OK now! Who's seen "Pirates of the Carribean" yet? I saw it opening day and oh-my-God does Orlando Bloom ever look hot!
Usual Standard Disclaimer: No. Lord of the Rings and all affiliated characters still aren't mine.
*****
"Just stay still and you will not be harmed," whispered the faceless voice from somewhere close to Legolas' ear.
Legolas did not move or give any hint of struggle as the mysterious attacker slowly removed his hand from under his chin and reached down to the one remaining knife hanging down from Legolas' side. Grasping the handle and pulling it free of its sheath, the unseen man tossed it down on the ground next to its twin. He then gave both a swift kick and sent them flying far out of reach for the captive elf to make a grab for.
"What...do you... want...with me?" Legolas panted weakly. His breath came in short, raspy gasps. He dared not take the deep drag of air his oxygen-starved lungs so desperately cried out for. Each time the elf tried to draw even the smallest breath of air into his screaming lungs, his windpipe would inflate, pushing his throat up within a hair's width of the sharpened blade pressed to his neck. He was afraid that if he did try and catch his breath, he would only manage in slicing his own neck open.
There came no answer to his question from behind, but he could feel the blade on his throat slacken a bit. As Legolas felt the ease of pressure on his jugular, his ears caught the soft, almost unnoticeable, sound of cloth rustling over grass approaching him. Whoever was coming towards him moved with an almost silent, inhuman grace; he could not detect the sound of any footfalls, only the swishing sound of rough fabric rubbing together.
But while Legolas' head was no longer being held back to better expose the vulnerable veins and arteries of his neck. Legolas did not try and lift his head to address the approaching individual.
He felt too weak. Even if he had had the unmitigated determination to move, Legolas doubted he would have been able to even lull his head to the side. Every particle of his being felt like it weighted a thousand pounds. Whatever drug had been on the tip of the dart that had grazed him was moving with unnatural speed and potency.
The sky and trees visible to him from the position his head was cocked back in looked fuzzy and slightly distorted, as though he was looking at the world through a piece of gossamer. His head felt strangely disconnected from his body, and the numbed sensation around the upper part of his wounded arm had now traveled up to the round of his shoulder and down to the point of his elbow. He felt like he was slowly slipping away into a bottomless sinkhole of black nothingness.
But before his could evaluate his poor, drugged state any longer, Legolas felt two slender fingers snake beneath his chin and lift his face up from off his shoulder. He groggily tried to blink his eyes into focus as his heavy head lulled forward on the support of the hand cradling his jaw. Before he could get his bearings, his face was then titled upwards as if for inspection.
"Who...?" he tried to slur, but was cut short by the nauseating swim of his eyes falling madly in and out of focus.
"Hush, young one," came a deep, but strangely melodious voice from somewhere beyond the swirling tempest of light and shadows clouding his vision.
The distant voice finally gave Legolas something to focus his waning vision on. Struggling to hold his composure, the drugged elf looked up at the one holding his face up in the cup of his hand. For a moment, he could see nothing but a swirling maelstrom of shadows. But as Legolas stubbornly blinked his eyes in focus, the world slowly coalesced into the form of a tall, hooded figure leaning down over him. From beneath a heavy grey hood, a faceless black hole stared back at Legolas.
Legolas must have involuntarily winced or jerked back suddenly, because the blade that had been only loosely hovering over his throat was once again firmly pressed to his jugular, warning him against such struggles or unexpected moves again.
"Stay still," warned the voice from behind Legolas.
But Legolas barely heard his assailant as he stared back in complete horror at the faceless creature now standing barely inches away in front of him. All his sluggish mind could comprehend was the primal instinct in the back of his head screaming at him to run.
A sharp cry of terror finally managed to escape Legolas' lips. He instinctively kicked against the ground, vainly trying to free himself of the thing holding his head in its hand.
"Be still!" demanded the still unseen attacker behind him. The blade at his throat bit a little deeper, trying to subdue the fighting elf into docile submission. But Legolas barely even felt the sting of the blade threatening to cut into his flesh.
He thrashed madly in his attacker's grip, fueled only by the raging panic and fear that seized his mind. But he could not break his assailant's hold on him. He could feel himself steadily weakening, his energy quickly draining from his body. His eyes never left the faceless black hole staring down at him.
"Let me go!" he cried weakly, straining against his attacker's arms, "Leave me alone!"
Legolas' feeble struggles posed his assailant no trouble in restraining. For what little energy remained in the elf, it was no more difficult than trying to hold down a kicking, fighting two year old child. But it did not mean it did not agitate his captor all the same.
