at the bidding of Sauron, the master.
"You shan't," Urogkuul replied.
"I shall leave to start my search immediately then," Adariel said forcefully, breaking free of the war and looking for a way out.
"I think not," the orc laughed cruelly. "Truly Elf. Do you think you can bend the will of the Dark Lord who sees all in his tower in Barad-Dur? Give in, give in!"
The small knife she carried was unsheathed. The sound echoed in the large chamber. She had been given a modified version of an orkish blade when she had started out, but she had exchanged it for an elven knife on her short journey out. "Who speaks through you?" she cried.
"There will be ones that will replace me," Urogkuul gave a twisted grin in answer, gazing at the slight glow of the blade as the light rays desperately reflected off it. The orc drew his own blade, a dark and angled blade wrought of a foreign metal. He was not in armor, and his cat like eyes glowed in the darkness. For a breath, there was no movement in the room. The air was still, listening.
The orc gave a shriek and pounced, dark blade slashing unseen in the dark. Its color bled into the gloom. The clash was not the crisp, sharp sound of forced combat, but more of a hollow jarring sound and harsh to the ear. Adariel winced as the unnatural impact sent shockwaves through her arm. She was not used to swordplay.
Parry after parry, the orc advanced as Adariel backed, wishing that she had her bow and cursing her stupidity earlier. Suddenly, the wall was blocking her way, and she quickly ducked a hard blow and there came a ringing sound as metal struck metal.
Taking advantage of the momentary shock, she thrust forward and balanced her weight on her front leg and nearly blindly, felt the blade go through something soft. There was a silence, then Adariel dropped the knife and the body fell loosely on the floor with a soft thud. The hilt glowed a little, and then there was no light in the room.
There was a slight dent in the wall next to the door, where the misguided blade had hit, and it was slight enough to uncover a little of the edge of the shut door. The darkness gave no clue of the time as Adariel worked away, trying to pry the door open with the tips of her fingers.
Despite the shape of her long, slender fingers it was needless to say that the door did not budge.
There was a dark pool of liquid seeping through the edge of the door, and the color was hard to determine. Adariel stepped back to have a closer look at the figure on the floor, wincing slightly as the body twitched out of reflex. There was a jingle that startled her as her foot moved the figure.
It was a set of keys, wrought out some unknown material that glowed in the darkness and resembled silver liquid in its texture. Taking the biggest key and fitting it into one of the side entrances, she was not surprised to find herself suddenly facing an opening and a rush of fresh air.
Adariel did not tarry any longer in the gloomy hall, and she felt something tugging at her oath, pulling her along and dragging her as though she was bound by an invisible chain. Curious to see where she would end up, Adariel followed, allowing for the time being for the shadows to take over her conscience and her mind to float dreamily.
There was a general air of impatience and change in the air as though something was lacking or there was a great tide about to sweep through the crevice. The emptiness settled in the depths of Morladris and would not leave. A strange and heavy silence hung in the air like a warning.
The elves and orcs left behind paid her no heed but there was open hostility between the two parties. The elves that were left were the working ones who had refused to convert and had each pledged oath to Elbereth and the powers in the West.
The dark oath pulled her past them, past the occasional fighting that broke out and past the heat of the fires that burnt on. It was nearly dawn. She could feel it, rather than see it. The winding tunnel that she had used so oft loomed ahead. It was unguarded, and the torches had been left unattended and burning low. The graying light canceled the firelight and the tunnel was dark.
She was familiar, almost, with the steps having once counted them on her first visit. They lead her upwards, the red earth rustling occasionally and shuffling angrily at the disturbance.
The trees met her in silence. There was no greeting. The grass was silent, their tinkling voices barred. The willow tree moaned, but was still.
She pulled her conscience together and looked around through her own eyes. The willow moaned again and this time Adariel recognized it as a warning. A clue. Pushing aside the image of two shadowy figures locked in a kiss through the wispy hanging strands; she made out a lone, male shape with one hand against the trunk of the willow staring out at the lake.
