Return of the Shadow
Summary: Sequel to 'Fear Returns' you MUST have read it to be able to understand this.
Post ROTK. Sauron has returned to power, covering the land in darkness. Gandalf, Sam and Aragorn are his prisoners, betrayed and there company murdered after Aufstand's treachery. The race of elves has been destroyed, Lothlórien and Mirkwood massacred, any left alive were either seriously wounded or mortal. The forces of Rohan and Gondor have been reunited waiting for the command to advance from Aragorn who is now imprisoned and on the other side of the mountains the elves are marching to war…
I'm so tied of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
Your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much time cannot erase.
Evanescence – My Immortal
Chapter 1
Merry silently watched Pippin count upon his fingers, muttering to himself, his face creased with frowns and his lips pouting lit by the flickering fire light.
"What are you counting, Pip?" Merry asked making Pippin jump, who had obviously did know he was being watched.
"Oh! I –I was" he muttered before find his voice. "I was just trying to work out how long Strider has been gone. But I can't do it the way Sam taught me because I couldn't find the moon last night" he said watching Merry sit alongside him, absorbing the fire's warmth.
"Either way he has been gone too long" Pippin finished suppressing a shudder. The cold of the sunless days and moonless nights seemed to sink deep into his bones.
"Do you think something has happened to him, Merry?" Pippin asked watching Merry's face closely.
Merry shook his head slightly: "I don't know, if something had happened I would have though we would have seen the messenger bird by now"
"What if it had bee captured or killed?" Pippin pressed, his lips quivering.
Again Merry shook his head: "If something has happened to Strider and the messenger bird as you say, then Shadowfax would have come back to raise a warning. He's a smart horse, after he is Gandalf's"
Pippin nodded and fell silent. Their silence was broken only by the cracking of the fire.
Then Merry spoke again: "If Faramir was that concerned then we would have advanced by now."
"But Strider told him not to unless we got the messenger bird!" Pippin wailed.
Merry shrugged his shoulders "I'm sure Faramir is capable of deciding what we should do" he said "I'm sure he would have thought the same thing as you that Strider is taking a long time"
Faramir turned away from the window and began pacing again. Once again a days length had passed, but neither sun nor moon had risen, or any word from his King. A blanket of cold and un–lifting darkness had fallen over the country. Like many other he felt chilled to the very bones and shivered uncontrollably every time he left the comfort and heat of a fireside. The last time he could remember feeling this cold he was faced with the icy, dangerous Nightmares or the winged Nazgúl. Hour by hour he grew more concerned for his King, missing somewhere in the shadows, alone.
Fear and panic had been rising in the young Steward for several days since darkness had descended over the city. Too long had Aragorn been gone and neither bird nor horse had returned bring any evidence of ill to the King.
Shadows had grown and had deepened; rumours had spread far and wide like wild fires left unchecked had reached his ears. More and more people arrived by the day at the city gates seeking protection of their homes had been destroyed or their families killed is battles with the foes of Mordor.
For all Aufstand, the elven traitor, sister of another traitor had to do was to extend her hand and claim the Ring for her own and the world would fall.
He knew the Ring is powerful and highly dangerous, always fighting the find its way into the hands of those who are easily corrupted. He had once gone started to go down that road once, the day he met Frodo and Sam for the first time. He felt the urge to stop the hobbits and refuse their release but at first he did not know why. Like his brother before him he had begun to feel and believe the Ring could be used to aid his country. But now he understood that could never be. Of course it would be used for good intentions but none would come.
Turning on his heel Faramir returned to his questioning mind – should they advance fearing the King's death, or should they wait? Would and could he go against the King's command? "When this bird reaches you, you are to advance immediately, not before"
For even now as he pondered forces could be marching towards them or to Rohan where Eówyen stood defending her country. Should they ride out to meet them head on and perhaps stop their advance before they even leave Mordor's Blake Gates? It was a huge risk and with limited men he doubted their success. It would be a massacre.
He stopped in mid stride and found Éomer watching him. The tall, blond Rohirrim King approached the Steward and voiced Faramir's thoughts.
"He has been gone for too long" Éomer said. "We should advance now before we are swarmed by the enemy!"
Faramir shook his head: "But too early we would be easy prey"
"Wait too long and there won't be any men to advance with!