"I said be still!" the man snarled, finally becoming frustrated with the elf's useless struggles. A hand quickly wrapped around the base of Legolas' jaw and savagely retched the elf's head backwards again. The edge of the blade sunk deeper into Legolas' throat, but by some miracle did not draw blood.
Legolas cried out in pained surprise as the press of the sharped blade startled him out of his terrified panic and abruptly ended his fight. The elf instantly froze, twisted backwards over the knee of his attacker who had planted it there in the small of his back to try and still the struggling elf.
Legolas suddenly realized he was at his captors' complete mercy. He was too weak to fight. He could not even break free from his captor let alone flee if he should somehow also escape the hooded figure standing over him.
The icy realization of his situation sent chills down his spine and sent his heart hammering against the inside of his chest. He felt his captor shift behind him, and felt the blade of the knife sink a little deeper into his throat.
They were going to kill him, this he suddenly knew.
~Help... Anyone. Please help...~ he prayed silently, closing his eyes and desperately waiting for a miracle.
"Aílend ëin lathir!"
The unmistakable order rang out through the still nighttime air like thunder and froze Legolas in place by the sheer tone of authority backing it. It came from the hooded man standing in front of him.
"Nàthir calin dîr aín ënclin," Legolas' captor returned mutinously in a harassed tone. His restraining grip across the subdued elf's chest tightened.
"Aílend ëin lathir," the first voice repeated, his voice dangerously low and calm. "Thaur pälin adur..." he then added with deep undertones of threat behind it. The stranger rolled the strange and foreign syllables over his tongue with musical fluidity. Despite his dangerously precarious situation, Legolas felt captivated by this unknown language filling his ears.
A tense moment passed before Legolas felt the pressure of the sharpened blade of steel suddenly vanish from his throat. The hand holding his head backwards also disappeared. He immediately gasped for air, coughing and sputtering and desperately sucking deep drags of air into his oxygen-starved lungs. His neck stung where the knife had left a reddened impression and shallow groove in his skin.
As his coughing slowly subsided, Legolas suddenly realized he had heard this strange language his attackers had just been using before. It took a minute for his drugged mind to place, but when he did he quickly recognized it as the same archaic form of Quenya he had heard being sung in a strange, haunting song earlier that day at the festival.
The faint rustle of cloth brought the drugged elf out of his sluggish thoughts. At first he thought the sound was coming from the one wraith still standing over him. But as he forced his failing senses to focus, he suddenly realized the sound was coming from all around him. Lolling his head forward like a sandbag on a pivot, Legolas saw several dark figure crossing the clearing towards where he and his two captor stood.
His eyes burned with the fog of the dart's effects. Darkness was slowly enfolding him in its cold embrace, but Legolas somehow managed to blink his eyes into focus again. As the figures drew nearer, the ghostly outlines of three more phantom wraiths - like the one that stood before him - came into view.
The blond archer tensed, but did not begin to struggle as violently he had done when he had first seen the first one. He suspected it had something to do with the drugged dart that had grazed him...
The small jerk of his lethargic muscles must have been taken as another sign of attempted escape; his captor immediately clasped the elf tighter against his chest, pinning Legolas' arms to his sides and immobilizing him against any other movement.
Legolas stared in dumb-struck horror as the other three wraiths glided to a halt beside their companion in front of him. They formed a tight semi-circle around the helpless elf, standing over him in a horrifying reenactment of his earlier vision.
He wanted to cry out in fear, but was unable to produce any sound in his constricted throat. Legolas' head buzzed uncomfortably with the unnatural stupor the toxin placed on the tip of the dart had put him in. His whole left arm now felt numb.
"What do you want with me," the elven prince somehow managed to slur in a weak whisper of fading consciousness. He was struggling to keep his head from falling to his chest or succumbing to the invading darkness. An uncertain murmur ran through the group of hooded wraiths, as if trying to decide wether to entertain the drugged elf with an answer or not.
"All will explain in due time," finally answered the deep voice from before - the one that had stopped the one holding him from slicing his throat open. For the first time, Legolas realized the strange accent permeating his captor's speech whenever he spoke the Common Tongue. The tallest of the assembled wraiths slowly stooped down before Legolas, bringing the empty black chasm of the hood eye level with the captive elf. The mysterious man again reached out and tilted the prince's face up for him to look into. Legolas sat motionless as his head was turned from side to side, as if his captor was closely examining every angle of his face.