"Father?" she called softly.
Eltheran made a slight gesture in acknowledgment but said nothing. Adariel stepped forward and pulled the curtain of willow strands aside and saw that he was standing half in and half out of the curtain of leaves, gazing out at the lake.
"Ada?" she called again.
"Don't come any closer," he said, and Adariel was surprised to hear that his voice had changed. Or rather, there was something about his tone that had changed. It sounded hollow, emptier and there was an element that she could not quite name.
She stepped closer cautiously, ignoring his command and a question half formed on her lips but it was cut short when Eltheran started speaking in a soft, low voice.
"All that once was is lost," he murmured, "and cannot be regained. It is my doing, and I take it upon myself to see things right. But I cannot. The forces move in. Saruman has started his march. Sauron has sent the Nine out far into the West of Middle Earth away from their source. And yet I broke my pledge to Gil-galad who has fled to Mandos."
He suddenly spun around, and Adariel's eyes widened in apprehension. She could see the glimmer of madness floating in and out of sight in his eyes. His face looked suddenly a little more haggard, although it retained its agelessness. He looked almost physically old and spent. Mortal, almost.
"Tell me why I did this," his said to her directly, his stare piercing. "Tell me!"
She opened her mouth, took a step back and straightened. No sound emitted from her and she was at a loss for words. There was no fear in her. Her oath had been kept and now the ties that bound her had been broken although the darkness had not yet left. If she must, then she was able to flee.
"Tell me!" he shouted the phrase.
"You know I cannot."
"Very well," he whipped around and faced the still lake again. "Then I shall tell you. Come closer."
She hesitated and a faltering rustle disturbed the grass.
"Closer!" he said, resignedly.
Hesitant and cautious like a doe, she stepped softly until she was just to the side of him, looking out at the lake. A breeze disturbed the cold water. A ripple danced across its surface. The early light of near-dawn drew across the water. Out of the corner of her eye, she chanced a look at his face. It was closed, and his eyes were far away in an empty place although they were fast coming back into focus. She drew her gaze back across the brooding trees in the distance that had been left undisturbed.
"Very well," she said. "Tell me. Start with Morladris. Tell me why you became one of the Oath-Breakers. Tell me why you ruined the great halls and turned your back upon your kindred. Our kindred. Tell me why you have turned onto the path of darkness."
"The easiest question first," he answered. "The answer is simple: it was because of you."
"Me?" she gasped, and spun around to face him. "You lie." Her gaze narrowed.
"I speak truth."
Adariel shook her head in reply, but disbelief melted into acceptance and after a moment, she said wearily, "Why?"
"Why? Another simple question. You ran away in ignorance not knowing what was going on. Partially my own fault of course, and I do repent most dearly for it. But you did not know of Saruman's movements in the South nor Sauron's in the East. You would be captured, I knew, and tortured. It is the way of Saruman to do this, and only alliance could solve the problem." Here he stopped and turned to look Adariel in they eye.
"So you see…" he paused, then seemed to reword his sentence. "I did this out of love for you. And now as you might have noticed, the city is empty because of Saruman's demand for an army to march with his own. He senses some trouble stirring."
"No," she said. "You cannot have done all this because of love of me."
"Yes."
"What sort of love have you for me, then?" she demanded in anger. "To love me so much as to be a traitor to all that I love, to bring me onto the road that is cast with shadows!"
"'Do not add salt to the wound!" Eltheran cried, madness overtaking him and the glint widening in his eyes. In a movement faster than Adariel could determine, he drew his sword, which he had by his side and held the blade towards her.
Adariel gasped, and took a step backwards. There seemed a stillness that settled over the living things. The grass ceased to rustle. The wind paused and stared. The water drew back into its depths.
Eltheran smiled a strange smile. "To Mandos I will flee, and if not there, then to the Path of the Dead where the Oath-Breakers lie."
