Chapter Nine
And Speaking Of The Void...
Part 1
Morning came with sunrise painting the bottoms of the light clouds a blood- red. They triggered a memory in Aragorn of one such sunrise the three had seen during the long days of the fellowship. "Red sun rises," Legolas had said. "Blood had been spilled this night." Blood had been spilled yesterday. Legolas had spilled his own. Or rather, Greenleaf had spilled Legolas' when he'd ripped his shoulder open.
The fellowship. That seemed like a million years ago now. So much had changed. At the time, the year with the fellowship seemed to stretch on to forever, and yet now it seemed as though it had been a mere blink. But what he wouldn't give to blink again. For that matter, what he wouldn't give to be young and naïve again instead of here and facing this.
/What if Legolas had sailed right after the ring had been destroyed?/ he wondered.
No, no, he wouldn't go there. The 'What If' game was a dangerous road to travel. There were too many traps that led to other 'what if' traps. What if his father hadn't been his father? What if Lord Elrond hadn't taken him in? What if he'd never met Legolas, or Gimli, or Gandalf, or any of them? What if he hadn't been asked to join the fellowship? Would it have failed? Maybe, but maybe not. What if it had? If any of those things hadn't happened the way they did, at least he wouldn't be sitting here contemplating Legolas' request. And he wouldn't be playing the 'What If' game now.
But they had...and he was.
Without warning or ceremony, Aragorn awoke Gimli with a gentle touch on his shoulder (and a hand over his mouth) and then sent him safely back to Minas Tirith with the draw-string pouch and weapons before Legolas stirred.
/That was the problem though, wasn't it?/ he thought. /Legolas stirring. When the elf wakes, would he awaken as Legolas or Greenleaf?/
As if on command, the elf groaned. Shifted.
Aragorn repositioned himself on his blanket then silently drew his sword and laid it on the ground before him. His fist gripped the hilt so tight his knuckles turned chalk-white. He readied himself for anything.
Greenleaf awoke slowly and in a fair bit of pain. His left shoulder throbbed not only with need of the liquid, but with fire. As a matter of fact, everything from his shoulder to his elbow burned with an incredible heat. Infection, he knew. But the infection could wait. The pain of need was stronger. He reached for his pouch...but his fingers found nothing. He patted himself down. Still nothing. He sat up, threw his blanket off, and checked the ground. Stood. Shook the blanket carefully. Scanned the ground. Then he turned slowly, slowly.
"Looking for something?" Aragorn asked.
For only a moment the elf dropped all pretence, but in that moment Aragorn could see the change. Hate mixed with stunned shock. There was a recognition on Aragorn's part – a recognition of the darkness. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword while he played his trump card before the elf could compose himself.
"So what do I call you? because you're obviously not Legolas."
The elf smiled slowly, and with it all pretence fell away. "But I am. Think of me as the dirty little secret he kept well hidden until now. You can call me Greenleaf."
"Well, Greenleaf, it seems that you and I have come to a stalemate. I have something you want, and you have something I want."
"Oh?" the elf asked casually, still believing he had the upper hand. "And what would that be?"
"I have your liquid and you have my friend. What say you and I try to work something out?"
Greenleaf's eyes flittered over the camp. "Where's Gimli?" he asked, then answered his own question with: "No doubt off burying it."
"Not really. He's gone."
The elf's face fell. "Gone? Gone where?"
"Back to Minas Tirith."
Greenleaf paled. "With it?"
"Yes."
"But..."
"But what?"
The elf gave a long sweeping bow. "Congratulations, Aragorn. You found me out – no doubt with a little help from that snivelling coward of a counterpart of mine." He sighed as though bored. "But you know I'll have to get it back. So now I'm left with a bit of a dilemma. I can either go around you, or through you. I prefer through, but how about I let you decide?"
"Try me," Aragorn said flatly.
"What are you going to do?" Greenleaf asked with a laugh. "Beat the beejeebers out of me? Kill me? You'll be killing Legolas too, you know."
"I know. But I can't let you leave here, so if that's what it takes..."
"How noble of you. With friends like you, who needs enemies?" Greenleaf snorted a mirthless laugh. "And after all I've done for you. Do you even know what I've done for you?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer, just continued: "Do you know how many times I saved your miserable hide, Aragorn? How many hits I took for you? How many times I risked my life for you? Took stitches for you? Jumped to your rescue? Protected you when you were down, unarmed, and outnumbered? I'll tell you how many – one too many." Greenleaf's light-blue eyes gleamed dangerously. "And did you ever acknowledge me for it?" He shook his head. "Never. Not once." He paused, and Aragorn knew he was not waiting for an answer in that pause but weighing what to say next. Finally: "Do you know how much I despise you for it?"
