Chapter 7
A/N: Sorry this is taking me so long to get out, having rather massive writer's block issues at the moment. Thank you all so much for the reviews, I love 'em. Anyway, in this chapter I start to screw around with time and canon a bit, so I apologize to you that hate that, but bear with me because it just doesn't work if I don't.
Disclaimer: I am not Tolkein, could never hope to be, but I do own the people he didn't think up.
Oh, as a note, I refer to the Legolas controlled by Saruman as the Dark Elf/Legolas or some other name, and only refer to the 'real' Legolas as well, 'Legolas'.
~*~
Legolas watched, horrified, as his hand dealt a blow to Dani's head. He wanted to stop, to cry out, but his body would not heed his demands. Then, from himself he was pulled, his mind cast to darkness, and he fell away from the light of his own eyes.
His conscious mind awoke later, in a cavernous hole shrouded by so thick a veil not even his elven eyes could pierce. It was a black place in his head, where only nightmares dwelled. So he remained idle in the dark, unaware of even his own hands. He had no will to move and there remained only pain and repression of thought. He had no hands, no form at all, only a weighted and dull sense of self. Thought he had, though naught else.
Then, slowly, a pinprick of light grew before him. As it grew images formed and it seemed again he had eyes. He bore this new sight down and for him his mind constructed a hand, at first shimmering and translucent, until at last it was real enough before him. Imagined they might have been, but his mind created too the rest of his body.
Legolas stood slowly on legs that were at once both real and not real. He peered out into the light. It was as if he stood at the bottom of Galadriel's mirror, looking up through it, though wreathed by flame it was and the images before him rippled. He saw Gimli swinging his axe, yelling something he could not hear, before an entire host of Uruk surrounded. Legolas reached slowly toward the vision with outstretched fingers and slowly the realization dawned on him that he gazed out from behind his own eyes.
And though he could see the battle raging outside, he heard none of it. He heard not the bellowing Uruk or the cries of the leaders of men meant to bolster their charges, not even the sharp crash of steel against steel. There was only a faint and distant sound, like a low, fell voice upon a breeze. It stirred his temper and anger welled in his heart, for it was the voice that held him in this dark place. Legolas clenched his teeth. Saruman.
His fingertips brushed over the barrier. A sharp sting ran through his fingers, and he yanked back his arm. His brow knitted. He'd been here before, somehow he knew had, and he'd broken free then. He would do it again. Corporeal form or not, the wall was real enough to the touch, and now he meant to shatter it. Saruman could not control his body, he would not allow it.
He attacked the wall anew, throwing himself at the barricade, but the watery vision merely rippled and the barrier remained. Each strike of his fist sent a terrible pain through him. He pounded his fists into the wall, only to be struck back every time. Saruman's hold had grown stronger. He sank down to his knees, condemned to watch the battle rage and yet able to do nothing.
Outside the Elf's body, an unending sea of Uruk assailed the Deeping Wall. Heavy, metal tipped ladders bit into the stone and the Uruk-hai streamed up and over. The small army of men and elves fought valiantly, but for each servant of Saruman slain, four more took its place. The stand of the Rohirrim was being overwhelmed by numbers if not skill. There was only so long their strength could hold, and the grey, drizzling eve was bleak indeed.
The dark Elf moved purposefully through the swarming Uruk-hai. He felled one after another as they came at him. Saruman, from his perch in Orthanc smiled as the Dark Elf fulfilled his every command. Legolas' nagging, rebellious voice, which he could hear inside his own head had faded to a mere whisper. The Uruk-hai were numerous and the number the archer slay were of little consequence. Saruman allowed his servants to die, only because not doing so would have aroused suspicion, and the wizard was not quite ready to reveal himself.
The Uruk themselves did not look long upon the Dark Elf's visage, and if they did, did not comprehend what they saw. Spurred on by blood, whatever logic they may have possessed was laid aside. If they had so much as a thought on it, their weapons may have been stayed, for they themselves were creatures of the dark, and would have seen the true nature of Saruman's minion. Their dark eyes could pierce the blue eyed veil all others saw, and see the fire burning black beneath.
The Dark Legolas trod onward, nimble fingers flying to notch arrow after arrow, even at close range. Twice only was he forced to draw one of his pearl handled blades. He stood upon the wall, watching rapt as Saruman's army came. There seemed no end to this night, no end to those that assaulted them. In Orthanc, Saruman sensed victory approaching.
Aragorn spared a moment and a sweeping gaze for his friends. Gimli's size, in the rain and dark, aided him. He was thick and built low to the ground, and it was easy for him to bowl over the unsuspecting Uruk, that simply looked over top his head. His blows with his axe were swift and sure, driving those that bore the white hand down ferociously. Theoden stood at the forefront of his men, his sword singing in the air. And Aragorn saw in him, for the first time his heart, proud, unwavering and valiant, the heart of a King. His men, even those the farmers and farriers and smiths from the villages, would not waver.
Just then Aragorn saw him. He was sprinting toward the wall, torch in hand. All the others stepped aside to let him through. He wore no armor, carried no weapon, just the brightly burning torch in the dead of night. Aragorn's chest tightened. "Legolas!!" he cried out, knowing the Elf could hear him. "Legolas shoot! Bring him down!" He pointed out over the wall.
His eyes found the Elf from Mirkwood, whose bow was drawn and aimed. Yet he waited, paused, and Aragorn did not understand it. This was not a time for indecision. "Shoot!" He implored again. Something seemed to flicker over his friend's face. He released his arrow. It sailed, straight and true, piercing the flesh above the Uruk's clavicle.
Aragorn's silver flecked eyes shot wide. He'd missed. Legolas, legendary archer of Middle Earth, had missed. "Again!" The Ranger's eyes were wise beyond years, but they did not see what was most desperate. He could not see what the Uruk might have seen, the black breath of Sauron lingering, nor the pitted eyes that Dani had witnessed earlier. The Elf was as he always was, yet not, because he had missed. His heart pounded and breath stilled as the archer prepared to shoot again. The movements to Aragorn seemed painfully slow.
The blonde archer's face contorted as if in physical pain. He drew another arrow and notched it, but it seemed to the Ranger that his hand wavered, if only for a moment. The second arrow flew. It too struck the agent of Saruman, but it was not enough to fell him. The Uruk leapt forward into the small breach of the wall where the pool drained.
The explosion was deafening. All those who witnessed it shrank back at the power of such wizardry. Stone, Uruk and men flew through the sky together as the wall was decimated. Aragorn himself was thrust off the rock and felt like someone had grabbed him from behind and pulled. The sounds of the battle and the storm were dulled behind the ringing in his ears. He landed hard on the ground, his head snapping to the earth. Darkness crept upon his sight and he lay still.
--
"Aragorn!!!!" Legolas mind cried in anguish. Not again, please not again. He struggled to his feet, enraged as he sensed Saruman's satisfaction. Twice now, twice Aragorn had come to harm and he had done NOTHING to prevent it. Nay even, this time the fault was his own. Legolas felt the urge to curl in upon himself, to vanish. Nothing Saruman could do to his body could equal the pain he felt. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this pain, of idleness, of futility.