Then he fell, the blade buried in his stomach. A dark patch of red seeped through his silken robes and grew larger, but the light of his eyes had not diminished into a stare. Adariel rushed to his side, tears stinging her eyes but more from shock than the deed itself.
A hand cupped her face.
"Head North to Imladris," Eltheran gasped, eyes widening with the pain. "There is one who will help you there…there is much that I have hidden from you."
"Hush," Adariel whispered, "I know what it is you would say. Galadriel has told me so."
"Galadriel!" Eltheran whispered. "How I long to see her face for she reminds me so in face of Celebrian…as you do."
"It can not be…" Adariel said, grasping the meaning of his words in a sudden rush of understanding.
"Yes," Eltheran gasped bitterly. "My doom is the bitter life of the three who have suffered before me; loving the one who they cannot have. Which is why I took…"
His next words were indistinguishable. He coughed blood, and started again. "Which is why I took you…to at least have a part of something, someone, that I so longed for. Do you know what it is like to have to admire and dote from a distance, to watch them lavish love upon some other body other than yourself?"
He gave her no time to respond as another coughing fit overtook him. "Take…your knife…and end it for me…"
"No!" Adariel cried, tears flowing from her face. "You will heal. You will live to fix this."
What could have been a harsh laugh escaped from his pale lips, "No…it is too late…for me. But you…" then, "End it now…if you have ever loved me as a father…I beg you…do this for me…"
He closed his eyes and shivered.
Crying freely, Adariel drew her knife and leaned forward she could whisper in his ear: "Only out of love that I once have, and perhaps still have for you do I do this. Mandos calls and if you do not make it there, wait you on the Pathways of the Dead until you may be called for again."
The knife buried itself in his heart. Eltheran managed half a smile before his body relaxed and fell back onto the bloodstained patch of grass near him. The silence and stillness lifted. The wind blew. The trees rejoiced as discreetly as possible in the manner of green things. The grass sang. The willow tree stirred in its induced slumber and wove its leaves in patterns. And the wind kissed the lake water.
Adariel sobbed long and freely, her body heaving and wishing for arms to hold her and lips to kiss away her grief but she knew that they were far away. It was early morning when the remaining people in Morladris perceived a tall, graceful feminine figure emerging from the long dark tunnel leading upwards. There was no trace of tears in her blue-gray eyes. Instead, they were clear and sharp and more focused: for when the darkness of night had faded away with the morning, so had the darkness that that in despair had bound her.
She was free from a weight that she had unconsciously carried when her very first footfall had echoed in proud Morladris. All traces of it had withdrawn itself and fled east to the Land of Shadows. A faint glow of sunlight bravely snaked its way and lit the ground that had bled long and hard.
But all was not the same for the times were still filled with darkness and the pathways paved with secrets. So although freedom came to Adariel and lit her fair Elven features with a secret light that resided in all Free Folk who fought against the powers of the East, there arose in her the terrible and powerful lust for the sea and the undying lands of the West.
1.1 End of Chapter 17
Reviews please! NO FLAMES but constructive criticism is very welcome! –Spirit Star
Hey, this is not the end…sheesh. If you thought that was the end, then you must have had some crazy misconceptions when reading the original title of this story, which was Legolas and Adariel. If you haven't spotted a difference, I've changed it (the title I mean). I guess I should have told y'all that it was just a space filler (oooops naughty me).
Can somebody PLEASE tell me how to do italics if you don't want to convert documents to Htm form?????
And if you're wondering about the title, Narbeleth means Sun-waning, which is the same as Firith, or Fading in Sindarin. Which is a season between Autumn and Winter.
Echoes of the Narbeleth
Spirit Star
Chapter 17: In which dawns a new day
There was a gloomy silence that trailed them as they hurried as far away as possible from the pitiful place. The night swallowed them up. It was the third night and they had not stopped to rest, although their pace had slowed considerably due to the heavy weight of sleep pressing on their minds.
