Chapter 6: Through the Mists
A/N: Gah, I would have updated with this chapter earlier, but my computer crashed last week and had to go in to have a new hard drive put in. So sorry about the wait (again) for my faithful readers (if there are any), the following chapters should arrive much more quickly from now on! This, obviously, is NOT my best chapter, but meh.
Eruialiwen spread out upon the same velvety warm bed she had slept in the last time she had visited Mirkwood. For a while a shallow dreamstate submersed her in images of Legolas laying down beside her, but when she reached out to touch him, she awoke to find herself groping her sister's face.
"Ai," Enednilwen growled, pulling away and rolling over out of Eruialiwen's reach. "I didn't know you felt that way about me, sister."
The two sisters were sharing a bed, and there was more than enough room, for the bed was large enough to accomodate one more elf, possibly two. That was the way all the beds were in the palace of Thranduil; everything was spacious and comfortable. Even the prison cells in the dungeon below were supposed to be comfortable for whatever prisoner Thranduil had in there, though the prison guards were dangerous elves like Lothatal and no-one dare cross them if they wanted to live.
Shuddering, Eruialiwen wondered if that was where Legolas was, in a prison or dungeon someplace. Surely he would not be hospitably treated by the lesser peoples of Middle Earth or elsewhere. But at least he would be alive. She was doubting minute by minute that the Black Vale had taken him and not killed him, and she was also doubting that she and her comrades would survive this dark shadow. How were they to find it, if it was invisible?
Enednilwen stirred and turned to face her again. "I haven't slept. I can't stop thinking whether our fate is life or death this day," she said quietly. "What of you?"
Eruialiwen gazed, troubled, at the ceiling. "I slept little, myself," she replied, with what seemed like much effort. "I cannot stop thinking if Legolas is dead or alive. If he is indeed dead, then it is better if the Black Vale kills me as well. I can't live one day if he is not alive as well."
Her sister's eyes darkened at these words, and she propped herself up on one elbow. "You sound like our mother," she said, her voice reduced to a low whisper, "when she tried to share her immortality with our father. It did not work. She died of mortality when I was an elfling. Ada tried to live on to take care of us, grieved as he was."
"But Legolas and I are both elves," Eruialiwen began. "If he chose to share his immortality with me, it would not fail as I am elven, even if only half so. Ada was full Edain, but he did get the full brunt of Mother's immortality, after all. He died merely five autumns ago."
Enednilwen shrugged, not able to disagree. "If Legolas is dead, I will not choose to live in torment for as long as I live, however long of a time that shall be. I will claim myself in the grip of death," Eruialiwen continued determinedly, clenching her fists under the blanket and not blinking at the mind-blank ceiling. Her sister chose to remain silent, and neither of them said anything more, but lay there in contemplative warm self-solitude.
The sisters presently heard footsteps in the corridor that anyone else would be deaf to. Enednilwen started at them and sat up. The oaken door to the sisters' bedchamber door opened, and a tall shadow fell across the floor of the room.
"A curse upon you for entering the bedchamber of unprepared--" Eruialiwen growled, but she didn't get to finish her cursing, because Ainacalion had launched himself in the air and leaped onto the bed, tackling the elleths and wrestling them both at once. A string of curses learned from Ranger slang from Eruialiwen, a muffled screech from Enednilwen, and melodious laughter from Ainacalion as he rolled them into a tangle across the bed. Then, a squeal, and shrieks as he began tickling them. Finally he sat up on his knees, releasing his friends from torment. "Good morrow, Elenhiril and Calenhen," he said amusedly, bowing.
Enedilwen grabbed him by his long dark hair and pulled him forward in attempt to throw him off balance as he bowed, but he fell headfirst into her lap. Eruialiwen let out a very loud laugh, watching her sister and friend struggle in startled discomfort and quickly separate. Their faces were pink, their eyes dark and bright like water under moonlight.
"Look more cheerful," Ainacalion said, recomposing himself and stepping lightly off the bed. "We are going to go on a little adventure today."
"And could die," Enednilwen added.
"If we die, then we will be at peace," the elf replied, still not looking at her. "For now, we have the worries of Middle-Earth upon us. If the Vale takes us to a separate world, like that King Thranduil suggested, then we could have even more worries."
Eruialiwen set her delicate feet upon the floor and stood, her loose nightdress flowing past her ankles in a white cascade. "Then we shall worry together," she said quietly, walking toward the far end of the room where fresh clothes had been laid out for her the night before. "As best friends and companions."