Legolas' face was then pulled closer, coming withing mere inches of the wraith's empty hood. The elf averted his eyes, quickly. He did not want to have to look under the thing's low grey hood and see into the endless black hole that was its face.
"Look at me," the wraith ordered. Legolas did not move, and kept his eyes defiantly turned away from his captor's face. "Look at me," he said again, a little sterner. The wraith brought his other hand up to the side of Legolas' cheek and turned the elf's averted face towards him.
Too weak to put up resistance or muster the will to defy his captor's insistent command any longer, the prince slowly turned his eyes up into the faceless black hole. But what surprised him was that this close up in the pale moonlight Legolas could now make out the shadowy visage of what looked like a nose and mouth hiding beneath the wraith's heavy grey hood. He thought he could even make out the faint impression of cheek bones and the hollow dip of two dark eye sockets, but was unsure because of the heavy shadow still hiding more than half his captor's face.
Legolas stared into the endless black shadow of what he assumed were his captor's eyes. His sapphire eyes shined in the moonlight with stark curiosity.
Could it be that these truly were not wraiths as he had first thought?
As he pondered this, a sudden thought occurred to him; one that had not crossed his mind before, but seemed painfully obvious to him now. Could these mysterious cloaked figures be elves? The archaic form of elvish would suggest this, but then where would they have come from? The young prince had never heard this form of elvish ever spoken before. And then there was their unforseen attack. No living mortal would have ever been able to sneak up on him as these had done. Only an elf would have managed to have approached him with such stealth.
These new implement spun Legolas' head, creating a whole new set of burning and unanswerable questions.
Legolas stared up into his captor's face, looking straight into what he assumed were his eyes, as if trying to mine answers from the impregnable shadow hiding the mysterious man's (elf's?) face.
"Ailín santhir cûl? [Is it him?]" asked an unfamiliar voice from one of the other elven wraiths watching them.
The hooded head of the one holding Legolas' head nodded. "Iel [yes]," he said in affirmation.
Legolas felt a sudden lose of connection as his captor turned his head and looked back over his shoulder to the other three wraiths standing around them.
The hand supporting his head disappeared, dropping Legolas' head back down onto his chest. Though he fought to rise his head, he found he no longer had the strength to hold it up on his own. Legolas felt like his body was slowly being drained of energy and the will to fight, and succumbing to unconsciousness. His eyelids felt like a hundred pounds each, and were slowly sliding shut against his will. The hazy fog clouding the edges of his vision was quickly thickening and sweeping over him.
~No... You have to fight it. You have to stay awake...~ the sedated elf coaxed, desperately trying to fight off the growing darkness. But he was quickly losing the fight. The seductive call to fall into the blissful nothingness of sleep was starting to become too much for Legolas to fight off for much longer.
"Lóthir nin e ülin [We must leave]," came a voice from somewhere above him. The voice sounded distant and garbled. Legolas thought it may have been the one he had just come face to face with, but in his current semi-comatose state he was unable to be sure. "Aur cálin forgöth ain endûr... [Before anyone discovers him gone...]"
A murmured agreement rippled around him, and before Legolas knew what was happening, he found himself suddenly being pulled to his feet by the one holding him captive from behind. His knees immediately buckled. A pair of rough hands quickly slipped beneath his armpits and kept the unsteady elf from falling back to the ground. Without a word, the one holding up then him up pushed him, making Legolas stumble forward. Two other pairs of hands griped his arms and began to quickly pull him forward, half dragging, half carrying the elf's limp body.
Through the foggy haze clogging the inner workings of his mind, Legolas suddenly realized what his captor's were doing.
~No! They're taking me - kidnaping me! I have to fight!~
Primal instincts of self-preservation kicking in, the elf dug his heels into the ground. A grunt sounded from behind him as he felt the one pushing him forward smash into his back. The two dragging him by his arms stumbled forwards, not expecting resistance from their half-drugged captive. Using the small window of opportunity his caught off guard captors presented him, Legolas concentrated his last remaining strength and thrashed wildly, desperate to break free of the ones holding him. A startled cry went up as his captors scrambled to subdue their fighting hostage.
The other two wraiths that had not taken hold of him rushed towards him, intent on aiding their comrades. Seeing this, Legolas retched his left arm back, ripping it from the one wraith's grasp. He stumbled to the side, thrown off balance by his own offensive move. The attacker that had been holding his right arm let go, startled by Legolas' movements. The one behind him groped to keep a hold of the elf, but was unable to.
