Chapter Seven
Mind Games
Part 1
Greenleaf had to stop. He certainly didn't want to stop right now, but he had to. Legolas' pesky voice was starting to grow stronger again, and it was throwing him off his pace and starting to irritate him to no end. It was time to shut him up for awhile.
He stopped where the valley opened below him. From where he stood (using the last glimmer of light from Earendil before the clouds covered it for the night), he had a nearly perfect view of the forest, the winding river, and the tiny, gurgling waterfall below. Sounds echoed up to him. He could hear everything and see everything from here. Nothing could come within a two league radius without him knowing about it. This spot was about as safe as any he'd find in the forest. For the first time in – how long has it been? – he began to relax.
"Hey Legolas," he said, dipping to one knee and dropping the pack, bow, and quiver to the snow-covered ground. "Wanna to play a game?"
/No,/ came the reply. /I don't feel like playing stupid games right now. A pause. Then, /Why? What are you up to?/
"Nothing," he said innocently. "Just taking a little break." He untied the pouch's string from his belt and pulled the drawstrings open. "What are you – paranoid? Come on, play a game with me. A mind game, get it?" he said cheerfully. "What do you say? It's not like you have something better to do."
Silence. Then he repeated: /Why?/
You've got a bit of nerve, you whiny fool, I'll give you that much, Greenleaf thought, feeling the heat in his shoulder rising to a greedy burn.
"Because I'm bored and I asked you to – that's why," he snapped. He sighed tiredly. "Why does everything always have to be an argument with you? I'm just tired of thinking, alright? Can't you do something I want for a change without asking so many damned questions?" He sighed. Softened. "I won't take it personally. I'm just bored."
/Do I have a choice?/
"No." He spilled the contents of the pouch onto the snow and fingered through them. "Let's play a round of riddles."
/What are you up to, Greenleaf?/
"Nothing," he repeated innocently again, this time adding a small tone of hurt. "I'm just bored. You go first."
/Is this another one of your stupid tricks? Because if it is – /
"No. Really. I'm serious. I'm trying to be, anyway. Come on. Just one. Surely you can think of one lousy riddle, can't you? You wouldn't want to make me angry... Trust me for once."
Trust Greenleaf? Legolas longed to say no and ask why his dominant self was suddenly interested in riddles. He was terribly frightened of the black isolation where he was. But, if he played along, Greenleaf would be too occupied to heap more tortures on him.
He remembered Bilbo telling him about the riddle-game he'd had with Gollum those many years ago. He knew, as the old Hobbit had, that the ancient game was sacred and even dark creatures were afraid to cheat when playing it. But, Greenleaf could not be trusted to adhere to any rules or constraints and no matter what the outcome of the game, he would continue to inflict misery on the imprisoned prince. Even knowing this, Legolas could not deny the stronger side anything. He was weak, getting weaker by the hour, and soon there would be nothing left.
/Alright,/ he whispered.
"Good. You go first," Greenleaf said.
So Legolas asked:
/There is a thing that nothing is, and yet it has a name. It's sometimes tall and sometimes short, joins our talks, joins our sport, and plays at every game./
Greenleaf burst out laughing. "Oooo, a naughty riddle?" he cried. "Legolas, I'm surprised at you! Pleasantly surprised! Damn, I didn't know you had a crude side. I thought that belonged to me!"
/No, Greenleaf. It's not what you think. Sometimes a riddle makes you look in one direction while leading you in another./
Greenleaf looked up from the items, actually interested for the moment. "Alright – I give up. What?"
/Order. Something you and I don't have now./
Legolas waited for Greenleaf to retaliate, but nothing happened. He let his breath out slowly.
"Hmmm," Greenleaf said thoughtfully. Frowned. "Not bad. Not bad at all. But you're wrong. The answer is a shadow. Riddle me another one."
/No./
"Oh come on. Just one more. I swear."
/Alright./ A pause. Then he asked:
/What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a head but never weeps?/
"You?" Greenleaf chuckled at his own joke as he held up the small vial.
/No. And I don't care to play anymore./
"Oh come on. I'm only joking." He picked up the pronged...something, a wad of gauze, a long bandage, and the vial, then scooted backward on the ground and leaned his back against a tree trunk. "Hmmm..." he said, feigning like he was trying to figure out the riddle when in reality he was only trying to distract Legolas.
He covered his mouth to hide a smile even though he knew that Legolas couldn't possibly see it even if he hadn't. Couldn't feel it either. The black prison had no windows and no reality unless he wanted it to, just open to sound and pain right now. He should know – it was his home. Was being the key word. Now it was Legolas', all courtesy of Ridley and his wonderful, magical liquid.