With the dawning came the wild spirals of light that valiantly fought its way to the dark floor of the wood. It spun triumphantly then winked out like a candle as they trampled in and out of shadows. Sometimes they heard Gandalf muttering under his breath, shifting slightly off the path or picking up the pace.
Suddenly in the still air of the early morning they found themselves down the bank of the Entwash, and hurried on until they stood upon the grass beyond the eaves of the Fangorn. Then they breathed a sigh of relief, although it was short lived.
"Do they follow?" Boromir asked hoarsely, peering behind him until Aragorn stepped in to block his view.
"Nay," Aragorn said, "but to look back into the dark is folly."
There were no sign of the horses that had mysteriously stolen away into the night, and their spirits dampened a little as they realized that a long and weary walk awaited them.
"A long road indeed," said Gandalf, "but perhaps not as weary just yet." He let out a long high whistle and was still as the others looked about themselves in wonder that such a sound could have come from the old tattered figure in front of them in his ragged traveling cloak.
Three times the whistle came, and three times it faded away into the heavy air. On the third whistle there was a faint far off sound that seemed like the whinny of a horse borne upon the east wind. Time pressed on and they waited. Hoof beats sounded and only Aragorn felt the tremor on the ground as he lay upon it, growing steadier and clearer to a quick consistent beat.
"There is more than one horse coming," said Aragorn.
"Certainly," Gandalf replied. "We are too great a burden for one."
"Three horses," reported Adariel, gazing into the distance. "There is Hasufel and Arod and also another great horse beside him a little in front of Redmark!."
"That is Shadowfax," Gandalf said. He is the chief of the Mearas. The best in the land of Rohan, and he is a great beast that none has looked upon without some admiration. Look how he shines like silver and runs as smoothly and as swiftly as a stream. He has come for me: the horse of the White Rider, and we are going into battle together."
They came, and the great horse was in the lead with his coat glistening and his mane flowing in the wind. The others were now far behind, their strides shorter and without the grace of Shadowfax. As soon as he saw Gandalf, Shadowfax gave a loud whinny and trotted gently forward until he stooped his proud head and nuzzled the old man's neck.
Gandalf caressed him. "It's a long way from Rivendell, my friend," he said; "but you are wise and swift and come at need. We must ride together a long way yet, and may we not part in this world again."
The two other horses came and stood quietly, waiting. "We go to Meduseld, the hall of your master Theoden." Gandalf spoke to them gravely and they arched their heads. "Time presses and we will ride. We beg you to use all the speed that you can. Hasufel shall bear Aragorn, and Gimli shall ride with me."
"Now I understand the riddle from the night some days back," said Legolas as he sprang lightly onto Arod's back. "Whether they fled at first in fear, or not, our horses met Shadowfax who is their chieftain and greeted him in joy."
"Ah, but there is one horse short for the number of our company," Boromir said. "Or at least, one horse short than there were that started upon this dark road."
"Perhaps," Gandalf answered, "but I do not know of it. I do not take a count of the mounts you choose to bring with you. Take heart, for this is the time to ride forth. To Eudoras! To Eudoras!" And Gandalf slipped lightly onto Shadowfax, who reared up and tossed his proud head.
As Adariel watched the men mount up and shorten the stirrups, she said, "This is where our road parts, and I wish you safe journey. Sweet it was when first we met, but bitter now must be our parting. Ride to Eudoras or where you may, and swiftly for you have no errand to keep you in this part anymore."
They all turned and looked down at her, standing tall and grim. Their eyes spoke of their disbelief and confusion.
"Surely you do not speak of returning!" Legolas cried, regret and horror lodging in his throat.
"I do; I must," she said curtly.
"You speak as one who is mad with fever…or something more." Aragorn said, shaking his head. "What trickery is this? Why do you not ride with us?"
"Leave her be," said a strong voice, and it was Gandalf who spoke. "There is a will here that is beyond our understanding, and we must away! To Eudoras, I say, and to Eudoras our road leads us. Away Shadowfax, away!"