Enednilwen remained sitting upright in bed, gazing uncomfortably at Ainacalion, who still seemed embarrassed. "I'm wondering if the stranger who shot the stag has anything to do with the Black Vale," he wondered aloud, prodding one of the clean-cut stones that made up the wall. "I have been thinking about it for some time now. The arrow was not of elven make, as Eruialiwen said, but of men. I cannot recognize it from any of the towns of men I have been in."
Eruialiwen briefly put down the clothes she was carrying and turned around. "You brought it with you?"
Ainacalion reached into the quiver strapped across his back and withdrew the white-feathered arrow, which was rusty with dried blood. "I did. I wanted to compare it to the arrows of any we would see since. We might find the owner of this arrow past the Black Vale, if possible."
Eruialiwen did not seem to acknowledge him, but took the clothing and proceeded to slip out of her nightdress. Desperate thoughts clung to her mind, digging deep where they could not be removed. The only thing that occupied her was Legolas, and how he was fairing, wherever he was, or if he was even alive. The anxiety stuck to her like heat, threatening the brink of madness. She quickly dressed into the typical green-brown of Mirkwood's light clothing, and drew the straps of her quiver snugly to her chest. The long tunic was a very dark green, and she was disturbedly reminded of the trailing dress she wore the last time she visited Mirkwood, when she was merry at Thranduil's feast with Legolas at her side. A dress the young prince commented on, saying that it suited her very well.
"Are you all right?" Enednilwen queried, shattering her sister's thoughts. Eruialiwen threw her own cloak over her shoulders, picked up her bow, and offered Enednilwen and Ainacalion a grim smile. "I am fine. Now, let us go." And she swept from the room, with the elf in her wake and her sister leaping up to get dressed as well.
Minutes later, the three elves were in the stables ajoining Thranduil's cavern palace, greeting Talawen and Lothatal as they led their steeds out of their stalls. Eruialiwen was gently patting Calenhen's silky grey muzzle, shivering to think that Legolas had touched the same horse not long before and had named her after his elleth friend. "Do not fail me," Eruialiwen whispered in the mare's ear. "Do not let me fail your master." Calenhen whickered at the words, turning to knowingly nuzzle Eruialiwen's forehead.
Isolden quickly strode to the group, from his watchpoint at the stable's entrance. "The King wishes you all a safe, swift journey," he said gravely, hailing them with his hand bent upward, palm facing out, beside him. "May no chill or heat beset you, may no ill fall upon you. You are trusted to find Prince Legolas and return him to the eaves of Mirkwood, my friends. You must not falter in this quest." His grey eyes met the two sisters'. "Daughters of Elessar's friend, daughters of Rangers and of elves, find our prince. You are committed to the King."
The party stood silent, acknowledging the guard-captain's words. Lothatal was the first to move, leaping onto her horse and taking up the reins. "We will not fail, Isolden of Mirkwood," she said, inclining her sleek neck to him. "We will bring Prince Legolas back alive and well. Peace follow you this day." With a gentle slap of the soft leather reins, she urged her horse forward at a thunderous gallop. The rest followed behind her, leaving the stable of Thranduil and having no idea that they would ever see it again.
The trees to the northwest were strangely thicker and blacker than in the rest of the wood. The grim party rode as fast as their horses were able between the gnarled trunks, crashing through the undergrowth and countless times nearly falling when the steeds' legs became entangled in the vines. None of them said a thing, but were intent upon what lay before them. Whatever lay before them. The thought of possibly never seeing Middle Earth again was close in each of their minds, as well as the thought of the Black Vale suffocating them to their deaths. Though each elf knew that the other was thinking the same thing, none dared voice these thoughts. The overwhelming dark and asphyxiation of the wood was drawing ever more down on them, choking any words into silence. Even the horses could not snort as they galloped bravely along. It seemed like a void, a long, endless dark void on all sides.
It could have been minutes later, or days, or a week. The humid oppression suddenly drifted into icy coldness, permeating into the elves' very bones. Unused to feeling cold, they looked at one another uncomfortably, though even with their excellent eyes they could barely make out the outlines of each other or their steeds. Or anything else. There was nothing but darkness. No green shadows, no drifting of leaves, no scurrying of unseen creatures. The horses' hoofs went from muffled thudding to total silence, though they were still galloping tirelessly.
"The mists," Talawen managed in a choked, pale voice; the darkness was so heavy that seemed to press upon her throat. "I think we are entering the Black Vale."
Before anyone could say anything else, there was a scream from one of the horses--no-one could tell which one it was--and suddenly they were all plummeting downwards as though falling from a steep cliff. They fell so fast that the dead air around them whistled and roared, and their insides were crowding up into their mouths. Their screams could not be heard, even by theirselves. Minds white and hands gripping tightly in their plunging horses' reins, they fell.