"You didn't do those things on your own, Greenleaf. Legolas was a part of it all. You've never done anything alone, until now."
The elf smiled, but that smile had nothing to do with warmth or pleasantries. It was about as cold as they came. "You got me there. But I'm alone now."
"I know."
DAMN YOU, LEGOLAS! Greenleaf's thoughts roared. YOU MISERABLE LITTLE... DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE? YOU'VE KILLED US BOTH!
There was no answer. He didn't expect any.
And I don't intend to share this body with you!
Then suddenly Legolas – the light side – was slammed to the floor of his black prison. The dark voice screamed and ranted about the degree of suffering he had earned for his traitorous collaboration...and he was terrified and lonely – so very, horribly lonely.
And cold.
"Stop it!" Legolas screamed at him. "Just stop it! You were gone for awhile. Leave me alone!"
Did you give it to him?
"Greenleaf, please..."
DID YOU?
Horrendous pain suddenly tore through Legolas. He felt like he was being sawed in half.
ANSWER ME!
Legolas was going to scream out loud, no doubt about it. He could feel it rising out of the depths like a runaway cart. It boiled up like a sickness – his sickness – then exploded out of his mouth in a long, anguished wail.
"YES! LEAVE – ME – ALONE!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "ARAGORN, FOR THE LOVE OF THE LORDS, HELP ME!"
He pounded his temples with his fists. Skittered backwards. Drew his knees up to his chest. Linked his arms around them. Began to rock back and forth. Lowered his head into his arms and sobbed.
Shut tight in the black prison of living hell and nightmare-madness, Legolas had no way of knowing that he had somehow managed to take his body along for the ride. Aragorn watched and heard the whole battle unfold before him and felt his heart shattering into a million pieces. His face wet with tears, he fought his own internal battle not to jump up, race for him, and gather him in his arms. That was the single defining moment between denial and acceptance. Proof positive, right there before his eyes. There was simply no way to deny this anymore. The words were terrible, the voice tearing his heart out by the roots, the sobbing – an agony beyond heartbreak; but it was more than the words, the sobbing, or the voice, and he knew what it was: the last of Legolas – Legolas the light side – was expiring painfully in front of him. It could not be seen as clearly as the premonitions had shown, but Aragorn could feel its fading all the same. He tried to make himself blind to the sights and deaf to the words and sounds. It wasn't easy.
Then the elf abruptly stilled. And with it, Aragorn knew that there was a winner in this ugly game of control. But which one? It was too much to hope that Legolas had won, but still, he couldn't help but hope.
/Greenleaf or Legolas?/ Aragorn wondered as he lifted his sword onto his lap. /Greenleaf or Legolas, Greenleaf or Legolas, Greenleaf or.../
The elf slowly raised hid head. Teeth pulled back from his lips in a wolf- like sneer. "You," he growled, his voice raspy and gravely and every bit the animal he was.
The elf's eyes were aflame with hatred and loathing and fire, and in that one word, Aragorn knew at last. The light side that had been dying had given over. Legolas was gone. Just like that. Here, at the mouth of this mine in the middle of nowhere, Legolas had given up. If the light side was still somewhere in there, it was so weak and tiny that it would never be able to take over again without consent. What sat before him now was a merciless monster with complete and permanent control.
"You're dead, Aragorn," Greenleaf said in a soft, thick voice. "Do you hear me? Dead."
Aragorn raised his sword and touched the flat of the blade to his forehead. "I'm not the one who's unarmed, Greenleaf, you are," he said with tears still drying on his face.
"Just out of curiosity, when did you know?" Greenleaf asked, pulling his blanket toward him.
"I knew before I arrived. And you proved it the moment you walked into this mine. Legolas would never go into a mine willingly."
"The firewood." He nodded slowly. "Hmmm, true. I hadn't thought of that," the elf said in a distant, muttering voice. Then looked at him with narrowing eyes. "He's too much of a coward.
"He's my friend."
"You mean he was your friend." Greenleaf closed his hands over the hilts of two knives Ridley had loosely sewn into the folds of the blanket for just such an occasion. "He's dead... and so are you!"