"Let's see..." Greenleaf unfastened his tunic and shrugged his left arm free of his shirt. "What can run but never walks –" He unfastened the soiled bandage that was wrapped tightly around his shoulder and laid it on his lap. "– has a mouth but never talks – " Uncorked the vial and carefully poured a few precious drops of the clear liquid on it as Ridley had shown him. "– has a... What did you say?"
/Has a bed but never sleeps./
"Right. Has a bed but never sleeps." He lay the damp gauze over one thigh and draped the long bandage over the other. "And has a – " He lost his words when he pulled the old gauze off his wound, sucking his breath in sharply through his teeth and wincing as raw flesh, stuck solid to the gauze by dried blood, lifted and pulled off with it. He looked the wound over. Not great. Not good either. In fact, it wasn't good at all. It looked red and inflamed. A bit weepy. Definitely infection there. He knew what it was, but for the life of him couldn't remember what to do about it or why he even had it. Elves don't generally get infections.
/What are you doing?/
"Nothing," he repeated again, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Just thinking," he lied. "And has a head but never weeps – right?"
/Yes./
Greenleaf picked up the pronged...thing and turned it over in his hand. He eyed it's needle-sharp tines with reverence. The workmanship was exquisite. No wonder he had never seen anything like this before. It looked as though it was made specifically for this one purpose, nothing more. Of course, if one were to use this as a weapon it could certainly do some major damage. Whomever made this must have been a true master craftsman. "Is this a timed event?" he asked.
/No./ A pause. /Why are you stalling? You know this as well as I do. What are you doing?/
"I can't remember the answer," he lied again. "It must be one of your riddles."
/I don't like riddles. I find them tiresome and stupid. Idiotic. They're a total waste of time and –
/Time... Is that what you're doing, Greenleaf? Wasting time to so I won't know what you're doing?/
Greenleaf sounded a trifle offended. "Well excuse me for trying to strike up a conversation with you." And thought: You sure hit that nail on the head – Legolas old buddy.
He placed the instrument's sharp, steel prongs against the raw skin of his left shoulder and using his left hand held it steady by it's handle. He took a moment to ready himself, then said cheerfully: "I got it! A river – right?"
/Yes. You're – /
Before the thought had finished, Greenleaf closed his right hand into a fist and punched the prongs deep into his shoulder. He gasped (felt Legolas gasp at the same time), his shoulder an agony of fire and ice. He grit his teeth against the pain and tore the prongs out. An instant gush of fresh blood snaked down the side of his chest.
/GREANLEAF, NO! NO! PLEASE! OH LORDS, DON'T DO THIS... /
He heard Legolas' pleading screams emanating from the black prison in his mind but ignored them. He pressed the damp gauze tight to the wound, leaned his head back against the tree trunk, and waited. It didn't take long – maybe twenty seconds at the outside – then felt the familiar warmth spread over his shoulder and move across his chest. Soon after, a hot rush of strength flowed through him. He smiled as the voice – the screams – grew steadily quieter... slurred thicker... words – thoughts – more and more jumbled and senselessly. But Legolas' steady decline never varied and by the time Greenleaf counted to twenty it finally stopped.
Greenleaf closed his eyes, enjoying the silence.
"Nighty-night, Legolas."
Part 2
Gimli's dreams were confused and disturbing, full of horned beasts and unseen enemies. Over and over he heard a deep voice ask: What are you willing to sacrifice? But since he never understood the question he never had an answer. Plagued by such visions, his sleep was shallow and uneasy until the wee hours when he finally found deep sleep.
"Gimli, wake up," said a voice. He stirred unwillingly, loath to listen. The warmth that surrounded him was too comfortable to leave. The voice sounded again. "Gimli, wake up now. We have to leave."
He reluctantly forced his eyes open. For a moment he didn't quite know where he was. For a full ten seconds he didn't quite know who the man hunkered down beside him was, either. Then it all came back to him and he woke with a start.
Disoriented and confused, he let his eyes roam over the small cave. "What is it? What's wrong?" Gimli asked in a voice still thick with the remnants of sleep.
Aragorn grinned and gave his shoulder another gentle squeeze. "Rise and shine, Gimli. It's time we set out."
Gimli threw his blanket aside and stretched with a groan. "I couldn't sleep a wink last night, you know." He yawned with a loud huff at the end, and shook his head while doing it. "I was just resting my eyes."
"Really?" Aragorn smiled a little and released Gimli's shoulder. "You could have fooled me. You were snoring loud enough to wake the dead."
Gimli reddened. "I think I'm getting a slight head cold," he offered sheepishly.
"Uh-huh." Aragorn got to his feet and drunk-walked over to his kitbag, dipped down and rummaged through it. "We'll eat and then leave, alright? You can wake up on the road."
Gimli nodded, reddening even more.