A/N: Gah, I would have updated with this chapter earlier, but my computer crashed last week and had to go in to have a new hard drive put in. So sorry about the wait (again) for my faithful readers (if there are any), the following chapters should arrive much more quickly from now on! This, obviously, is NOT my best chapter, but meh.
Eruialiwen spread out upon the same velvety warm bed she had slept in the last time she had visited Mirkwood. For a while a shallow dreamstate submersed her in images of Legolas laying down beside her, but when she reached out to touch him, she awoke to find herself groping her sister's face.
"Ai," Enednilwen growled, pulling away and rolling over out of Eruialiwen's reach. "I didn't know you felt that way about me, sister."
The two sisters were sharing a bed, and there was more than enough room, for the bed was large enough to accomodate one more elf, possibly two. That was the way all the beds were in the palace of Thranduil; everything was spacious and comfortable. Even the prison cells in the dungeon below were supposed to be comfortable for whatever prisoner Thranduil had in there, though the prison guards were dangerous elves like Lothatal and no-one dare cross them if they wanted to live.
Shuddering, Eruialiwen wondered if that was where Legolas was, in a prison or dungeon someplace. Surely he would not be hospitably treated by the lesser peoples of Middle Earth or elsewhere. But at least he would be alive. She was doubting minute by minute that the Black Vale had taken him and not killed him, and she was also doubting that she and her comrades would survive this dark shadow. How were they to find it, if it was invisible?
Enednilwen stirred and turned to face her again. "I haven't slept. I can't stop thinking whether our fate is life or death this day," she said quietly. "What of you?"
Eruialiwen gazed, troubled, at the ceiling. "I slept little, myself," she replied, with what seemed like much effort. "I cannot stop thinking if Legolas is dead or alive. If he is indeed dead, then it is better if the Black Vale kills me as well. I can't live one day if he is not alive as well."
Her sister's eyes darkened at these words, and she propped herself up on one elbow. "You sound like our mother," she said, her voice reduced to a low whisper, "when she tried to share her immortality with our father. It did not work. She died of mortality when I was an elfling. Ada tried to live on to take care of us, grieved as he was."
"But Legolas and I are both elves," Eruialiwen began. "If he chose to share his immortality with me, it would not fail as I am elven, even if only half so. Ada was full Edain, but he did get the full brunt of Mother's immortality, after all. He died merely five autumns ago."
Enednilwen shrugged, not able to disagree. "If Legolas is dead, I will not choose to live in torment for as long as I live, however long of a time that shall be. I will claim myself in the grip of death," Eruialiwen continued determinedly, clenching her fists under the blanket and not blinking at the mind-blank ceiling. Her sister chose to remain silent, and neither of them said anything more, but lay there in contemplative warm self-solitude.
The sisters presently heard footsteps in the corridor that anyone else would be deaf to. Enednilwen started at them and sat up. The oaken door to the sisters' bedchamber door opened, and a tall shadow fell across the floor of the room.
"A curse upon you for entering the bedchamber of unprepared--" Eruialiwen growled, but she didn't get to finish her cursing, because Ainacalion had launched himself in the air and leaped onto the bed, tackling the elleths and wrestling them both at once. A string of curses learned from Ranger slang from Eruialiwen, a muffled screech from Enednilwen, and melodious laughter from Ainacalion as he rolled them into a tangle across the bed. Then, a squeal, and shrieks as he began tickling them. Finally he sat up on his knees, releasing his friends from torment. "Good morrow, Elenhiril and Calenhen," he said amusedly, bowing.
Enedilwen grabbed him by his long dark hair and pulled him forward in attempt to throw him off balance as he bowed, but he fell headfirst into her lap. Eruialiwen let out a very loud laugh, watching her sister and friend struggle in startled discomfort and quickly separate. Their faces were pink, their eyes dark and bright like water under moonlight.
"Look more cheerful," Ainacalion said, recomposing himself and stepping lightly off the bed. "We are going to go on a little adventure today."
"And could die," Enednilwen added.
"If we die, then we will be at peace," the elf replied, still not looking at her. "For now, we have the worries of Middle-Earth upon us. If the Vale takes us to a separate world, like that King Thranduil suggested, then we could have even more worries."
Eruialiwen set her delicate feet upon the floor and stood, her loose nightdress flowing past her ankles in a white cascade. "Then we shall worry together," she said quietly, walking toward the far end of the room where fresh clothes had been laid out for her the night before. "As best friends and companions."