The blanket flew aside with a snap as Greenleaf wrenched the knives free of their thread tethers. Both man and elf were rising off the ground at the same time – Aragorn raising his sword as he did, anticipating this turn of events, and Greenleaf flipping both knives in his hands to hold them by their tips. Both were tensed and ready...but Greenleaf lingered for a moment, looking at Aragorn. The elf's face – his eyes – seemed to change; flickering with...Aragorn didn't know what it was, but he knew what it wasn't: for that minuscule beat it wasn't hate, at least. Then they darkened once again.
Aragorn only had time for one clear thought: /Legolas... /
...before Greenleaf drove both knives straight for his throat.
Cat-like quick, Aragorn twisted as he rose and deflected one with his sword, but couldn't deflect both. The second one slammed halfway to it's hilt into the bicep of his right arm. The sword slipped from his instantly numb hand and clattered to the floor.
Greenleaf made a lightning step forward and swept Aragorn's legs from under him. The king crumpled to the ground.
The elf was on him on a heartbeat, shoving him backwards. Not on, Aragorn realized, but over. The elf was down on one knee, one fist bunching the shoulder of his tunic while leaning over him and reaching for the deflected knife behind him.
Aragorn twisted and threw himself to one side, momentarily knocking the elf off balance and slipping free of his grasp at the same time. As Greenleaf toppled forward, Aragorn lashed up and out with both feet, connected, and rocked the elf back with a hard kick to the stomach. Greenleaf grunted before staggering backwards on his knees, then swayed drunkenly back and forth. Aragorn jumped to his feet and gave Greenleaf a solid kick to the chest as he got up.
The elf grabbed Aragorn's ankle.
He was down.
Aragorn twisted and kicked back. The heel of his boot connected squarely with the elf's chin, whipping his head back. He leapt to his feet and clouted Greenleaf so hard that he staggered backwards on his knees and almost fell. But he didn't fall. Aragorn's fist made contact again, and Greenleaf's head snapped back with the hard wallop that sent a fresh spray of blood flying from his mouth. He still didn't fall. Aragorn whirled and gave him a roundhouse kick to the stomach.
Greenleaf grunted in pain and fell over backwards, but less than a blink later he shot his feet out and scissored Aragorn's ankles between his legs. He twisted for all he was worth and brought Aragorn down again.
The elf scrambled forward. His hand closed over the hilt of the deflected knife.
Aragorn knew he had only seconds before Greenleaf would be on top of him.
Buy time.
Aragorn did a sidekick to Greenleaf's throat and he fell backwards.
Greenleaf recovered and was on top of him, straddling him, his knife coming toward his chest when Aragorn became aware of his arm again – it felt hot and swollen and full of fire. He tore the knife free from his bicep and thrust it upward.
Greenleaf froze as the blade of the knife slipped against his throat. It pressed tightly against the tender skin right over his jugular. For the first time he looked shocked, and for the first time in his memory Greenleaf felt control over a situation slip away...except how could it be? How could he have let this injured human get the drop on him? This should have already been over.
It had to be Legolas' doing, Greenleaf thought. The coward must have done something, slowed me somehow.
"Back – off," Aragorn hissed at him through clenched teeth, his narrowed eyes twin pits of black fury ... although there was now a beat of strain under the tone. No, that wasn't right. Not strain. Strain-ing. The good, old-fashioned, 'gets-your-old-heart-pumping-and-blood-racing' kind of strain; the 'fighting himself wanting to deliver that final stroke so badly that he had to forcefully restrain himself from doing it,' strain – Greenleaf thought sourly. He had underestimated Aragorn; if nothing else was clear, that was. Lords, to have made a mistake like this!
"I mean it," Aragorn hissed, "Back off, Greenleaf, or I'll cut your throat."
Greenleaf backed down, although reluctantly, and very slowly moved away. Aragorn rose to his feet, panting. Sweat soaked hair fell into his eyes but he didn't dare brush it away.
"Drop the knife," Aragorn ordered.
"Take it from me," was the casual reply.
Aragorn knew he couldn't. He had to let it go, for now.
Checkmate. They were at a standstill.
They stood staring each other down for the Lords only knew how long (all Aragorn knew for sure was that his arm pulsed sharply as though it was ticking off the seconds), then Greenleaf finally, grudgingly, yield two steps backward and stuck the knife into the back waistband of his breeches. He meant to see Aragorn dead before the day was over. He knew there was a good chance that Aragorn might take him with him, but he no longer cared about that. He dabbed blood from his freshly split lip and looked at it thoughtfully.