Swift was Shadowfax to stir, and swift he was in his stride. The stallion flew like a streak of white and Gandalf did not look back. One by one, the men lingered eyeing the still figure on the ground before then, and led by Boromir, they all wheeled their steeds and gave a kick, galloping away after Gandalf.
Last to leave was Legolas who gave her a look that for a moment, made Adariel feel like the tides of the sea had pulled back towards the moon.
"You know I like it not that you remain here in this dark place," he whispered urgently. "Why do you stay?"
"I cannot say," she answered, "but that my words bind me here, and something more. Already it is pulling me bodily back."
Then he looked long into her eyes and leant down swiftly as if to kiss her, but she stepped away, albeit somewhat regretfully. "Go, for Shadowfax is a great steed and he carries your guide swiftly away. You are needed elsewhere."
Unsaid words and meanings passed between them, until Adariel looked away. And then he was gone, the echoes of Gandalf's words in his head and the sound advice pressing down his worries.
He did not look back, and perhaps it was lucky he did not for he would have seen the figure behind him collapse to the ground in weariness.
Things began to grow gray when Gandalf rode away on Shadowfax, and Adariel felt the new clarity in thought begin to ebb away. Slowly, the gradual pounding in her head grew in volume, consuming her mind and bending it into one thought: return.
But as she fought the battle inwardly, she could feel herself losing, slipping away into the dark pool that awaited her. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes until she was consumed by the darkness, choosing to face it on her own terms. A headache swelled, one that she was not used to as she was unused to being ill. Her heart missed a beat.
She fell on her side, and the darkness deepened as she hit the ground.
It was the calling of the night that woke her; the darkness was like daylight to her. She stood, unaware that she had done so and her feet carried her almost automatically back to the forest edge that she had just broken out of. She could hear the flow of the Entwash but could not see it.
There were no shadows, nor was there a moon. Adariel did not know where she was walking to and did not care for she felt in her heart the pulling of the destination. There was an urge to follow orders. She walked on blindly, unseeing and unheeding. The trees called out to her, but she did not hear them, and the sun burnt her. She walked on.
The seventh morning dawned when she arrived undisturbed at the gate to Morladris. It was tended by two orcs, both grunting in the new-risen sun.
There was an odd silence about that was confusing. It seemed that there was nobody on the other side of the gates for there was no sound of clanging metal, nor heat radiating from the fires that were never put out. A cool breeze from the north swept down to her, and all was still.
The gates swung open, and the guarding orcs snorted.
It was almost empty, and the steps were stamped with undisturbed footprints in the dark. Adariel did not stop to think; she could not focus her mind on anything for long periods of time. The confusion registered, but just barely. Abandoned workstations and a few laboring elves stopped to glare at her.
Still undisturbed, and partially unnoticed, she stopped at the main building, eyes gazing up at the small window on the highest floor and shuddering. The doors were already open. She stepped in, and took a minute to get used to the gloom. The inner chambers were closed off, and there were no guards at the door, nor was there any sound from the armory.
Physically, she had to push the heavy metal doors of the throne room open. They didn't budge. She tried again, calling on a little of her unnatural strength that the darkness offered. The doors creaked open a little at a time, and slowly she entered into the slight gap that she had laboriously managed to create.
The door slammed shut with a clang. The darkness set in. Nobody was inside.
There was logic enough left in Adariel to realize that she was actually stuck, as the main doors opened from the outside, and she did not know how to operate the newly crafted side entrances. She stood dumbly and waited, although she did not know what it was she was waiting for.
The air grew thicker as it swirled about like a trapped animal.
A footstep in the dark, and then another. Adariel's eyes cleared a little. There was a figure pacing up and down, then stopped to stare at Adariel before moving on. The figure was hunched, wearing shabby clothes. He paused for another moment, then stopped and finally addressed the feminine figure standing in front of the door.
"Yes?" Urogkuul growled, spittle flying.