The shadows have covered the sun and moon, it seems Sauron had stretched forth
his hand and reclaimed the Ring"
"Do speak of such things" Faramir hissed stepping away.
"But surely you have felt it too!" Éomer stepped into Faramir's path.
The Steward looked into Éomer's eyes and said "If Sauron has indeed taken the Ring for his own, then all is lost"
"Then let us advance! Fight the enemy head on!"
Faramir strengthen his gaze "No, my friend I will not give the order. Give Aragorn another day. He may yet come back or his messenger bird will return"
Éomer snorted: "Do not trust a hope. It was failed me once and will do so again. I fear the King is lost"
***
Darkness pressed upon his injured, defeated body like a dead weight that he did not have the strength to shift. At first he was unsure if his eyes were open or not, the underground tunnel was silent and still. The flickering torches he could remember were gone, but the stench of smoke and blood still remained. As he lay his senses began to come to life, the smell was overpowering and he had an urge to roll over and vomit on the already wet and slick floor, but he did not have the strength to move nor did he believe he had anything to bring up.
His body was numb with pain; dried blood tightened upon his face and stiffened his clothing. With a creak he stretched his gloved hand, returning the circulation to his numb and tingling fingers. His eyes strained to see through the darkness and his ears listened hard for any sound as he clung to the prayer that he was not the only survivor.
So much had happened over a short space of time.
Dimly he collected the scattered memories as his body hummed with dull pains and refused to move. Only two months ago he guessed they had set out from Rivendell with Elrond's blessings and warnings of growing danger. The One Ring had not been destroyed as believe, Sauron the Deceiver had lead them to believe all was over and peace at last could be found. Eight years passed with happiness and tranquillity and the land had blossomed. But suddenly rumours began to spread and shadows extended from the east, stretching like long finger of the woods of Mirkwood and towards Gondor. Muddled messages reached his ears, and he set out for Rivendell as Lord Elrond had commanded. There he had learnt something had become to the race of elves and his dearest friend was missed, feared dead.
Evil in Mordor had flourished un-detected and spread forth suddenly like a plague. First it neighbouring countries, people in Ithilien were driven from their homes by orc armies; next the eyes of the enemy fell upon the elven realm of Mirkwood and did something to the elves that he could not believe. The elves had been ambushed, and their immortality snatched away like a prisoner's freedom when he is put into chains. Uncalled for and brutally fast. Later he had discovered the same fate had struck the beauty of Lothlórien, and with a heavy heart he witnessed the burial of the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. Just when he and company could not accept any more grief they discovered their companion Cassione was the bringer of all this death and destruction. She had sold herself to the Dark Lord Sauron and wore unknown to him the One Ring. She wielded it with incredible cruelty and had those closest to her murdered by and orc army she controlled. Her secret had been discovered by the company, she was mad with bloodlust after she had murdered a company member. In her crazed state she cried that no one could touch her, but above her the winged Nazgúl circled and one by one they descended on her. It could have ended there, that very day and moment for the Ring was in the Wraith's grasp, and only with good fortune had they missed and it landed back in the hands of the company. Into Sam's hands.
Confusion and shock had numbed them for several hours and after much thought they company parted with Aragorn with Merry and Pippin heading to Rohan and onto Gondor. Whilst he, Gandalf, Sam and Legolas turned mortal after Cassione's attack on his home went back to search for aid and survivors. Fortunately the elves of Mirkwood had pulled through and defeated their enemy. Armed with aid that King Thranduil unwilling yet them have they set forth towards Mordor. Even as he lay anger built up inside of him – one of their elven comrades had unknown to them made a pact with the enemy and without care or compassion she turned her back upon them and set the enemy in tides against them to claim the Ring for Sauron – her master.
He snapped his eyes towards the sound and carefully moved his injured head towards the direction of the noise. Something was moving towards him, a sort of scuttling sound of something soft and nimbly passing over the smooth ground.
Straining his ears he caught the sound again, but this time it was closer. He could here the thing scuttle closer and kick a wooden torch handle, sending it across the still room and he felt it hit his boot.
Gimli son of Glóin normally did not fear things in the dark, but this 'thing' sounded far worse then anything he had battled before, though he doubted it would be as terrifying as the Balrog of Moria. Again he heard the creature scuttle and listening harder he heard and sharp crack followed by crunching sounds. Gimli shuddered – the creature was eating a body, bones in all! He just hoped it wasn't one of his loyal comrades. Though they may have fallen in battle he still wished to give them a decent burial if he could.