"Call it morbid curiosity," Greenleaf said. "Since Gimli, my weapons, and the pouch are gone, I assume that you and Legolas had a nice little chat while I slept last night. So, did he tell you everything, or do you just not care?"
"What do you mean?" Aragorn winced as he flexed his arm.
Greenleaf shrugged. "Don't be so lords-holy about it. You know what I mean. The liquid." His eyes were strangely calm and never leaving Aragorn's face. "He and I will die within a week without it. Did he tell you that?" he asked, although he thought he already knew the answer.
Aragorn made no reply. Knowing Legolas, he guessed that was the truth.
"No?" The elf cackled happily at the silence for a moment, then his face grew still and grave once more. All humour switched off as quickly as snuffing out a candle.
Aragorn made no reply again. There was no need.
"I didn't think so," Greenleaf said, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Of course, knowing him, he didn't want to make you feel bad." He gingerly wiped at a suborn trickle of blood on his chin then swiped his forearm across his eyes, brushing away soaked tangles of long hair. "So let's see... Gimli's on the way back to Minas Tirith with it. It's – what? – four days travel from here? A long way for a short legged dwarf. Two-and-a-half for me. That gives me four-and-a-half days to kill you." He ginned lopsidedly, his lower lip already swelling. "How long can you go without sleep, Aragorn? You look like death now. I'll wager it won't be too long before you drop in your tracks. So unless you know something I don't, either you'll have to kill me now, or I'll end up killing you. No matter how you look at it, one of us isn't going to make it out of here." He shrugged. "Of course, you could always let me go."
"No, I don't think so."
Greenleaf nodded. "I didn't think you would." He lowered himself down to the floor, leaned his back against the wall, laid the knife on his lap, and stretched his legs out before him.
"So what now? Sit here and wait to see which one of us drops first?"
Aragorn honestly didn't know.
Part 2
Alflocksom provided Orome with a horse and had him ride next to him where he could keep a good watch on him. He felt more at ease with the boy up beside him than he would have had he been behind him. Still uncertain of his suspicions, he didn't want to take any chances right now. If he was right, he don't want to insult Middle Earth's mightiest hunter by having him ride behind him. He wanted him where he's nice and happy. If he was wrong, what did it hurt to have the runner who had brought the good news ride in the place of honour beside him? None. And as he'd expected, no one so much as raised a brow in question.
Alflocksom watched the boy ride and noted that either he was a natural or his suspicions had been correct all along – the boy rode with the soft hands, perfect seat, and quiet confidence of one born for it. And to top it off, the normally quiet older mount was prancing with the barely restrained energy of a young stallion ten years his junior – nostrils flared, thick, muscular neck proudly arched, tail flagged, and ears pricked, as though he knew who was atop him and was very proud of that fact.
/Is this a good time?/ Alflocksom wondered, then he answered himself with: /Would there ever be a better time?/
He leaned in his saddle to speak quietly. "May I ask you a question, Orome?"
The boy turned to him and nodded as he pulled the cloak tighter about his shoulders. There had been kindness, huge kindness, from the moment the captain saved him from embarrassment at the base camp, but still, the giving of the cloak was too generous. Before they had left base the boy had stepped forward to give up the cloak. But Captain Alflocksom had refused to take it, hiding his generosity under a veil of concern about the cold, and had again insisted he wear it and consider it his. It was a gallant thing for the captain to do, and that act of benevolence wasn't lost on the boy. It certainly gave him an insight into the character of the man hidden beneath the formidable bearing of the legendary captain.
"Why are you here?" Alflocksom asked, risking being blunt.
The boy grinned. "Same reason you are here, captain."
He nodded. "To find the king."
"That, and for reasons of my own, sir," the boy corrected. "There is more than one way to save him and Gondor both, and more than one reason for it." He was hedging and Alflocksom knew it, but he also knew he would reveal no more for now. That door was closed. "Meantime, let's concentrate on finding him – time is growing short."
The boy glanced up at the canopy above them. Alflocksom's eyes followed the gaze. He blinked in surprise. The trees seemed alive with glittering eyes and fluttering wings. Sparrows. Hundreds of sparrows. Perhaps thousands. They seemed to be following them, hopping and moving from tree branch to tree branch keeping just ahead of them. The sight sent a shiver up Alflocksom's spine. Their movements didn't seem to be bothering the boy any, though, just serving to distract him a little.