Aragorn pulled a makeshift hide pouch from his kit bound at the top by a cord. As he passed it to Gimli he noted that the dwarf had more bags under his eyes than a traveling peddler. Even so, the dwarf looked a far cry better today than he had yesterday.
Gimli unwrapped the pouch and found it filled with pieces of dried fruits and berries. He took a handful, his appetite non-existent, and held the pouch out to pass it back.
Aragorn raised a hand. "Keep it. I'm not hungry."
"Are you ill?" Gimli asked. Aragorn looked as though he'd aged twenty years overnight. The lines on his face seemed to have deepened dramatically and he had black – not dark, but truly black – crescent half- circles under his eyes that contrasted sharply against his greyish face.
Aragorn smirked. "I think I'm getting a slight head cold."
"Ha ha," Gimli said dryly. "And when was the last time you had a decent nights rest, eh?"
"That bad, huh?" he said. He made an effort to comb his fingers through his hair in a feeble attempt to make himself appear more presentable, but by the way Gimli went on staring at him told him it hadn't worked. "It's been awhile."
"Alright, Aragorn, enough is enough." The dwarf folded his arms across his crest. "Start talking or I'll sit here until you do."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Aragorn said, purposely averting his eyes. "I'm not sure I believe it myself. It's... impossible."
"Aye?" Gimli's brow furrowed. "And I've learned never to doubt the impossible, only fear it. What plagues you? Tell me."
So reluctantly, Aragorn did. He told him of the dreams, the premonitions, the sounds and feeling, his thoughts of last night... everything.
And in the end, Gimli wished he hadn't asked.
Part 3
The day was bright blue, but there was a smart bite in the air; winter's crispness reminding them that it was not quite ready to give way to spring. The two travelers reached the crest of the long, gentle hill they had been climbing and stood looking at the glistening valley spread before them. It looked to be magical and not of this time or of this harsh world. The beauty of the valley's unspoiled sanctity seemed fit for an artisan's hand, but even the most skilled artisan – be he painter or poet – would be hard- pressed to capture the true splendour their eyes currently beheld.
For a long time neither of them spoke. Gimli opened his mouth twice, then closed it again. Not since meeting Galadriel had Gimli been rendered utterly speechless by beauty above ground.
The next two days afterward were totally uneventful,(which was surprising, considering where they were and didn't know it – Old Boomer Hollow). They walked; they camped; they ate; they slept – well Gimli slept some; and then they walked some more. Both were exhausted.
Aragorn was starting to believe that he would never sleep again. Each time he began to drift off, the powerful premonitions would drag him back into the nightmares of either the mine or the black room and sit him bolt upright immediately afterwards. When he slept at all, it was fitful, disturbing, and very brief. Gimli fared a bit better, but not much. At best he managed three hours of sleep a night, then spent the rest of it huffing and crashing about – his worry and his temper mounting with each passing hour.
/How long can someone live without sleep?/ Aragorn wondered.
He might not have the answer, but he knew he was well on his way to finding that out. Each step he took seemed more and more of an effort, and each league sapped more and more of his strength. And because of the premonitions, each night filled him with both a desperate desire for sleep and a burning dread of obtaining any. After awhile, dread overrode all desire and he simply refused to sleep at all.
But everything has it's price. And as everyone knows, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The same holds true with stubborn premonitions that need to deliver their messages. Things began to spiral into an 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' sort of price – the premonitions started to join him at every opportunity, awake or not. And because of Aragorn's exhaustion, the window of opportunity was thrown wide open. With exhaustion came the walking daydreams, and with the walking daydreams came the powerful premonitions that would literally snatch him in mid-stride and instantly transport his mind to either the mine or to the black room. Conversations would abruptly cease in mid-word as he was suddenly gripped tight and instantly rendered oblivious to everything around him. Gimli was given to staring at him ever since the first time he'd had to race full- tilt to stop him from tumbling over the edge of a steep drop, or now, as he was now finding, into what appeared to be an overgrown sinkhole; some as much as two or three hundred feet deep. But even overly attentive, Gimli occasionally had to look away to watch his own step, and in those rare moments there had been some mighty close calls. That night, even after Aragorn had assured him several times that he would be fine, Gimli rejected his own sleep in order to keep an eye on him in case his mind wandered again and took his body along for the ride. The thought of waking in the morning to find the king of Gondor's lifeless, broken body at the bottom of some rocky ravine, or worse never finding him again, didn't exactly appeal to him.
Around mid-afternoon on the third day, Gimli finally stopped.
"We're here," he said, and pointed up a steep hill. "There's a clearing up there just beyond those trees. The mine is on the far side of it."