So the Elf watched, hands resting upon the barrier, barely noting the sting. The wall was breached. The night dragged on and the end was near, he could sense it. Hope had all but fled. And he remained riveted, watching.
--
Aragorn lifted his head slowly, ignoring the ache in his body. His sword remained gripped in his palm, one small comfort at least. Aragorn drew his feet beneath him and lurched upward, barely allowed a single breath before a new horde of orcs reached him. He allowed a single glance at the now demolished wall before his attentions were diverted. It lay in ruin, bodies of men and Uruk lying beneath the rubble. He had been lucky to have been blown clear.
Gimli had been near to him on the wall when it had exploded. He did not see the Dwarf among those rising from the debris. He thought for a moment that he heard him though, swearing loudly in Dwarvish, but he could not swear it.
Aragorn thrust his sword into the chest of an oncoming beast. It protruded through the monster's back, and the blood spilled down over the hilt and slicked the Ranger's grasp. The creature's body had sucked in at the blade and Aragorn had to work to retrieve it. Luckily, all around him men still fought and he was for a time, unencumbered by foes. As he pushed the Uruk off his blade, his eyes lifted back to the wall.
Blue eyes stared back at him and he drew at last an easy breath. Legolas still lived. With barely so much as a glance, the archer dispelled two more agents of Saruman, stabbing one and flipping the second back over the wall. Not once did his sight stray from the Ranger. In the next moment however, all easiness fled him, when he realized that Legolas had lifted his bow, and it was aimed straight for his heart.
--
Eowyn moved silently toward the front chambers of the mountain hold. It had been hours since they'd had any word of the battle. Idle restlessness had driven her first to quiet mutterings, then to pacing. It was like torture, sitting, waiting, even as she issued placations to her people. Wives and mothers wept quietly in corners, shielding their faces and though they were all together, they all felt alone.
So then, hours into the night Eowyn crept away. She'd left to check on Dani, or so she'd told the others. She could not fight, Theoden had set that decree, but she had to know, had to see. She moved quickly through the tunnels, her sword clasped in her hand.
The horse chamber was the last before the Hornburg. The dark, steep sides of the tunnel, smoothed by years of dripping condensation, opened out into the vast chamber. Torches burned between each of the straight stalls, and the horses gleamed beneath the weak light. Their eyes seemed to flicker and they watched her warily. It was eerily still.
"Dani?" Eowyn called softly. There was no answer. "Dani?" Still receiving no word, Eowyn lifted her blade. On the far side of the chamber she spotted Legacy. The bay stallion stood with his head low. The two feet of rope attached to his halter dangled near the ground and his ears flicked forward and back. He turned his head to Eowyn once, nickered, then went back to staring at the ground.
The Lady of Rohan approached slowly, sliding her hand up the horse's shoulder. Eowyn's heart sank when she saw her friend lying prone in the straw. The golden blonde hair on the left side of her head was matted down with blood, staining pale skin. The wound on her side oozed. Her eyes were shut as if she slept and her breaths were shallow. Eowyn knelt beside the other woman.
Long, slender fingers brushed the hair away from Dani's face. The Lady of Rohan could feel the breath of the stallion behind her. Her fingers probed the wound on Dani's head and there was a new surge of blood as she prodded the enflamed flesh. The stable hand did not stir.
Eowyn moved quickly after that. She left Dani where she lay, knowing that it would take more than her strength alone to move her. Slinging a horse blanket over the fallen, she left Legacy with a pat and promise of her return. Then she trotted back across the chamber, sword held at the ready, for whatever had befallen her friend, she could not be sure the threat was gone.
Eowyn gathered two of the stronger woman and led them back through to the front chambers. Both were scared and held close to one another, frightened to be moving toward an unnamed threat. But love they held for their Lady, and it was enough that she stood beside them, and it made them more brave than they might have been. Together they lifted the prone figure out of the stall and back into the cavern. New red blood dripped to the cold stone as the moved haltingly along the corridors.
"There," Eowyn pointed to a small stack of blankets tucked away in a corner. "Lay her there. Nalurie, we need bandages." The hunched, older woman hurried off. The blonde Lady of Rohan left the fallen stable hand briefly, cutting cobwebs away from the dark places of the caves. She laid the sticky tendrils beside Dani on the blanket and cut away the cloth from her side.
"Spider webs my Lady?" Nalurie asked when she came back, handing off clean bandages.
"Yes, they will help stop the bleeding." Eowyn ran a hand through long blonde locks and knelt beside her friend. She laid her sword down, cradling Dani's head while trying to avoid the head wound. "Help is come," she assured the other woman quietly. "I will not let you fall away from this place."
--
Aragorn's eyes widened, his face froze. Unbidden, his hands dropped to his sides and all sounds around him dimmed. The Elf had not fired, but nor had his aim wavered. The blonde squinted, face contorted and his blue eyes were laced with pain.
Then, suddenly his arm seemed to jerk. Blue eyes left those of the Ranger, lifting sharply. He loosed his arrow. Aragorn winced despite himself, his eyes shutting reflexively. From the wall the blonde nodded to him once. There was a grunt behind him, and a thud. The ranger whirled, sucking in a breath. Behind him an Uruk sank into the mud, still gurgling from where an arrow protruded from his throat.
Aragorn looked back to the wall, but the Elf no longer stood watching him. He had killed another dark agent, and was presently flying down a set of steps on the Uruk's shield, shooting as he went. Aragorn's mouth quirked. 'Show off,' he thought. He was not long able to ponder his friend's curious actions, as at that moment a call rang for retreat into the Keep. He could not see the new mustering of Orcs at the base of the stone bridge, shields hefted above their heads. Aragorn moved swiftly back to the stone tower. They had precious little time now.
--
Saruman stumbled backwards in his chamber. A small trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Well, he hadn't been expecting that. The will of the Elf, that for many hours had lain almost idle, was not so beaten as he had believed. As he had sighted in on Aragorn with the bow, a new surge of defiance had welled, sudden, unexpected, and strong. The strike of the Elf's will had been like a thunderclap beside his ear, and for a brief moment his concentration had been broken, sparing the Ranger's life.
The man's propensity for living through mortal situations was becoming an annoyance. Twas no matter though. The upstart Elf had used too much of his waning strength to defy Saruman again. The next time there would be no hesitation, and the Ranger would not be so lucky.
The white wizard watched as the Elves, Dwarf and men of Rohan fled back to their cave. There they sought protection, strong walls to fortify. It was there, bottlenecked in the cave, that they would find their demise. They were trapped, there would be no escape.
The first rays of sunlight peeked out over the horizon. Unseen by the wizard a man rode up to the gates of Isengard. Where once the lane had been bright and lined on all sides by tall trees, was now a barren, dry wasteland. The tall spire in the center stood dark and ominous, a warning to all. Fires flickered from deep pits and the tower was surrounded by a never-ending dusk, and the air was foul as death. Even the breeze offered no reprieve from the long ride, as it stole hot and dry over him, leaving him parched.
His horse, a roan, stood wearily on trembling legs. His sides heaved, stained with dried sweat. He'd been run past his limits through an afternoon and a night. Only once had his man allowed him to stop for a drink, and even then for only a moment. Every time his pace had slackened the lash had been brought down on him. Now, standing at the entrance to Isengard, the smell of Orcs and Uruk-hai assaulted his nose and despite terrible weariness he balked.