And speaking of distractions, although Alflocksom was distracted, he wasn't done with him yet. He looked closely – almost sternly – at Orome. "Short?"
The boy stuck out his lower lip and blew a dark curl of hair off his forehead. "Yes, sir," he said, his gaze lifting again to the sparrows. "Time is a concern, and it grows short."
They reached the place that would become, once the fire was lit, just another campsite on the road to...wherever they were headed, and from ahead a guard riding beside the tracker turned in his saddle and called back: "Shall we stop here, sir?"
Before Alflocksom could answer, the boy touched his arm and shook his head. "No. We have to keep moving now," he said, with all the open sincerity of one veteran warrior talking to another. "It wouldn't be wise to stop. Any delay now might prove disastrous."
"No," Alflocksom called up. "We keep moving."
Part 3
The next three days were relatively uneventful – the hardest thing being trying to stay awake – but things started to slide downhill after that.
It was obvious with each passing minute that the elf was feeling the absence of the liquid in a big way. He grew more and more jittery, more and more agitated, and more and more ... strange. It had been well past midnight when he'd finally stopped threatening and pacing back and forth like a caged animal and squatted down in front of the fire. The campfire glittered off the knife blade, flashing the orange light straight into Greenleaf's eyes. He stared, mesmerized, fascinated, and utterly absorbed by the flashes, unable to tear his eyes away. This was the first time in hours that he didn't shake like the last stubborn leaf clinging to a tree in a winter wind. The flashes transfixed him. Gave him some peace. Some comfort.
Aragorn glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and wondered how he was going to get the knife away from him. He should have thought of that before and demanded he disarm when he still had the strength to push it, but... And now it was going to be nearly impossible to take it without a fight. He didn't want to fight. He was too tired. He knew he'd loose. Luckily the elf didn't know that, yet. He was too busy with his own problems right now. Besides, his sword-arm was throbbing incessantly. The hurried stitches had broken open. It was bleeding. He was bleeding. Not badly, but badly enough. Not a good thing to be doing right now. Not with everything else that was going on. And especially not with him the way he was.
Stitches. That had been a real test of wills. He'd barely held Greenleaf at bay. Each time Aragorn's eyes had left the elf for even a moment, he had moved closer. It had been difficult, not to mention awkward, to hold a needle and a knife in the same hand, since the other was too numb to function. So what should have taken five minutes had ended up taking more than an hour, and it was a sloppy job to say the least. On the up side, at least Greenleaf hadn't thrown his knife again. He obviously wasn't willing to risk throwing it again in case Aragorn managed to deflect it, and this time he didn't get it back.
Aragorn peeked at the blood-soaked wrap though the tear in his shirtsleeve and thought: /I really should re-stitch it./ But he wasn't up for that either. The best he'd managed to do was wrap it tight and hope for the best.
/What's another scar anyway when you get right down to it?/ he mused. /In the grand scheme of things, a scar is nothing...unless I bleed to death./ He almost laughed out loud at that thought. /After everything that happened, wouldn't that be a hoot? Bleed to death now. If I did, then it would have all been for nothing./
/Anyhow,/ he thought, shaking his head and the stubborn thought from his mind, /that brings me back to the big question...or aspect...or whatever you want to call it, that I've been putting off until now: How am I going to take the knife? Shoot him? Challenge him? Tackle him to the ground and rip it out of his fist? Sure. Fat chance. Not bloody likely right now. It would have been nip-and-tuck before, but now with my arm practically useless, it would be impossible. Besides, it's the only thing keeping him quiet right now./
No, he'll watch him, he decided. Closely. See what he does first and hope that he doesn't do anything rash.
Lords he was tired...
Aragorn had been slouched with his back against the rock wall, crazily close to dozing in spite of everything. Now he sat up so suddenly that he grimaced as another stitch broke.
/No, no, no, no! No sleeping!/ he told himself. /Are you crazy? You wouldn't wake up – not with him the way he is. You have to stay awake until this is over...if it's ever over./
His gaze cut back to his charge. He hadn't moved; thank the Lords. Hadn't noticed his momentary error, either. Too busy fighting his own dragons now, Aragorn supposed. He hoped it would be over soon. He couldn't take much more. Problem was, he knew it had barely begun. The worse was yet to come. The dragons were growing.
/I should talk to him, he thought. Comfort him. I wonder if there's a small part of Legolas left that can still hear me? It can't be over yet. Not yet. I have to try./
"It'll be alright, Legolas. You'll be alright. I won't leave you."