"Where is the master of Morladris?"
"He has fled away," Urogkuul smirked. "He is hidden somewhere in this place, and you shan't find him."
"Shan't I?" Adariel said flatly. The conversation seemed rather pointless to the ordinary bystander, but inside a war was waging. A twist, a pull, and the battle of wills engaged once more. One blackness threatened to swallow the other, and engulf it into the masses of darkness at the bidding of Sauron, the master.
"You shan't," Urogkuul replied.
"I shall leave to start my search immediately then," Adariel said forcefully, breaking free of the war and looking for a way out.
"I think not," the orc laughed cruelly. "Truly Elf. Do you think you can bend the will of the Dark Lord who sees all in his tower in Barad-Dur? Give in, give in!"
The small knife she carried was unsheathed. The sound echoed in the large chamber. She had been given a modified version of an orkish blade when she had started out, but she had exchanged it for an elven knife on her short journey out. "Who speaks through you?" she cried.
"There will be ones that will replace me," Urogkuul gave a twisted grin in answer, gazing at the slight glow of the blade as the light rays desperately reflected off it. The orc drew his own blade, a dark and angled blade wrought of a foreign metal. He was not in armor, and his cat like eyes glowed in the darkness. For a breath, there was no movement in the room. The air was still, listening.
The orc gave a shriek and pounced, dark blade slashing unseen in the dark. Its color bled into the gloom. The clash was not the crisp, sharp sound of forced combat, but more of a hollow jarring sound and harsh to the ear. Adariel winced as the unnatural impact sent shockwaves through her arm. She was not used to swordplay.
Parry after parry, the orc advanced as Adariel backed, wishing that she had her bow and cursing her stupidity earlier. Suddenly, the wall was blocking her way, and she quickly ducked a hard blow and there came a ringing sound as metal struck metal.
Taking advantage of the momentary shock, she thrust forward and balanced her weight on her front leg and nearly blindly, felt the blade go through something soft. There was a silence, then Adariel dropped the knife and the body fell loosely on the floor with a soft thud. The hilt glowed a little, and then there was no light in the room.
There was a slight dent in the wall next to the door, where the misguided blade had hit, and it was slight enough to uncover a little of the edge of the shut door. The darkness gave no clue of the time as Adariel worked away, trying to pry the door open with the tips of her fingers.
Despite the shape of her long, slender fingers it was needless to say that the door did not budge.
There was a dark pool of liquid seeping through the edge of the door, and the color was hard to determine. Adariel stepped back to have a closer look at the figure on the floor, wincing slightly as the body twitched out of reflex. There was a jingle that startled her as her foot moved the figure.
It was a set of keys, wrought out some unknown material that glowed in the darkness and resembled silver liquid in its texture. Taking the biggest key and fitting it into one of the side entrances, she was not surprised to find herself suddenly facing an opening and a rush of fresh air.
Adariel did not tarry any longer in the gloomy hall, and she felt something tugging at her oath, pulling her along and dragging her as though she was bound by an invisible chain. Curious to see where she would end up, Adariel followed, allowing for the time being for the shadows to take over her conscience and her mind to float dreamily.
There was a general air of impatience and change in the air as though something was lacking or there was a great tide about to sweep through the crevice. The emptiness settled in the depths of Morladris and would not leave. A strange and heavy silence hung in the air like a warning.
The elves and orcs left behind paid her no heed but there was open hostility between the two parties. The elves that were left were the working ones who had refused to convert and had each pledged oath to Elbereth and the powers in the West.
The dark oath pulled her past them, past the occasional fighting that broke out and past the heat of the fires that burnt on. It was nearly dawn. She could feel it, rather than see it. The winding tunnel that she had used so oft loomed ahead. It was unguarded, and the torches had been left unattended and burning low. The graying light canceled the firelight and the tunnel was dark.
She was familiar, almost, with the steps having once counted them on her first visit. They lead her upwards, the red earth rustling occasionally and shuffling angrily at the disturbance.