Eorman's eyes flicked uneasily to his right, only too aware of how the orc stared. Men Saruman had left to guard the gates, and these were they that came up to meet him, swords drawn and a bow aimed at him from afar. He dropped his reins, holding his hands up defensively. "I come as an ally of the White Wizard," he declared. "I seek with him council. Will you bring me to him?"
One of the guard took hold of the horse's bridle, twisting the bit. Eorman waited, fighting to quell the anxiety in his chest. The dark men spoke quietly among themselves. Finally the group parted and one nodded. Still holding his horse's head, Eorman was led inside and down the path toward the tall black tower.
Wormtongue met the guard at the tower bottom. Throwing back the great doors he glared at the rider of Rohan. His nose wrinkled in an ugly sneer, his pale, oily face cold and cruel. Here, in the shadow of his master Saruman, the pathetic, simpering little man did not cower from the warrior. Instead he said haughtily, "What brings you slithering on your belly to the door of Saruman Rohirrim? Has the great King's head been left yet upon a stake? So hence you came to save your own worthless life?"
Eorman's temper welled and his lips thinned. He did not take kindly to being talked down upon, especially not by Grima Wormtongue, but he held his tongue. "Theoden was alive ere I left him, though I know not of him now." His mind wandered then, and in his mind he saw Dani, turning him away. His voice hardened. "And I care not whether any of them live or die. Bring me to Saruman, Grima."
Saruman's serpent smiled then. He turned on his heel and strode up the tall winding steps of the tower. Saruman's chamber was closed and Wormtongue bid the rider from Rohan to wait, but Eorman would not. The broad man flung apart the doors and stalked inside. The wizard wheeled, leveling his staff at the chest of the man, furious that his concentration had again been disrupted. Far away at Helm's Deep, a blonde elf stumbled in the darkness of the caves, a shimmering barrier in his mind falling away.
Saruman's voice boomed, echoing up through the tower. "What insolence is this? Who dares to enter here?"
Eorman bowed his head and lowered himself to one knee. "I am Eorman my Lord, formerly of the Rohirrim, now humble servant to Saruman."
This, at least, caught the wizard's interest. He had not been expecting Theoden's men to turn from their King, aside from the spineless Grima anyway. But this man was not without strength, and with him held a warrior's air. "What guarantee do I have that you are not some spy of the enemy? That you do not come here seeking to destroy me from within? However fruitless that plan may be."
"I am no spy," Eorman said. "I would here lay my sword at your feet and swear piety to you in these times of war."
"You are not loyal to your people?"
"My people are too easily swayed. They ride to a needless death and abandon Rohan's long friendship with Isengard. Theoden pushes you aside rashly, while embracing a rabble of outsiders. In such times my loyalty is to myself, for I wish to stand on the side of victory. I have been forsaken, and so forsake them. I can bring others who think as I do, strong men to fight on the side of Saruman."
"It is an interesting proposition. How quickly and how many a force could you gather?"
"With a fresh horse and a week I could gather a thousand men. A small number I realize, but a force that would not arouse the suspicion that would orcs. A force to strike fast and hard at your opposition. But my Lord, is there some better way to ride from Isengard? My path was nearly blocked by the forest's edge, and I have no desire to enter Fangorn. I did not realize its borders came so close to your walls."
Saruman glanced sharply at the man. "What did you say?"
"The forest, it nearly blocked my way to the gates. The trees pressed upon me as though they had some foul intent of their own, to seize me from my saddle as I passed." Saruman did not respond, but hurried out of the chamber to the balcony overlooking Isengard. Somewhere in the distance someone shrieked and there was a crash.
"Your offer may have come too late," Saruman muttered. Eorman and Grima stood behind him, staring in wonder and horror at the sight of the forest overtaking the walls. The forest had woken. The march of the Ents had begun.
--
Aragorn, Theoden, Legolas and the other Rohirrim rode out that same morning. The coming of Gandalf, Eomer, and the other riders was the salvation of Rohan. They swept down upon the Uruk like a wave, Gandalf a shining light in the front of the Riders. Aragorn's heart sailed at the sight of them at the crest of the hill. The night, which had seemed so hopeless had dawned a day victorious.
The Uruks fled under the new company's assault. They dashed up the hill, away from the riders, and few took notice of the new line of trees that blocked their path. The Uruks were consumed by the shadows beneath the branches. A high wail sent a chill through all the riders and the trees dipped and shook. None of the Uruk were seen again.
The day ended with both joy and sorrow. Women and children flooded from the caves, searching for loved ones, sons and husbands. Soldiers stacked bodies of the dead outside the Deeping wall, the foul stench of Uruk bodies laid upon one another rising in the warmth of the new day. Inside the wall men and elves were laid down with reverence, their arms cross over their breasts. The sorrow of those that had lost struck hard, but such joy was in victory could not be outdone.
They left the next day, two droves moving in opposite directions. Eowyn and many riders took the path for Edoras. With them went the women and townsmen, and the injured. Dani still had not woken and her face was unnaturally pale. Legacy, for his part, drew the cart on which she laid quietly, no small feat for the hot blooded mount of a warrior.
Aragorn rode beside Theoden astride Brego. Two imposing white stallions flanked the bay on either side, Theoden to the left and Gandalf to the right. Eomer, Legolas and Gimli rode just behind. Gimli was doing as he had promised, educating Eomer of the beauty of the Lady of the Wood. The drawf's eyes sparkled when he spoke of her and Eomer could not help but believe the words, and suddenly his heart filled with the desire to witness such beauty.
Legolas was quiet and not untroubled. Though his eyes remained riveted forward and his hands never left the reins, his mind wandered afar. News of Dani had deeply disturbed him, for he remembered her words to him at their last meeting. What dark thing had she seen in him that he could not feel? His sense of foreboding grew the closer they rode to Orthanc and the quieter the elf became. He barely said anything at all, even when they came upon Merry and Pippin, gorging themselves on spoils from the guard house.
His silence was not lost on Aragorn, but in the shadow cast by the tower was not the place for a conversation. Not when Saruman remained, stripped of most of his power, but not all. He made a note to speak with the elf upon their return to Edoras. Unseen by the riders, Saruman and his two minions watched them from above. Saruman's eyes were fixed upon the lean blonde. Gandalf was too quick to assume that Saruman's powers had failed him. He was still bound to the Elf, by blood, and by the stone of Sauron. As long as both lived on, his power was not gone from him. A slow, sinister smile spread over his features and he waited in the shadows till they rode away.
--
Edoras, upon their return, saw a celebration the likes of which had not been seen in generations. Merry and Pippin garnered themselves pints, and were soon seen and heard, dancing upon a table in the Golden Hall. Aragorn smiled at the hobbits' antics, and spotting Gandalf across the room, started towards the wizard. Out of the crowd came Eowyn, bearing a cup, which she held up to him.
Aragorn felt a pull at his heart at the sight of her. Her eyes were fixed upon his face, her smile for him alone. This, he knew, was a woman worthy of love. But his? Arwen was gone, sailing for the Gray Havens where she would live evermore, and her memories of him and their love would dwindle and fade. She was gone and he, bidden to move forward with his life.