Aragorn saw the elf stiffen slightly – that was about it – but that one tiny movement made his heart leap. It told him something very important: there was still a piece left. There was still hope.
/Aragorn? Is that you?/ some distant part of the mind that was Legolas asked... except it was small and frightened and weakening by the moment in it's black prison. /Are you real?/
For a moment – and it was only a moment – there was a sensation of two hands grasping two knives. The feeling was too clear, too real, to be anything but real.
But it's not real, and neither is he, another part of his mind thought...except this part was stronger; it's voice rising to drown out the other. He's not real because nothing is real. Nothing is as it seems. Our lessons. Remember our lessons. Remember what I have to do – what I'm going to do. Once I do it, this will all go away. All the pain will disappear.
/No, it won't. It's too late now./
SHUT UP! Greenleaf screamed furiously, but Legolas noted a touch of panic in that voice that had never been there before. It's not too late! Besides, you're almost dead. Now finish and be done with it.
/It's happening,/ Legolas thought to himself. /Greenleaf is starting to fail too, and he knows it. We're both failing now. Soon... /
"Legolas, I know you can still hear me," Aragorn said gently. "You'll be alright, my friend." He paused, waiting for some tell-tale hint that he had heard him...some glimmer of hope...anything. But this time it didn't come. "You have to fight this, Legolas. Fight with everything you have left. I won't leave you; I swear it. I'm here for you. You'll be alright."
Greenleaf listened. Legolas listened. Both wanted to believe him but both knew better. The end was coming and there was nothing Aragorn could do to stop it. Nothing anyone could do. It was too late. It was too late from the start.
Fool me once, Greenleaf mused, fool me twice – what's that old saying, Legolas? He didn't answer. It didn't matter, Greenleaf supposed. He wasn't a fool anymore. It was hard to believe that he'd ever been so trusting. He'd actually fought along side Aragorn. But that was before, when the world made sense...before everything changed. Before he'd changed. Before he became they.
The light twinkled in his eyes, drawing his mind away – away from all the pain and away from this musty place, and more importantly, away from the place before.
Another flash, and this time a vision came, hovering before him, its face twisted into a sardonic grin. Phantom freezing pain tore at his shoulder. He gasped. Stared transfixed at the floating face that only he could see. The visage twisted, twisted into...
(Two hands and two knives)
/My lords,/ Legolas thought as Greenleaf dropped the knife to the ground and recoiled. /Aragorn?/
No, fool. Not Aragorn. Ridley. Damn him to the void for this!
"Legolas?" Aragorn called.
Greenleaf's eyes flew to Aragorn, but it wasn't his face he saw but one hideous face after another overlapping his features. Faces of the slain. Faces of those he'd slain in battle. Blood. Pain. Then the worst: fear of knowing with absolute certainty that they were about to die. His eyes lowered back down to the glittering knife blade.
He knew Aragorn was watching him and that he likely looked like a lunatic staring at the knife like some drunken fool, but he didn't care. After what had happened, he didn't care about much anymore. His shoulder ached, pulsing with pain, but he didn't care about that either. He only cared about one very important thing – want. He wanted. He needed. Lords, did he need. Every square inch of him screamed for it. Begged. Pleaded. Drooled. And as soon as Aragorn dozed off or passed out or nodded off or whatever he was going to do, he'd do what he had to do and then he'd go after Gimli.
Maybe it isn't too late yet. Maybe... How many days had passed? he wondered. Three? Six? He couldn't remember. He could barely think.
His shoulder began aching in earnest.
Patience. He could wait awhile. Not much longer though.
So bad. So bad. Pain tingled everywhere - from his scalp to the bottoms of his feet.
/You're fooling yourself, Greenleaf. You can't take him now. You know you can't. It's over./
SHUT UP! WHO ASKED YOU?
Stay focused, Greenleaf reminded himself. He still had a job to do. He wasn't finished yet.
Lessons. Remember the lessons. He recited them under his breath:
"Always believe you; you, and only you.
"You control time, everything, and me.
"Nothing is as it seems; only you and your words.
"You are the only one I trust and the only one I listen to; you are my only reality, my liberator, and my only salvation."
When Aragorn nods off he'd take this
(flashing beacon of hope)
knife and drive it into his heart.
Part 4
The boy touched his finger to his lips and then pointed up to the trees. Alflocksom glanced up. His eyes widened and his face fell slack as he stared at them.