Legolas staggered to his right, struggling to flee. This was his only chance. If he didn't escape now, he would never get another chance.
The other two wraiths were closing in and the others were quickly recovering. Legolas turned to dash right, intent on making a run for the darkened trees that lined the perimeter of the small clearing. If he could reach them, he might be able to seek cover and throw his attackers off his trail.
But as he broke completely free of his captors' grasp, he found that there was nothing left to hold his body up. He only managed to stumble several feet to the side before his knees finally buckled under his weight and his legs crumpled out from beneath him. Legolas hit the ground hard.
The elf immediately tried to push himself up from the grassy ground, but could not muster the energy. He collapsed back onto the ground and lay sprawled out on his side, panting and unable to move.
~Help... Please help...~
From where he lay, Legolas could see the hems of five long grey robes sweeping over the ground towards him. He lay motionless, watching helplessly as the elven wraiths came nearer. He wanted to run, but the powerful drug numbing his arm and deadening his brain would not allow him to do so. His eyelids were drooping lower. The soft buzz of impending unconsciousness hummed in his ears.
~No...Fight it...You have to...~
The wraiths were sweeping in closer, fanning out to encircle their helpless victim.
~Help...Anyone...~
One of them reached out and grabbed at Legolas' tunic. The elf tried to squirm away, but was too weak to fend off his attacker.
"I would not do that again if I were you..." hissed a dangerous, heavily accented voice as Legolas was pulled halfway off the ground by his shirt and shaken sharply as if to impress a point. "You are in more danger than you may realize, little one. We are- "
But Legolas never found out what they were. At that exact moment, an object suddenly streaked through the air and struck the ground near the center of loose circle formed around him by his kidnapers. They all jumped back instinctively; the one holding Legolas loosed his hold on the drugged elf's tunic and let Legolas droop limply back to the ground. Sluggishly rolling his head to the side, Legolas saw an arrow imbedded in the ground not more than three feet from where he lay, its long shaft still quivering from impact.
"Elon ned! [Attack!]" screamed the tallest of the hooded figures - the one Legolas suspected was the leader of the group. "Selimpë ain lánith cur! Fëaglîn elin dûr! Irïsen ai el! [They have found us! They've come for Fëaglin! Don't let them have him!]" he shouted in a loud commanding voice. Reaching under his heavy grey cloak, he quickly withdrew a long, silver-edged sword whose blade gleamed brightly in the pale moonlight.
The other wraiths responded immediately and closed rank around Legolas. More swords were pulled free from hidden sheaths and brandished before their owners' chests. The five elven wraiths moved closer around Legolas, forming a protective circle around the drugged elf with their backs toward him and their weapons armed outwards to defend against attack.
Their hooded heads swung from side to side, scanning the surrounding trees for signs of the one that had attacked them. Legolas lay helpless on the ground between them, barely able to see anything past the long grey cloaks obscuring his line of sight.
What was going on? Were they under attack? Could it be someone coming to help him?
Legolas tried to rise to his elbows, driven by the desperate possibility of this last thought. One of the wraiths saw him trying to lift himself off the ground and quickly stooped down beside him.
"No, stay down," ordered the cloaked person, forcefully pushing Legolas back down on the ground just as another arrow sliced the air and whistled into trees somewhere behind them, narrowly missing one of the surrounding guards.
"Saeros, leneth el! [Saeros, watch him!]" cried the tallest of the wraiths, pointing down at Legolas. The one kneeling beside the elven prince crouched lower and pushed Legolas down further onto the ground, flattening him onto his stomach. Another arrow whizzed past them, this time striking the ground near the foot of one of the other elven wraiths standing in front of them.
"Enátharë! [To battle!]" the tallest wraith shouted loudly like a battle cry as he held his sword in the air and waved it challengingly. The circle of bodies surrounding Legolas broke. His captors charged forward with a mighty cry, leaving the drugged elf and his one remaining guard behind.
Finally unhindered with any bodies to block his view, Legolas was finally able to see who it was that had attacked him and his captors.
Emerging from out of the surrounding trees into the moonlit clearing five tall, dark figures swept into view. Low grey hoods and long billowing cloaks identical to those of his captors masked their faces and stole them of anything that would mark them as corporeal beings of the living world. As they neared, Legolas could see swords held in each of their hands.