His thick, rough fingers brushed hers as he took the cup from her. In that moment he knew. In another time, another life he might have been able to love Eowyn, but it was not this life. Arwen was gone, but not forgotten. His heart belonged to her alone, and would till the end of his days. He thanked her and the smile upon her face grew, and it hurt his heart, for he did not wish to see her come to despair. She moved past him then and he went on to find Gandalf.
A few hours later most of the celebrators had dispersed to their rooms and to their loved ones. Exhaustion, which had long been stayed, settled upon them all. Eowyn went to one of the back rooms in the palace, where Dani and a few others lay while healers watched over them. Pippin, the youngest hobbit, and quite inquisitive it seemed, went with her. Eowyn went to find one of the healing women, leaving Pippin at Dani's bedside.
The woman lay in a deep slumber upon the mattress. She had not woken once since Eowyn had found her. Her honey hair spread out around her head, a sunburst on the white pillow. A green blanket inlaid with gold was pulled up to just below her shoulders. Her face, so hardened by trials and time, seemed softened as she slept and her lips were not pressed thin. Her skin was pale as porcelain. Pippin stretched out a hand to touch the scar over her eye.
The hobbit's fingers barely touched her skin. The woman stirred slightly beneath the touch and the hobbit fairly leapt backward. Pippin berated his cowardice and moved back to the cot, watching with wide eyes. He clambered up beside Dani, his face peering down at her. Dani's eyes opened slowly and her lips parted. The emerald green orb finally settled and focused on the visage hovering inches from her own. Her eyebrows shot up and she pressed herself further down onto her pillow.
Pippin's face lit in a wide smile. He bounded from the cot crying out, "My lady!! My lady, she wakes!"
"Say again Master Peregrin?" Dani had not the will to move her head, but the sound of Eowyn's voice stilled the drumming in her chest. She breathed deeply, shutting her eyes. Everything was all right, she knew this place. She was home.
"Danuriel has woken, come and see!"
Eowyn sat beside her friend, cupping the woman's cheek in her hand. Eowyn's eyes were glassy. Danuriel managed a feeble smile. "Strange are my dreams in Edoras," she began, her voice raspy and low. "In fact, I may be hallucinating. For a moment I was quite sure I was in bed with a very small man with exceptionally hairy feet."
Eowyn chuckled softly. "It was no dream you had my dear friend." She motioned for Pippin to come forward.
"A Halfling," Dani spoke in wonderment.
"Peregrin Took of the Shire folk, Danuriel of Rohan. A hobbit I am." He introduced himself. "But most just call me Pippin."
"And most just call me Dani. I am pleased to meet you Pippin of the Shire. Yours was a pleasant face to wake to. Much better than an Orc," she confided. The hobbit beamed.
"Any waking is a good one Dani," Eowyn insisted. "I was starting to worry that you would not come back to us."
"Me? Never. Can't be rid of me that easy. So then is it safe to assume we won the battle, since live and well we all seem."
"Ai. We paid for our freedom with many lives, but many may now go on. Theoden survived, and kept his men in a spirit to fight. Eomer and Gandalf the White came as a blessing unto morning and a vision of them riding down the hills I am told, is an image that will not soon be forgotten. They came behind the White Rider in a blaze and smote our enemy. My Lord Aragorn lasted the night, as did his two companions, Gimli and the Elf Legolas."
Dani's eyes, which had been drifting shut, snapped open upon mention of the Elf. They were panicked and desperate, and afraid. "Legolas." She tried to push herself off the bed, but Eowyn held down her shoulders and she was too weak to do more than flail a little. "Where is he?"
"He is well," Eowyn tried to reassure her friend, but was no avail. "Settle Dani and I will send for him. He will be most glad to see that you are awake."
"No!" The cry was so vehement that Eowyn pulled back, allowing Dani to sit up and swing her legs over the side of the cot. Her stitched side protested the sudden movement and the rush of blood from her head made her dizzy, but she still struggled to gain her feet. "You do not understand Eowyn! He is not well. The eye………it is on him………it burns in him."
"Dani, Dani stop! Please. You must not struggle so, you will rip your side again. You need rest. It is in your head these dark dreams. Legolas is well I say."
Dani shook her head, leaning heavily upon the Lady of Rohan. "You do not see. He is drowning. Where is he? Where is Aragorn? Go, someone and get the wizard, hurry!" Eowyn stood in front of her, blocking her path. But Pippin, from his vantage point behind them, saw the pain and truth in her face. He spun and dashed out, going to find Gandalf. Dani stilled, locking eyes with the shield maiden. "Eowyn," she made herself speak slowly, calmly, "it was Legolas that struck me, but I was not his target. He seeks the blood of Aragorn."
--
Aragorn found Legolas outside, wandering among the blossoming tombs. Aragorn was still many yards away when he stopped, having heard the man. "You did not join the celebration," the ranger observed.
"Our victory was but a small one. The shadow still grows and thickens in the East. Bravery Sauron may now sense is not lost in all men, but it does not instill in him fear. Besides," the Elf amended, "I am not terribly fond of ale." Aragorn chuckled softly.
"Any victory is a good one Legolas. It will inspire Theoden's men to hope. They will need it when the shadow comes. As for Ale, you elves are simply far too finicky." Legolas did not answer. The stone upon his chest was burning again, and was making him nauseous. The black tendrils were creeping ever closer to his heart. The light in his crystalline eyes dimmed and his mind felt sluggish. Aragorn noted the weariness in his friends step. "What is it?"
The Elf turned, slowly raising his gaze to meet the ranger's. "I am afraid," he said quietly, almost a whisper. "Not of battle or war, but of myself. When last we spoke Dani told me she saw a darkness in me, in my eyes. I believe an ill has taken me, though I know neither what nor why."
"Legolas………" Aragorn began to protest. Before he could speak any more however, the Elf's stomach heaved. The poison in his blood was taking him again. The land beneath his feet listed crazily and he stumbled to his knees. Memories flooded his mind's eye. He saw himself aiming for Aragorn, saw himself attacking Dani. Then he saw Saruman standing over him, his lips moving. "A bond," he gasped, "only the darkest eyes might see." His chest constricted and he fell onto his back, gasping for air. His eyes roved aimlessly. "The darkest eyes."
Aragorn knelt beside his friend. He felt the Elf's heart hammering beneath his palm. "Legolas. Legolas, focus on my voice."
The blonde archer grasped Aragorn's forearm in both hands. "Run mellon," he breathed. He could not fight Saruman's hold any longer. It was taking him.
"What?"
"Please run." The words had just barely passed his lips when he surged forward. Aragorn ripped his arm from the Elf's grasp and stumbled back. Blue eyes he had known for years no longer held any recognition as the elf drew one of his long knives. Aragorn barely had time to draw the curved blade the Lady of the Wood had gifted him before Legolas struck. The force of the blow, blade on blade, had driven him to the ground. The man's mind was spinning, but he had no time to think. Legolas was on him with all the strength and speed born of him, and Aragorn would be lucky to survive.
Chapter 7
Sorry this took so long to get out, it was just sort of an awkward chapter to write. Lots of little scenes and time to get through. Hope it makes sense though. Chapter 8 should, hopefully, be out a little faster. Feedback, as always is greatly appreciated and begged for.