His stubby hands began to grope for his axe: 'If this creature wants to eat me, it will have to kill me first' he thought as he hand found the shaft of his axe and tightened.
However has his hand tightened its grip upon the axe shaft the head moved and caused a grating sound, winched the dwarf held his breath as he heard the creature pause its eating. His chest was bursting with the effort of holding his breath and his wounds burned with new pains, starved of oxygen. Unable to maintain his concentration he exhaled as quietly as possible ending in a rather embarrassing and now dangerous hiccup. His body tensed as he heard the monster lower its half crewed corpse and turn its attention to Gimli's hiccups which he could not control. By covering his mouth with his hand he could not stifle the sound and to his horror the creature began to move towards him. It moved with slowed steps this time, cautiously taking its time and summing up the size of its prey and its condition. It was delighted to see the dried blood upon its scalp which had trickled down his hairline and clung to his hairy face. It widened its eyes to the sight before it, why hadn't it investigated further down? Here lying in between the many orcs were delicacies of elves and a dwarf. Enthralled by the luxury of elven meat and dwarf bones it did not see the small axe in the dwarf's hand.
As it neared Gimli fought back the desire to shout for as he watched he could make out the outline of the creature that pressed nearer towards him. Sam and Frodo's story was true – here lived a giant spider by the name of Shelob!
She crawled closer, her pincers clicking softly in anticipation of devouring such a morsel, but as she crept closer she became more cautious – her prey was making noises. It was still alive. Her timeless imprisonment under Sauron the Cruel had been disburdened and now thrilled with very fresh meals. This dwarf could not put up much of fight, she thought, watching it stifle another hiccup disturbing the wound upon his head and fresh blood trickled on his scalp.
Her excitement had reached a climax and with a huge leap she pounced upon Gimli and with a flash the dwarf raised his axe. Squealing in pain Shelob recoiled, her underbelly sliced. Turning her great body around to face her enemy she saw the dwarf had more strength in him then she first thought. He was standing and gripped two small axes in his rough hands, his face twisted and he growled. He was determined to live and she was determined to have her way. Never again after the confusing battle with a halfling would she let a free meal escape. Surely one dwarf could not defeat her? No other seasoned warrior had ever hurt her, apart from the halfling who was enraged with anger no living thing could match. Yet this lonely dwarf had drawn blood upon her – many there was some sort of magic at work, between halflings and dwarves. Extended to her full height to stand tall over the bearded dwarf she charged again, her mouth open wide, spitting forth poison and death. Yet neither seemed to faze the dwarf who stood his ground; twisting the blades over his hands idly as if bored by her.
When all the grace of his wounded body he ducked under her clicking pincers as she launched upon him and struck once again at her underside. Shelob screeched and recoiled away using the darkness to cover her retreat whilst she devised another plan.
Gimli watched her go and decided not to follow. This was her territory and she knew every corner of it, to follow her would likely lead to his death. Yet he knew staying the tunnel would also bring the same thing.
He needed to escape, he needed to leave Mordor, he needed to raise the alarm that ill had become to his party and the Ring of Power had been returned to its master. But who would he turn to? His own kin would not care for the world outside their cave and mines and the elves were few and scattered. It would be men he would tell. He would return to Gondor, alone and facing the darkest, deepest fears he would ever know. He shuddered and spun upon his heel. He had to leave now.
With a heavy heart he turning his back upon his dead companions to leave, but stopped his heart thumping. He had heard something, something moving and he was sure it was not the giant spider. The desire to do a gruesome, sad, yet necessary task came upon him – check the fallen elves to see if any were alive.
With great care Gimli shuffled his feet along, careful not to make much noise or to touch anything that felt like a body until he could reach it clearly. The battle played once again in his mind and one by one he saw them fall and doubted that were still alive. The only persons he did not see fall were Legolas, Sam or Gandalf. Though he thought surely Aufstand would take Gandalf and Sam prisoners and take them to Sauron to exchange the Ring and have whatever evil and torturous plans concocted upon them. They would be no need to keep Legolas alive. Gimli's eyes wet damp with unshed tears as he fingered the long soft elven hair of a comrade. Bitterness broke upon his small form as he closed the vacant eyelids of another. So much death and destruction, such beauty slain for power and greed. He felt as if a great part of him had died with them, the once burning flame of love and respect for the elves had been extinguished along with their race. Betrayed, sold, and murdered.