The trees met her in silence. There was no greeting. The grass was silent, their tinkling voices barred. The willow tree moaned, but was still.
She pulled her conscience together and looked around through her own eyes. The willow moaned again and this time Adariel recognized it as a warning. A clue. Pushing aside the image of two shadowy figures locked in a kiss through the wispy hanging strands; she made out a lone, male shape with one hand against the trunk of the willow staring out at the lake.
"Father?" she called softly.
Eltheran made a slight gesture in acknowledgment but said nothing. Adariel stepped forward and pulled the curtain of willow strands aside and saw that he was standing half in and half out of the curtain of leaves, gazing out at the lake.
"Ada?" she called again.
"Don't come any closer," he said, and Adariel was surprised to hear that his voice had changed. Or rather, there was something about his tone that had changed. It sounded hollow, emptier and there was an element that she could not quite name.
She stepped closer cautiously, ignoring his command and a question half formed on her lips but it was cut short when Eltheran started speaking in a soft, low voice.
"All that once was is lost," he murmured, "and cannot be regained. It is my doing, and I take it upon myself to see things right. But I cannot. The forces move in. Saruman has started his march. Sauron has sent the Nine out far into the West of Middle Earth away from their source. And yet I broke my pledge to Gil-galad who has fled to Mandos."
He suddenly spun around, and Adariel's eyes widened in apprehension. She could see the glimmer of madness floating in and out of sight in his eyes. His face looked suddenly a little more haggard, although it retained its agelessness. He looked almost physically old and spent. Mortal, almost.
"Tell me why I did this," his said to her directly, his stare piercing. "Tell me!"
She opened her mouth, took a step back and straightened. No sound emitted from her and she was at a loss for words. There was no fear in her. Her oath had been kept and now the ties that bound her had been broken although the darkness had not yet left. If she must, then she was able to flee.
"Tell me!" he shouted the phrase.
"You know I cannot."
"Very well," he whipped around and faced the still lake again. "Then I shall tell you. Come closer."
She hesitated and a faltering rustle disturbed the grass.
"Closer!" he said, resignedly.
Hesitant and cautious like a doe, she stepped softly until she was just to the side of him, looking out at the lake. A breeze disturbed the cold water. A ripple danced across its surface. The early light of near-dawn drew across the water. Out of the corner of her eye, she chanced a look at his face. It was closed, and his eyes were far away in an empty place although they were fast coming back into focus. She drew her gaze back across the brooding trees in the distance that had been left undisturbed.
"Very well," she said. "Tell me. Start with Morladris. Tell me why you became one of the Oath-Breakers. Tell me why you ruined the great halls and turned your back upon your kindred. Our kindred. Tell me why you have turned onto the path of darkness."
"The easiest question first," he answered. "The answer is simple: it was because of you."
"Me?" she gasped, and spun around to face him. "You lie." Her gaze narrowed.
"I speak truth."
Adariel shook her head in reply, but disbelief melted into acceptance and after a moment, she said wearily, "Why?"
"Why? Another simple question. You ran away in ignorance not knowing what was going on. Partially my own fault of course, and I do repent most dearly for it. But you did not know of Saruman's movements in the South nor Sauron's in the East. You would be captured, I knew, and tortured. It is the way of Saruman to do this, and only alliance could solve the problem." Here he stopped and turned to look Adariel in they eye.
"So you see…" he paused, then seemed to reword his sentence. "I did this out of love for you. And now as you might have noticed, the city is empty because of Saruman's demand for an army to march with his own. He senses some trouble stirring."
"No," she said. "You cannot have done all this because of love of me."
"Yes."
"What sort of love have you for me, then?" she demanded in anger. "To love me so much as to be a traitor to all that I love, to bring me onto the road that is cast with shadows!"
"'Do not add salt to the wound!" Eltheran cried, madness overtaking him and the glint widening in his eyes. In a movement faster than Adariel could determine, he drew his sword, which he had by his side and held the blade towards her.