A/N: Sorry this is taking me so long to get out, having rather massive writer's block issues at the moment. Thank you all so much for the reviews, I love 'em. Anyway, in this chapter I start to screw around with time and canon a bit, so I apologize to you that hate that, but bear with me because it just doesn't work if I don't.
Disclaimer: I am not Tolkein, could never hope to be, but I do own the people he didn't think up.
Oh, as a note, I refer to the Legolas controlled by Saruman as the Dark Elf/Legolas or some other name, and only refer to the 'real' Legolas as well, 'Legolas'.
~*~
Legolas watched, horrified, as his hand dealt a blow to Dani's head. He wanted to stop, to cry out, but his body would not heed his demands. Then, from himself he was pulled, his mind cast to darkness, and he fell away from the light of his own eyes.
His conscious mind awoke later, in a cavernous hole shrouded by so thick a veil not even his elven eyes could pierce. It was a black place in his head, where only nightmares dwelled. So he remained idle in the dark, unaware of even his own hands. He had no will to move and there remained only pain and repression of thought. He had no hands, no form at all, only a weighted and dull sense of self. Thought he had, though naught else.
Then, slowly, a pinprick of light grew before him. As it grew images formed and it seemed again he had eyes. He bore this new sight down and for him his mind constructed a hand, at first shimmering and translucent, until at last it was real enough before him. Imagined they might have been, but his mind created too the rest of his body.
Legolas stood slowly on legs that were at once both real and not real. He peered out into the light. It was as if he stood at the bottom of Galadriel's mirror, looking up through it, though wreathed by flame it was and the images before him rippled. He saw Gimli swinging his axe, yelling something he could not hear, before an entire host of Uruk surrounded. Legolas reached slowly toward the vision with outstretched fingers and slowly the realization dawned on him that he gazed out from behind his own eyes.
And though he could see the battle raging outside, he heard none of it. He heard not the bellowing Uruk or the cries of the leaders of men meant to bolster their charges, not even the sharp crash of steel against steel. There was only a faint and distant sound, like a low, fell voice upon a breeze. It stirred his temper and anger welled in his heart, for it was the voice that held him in this dark place. Legolas clenched his teeth. Saruman.
His fingertips brushed over the barrier. A sharp sting ran through his fingers, and he yanked back his arm. His brow knitted. He'd been here before, somehow he knew had, and he'd broken free then. He would do it again. Corporeal form or not, the wall was real enough to the touch, and now he meant to shatter it. Saruman could not control his body, he would not allow it.
He attacked the wall anew, throwing himself at the barricade, but the watery vision merely rippled and the barrier remained. Each strike of his fist sent a terrible pain through him. He pounded his fists into the wall, only to be struck back every time. Saruman's hold had grown stronger. He sank down to his knees, condemned to watch the battle rage and yet able to do nothing.
Outside the Elf's body, an unending sea of Uruk assailed the Deeping Wall. Heavy, metal tipped ladders bit into the stone and the Uruk-hai streamed up and over. The small army of men and elves fought valiantly, but for each servant of Saruman slain, four more took its place. The stand of the Rohirrim was being overwhelmed by numbers if not skill. There was only so long their strength could hold, and the grey, drizzling eve was bleak indeed.
The dark Elf moved purposefully through the swarming Uruk-hai. He felled one after another as they came at him. Saruman, from his perch in Orthanc smiled as the Dark Elf fulfilled his every command. Legolas' nagging, rebellious voice, which he could hear inside his own head had faded to a mere whisper. The Uruk-hai were numerous and the number the archer slay were of little consequence. Saruman allowed his servants to die, only because not doing so would have aroused suspicion, and the wizard was not quite ready to reveal himself.
The Uruk themselves did not look long upon the Dark Elf's visage, and if they did, did not comprehend what they saw. Spurred on by blood, whatever logic they may have possessed was laid aside. If they had so much as a thought on it, their weapons may have been stayed, for they themselves were creatures of the dark, and would have seen the true nature of Saruman's minion. Their dark eyes could pierce the blue eyed veil all others saw, and see the fire burning black beneath.
The Dark Legolas trod onward, nimble fingers flying to notch arrow after arrow, even at close range. Twice only was he forced to draw one of his pearl handled blades. He stood upon the wall, watching rapt as Saruman's army came. There seemed no end to this night, no end to those that assaulted them. In Orthanc, Saruman sensed victory approaching.
Aragorn spared a moment and a sweeping gaze for his friends. Gimli's size, in the rain and dark, aided him. He was thick and built low to the ground, and it was easy for him to bowl over the unsuspecting Uruk, that simply looked over top his head. His blows with his axe were swift and sure, driving those that bore the white hand down ferociously. Theoden stood at the forefront of his men, his sword singing in the air. And Aragorn saw in him, for the first time his heart, proud, unwavering and valiant, the heart of a King. His men, even those the farmers and farriers and smiths from the villages, would not waver.
Just then Aragorn saw him. He was sprinting toward the wall, torch in hand. All the others stepped aside to let him through. He wore no armor, carried no weapon, just the brightly burning torch in the dead of night. Aragorn's chest tightened. "Legolas!!" he cried out, knowing the Elf could hear him. "Legolas shoot! Bring him down!" He pointed out over the wall.
His eyes found the Elf from Mirkwood, whose bow was drawn and aimed. Yet he waited, paused, and Aragorn did not understand it. This was not a time for indecision. "Shoot!" He implored again. Something seemed to flicker over his friend's face. He released his arrow. It sailed, straight and true, piercing the flesh above the Uruk's clavicle.
Aragorn's silver flecked eyes shot wide. He'd missed. Legolas, legendary archer of Middle Earth, had missed. "Again!" The Ranger's eyes were wise beyond years, but they did not see what was most desperate. He could not see what the Uruk might have seen, the black breath of Sauron lingering, nor the pitted eyes that Dani had witnessed earlier. The Elf was as he always was, yet not, because he had missed. His heart pounded and breath stilled as the archer prepared to shoot again. The movements to Aragorn seemed painfully slow.
The blonde archer's face contorted as if in physical pain. He drew another arrow and notched it, but it seemed to the Ranger that his hand wavered, if only for a moment. The second arrow flew. It too struck the agent of Saruman, but it was not enough to fell him. The Uruk leapt forward into the small breach of the wall where the pool drained.
The explosion was deafening. All those who witnessed it shrank back at the power of such wizardry. Stone, Uruk and men flew through the sky together as the wall was decimated. Aragorn himself was thrust off the rock and felt like someone had grabbed him from behind and pulled. The sounds of the battle and the storm were dulled behind the ringing in his ears. He landed hard on the ground, his head snapping to the earth. Darkness crept upon his sight and he lay still.
--
"Aragorn!!!!" Legolas mind cried in anguish. Not again, please not again. He struggled to his feet, enraged as he sensed Saruman's satisfaction. Twice now, twice Aragorn had come to harm and he had done NOTHING to prevent it. Nay even, this time the fault was his own. Legolas felt the urge to curl in upon himself, to vanish. Nothing Saruman could do to his body could equal the pain he felt. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this pain, of idleness, of futility.
So the Elf watched, hands resting upon the barrier, barely noting the sting. The wall was breached. The night dragged on and the end was near, he could sense it. Hope had all but fled. And he remained riveted, watching.