It was quite possibly the best news Aragorn had ever heard in his life, and he was just that second in the process of smiling when a shudder raced up his back. He looked sharply around and spotted a figure just breaking the tree line on the steep hill above. He watched as it began to make its way down toward them moving silently, fluidly, gracefully. Aragorn had the sensation that he was gripped by another vision, only this one wasn't accompanied by an echo. And this one was clear. Too clear. Aragorn was seeing it, actually seeing it, but at the same time he could not – it was as if part of his mind simply refused to see it, as if seeing it would lead to acceptance, and in acceptance, would be forced to question his own sanity.
"Legolas!" Gimli suddenly cried from behind him as the fantasy-turned- reality strode toward them. "Lords almighty, it's Legolas!"
"It can't be," he breathed, but knew it was, and heard the words trying to break into a sob.
Legolas frowned as he approached. "Aragorn? What are you – " The elf's words broke off as his eyes cut to Gimli. An emotion flashed across his face that was something between tremendous relief and utter fury. "Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"
Quite thunderstruck, Gimli's mouth hung open. It took several seconds and several rapid eye-blinks for him to close it. Then he sputtered, "ME?" and repeated: "ME?" several more times in a long, broken string. That word seemed to be the only one he was capable of forming.
Legolas folded his arms across his chest and glared down at the diminutive dwarf. The act reminded Aragorn of a father sternly admonishing a child. An ugly child. An ugly child with a beard. With that thought he found himself smirking and beginning to come back to himself. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry or do both at the same time, so his body decided to do a little of both: his eyes blurred with tears of joy and his face broke into a warm smile.
Legolas turned to him. "And you look like you've just seen a ghost."
"I have!" Caught up in the moment and forgetting everything else, Aragorn grabbed him and pulled him into a tight bear-hug, laughing and crying at the same time. "Lords, I have! You're a sight for sore eyes!"
Legolas stiffened for a moment. "I take it you've missed me," he said, then he hugged him back, a satisfied smile curling his lips...
...a smile that extended no further than his mouth.
Part 4
Even though there was still plenty of daylight left and they could have traveled a good few leagues before any hint of sunset, they decided to make camp were they were and start out fresh in the morning. Gimli and Aragorn had too many questions, and more importantly, not enough sleep to try heading out right away. Both now sat dumbfounded as they watched Legolas go about gathering firewood as though nothing had happened.
"I don't know what to make of this," the dwarf whispered, bewildered, giving Aragorn a worried glance. He fell silent as the elf walked by, and only when he was fairly sure Legolas was safely out of earshot again did he continue. "I waited. I swear to you, Aragorn, I waited a full day here. There was no sign of him anywhere."
"I don't know what to make of it either," Aragorn agreed. His eyes didn't shift to Gimli but remained fastened on the elf. "He's right...but not right."
"Aye," Gimli agreed. "Not right at all."
Aragorn felt jittery. As soon as things had settled down he realized that the something-is-not-right feeling was still there, the feeling that things were going to take a hard turn south, that maybe they already had gone south. And something else too. It wasn't exhaustion; at least he didn't think it was. All the same, something bothered him enough that his brow actually throbbed. Not that this was the first time he'd ever felt it – there has been plenty of times when his brow would suddenly pound with tension – but it had never been this bad before.
/Don't trust him, Aragorn,/ Legolas had whispered in the...premonition? Vision? Nightmare? /Don't listen to him...or to me...or to us. I can't stop him./
/Us,/ Aragorn thought. /He said – us./
Aragorn felt the familiar shiver crawl up his spine.
A minute ago, Legolas had taken the last few pieces of firewood into the mine. Now finally finished, he stood at the mine's entrance brushing his hands off and looking quite pleased with himself as he did. Grinning, he made his way over to them and lowered to the ground in front of both. As he settled, he glanced to his right at the barely discernable haze of the full moon hanging suspended and waiting for her turn to own the sky. "It'll be cold a moon tonight," he said, "but that should be enough firewood to warm even that mine. As a matter of fact, I was thinking... since we're here and set up, anyway – "
But suddenly Aragorn
"– why don't we stay – "
realized that this wasn't
"– for a few days?"
Legolas.
Aragorn's breath stilled and his eyes riveted to the elf as he continued on in a pleasant tone. "Just the three of us, like in the old days. We could do some hunting. What do you say?"
/Hunting me, you mean,/ Aragorn thought, remembering the dream. "Well...maybe, Legolas," he said. "Maybe." His eyes flicked briefly to Gimli, then returned to the elf's face. "Let's see how things are in the morning, and then we'll decide. If everything is alright, then maybe..."
A broad smile lit the elf's face. "Agreed." He stood, brushed himself off, and walked back toward the mine.
/That is not Legolas,/ Aragorn thought as he watched him go. /I don't know who it is, but I know who it isn't./
And Aragorn knew something else too: he knew he would have to do this alone. Tomorrow morning at first light he would send Gimli back to Minas Tirith, because if he didn't, he knew with absolute certainty that whoever that is, would kill him.
Tbc...