Legolas' kidnapers charged ahead and met the oncoming wraiths in the center of the small clearing with terrible ferocity. The sound of clashing steel quickly filled the air as a wraith from each group ran out to meet one from the other. Shouts of ancient Quenya echoed out into the night over the din of battle. Swords flashed in the moonlight. Billowing grey cloaks whirled around the feet of the fighting wraiths as they spun and danced around each other, their swords whirling and slicing the air in lightening fast attacks and blocks.
Legolas suddenly felt like he had slipped into some kind of weird dream. For a second he thought he might have been hallucinating by the sheer madness of it all. But as the sound of clanging steel filled the clearing with the sound of battle, Legolas knew it was no dream. What he saw was actually happening.
The elven prince could no longer tell which wraith belonged to what group; he had long ago lost track of them as the identical pairs of cloaked figures continued to spin and fight each other with frighteningly skilled swordsmanship.
One wraith on the far side of the clearing was battling two others who were attacking him viciously with apparently no qualms of trying to overwhelm their opponent two-to-one. The lone wraith fought valiantly despite the unfair odds, using speed and skill Legolas was sure had never seen before. Dodging left then spinning to attack right, the outnumbered wraith easily kept his attackers at bay. Around him, the other undistinguishable wraiths continued to fight with no signs of tiring or waning of intensity.
As Legolas watched helplessly from the sidelines in transfixed awe, his eyes were drawn to one pair of battling wraiths in particular. One was taller than the other in stature. Legolas immediately recognized him by his height as being the leader of the band of elven wraiths that had just been trying to kidnap him. The wraith lunged and thrust before then agilely side-stepping his opponent's return attacks. He moved with a fluid grace. His silver-edged sword pounded against that of his opponent, sending up thunderous cracks of clashing steel.
The wraith the taller one fought against was only slightly shorter in height, but still much taller than Legolas - who was by no means considered short even by elven standards - should the two of them have been stood next to each other. This new one fought with skills equal to that of Legolas' kidnaper. Their swords sliced the air, moving in speeds so fast Legolas was barely able to follow them with his eyes. Only the resounding cracks of sharpened steel marked the consecutive rain of blows delivered between the two. They continued to spin and twirl around one another, dodging, pivoting, attacking, counterattacking, deflecting, evading, then moving in again to strike.
As Legolas watched from where he lay on the ground as if in a hypnotized trance, he was suddenly overcome by the whimsical notion that the two were in fact not locked together in mortal combat, but rather acting out the complex steps of some exotic dance. But as he continued to watch, it became more and more apparent that what he was witnessing was no dance.
The fighting suddenly seemed to take on a frenzied pitch.
The one wraith fighting two opponents at once on the far side of the field was quickly starting to become overwhelmed. He rounded and turned between the two attackers coming in at him from opposite sides with desperateness, unable to make attacks of his own but merely deflect the raining shower of blows coming at him from different sides. The two seemed to sense his waning ability to hold them off and began to press their attacks with more force and intensity. The outnumbered wraith continued to deflect each fatal blow of his attackers' blades but was slowly driven back towards the surrounding trees of the clearing, being pulled ever farther away from any help his dueling companions could have possibly offered.
The battle raged on.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the fray, far from where the drugged elf lay helplessly on the ground with an armed guard, the lead wraith of the small band of kidnapers continued to smash his ringing blade down onto the sword of his opponent, oblivious to his comrade's failing defensive behind him.
"Hálinth äi el! [You will not have him!]" he hissed between gritted teeth as he caught a blow from his opponent and parried it to the side with a sharp flick of his wrist. "El nándië lorenth! [He is ours!]"
"Aiën! Lorssë nin clir eres sórenthûr éin nôthed! [Never! I will not let the One fall into your dirty hands!]" screamed back the shorter wraith as he deflected a bone-rattling strike to the head and retaliated with a sweeping slash to the stomach that would have sliced his opponent's belly in half had he not managed a quick block in time.
"Lorssë calinthe adûr sórenthe! [The One is no longer yours to keep from falling!]"
The hum of vibrating steel rung sharply in the air as the two swords smashed against each other.
The smaller of the two wraiths swiftly swung his sword over his shoulder before bringing it back down at his opponent's cloaked chest. "Eno aulâreth aïn menthir! Eno aulâreth aman nédel u emdir lóronë! [I will not let you succeed! I will not let you use him to bring the world under your power!]"
"Aüiren senóth mëa enir, Elendwë... El máriën saûrnith lin au laréssi äin morgeth falglor thîr... [You cannot stop us, Elendwë... He is the weapon with which we will destroy everything you stand for...]"