--
Aragorn lifted his head slowly, ignoring the ache in his body. His sword remained gripped in his palm, one small comfort at least. Aragorn drew his feet beneath him and lurched upward, barely allowed a single breath before a new horde of orcs reached him. He allowed a single glance at the now demolished wall before his attentions were diverted. It lay in ruin, bodies of men and Uruk lying beneath the rubble. He had been lucky to have been blown clear.
Gimli had been near to him on the wall when it had exploded. He did not see the Dwarf among those rising from the debris. He thought for a moment that he heard him though, swearing loudly in Dwarvish, but he could not swear it.
Aragorn thrust his sword into the chest of an oncoming beast. It protruded through the monster's back, and the blood spilled down over the hilt and slicked the Ranger's grasp. The creature's body had sucked in at the blade and Aragorn had to work to retrieve it. Luckily, all around him men still fought and he was for a time, unencumbered by foes. As he pushed the Uruk off his blade, his eyes lifted back to the wall.
Blue eyes stared back at him and he drew at last an easy breath. Legolas still lived. With barely so much as a glance, the archer dispelled two more agents of Saruman, stabbing one and flipping the second back over the wall. Not once did his sight stray from the Ranger. In the next moment however, all easiness fled him, when he realized that Legolas had lifted his bow, and it was aimed straight for his heart.
--
Eowyn moved silently toward the front chambers of the mountain hold. It had been hours since they'd had any word of the battle. Idle restlessness had driven her first to quiet mutterings, then to pacing. It was like torture, sitting, waiting, even as she issued placations to her people. Wives and mothers wept quietly in corners, shielding their faces and though they were all together, they all felt alone.
So then, hours into the night Eowyn crept away. She'd left to check on Dani, or so she'd told the others. She could not fight, Theoden had set that decree, but she had to know, had to see. She moved quickly through the tunnels, her sword clasped in her hand.
The horse chamber was the last before the Hornburg. The dark, steep sides of the tunnel, smoothed by years of dripping condensation, opened out into the vast chamber. Torches burned between each of the straight stalls, and the horses gleamed beneath the weak light. Their eyes seemed to flicker and they watched her warily. It was eerily still.
"Dani?" Eowyn called softly. There was no answer. "Dani?" Still receiving no word, Eowyn lifted her blade. On the far side of the chamber she spotted Legacy. The bay stallion stood with his head low. The two feet of rope attached to his halter dangled near the ground and his ears flicked forward and back. He turned his head to Eowyn once, nickered, then went back to staring at the ground.
The Lady of Rohan approached slowly, sliding her hand up the horse's shoulder. Eowyn's heart sank when she saw her friend lying prone in the straw. The golden blonde hair on the left side of her head was matted down with blood, staining pale skin. The wound on her side oozed. Her eyes were shut as if she slept and her breaths were shallow. Eowyn knelt beside the other woman.
Long, slender fingers brushed the hair away from Dani's face. The Lady of Rohan could feel the breath of the stallion behind her. Her fingers probed the wound on Dani's head and there was a new surge of blood as she prodded the enflamed flesh. The stable hand did not stir.
Eowyn moved quickly after that. She left Dani where she lay, knowing that it would take more than her strength alone to move her. Slinging a horse blanket over the fallen, she left Legacy with a pat and promise of her return. Then she trotted back across the chamber, sword held at the ready, for whatever had befallen her friend, she could not be sure the threat was gone.
Eowyn gathered two of the stronger woman and led them back through to the front chambers. Both were scared and held close to one another, frightened to be moving toward an unnamed threat. But love they held for their Lady, and it was enough that she stood beside them, and it made them more brave than they might have been. Together they lifted the prone figure out of the stall and back into the cavern. New red blood dripped to the cold stone as the moved haltingly along the corridors.
"There," Eowyn pointed to a small stack of blankets tucked away in a corner. "Lay her there. Nalurie, we need bandages." The hunched, older woman hurried off. The blonde Lady of Rohan left the fallen stable hand briefly, cutting cobwebs away from the dark places of the caves. She laid the sticky tendrils beside Dani on the blanket and cut away the cloth from her side.
"Spider webs my Lady?" Nalurie asked when she came back, handing off clean bandages.
"Yes, they will help stop the bleeding." Eowyn ran a hand through long blonde locks and knelt beside her friend. She laid her sword down, cradling Dani's head while trying to avoid the head wound. "Help is come," she assured the other woman quietly. "I will not let you fall away from this place."
--
Aragorn's eyes widened, his face froze. Unbidden, his hands dropped to his sides and all sounds around him dimmed. The Elf had not fired, but nor had his aim wavered. The blonde squinted, face contorted and his blue eyes were laced with pain.
Then, suddenly his arm seemed to jerk. Blue eyes left those of the Ranger, lifting sharply. He loosed his arrow. Aragorn winced despite himself, his eyes shutting reflexively. From the wall the blonde nodded to him once. There was a grunt behind him, and a thud. The ranger whirled, sucking in a breath. Behind him an Uruk sank into the mud, still gurgling from where an arrow protruded from his throat.
Aragorn looked back to the wall, but the Elf no longer stood watching him. He had killed another dark agent, and was presently flying down a set of steps on the Uruk's shield, shooting as he went. Aragorn's mouth quirked. 'Show off,' he thought. He was not long able to ponder his friend's curious actions, as at that moment a call rang for retreat into the Keep. He could not see the new mustering of Orcs at the base of the stone bridge, shields hefted above their heads. Aragorn moved swiftly back to the stone tower. They had precious little time now.
--
Saruman stumbled backwards in his chamber. A small trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Well, he hadn't been expecting that. The will of the Elf, that for many hours had lain almost idle, was not so beaten as he had believed. As he had sighted in on Aragorn with the bow, a new surge of defiance had welled, sudden, unexpected, and strong. The strike of the Elf's will had been like a thunderclap beside his ear, and for a brief moment his concentration had been broken, sparing the Ranger's life.
The man's propensity for living through mortal situations was becoming an annoyance. Twas no matter though. The upstart Elf had used too much of his waning strength to defy Saruman again. The next time there would be no hesitation, and the Ranger would not be so lucky.
The white wizard watched as the Elves, Dwarf and men of Rohan fled back to their cave. There they sought protection, strong walls to fortify. It was there, bottlenecked in the cave, that they would find their demise. They were trapped, there would be no escape.
The first rays of sunlight peeked out over the horizon. Unseen by the wizard a man rode up to the gates of Isengard. Where once the lane had been bright and lined on all sides by tall trees, was now a barren, dry wasteland. The tall spire in the center stood dark and ominous, a warning to all. Fires flickered from deep pits and the tower was surrounded by a never-ending dusk, and the air was foul as death. Even the breeze offered no reprieve from the long ride, as it stole hot and dry over him, leaving him parched.
His horse, a roan, stood wearily on trembling legs. His sides heaved, stained with dried sweat. He'd been run past his limits through an afternoon and a night. Only once had his man allowed him to stop for a drink, and even then for only a moment. Every time his pace had slackened the lash had been brought down on him. Now, standing at the entrance to Isengard, the smell of Orcs and Uruk-hai assaulted his nose and despite terrible weariness he balked.