Enednilwen remained sitting upright in bed, gazing uncomfortably at Ainacalion, who still seemed embarrassed. "I'm wondering if the stranger who shot the stag has anything to do with the Black Vale," he wondered aloud, prodding one of the clean-cut stones that made up the wall. "I have been thinking about it for some time now. The arrow was not of elven make, as Eruialiwen said, but of men. I cannot recognize it from any of the towns of men I have been in."
Eruialiwen briefly put down the clothes she was carrying and turned around. "You brought it with you?"
Ainacalion reached into the quiver strapped across his back and withdrew the white-feathered arrow, which was rusty with dried blood. "I did. I wanted to compare it to the arrows of any we would see since. We might find the owner of this arrow past the Black Vale, if possible."
Eruialiwen did not seem to acknowledge him, but took the clothing and proceeded to slip out of her nightdress. Desperate thoughts clung to her mind, digging deep where they could not be removed. The only thing that occupied her was Legolas, and how he was fairing, wherever he was, or if he was even alive. The anxiety stuck to her like heat, threatening the brink of madness. She quickly dressed into the typical green-brown of Mirkwood's light clothing, and drew the straps of her quiver snugly to her chest. The long tunic was a very dark green, and she was disturbedly reminded of the trailing dress she wore the last time she visited Mirkwood, when she was merry at Thranduil's feast with Legolas at her side. A dress the young prince commented on, saying that it suited her very well.
"Are you all right?" Enednilwen queried, shattering her sister's thoughts. Eruialiwen threw her own cloak over her shoulders, picked up her bow, and offered Enednilwen and Ainacalion a grim smile. "I am fine. Now, let us go." And she swept from the room, with the elf in her wake and her sister leaping up to get dressed as well.
Minutes later, the three elves were in the stables ajoining Thranduil's cavern palace, greeting Talawen and Lothatal as they led their steeds out of their stalls. Eruialiwen was gently patting Calenhen's silky grey muzzle, shivering to think that Legolas had touched the same horse not long before and had named her after his elleth friend. "Do not fail me," Eruialiwen whispered in the mare's ear. "Do not let me fail your master." Calenhen whickered at the words, turning to knowingly nuzzle Eruialiwen's forehead.
Isolden quickly strode to the group, from his watchpoint at the stable's entrance. "The King wishes you all a safe, swift journey," he said gravely, hailing them with his hand bent upward, palm facing out, beside him. "May no chill or heat beset you, may no ill fall upon you. You are trusted to find Prince Legolas and return him to the eaves of Mirkwood, my friends. You must not falter in this quest." His grey eyes met the two sisters'. "Daughters of Elessar's friend, daughters of Rangers and of elves, find our prince. You are committed to the King."
The party stood silent, acknowledging the guard-captain's words. Lothatal was the first to move, leaping onto her horse and taking up the reins. "We will not fail, Isolden of Mirkwood," she said, inclining her sleek neck to him. "We will bring Prince Legolas back alive and well. Peace follow you this day." With a gentle slap of the soft leather reins, she urged her horse forward at a thunderous gallop. The rest followed behind her, leaving the stable of Thranduil and having no idea that they would ever see it again.
The trees to the northwest were strangely thicker and blacker than in the rest of the wood. The grim party rode as fast as their horses were able between the gnarled trunks, crashing through the undergrowth and countless times nearly falling when the steeds' legs became entangled in the vines. None of them said a thing, but were intent upon what lay before them. Whatever lay before them. The thought of possibly never seeing Middle Earth again was close in each of their minds, as well as the thought of the Black Vale suffocating them to their deaths. Though each elf knew that the other was thinking the same thing, none dared voice these thoughts. The overwhelming dark and asphyxiation of the wood was drawing ever more down on them, choking any words into silence. Even the horses could not snort as they galloped bravely along. It seemed like a void, a long, endless dark void on all sides.
It could have been minutes later, or days, or a week. The humid oppression suddenly drifted into icy coldness, permeating into the elves' very bones. Unused to feeling cold, they looked at one another uncomfortably, though even with their excellent eyes they could barely make out the outlines of each other or their steeds. Or anything else. There was nothing but darkness. No green shadows, no drifting of leaves, no scurrying of unseen creatures. The horses' hoofs went from muffled thudding to total silence, though they were still galloping tirelessly.
"The mists," Talawen managed in a choked, pale voice; the darkness was so heavy that seemed to press upon her throat. "I think we are entering the Black Vale."
Before anyone could say anything else, there was a scream from one of the horses--no-one could tell which one it was--and suddenly they were all plummeting downwards as though falling from a steep cliff. They fell so fast that the dead air around them whistled and roared, and their insides were crowding up into their mouths. Their screams could not be heard, even by theirselves. Minds white and hands gripping tightly in their plunging horses' reins, they fell.