With a howl of determined rage, Elendwë surged forward with renewed zeal, his sword nothing but a blur in the air as it bore down in a whirlwind of attacks on the blade of the taller warrior. The dance began anew. The whirling hum of their swords again joined in the collective din of battle going on around them.
The two wraiths drove and retreated, instinctively reacting to the movements of the other. It soon became apparent that the two were too evenly matched to make a fair guess at who would emerge the victor. For a moment the taller of the two would seem to hold the offensive, but before his position could be finalized with the defeat of his enemy, the one named Elendwë would recover and drive back, forcing his opponent to go back on the defensive.
But just as it seemed the battle would wage on forever with neither side gaining the clear advantage or upper hand, the tide of battle suddenly shifted.
From the far side of the clearing a piercing cry of pain rang out over the din of battle. The one wraith that had been fending off the two attackers at once suddenly fell to his knees. He knelt in the grass, bowed forward and clutching his stomach in pain. A steadily growing patch of crimson was spreading across the front of his heavy grey cloak. Blooded seeped between his fingers and dripped to the ground in thick red drops. A rattled groan of pain escaped from under its low grey hood. To any who may have been watching, this would have seemed the death knell of the injured wraith. Surely his attackers would now claim formal victory over their defeated enemy and end his life.
But the final stroke of the blade never fell.
With their opponent now down and out of the fight, the two attackers abandoned their attack. Without even a parting glance at their enemy, the two turned and sped away from the injured wraith. A desperate cry – something in ancient Quenyan that seemed to be the equivalent of Look out! – went up from the injured fighter as he helplessly watched as his attackers sprinted away from where he sat bleeding on the ground, heading straight for the other side of the clearing.
There was only the slightest pause in fighting as the other dueling wraiths turned to steal a quick glance in the direction of the wounded fighter. But even as they continued to spin and twirl in their deadly dance of swords, all the while never fully taking their eyes off their opponents, the true aim of the wraiths became clear. The silver gleam of moonlight flashed across their steel blades as they swept in towards the drugged prince and his one remaining guard.
An alarmed cry went up from several of the fighting wraiths as they saw the other two's intent. "Nië! [No!]" screamed the tallest wraith over the ringing crescendo of battle towards his remaining man still guarding Legolas on the other side of the clearing, "Saeros! Hálinth múrië! [Saeros! Do not let them have him!]" But before he could say anything else, the ringing sword of his opponent bore down on him once again, stealing his attention back onto the fight still in progress.
"Hálinth äi el! [You will not have him!]" cried the cloaked wraith, Elendwë, as he pivoted out of his opponent's block and spun around to deliver yet another attack. "Urië ai Mellengel lûnthalai Fëaglîn! [I will not let the Brotherhood take Fëaglîn!]"
But there was no answer from the other wraith as he struck again at Elendwë's sword, making his opponent's arm go numb from the force of the blow. Elendwë spun away from his cloaked opponent, bidding for space and time. Stealing a quick glance from out under the lip of his hood, he saw his men nearing the motionless body of the elf. He needed to buy them time. He could not let the elf fall into the hands of the Brotherhood or all would be lost.
Pivoting around on the balls of his feet, Elendwë's sword lashed out again, ringing against the silver-edged sword of his enemy with renewed intensity that sent the taller wraith stumbling several steps backwards from his blow. He could not let them win...
***
Legolas looked on in helpless terror as the faceless horrors of his living nightmare drew ever closer, their naked swords glittering in the pale moonlight like the sparkling teeth of Death itself. They were getting near, swooping in on him like some kind of horrible bird of prey. Legolas felt his heart seize into a dead lump in the hollow of his chest. The instinctive call to run pounded in his head, urging him to flee and escape this horrific scene of terror.
But his body would not let him. The power of the unknown drug running through his system would not let the helpless elf move or even lift his head off the ground. He was powerless to defend himself...
But just as all hope seemed lost and the two wraiths neared the final ten feet or so of where he lay, the almost forgotten wraith guarding over him suddenly jumped into action. He sprung up from beside the drugged elf, whirling around on his feet and brandishing his sword in one fluid sweep out over his head. He brought it down to bear at the approaching wraiths threateningly.
With no fanfare, he leapt at the nearest wraith, swinging his sword out in a violent arc across the front of the approaching men. "Ainathel! [Keep back!]" he screamed. The two pulled up sharply, seeing this new obstacle to their goal. The first attacker barely had time to catch the first blow of the guard before another quickly followed it and rang out an echoing thunder of clashing steel. The second one quickly came to his companion's aid and made a wild stab at the guard, pulling him out of his attack. The guard agilely dodged and twirled around to catch another sweep of the first wraith to his head. And as the second joined in, the three cloaked men fell into another round of fierce sword fighting, battling over the confused and helpless elf watching all of this only ten or more feet away.