Gimli wept openly, he felt helpless and very lonely in the dark, hostile land of Mordor trapped in the tunnel of Minas Morgul. Even if he did escape Mordor – what then? Race to Gondor and join the men to fight? The men would suffer the same fate, their race would be terminated, and after it would follow dwarves and hobbits and the world would be overrun with darkness and the iron fist of orcs lead by Sauron and his elven counterpart.
Wiping away his tears Gimli stood and bowed his head muttering a farewell in an ancient dwarf tongue before he turned away, a ungraceful hiccup escaping his lips.
Then someone called his name weakly.
***
The bliss of unconsciousness had finally slipped away waking him into a world of darkness and pain, the ground about him slick with blood and immortality taken water. Dimly he heard a choking noise, a whimper and a giant sniff followed by foreign words in a deep yet heavy tone. The footsteps gave it away and with a great amount of effort he called out his friends name hoping and praying he would have heard his last, desperate plea.
He heard Gimli stop in his tracks and the soft scratching sound of his mail against his over tunic as he turned his footsteps louder and closer then before.
Again he cried out his name but found himself only whispering – oh his throat and mouth was dry and sore like blistered feet on a long journey. But he could let his only hope walk away and as loud as he could he called out again: "Gimli"
***
With renewed hope Gimli turned, his eyes hunting through the dark, hunting for the one who had called his name. Again he heard it, but quieter as if the caller was fading. He increased his pace as he hurried back, and dropped to his knees groping blindly in the darkness of the living being he sought. Blood and water soaked his breeches quickly and they clung to his knees like a soggy dead weight.
The voice sounded again, sounding desperate and frightened but closer.
Un-ceremonially Gimli crawled on all fours over the bodies of orcs and there discarded blades pricked his skin of his hands and knees. The blood was still warm beneath his fingers, fighting the desire to be sick Gimli continued onwards now fearing the lengthen silence meant his accompany had giving up.
"Are you still there?" he called, "Talk to me!"
Nothing answered him apart from silence and shadows.
"Ruzlina? Henduil? Legolas? Anyone?" he called his voice sounded lost in the great cavern.
"Please answer me!" he called louder fearing he was once again alone. Nothing answered him and he stopped feeling defeated and exhausted. Tears threatened to spill again as his heart felt crushed with disappointment.
***
"Please answer me!"
He wished he could but his voice failed to work, his mouth opened but no sound came forth. He did not have the strength to sit up and wave through the darkness. Gimli was only a short distance away, yet to him it felt like miles. He felt as if he was in a different world to his friend, separated by race and pain. Hopelessness began to claw its way into his heart as Gimli picked himself up and began to shuffle away. He opened his mouth to shout but once again no sound came forth. If only he had the strength to move! He was determined even this close to death not to allow Gimli to walk away and leave him alone in the prison of darkness to die. He wished to see the outside world and walk amongst the green trees and flowers again; he had his fill of containment and imprisonment. He wanted to be free even if that meant causing great harm to himself to stop the dwarf from walking away.
Making as much noise as possible he gathered the strength and physic himself for the pain he was about to endure to gain any hope for his freedom. Rolling over onto his right shoulder then onto his front he grinded his teeth, lifted his head and banged the orc shield still held in his left hand upon the earth floor.
Bang, bang, bang!
***
Bang, bang, bang!
Gimli spun the banging sound rebounded off the walls and ceiling echoing away into the distance. His once low and heavy heart soared with new energy and hope. He broke into a run despite his wounded body protesting against it. His euphoria was driving him, he had feared the living companion to be dead, yet he had gathered the strength to strike out again and embrace the chance of life and freedom.
He skidded to a halt and slid upon his knees next to the banging sound and silenced it with his hands. The orc shield came away and with a sigh of relief he gripped the hand of the distressed elf and was unable to stop the tears sliding down his cheeks.
The hand was still warm and beneath the pale skin his could feel a pulse which he felt increase as he held it, the survivor glade his efforts had worked.
Shifting his position Gimli rolled the elf onto his back and helped him seat but was stopped when he embraced him, tears also upon his cheeks.
In a croaky voice he said: "Thank Valar!"
And Gimli hugged him back, his dear elven friend had not been taken captured or killed, he was alive. Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil still lived.