Eorman's eyes flicked uneasily to his right, only too aware of how the orc stared. Men Saruman had left to guard the gates, and these were they that came up to meet him, swords drawn and a bow aimed at him from afar. He dropped his reins, holding his hands up defensively. "I come as an ally of the White Wizard," he declared. "I seek with him council. Will you bring me to him?"
One of the guard took hold of the horse's bridle, twisting the bit. Eorman waited, fighting to quell the anxiety in his chest. The dark men spoke quietly among themselves. Finally the group parted and one nodded. Still holding his horse's head, Eorman was led inside and down the path toward the tall black tower.
Wormtongue met the guard at the tower bottom. Throwing back the great doors he glared at the rider of Rohan. His nose wrinkled in an ugly sneer, his pale, oily face cold and cruel. Here, in the shadow of his master Saruman, the pathetic, simpering little man did not cower from the warrior. Instead he said haughtily, "What brings you slithering on your belly to the door of Saruman Rohirrim? Has the great King's head been left yet upon a stake? So hence you came to save your own worthless life?"
Eorman's temper welled and his lips thinned. He did not take kindly to being talked down upon, especially not by Grima Wormtongue, but he held his tongue. "Theoden was alive ere I left him, though I know not of him now." His mind wandered then, and in his mind he saw Dani, turning him away. His voice hardened. "And I care not whether any of them live or die. Bring me to Saruman, Grima."
Saruman's serpent smiled then. He turned on his heel and strode up the tall winding steps of the tower. Saruman's chamber was closed and Wormtongue bid the rider from Rohan to wait, but Eorman would not. The broad man flung apart the doors and stalked inside. The wizard wheeled, leveling his staff at the chest of the man, furious that his concentration had again been disrupted. Far away at Helm's Deep, a blonde elf stumbled in the darkness of the caves, a shimmering barrier in his mind falling away.
Saruman's voice boomed, echoing up through the tower. "What insolence is this? Who dares to enter here?"
Eorman bowed his head and lowered himself to one knee. "I am Eorman my Lord, formerly of the Rohirrim, now humble servant to Saruman."
This, at least, caught the wizard's interest. He had not been expecting Theoden's men to turn from their King, aside from the spineless Grima anyway. But this man was not without strength, and with him held a warrior's air. "What guarantee do I have that you are not some spy of the enemy? That you do not come here seeking to destroy me from within? However fruitless that plan may be."
"I am no spy," Eorman said. "I would here lay my sword at your feet and swear piety to you in these times of war."
"You are not loyal to your people?"
"My people are too easily swayed. They ride to a needless death and abandon Rohan's long friendship with Isengard. Theoden pushes you aside rashly, while embracing a rabble of outsiders. In such times my loyalty is to myself, for I wish to stand on the side of victory. I have been forsaken, and so forsake them. I can bring others who think as I do, strong men to fight on the side of Saruman."
"It is an interesting proposition. How quickly and how many a force could you gather?"
"With a fresh horse and a week I could gather a thousand men. A small number I realize, but a force that would not arouse the suspicion that would orcs. A force to strike fast and hard at your opposition. But my Lord, is there some better way to ride from Isengard? My path was nearly blocked by the forest's edge, and I have no desire to enter Fangorn. I did not realize its borders came so close to your walls."
Saruman glanced sharply at the man. "What did you say?"
"The forest, it nearly blocked my way to the gates. The trees pressed upon me as though they had some foul intent of their own, to seize me from my saddle as I passed." Saruman did not respond, but hurried out of the chamber to the balcony overlooking Isengard. Somewhere in the distance someone shrieked and there was a crash.
"Your offer may have come too late," Saruman muttered. Eorman and Grima stood behind him, staring in wonder and horror at the sight of the forest overtaking the walls. The forest had woken. The march of the Ents had begun.
--
Aragorn, Theoden, Legolas and the other Rohirrim rode out that same morning. The coming of Gandalf, Eomer, and the other riders was the salvation of Rohan. They swept down upon the Uruk like a wave, Gandalf a shining light in the front of the Riders. Aragorn's heart sailed at the sight of them at the crest of the hill. The night, which had seemed so hopeless had dawned a day victorious.
The Uruks fled under the new company's assault. They dashed up the hill, away from the riders, and few took notice of the new line of trees that blocked their path. The Uruks were consumed by the shadows beneath the branches. A high wail sent a chill through all the riders and the trees dipped and shook. None of the Uruk were seen again.
The day ended with both joy and sorrow. Women and children flooded from the caves, searching for loved ones, sons and husbands. Soldiers stacked bodies of the dead outside the Deeping wall, the foul stench of Uruk bodies laid upon one another rising in the warmth of the new day. Inside the wall men and elves were laid down with reverence, their arms cross over their breasts. The sorrow of those that had lost struck hard, but such joy was in victory could not be outdone.
They left the next day, two droves moving in opposite directions. Eowyn and many riders took the path for Edoras. With them went the women and townsmen, and the injured. Dani still had not woken and her face was unnaturally pale. Legacy, for his part, drew the cart on which she laid quietly, no small feat for the hot blooded mount of a warrior.
Aragorn rode beside Theoden astride Brego. Two imposing white stallions flanked the bay on either side, Theoden to the left and Gandalf to the right. Eomer, Legolas and Gimli rode just behind. Gimli was doing as he had promised, educating Eomer of the beauty of the Lady of the Wood. The drawf's eyes sparkled when he spoke of her and Eomer could not help but believe the words, and suddenly his heart filled with the desire to witness such beauty.
Legolas was quiet and not untroubled. Though his eyes remained riveted forward and his hands never left the reins, his mind wandered afar. News of Dani had deeply disturbed him, for he remembered her words to him at their last meeting. What dark thing had she seen in him that he could not feel? His sense of foreboding grew the closer they rode to Orthanc and the quieter the elf became. He barely said anything at all, even when they came upon Merry and Pippin, gorging themselves on spoils from the guard house.
His silence was not lost on Aragorn, but in the shadow cast by the tower was not the place for a conversation. Not when Saruman remained, stripped of most of his power, but not all. He made a note to speak with the elf upon their return to Edoras. Unseen by the riders, Saruman and his two minions watched them from above. Saruman's eyes were fixed upon the lean blonde. Gandalf was too quick to assume that Saruman's powers had failed him. He was still bound to the Elf, by blood, and by the stone of Sauron. As long as both lived on, his power was not gone from him. A slow, sinister smile spread over his features and he waited in the shadows till they rode away.
--
Edoras, upon their return, saw a celebration the likes of which had not been seen in generations. Merry and Pippin garnered themselves pints, and were soon seen and heard, dancing upon a table in the Golden Hall. Aragorn smiled at the hobbits' antics, and spotting Gandalf across the room, started towards the wizard. Out of the crowd came Eowyn, bearing a cup, which she held up to him.
Aragorn felt a pull at his heart at the sight of her. Her eyes were fixed upon his face, her smile for him alone. This, he knew, was a woman worthy of love. But his? Arwen was gone, sailing for the Gray Havens where she would live evermore, and her memories of him and their love would dwindle and fade. She was gone and he, bidden to move forward with his life.