~What is going on?!~ Legolas wanted to cry out in frightened confusion. ~Why are they fighting over me?!~
With no one there to guard over him, he once again tried to rise to his elbows. But once again, before he could even pull himself an inch off the ground his energy left him and he collapsed back to the grassy carpet of the ground. As he fell limp, Legolas felt the slap of impending unconsciousness knock his senses, sending his eyes spinning madly out of focus as his head deflated and became dangerously light.
~Help... Just please help... Anyone... help....~
The lone guard had somehow driven the attacking wraiths several more feet back from Legolas. He fought with a frenzied intensity, like his entire life depended on wether he kept the other wraiths away from Legolas and doing whatever it was they wanted to do to him.
The sound of ringing swords filled Legolas' ears until it felt like a thundering roar of pure noise. The world was slowly falling out of focus. The blond archer struggled to stay awake. He couldn't fall asleep now, not with all these mysterious men fighting over him and trying to kidnap him. He couldn't fall asleep.... He couldn't....
But the drug was becoming too much to fight any longer.
Legolas felt his eye slowly sliding shut against his will, the image of the three wraiths battling only fifteen feet away was slowly beginning to fall behind the black curtain of his drooping eyelids. The noise of the battle was steadily fading, now only a distant murmur in his ears.
But as Legolas' eyes began their final downward decent that would send him spiraling out into the endless black void of unconsciousness, a pair of strong hands suddenly grabbed hold of his slender shoulders and retched him backs up from off the ground. And as Legolas was roughly rolled over onto back and looked up into the face of his attacker, he screamed...
*****
"Gimli! Do you hear that?" Aragorn shouted over his shoulder to the dwarf as the two sped down the dark, moonlit path of the palace gardens.
"Of course I hear it!" Gimli shouted back gruffly as he struggled to keep up with the much longer strides of the ex-ranger. "That's the sound of fighting!" he added breathlessly over the sound of rushing air whipping past him. Aragorn gave no reply and only sped up, widening the gap between the two.
In the near distance, the echo of clashing steel broke the still silence of the night. A murmured hum of undistinguishable voices gave background to the low sound of waging battle.
Neither asked what the subdued sound of fighting could mean or why it was taking place in the sanctuary of the king of Gondor's gardens. For now, all their anxious minds could think about was finding their missing friend Legolas. A deep stirring of dread churned in the bottoms of both of their hearts. Could this sound of fighting have anything to do with Legolas' disappearance? They didn't know for sure, but both had a sinking and very unnerving feeling that it did. The driving need to find their friend drove away any such questions from their mind. They could feel something ominous in the air; ever since breaking into Legolas' room and finding it empty. Like a deep seeded link, they knew that if they did not find him soon something very terrible was going to happen to the elven prince of Mirkwood.
They ran down the winding garden paths; Aragorn slightly ahead and barely able to hold himself back from just sprinting ahead at full speed and leaving Gimli behind to catch up with him later. But even in his distraught state of worry, the king knew if the distant murmur of battle did have anything to do with Legolas he would probably need the aid of Gimli's axe.
Darkened trees whirled by them in a blurry haze of moonlight and shadows. Their hurried feet ate up the ground as they sped away from the safety of the palace out into the shadowy gardens beyond. They were now reaching the far western corner of the gardens, where the boundaries of the palace ended and the surrounding land stretched on beyond the palace walls. The trees were denser here than elsewhere in the palace grounds and there were hardly any tended patches of flowers which both Aragorn and Gimli had thought was some type of unwritten requirement to be considered a garden. The grounds grew freer and untended here, leaving dense underbrush and tall looming trees just off the side of the garden path.
The sound of fighting had risen in pitch and Aragorn and Gimli could make out the more distinct sounds of voices echoing out from somewhere beyond the wall of trees lining the edge of the path.
"Down here!" Aragorn cried as he suddenly veered off the path and plunged into the thick grove of trees. Gimli followed without question; the sounds of battle were coming in that direction and he suddenly had the feeling they were now very close to Legolas.
The two crashed through the dark underbrush of the trees recklessly, not caring wether they were heard or not. They drove through madly, directed only by the growing din of shouts and clashing swords. A dim glow of light shined up ahead towards an area where the trees seemed to thin out. The man and dwarf rushed towards the growing light, driven by fear and anxiety for their missing elven companion.