There were sparrows everywhere. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Likely more. An unbelievable, staggering, mind blowing amount. Tree limbs in the canopy above hung low with the weight of them...watching. Every small head was pointed in the boy's direction; every eye focused and boring holes into him. Every one of them sat motionless, waiting...for a command? An army? Yes, this was an army. The perfect army.
The captain's eyes flittered over his men. They seemed not to notice what was going on above them. /Am I the only one who sees this,/ he wondered. /Are these real?/
Between. He had the chilling sensation that they were walking the fine line between the living and the dead.
Fierce, angry eyes followed the boy's every move. Heads cocked and bodies leaned far forward, their tiny claws gripping the wood and tightening. Don't make a sound – Alflocksom knew deep inside as though by some instinct. One sound and this place would explode in a blizzard of feathers, and afterward, there wouldn't be enough left of them to find, much less bury.
The captain heard a faint rustle of feathers behind them. He glanced back over his shoulder. His heart pounded like a giant drum in his chest as he scanned for movement. One bird, unbalanced, had fluttered down to a lower and less occupied branch. No others moved, not one inch. He let his breath out silently and faced forward again.
Alflocksom had an ugly thought: /How many sparrows would it take to completely remove every trace of them from existence?/ What ever the answer, there were more than enough here to accomplish it, and then some. The thick canopy above was black with shapes and steely, piercing eyes. And there was the smell...the thick, heavy, musty smell of dust – bone dust – like opening some sealed ancient tomb and being hit by that first stagnant whiff of long dead air. Glancing up again, he silently cursed himself for making such a stupid mistake as to have questioned his gut instincts about Orome and the sparrows. If he lived through this, he swore to himself that he would never second guess his instincts again.
The sound started slowly – a sound like the fall of raindrops. It steadily built to a shower, then a downpour. They're preparing to fly, Alflocksom knew. He didn't know how he knew (he hadn't looked around to see it) but he knew it all the same. Suddenly the massive flock of sparrows – too many to guess their number now (/or would want to know for sure,/ Alflocksom thought with a shiver) – mounted the sky in a wild roar of feathers. They tore ahead of them and disappeared to the north.
The sparrows weren't waiting anymore.
The boy's eyes grew hazy, as if he looked upon some hidden scene. "Something has happened." He reined his horse to a stop and closed his eyes for a moment, then whispered, "Time is running out."
Part 5
Greenleaf sat with his back braced against the rock wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. Awhile ago, his hands had started to tremble lightly. Now his hands and legs were shaking uncontrollable as though he was back in his ice prison, not in a warm mine. His teeth were chattering and his muscles were twitching in light spasms. He was sweating again; his breath ragged. None of that was lost on Aragorn.
None of it was lost on Greenleaf, either. He understood what was happening to him. He understood everything. He just couldn't do anything about it. He felt like his skin was trying to peel off his body. He was past the point of weakening and heading south fast. Now it was too late. He knew that. Legolas knew that too.
So did Aragorn. And it was killing him.
The elf's stomach lurched. He tried to swallow but he was too dry. His stomach suddenly cramped so hard that it stole his breath. He hissed in pain and then moaned lightly, shivers racking his entire body. His stomach flipped again. He ignored it as best he could until his stomach clenched as though grabbed by a huge fist. He hissed aloud and sucked his breath in sharply.
Trembling from head to foot, he growled though chattering teeth: "Are you w- watching, Aragorn? You know w-what's h-happening, d-d-don't you?"
"Yes." The word came out as a choked sob.
"I'm d-dying, thanks to you. But s-s-so is Legolas," Greenleaf said, trying unsuccessfully to control his trembling voice.
"I know."
"You miserable – "
His stomach heaved and he tasted burning bile in the back of his throat. His clothes felt as though they were made of thousands of tiny, sharp needles imbedding themselves into his skin. His head thumped and his heart raced. Legolas is right, Greenleaf realized. I'm dying. I'm actually dying.
No! This... this is craziness. I'm an immortal. A liquid can't do this, it just can't!
/It's true, Greenleaf. Please, let me talk to Aragorn. It's too late for either of us. Just let me say goodbye to him./
NO! I WON'T GIVE YOU CONTROL! LORDS ALMIGHTY, WILL YOU SHUT UP! I–I CAN'T HEAR MYSELF THINK!