His thick, rough fingers brushed hers as he took the cup from her. In that moment he knew. In another time, another life he might have been able to love Eowyn, but it was not this life. Arwen was gone, but not forgotten. His heart belonged to her alone, and would till the end of his days. He thanked her and the smile upon her face grew, and it hurt his heart, for he did not wish to see her come to despair. She moved past him then and he went on to find Gandalf.
A few hours later most of the celebrators had dispersed to their rooms and to their loved ones. Exhaustion, which had long been stayed, settled upon them all. Eowyn went to one of the back rooms in the palace, where Dani and a few others lay while healers watched over them. Pippin, the youngest hobbit, and quite inquisitive it seemed, went with her. Eowyn went to find one of the healing women, leaving Pippin at Dani's bedside.
The woman lay in a deep slumber upon the mattress. She had not woken once since Eowyn had found her. Her honey hair spread out around her head, a sunburst on the white pillow. A green blanket inlaid with gold was pulled up to just below her shoulders. Her face, so hardened by trials and time, seemed softened as she slept and her lips were not pressed thin. Her skin was pale as porcelain. Pippin stretched out a hand to touch the scar over her eye.
The hobbit's fingers barely touched her skin. The woman stirred slightly beneath the touch and the hobbit fairly leapt backward. Pippin berated his cowardice and moved back to the cot, watching with wide eyes. He clambered up beside Dani, his face peering down at her. Dani's eyes opened slowly and her lips parted. The emerald green orb finally settled and focused on the visage hovering inches from her own. Her eyebrows shot up and she pressed herself further down onto her pillow.
Pippin's face lit in a wide smile. He bounded from the cot crying out, "My lady!! My lady, she wakes!"
"Say again Master Peregrin?" Dani had not the will to move her head, but the sound of Eowyn's voice stilled the drumming in her chest. She breathed deeply, shutting her eyes. Everything was all right, she knew this place. She was home.
"Danuriel has woken, come and see!"
Eowyn sat beside her friend, cupping the woman's cheek in her hand. Eowyn's eyes were glassy. Danuriel managed a feeble smile. "Strange are my dreams in Edoras," she began, her voice raspy and low. "In fact, I may be hallucinating. For a moment I was quite sure I was in bed with a very small man with exceptionally hairy feet."
Eowyn chuckled softly. "It was no dream you had my dear friend." She motioned for Pippin to come forward.
"A Halfling," Dani spoke in wonderment.
"Peregrin Took of the Shire folk, Danuriel of Rohan. A hobbit I am." He introduced himself. "But most just call me Pippin."
"And most just call me Dani. I am pleased to meet you Pippin of the Shire. Yours was a pleasant face to wake to. Much better than an Orc," she confided. The hobbit beamed.
"Any waking is a good one Dani," Eowyn insisted. "I was starting to worry that you would not come back to us."
"Me? Never. Can't be rid of me that easy. So then is it safe to assume we won the battle, since live and well we all seem."
"Ai. We paid for our freedom with many lives, but many may now go on. Theoden survived, and kept his men in a spirit to fight. Eomer and Gandalf the White came as a blessing unto morning and a vision of them riding down the hills I am told, is an image that will not soon be forgotten. They came behind the White Rider in a blaze and smote our enemy. My Lord Aragorn lasted the night, as did his two companions, Gimli and the Elf Legolas."
Dani's eyes, which had been drifting shut, snapped open upon mention of the Elf. They were panicked and desperate, and afraid. "Legolas." She tried to push herself off the bed, but Eowyn held down her shoulders and she was too weak to do more than flail a little. "Where is he?"
"He is well," Eowyn tried to reassure her friend, but was no avail. "Settle Dani and I will send for him. He will be most glad to see that you are awake."
"No!" The cry was so vehement that Eowyn pulled back, allowing Dani to sit up and swing her legs over the side of the cot. Her stitched side protested the sudden movement and the rush of blood from her head made her dizzy, but she still struggled to gain her feet. "You do not understand Eowyn! He is not well. The eye………it is on him………it burns in him."
"Dani, Dani stop! Please. You must not struggle so, you will rip your side again. You need rest. It is in your head these dark dreams. Legolas is well I say."
Dani shook her head, leaning heavily upon the Lady of Rohan. "You do not see. He is drowning. Where is he? Where is Aragorn? Go, someone and get the wizard, hurry!" Eowyn stood in front of her, blocking her path. But Pippin, from his vantage point behind them, saw the pain and truth in her face. He spun and dashed out, going to find Gandalf. Dani stilled, locking eyes with the shield maiden. "Eowyn," she made herself speak slowly, calmly, "it was Legolas that struck me, but I was not his target. He seeks the blood of Aragorn."
--
Aragorn found Legolas outside, wandering among the blossoming tombs. Aragorn was still many yards away when he stopped, having heard the man. "You did not join the celebration," the ranger observed.
"Our victory was but a small one. The shadow still grows and thickens in the East. Bravery Sauron may now sense is not lost in all men, but it does not instill in him fear. Besides," the Elf amended, "I am not terribly fond of ale." Aragorn chuckled softly.
"Any victory is a good one Legolas. It will inspire Theoden's men to hope. They will need it when the shadow comes. As for Ale, you elves are simply far too finicky." Legolas did not answer. The stone upon his chest was burning again, and was making him nauseous. The black tendrils were creeping ever closer to his heart. The light in his crystalline eyes dimmed and his mind felt sluggish. Aragorn noted the weariness in his friends step. "What is it?"
The Elf turned, slowly raising his gaze to meet the ranger's. "I am afraid," he said quietly, almost a whisper. "Not of battle or war, but of myself. When last we spoke Dani told me she saw a darkness in me, in my eyes. I believe an ill has taken me, though I know neither what nor why."
"Legolas………" Aragorn began to protest. Before he could speak any more however, the Elf's stomach heaved. The poison in his blood was taking him again. The land beneath his feet listed crazily and he stumbled to his knees. Memories flooded his mind's eye. He saw himself aiming for Aragorn, saw himself attacking Dani. Then he saw Saruman standing over him, his lips moving. "A bond," he gasped, "only the darkest eyes might see." His chest constricted and he fell onto his back, gasping for air. His eyes roved aimlessly. "The darkest eyes."
Aragorn knelt beside his friend. He felt the Elf's heart hammering beneath his palm. "Legolas. Legolas, focus on my voice."
The blonde archer grasped Aragorn's forearm in both hands. "Run mellon," he breathed. He could not fight Saruman's hold any longer. It was taking him.
"What?"
"Please run." The words had just barely passed his lips when he surged forward. Aragorn ripped his arm from the Elf's grasp and stumbled back. Blue eyes he had known for years no longer held any recognition as the elf drew one of his long knives. Aragorn barely had time to draw the curved blade the Lady of the Wood had gifted him before Legolas struck. The force of the blow, blade on blade, had driven him to the ground. The man's mind was spinning, but he had no time to think. Legolas was on him with all the strength and speed born of him, and Aragorn would be lucky to survive.
Chapter 7
Sorry this took so long to get out, it was just sort of an awkward chapter to write. Lots of little scenes and time to get through. Hope it makes sense though. Chapter 8 should, hopefully, be out a little faster. Feedback, as always is greatly appreciated and begged for.