Adariel gasped, and took a step backwards. There seemed a stillness that settled over the living things. The grass ceased to rustle. The wind paused and stared. The water drew back into its depths.
Eltheran smiled a strange smile. "To Mandos I will flee, and if not there, then to the Path of the Dead where the Oath-Breakers lie."
Then he fell, the blade buried in his stomach. A dark patch of red seeped through his silken robes and grew larger, but the light of his eyes had not diminished into a stare. Adariel rushed to his side, tears stinging her eyes but more from shock than the deed itself.
A hand cupped her face.
"Head North to Imladris," Eltheran gasped, eyes widening with the pain. "There is one who will help you there…there is much that I have hidden from you."
"Hush," Adariel whispered, "I know what it is you would say. Galadriel has told me so."
"Galadriel!" Eltheran whispered. "How I long to see her face for she reminds me so in face of Celebrian…as you do."
"It can not be…" Adariel said, grasping the meaning of his words in a sudden rush of understanding.
"Yes," Eltheran gasped bitterly. "My doom is the bitter life of the three who have suffered before me; loving the one who they cannot have. Which is why I took…"
His next words were indistinguishable. He coughed blood, and started again. "Which is why I took you…to at least have a part of something, someone, that I so longed for. Do you know what it is like to have to admire and dote from a distance, to watch them lavish love upon some other body other than yourself?"
He gave her no time to respond as another coughing fit overtook him. "Take…your knife…and end it for me…"
"No!" Adariel cried, tears flowing from her face. "You will heal. You will live to fix this."
What could have been a harsh laugh escaped from his pale lips, "No…it is too late…for me. But you…" then, "End it now…if you have ever loved me as a father…I beg you…do this for me…"
He closed his eyes and shivered.
Crying freely, Adariel drew her knife and leaned forward she could whisper in his ear: "Only out of love that I once have, and perhaps still have for you do I do this. Mandos calls and if you do not make it there, wait you on the Pathways of the Dead until you may be called for again."
The knife buried itself in his heart. Eltheran managed half a smile before his body relaxed and fell back onto the bloodstained patch of grass near him. The silence and stillness lifted. The wind blew. The trees rejoiced as discreetly as possible in the manner of green things. The grass sang. The willow tree stirred in its induced slumber and wove its leaves in patterns. And the wind kissed the lake water.
Adariel sobbed long and freely, her body heaving and wishing for arms to hold her and lips to kiss away her grief but she knew that they were far away. It was early morning when the remaining people in Morladris perceived a tall, graceful feminine figure emerging from the long dark tunnel leading upwards. There was no trace of tears in her blue-gray eyes. Instead, they were clear and sharp and more focused: for when the darkness of night had faded away with the morning, so had the darkness that that in despair had bound her.
She was free from a weight that she had unconsciously carried when her very first footfall had echoed in proud Morladris. All traces of it had withdrawn itself and fled east to the Land of Shadows. A faint glow of sunlight bravely snaked its way and lit the ground that had bled long and hard.
But all was not the same for the times were still filled with darkness and the pathways paved with secrets. So although freedom came to Adariel and lit her fair Elven features with a secret light that resided in all Free Folk who fought against the powers of the East, there arose in her the terrible and powerful lust for the sea and the undying lands of the West.
1.1 End of Chapter 17
Reviews please! NO FLAMES but constructive criticism is very welcome! –Spirit Star
Hey, this is not the end…sheesh. If you thought that was the end, then you must have had some crazy misconceptions when reading the original title of this story, which was Legolas and Adariel. If you haven't spotted a difference, I've changed it (the title I mean). I guess I should have told y'all that it was just a space filler (oooops naughty me).
Can somebody PLEASE tell me how to do italics if you don't want to convert documents to Htm form?????
And if you're wondering about the title, Narbeleth means Sun-waning, which is the same as Firith, or Fading in Sindarin. Which is a season between Autumn and Winter.