Pain crept in so slowly that at first he hardly noticed it. Suddenly he was swamped in a sea of it; soaked; drowning... He heard himself moaning as though from far away. His eyes rolled. Dizzy, he leaned his head back against the wall. Away went his stomach again, cramping horribly. He linked his arms over his knees and dropped his head into them to try to relieve some of the intense pain. It worked...for a moment. He tried swallowing again. His stomach suddenly heaved so hard that he couldn't stop it. Moaning, his tented hands on the ground, he shifted sideways and threw up. His head hung low as he gasped to catch his breath.
As Greenleaf wiped his mouth with the back of a shaking hand, Aragorn had to stop himself from hurrying to him. He saw the dreadful pain on the elf's face – the too pale cheeks, the haunted eyes, the trembling lips. He forced himself to look away.
/Greenleaf, please... / Legolas begged from the darkness that was his prison. /Please let me – /
Oh lords, just shut up.
Ridley's face floated in front of his eyes. It wasn't real, he knew – just a memory from before – but his mind insisted it was real and happening right now, and at this point he couldn't fight the memory if he wanted to...
The face – Ridley's face – split into a wide grin, then chuckled with unconcealed delight.
"Too bad, Legolas," he said, tisk-tisking as he pulled a small vial from his shirt pocket and held it up as though examining it. "You're in some ugly pain. An here's what would fix you up right and proper. But you won't lower yourself to ask for it, will you? You're far too proud."
"Get out!" Legolas screamed in a tear-choked voice he barely recognized, then groaned as his head pounded. (/Yes, I want it. Please... /) "Get out," he repeated, his voice much quieter and with far less conviction.
Ridley rolled the vial between his fingers, taunting him. The clear fluid splashed back and forth inside. Legolas couldn't tear his eyes off of it. He literally drooled. Ridley continued to wave it in front of him. Legolas felt like killing him right then and there, tearing it out of his cold, dead hand, and ripping his own shoulder to pieces to pour it in. He tried to overcome the feelings but his mind wouldn't stop begging; crying; screaming insanely for it. Ridley continued to wave it at him then began tossing it high into the air. Legolas' eyes followed the movements until it stopped.
"If I ever get out of here, Ridley, I'm going to kill you. Count on it," Legolas said quietly through his chattering teeth, his voice strained with fury, and worse – want.
"Bold words," Ridley said mildly. "I look forward to ramming them back down your throat." He paused as though considering that very thing. Then, "But not now. You'd do well to stay on topic, Legolas. You'll die here, unless..." he let his voice trail off.
The elf's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Unless, what?'
"Unless you decide to help me," he said casually.
"Help you what? You're..." His words broke off into an animalistic moan as the pain grated and his stomach cramped hard again.
"Help me take over. You help me, and I'll help you. You take out Aragorn and I'll give you this and set you free."
Legolas sneered. "You're crazy if you think I'll help you. Neither heaven nor hell could make me hurt him."
"Wanna bet on that? You're already in hell, Legolas. And you're already going crazy. Can't you see that? Can't you hear the whispers? Can't you feel the changes? Don't lie to me," he said, tossing the vial high into the air again.
Yes, he could see that. Yes, he knew. And yes, he had lied to him, and would continue to do so as long as he could.
Ridley tisk-tisked again. "You're not looking so good, you know. Not good at all. You sure you don't want this?" he asked, holding the vial up once more.
"Uhh... I... I-I..." Legolas stammered, his eyes still glued solid to that stupid vial. "I...won't do it," he whispered, then rallied his strength and cried, "Get out!"
Ridley shrugged. "How about I wait for awhile and ask you when you're more inclined to listen? Till then, I'll just leave this right here." He rose to his feet, placed the vial on the floor just out of Legolas' reach, and shut the door behind him.
Legolas slumped against the wall and then groaned when his stomach heaved. He leaned and threw up again, then shaking like a leaf he hung his head and fought to catch his breath.
He could hear murmurs and distorted voices. Couldn't tell if they were real or not anymore. Couldn't tell if anything was real or not anymore.
Laughter.
Crying.
Screams.
Whispers.
Ridley was right. He was going crazy ... and he was more afraid of that than anything else.
Then the memory let go and he was back in the mine again.
/No, Greenleaf,/ Legolas said quietly from his black prison. /Not going. Gone. You're gone. We're gone./
Aragorn face swam before him. The vision – /is this a vision?/ he wondered – held out it's hand; the skin on it hung in threads from the bones. Aragorn's face mouthed, Legolas, I'm here, and then stared wide-eyed in bewilderment as he scrambled backwards.
Swirling...
Greying...
Then blackness...
Tbc...