The trees suddenly gave way completely to the two, spilling them out into a small moonlight filled clearing. They looked around in confusion, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change of landscape. It almost looked like a section of wild forest from what Aragorn could see. The man looked around in shocked amazement. ~I did not know we had a place like this in the gardens...~
But before he could ponder this strange area of the palace grounds of which he had never knew existed any longer, a loud crash of steel shook him out of his reverie. Turning his head to the source of the sound, the man was met with the most strange and supernatural sight he was sure had ever seen. A subdued gasp of shock sounded somewhere beside, Gimli having also noticed.
Spread out across the small moonlit clearing, twirling and spinning around each other as their swords slashed the air like whirling blurs of silver, were several pairs of dueling cloaked figures. Low grey hood cowled faceless black holes that obscured anything that could have been a face. The ghostly phantoms' long grey cloaks skirted just above the ground, giving them the appearance of actually floating over the ground as they continued to turn and slash at each other in savage swordplay.
No one seemed to take notice of the two newcomers. Or if they, had they gave indication of it and continued to fight as if they had not gained an audience.
Aragorn and Gimli stared in transfixed fascination at the unworldly battle playing out there right in front of their eyes. The man stood motionless, hypnotized by the fluid grace of the battling wraiths. What was going on? Who were these people?
It suddenly felt like he had strayed into some kind of strange dream that skirted along the edges of a nightmare.
"Aragorn!" Gimli then suddenly cried, breaking Aragorn out of his trance and pointing down at an area of grass not far in front of them. Sighting down to line to where the dwarf pointed, Aragorn saw a dark bundle laying on the ground. From his angle, it looked nothing more than perhaps an empty bag or pile of clothes. But as he continued to stare at the motionless bundle, he suddenly noticed what Gimli had seen before he had. Fanned out over the grass near the top end of the bundle lay a mat of tangled blond hair shining dully in the pale moonlight overhead.
"Oh gods..." Aragorn muttered as he rushed for the motionless bundle, forgetting everything about the strange cloaked men fighting around him. As he ran towards the motionless form, he sent up a desperate prayer to whatever higher power might be listening that what he saw laying there on the ground before him was not who he thought it to be. A fear unlike anything Aragorn had ever felt before exploded in his chest.
Gimli was right there beside the ex-ranger and they reached the bundle at the exact same time. As he knelt beside the motionless form, Aragorn could see for sure that it was a body laying face down on the ground. Long blond hair streamed out over the person's back like a curtain of silk. A stab of fear sliced through Aragorn's heart as he noticed how familiar the slender form laying before him was.
~Oh, Elbereth, please don't let it be Legolas...Please don't let it be Legolas...~
The man reached down and grasped the person's shoulders. The body gave no resistance and rolled over limply into his arms.
As the person's head lolled into the crook of Aragorn's elbow, the pale and sickly features of the youngest prince of Mirkwood came into view. The elf cringed back in the man's arms and a strangled cry of terror escaped his lips. His half-lipped eyes stared up at Aragorn's face with no sign of recognition in their liquid blue depths, only a hint of actual awareness in them. He weakly threw an arm up in front of him, as if trying to shield himself from some invisible attack. Obviously the elf thought someone was trying to hurt him.
"Legolas?! Legolas, what happened to you?" Aragorn cried as he held the disoriented elf to his chest. The man gently pushed back the matted blond hair from the prince's face with his hand, trying to calm his friend. "It's ok, Legolas. It's us. You're safe now..."
"Aragorn...?" Legolas slurred in a distant and dangerously weak voice. His body slowly relaxed and he dropped his raised arm. He looked up at the man with glazed and unfocused eyes as if he was really seeing right through him. Aragorn suddenly had to wonder if Legolas really knew if he was there. His eyelids were slowly sliding shut and his breathing was steadily becoming more and more shallow.
Suddenly seeing how the elven prince was struggling to stay conscious, Aragorn felt a jolt of dread course shock him like an electric spark. "Legolas, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" His eyes immediately dropped down and scanned the elf's body, searching for any sign of injury that would explain his friend's sudden state of being. But he could see nothing. A stir of panic moved in Aragorn's chest. There was something wrong with Legolas, but he could see nothing! How could he help him if he couldn't find the source of the problem?
Legolas looked up at Aragorn with half-focused, bleary eyes. "Wraiths..." he slurred, struggling to sound coherent. "Attacked me... dart..." He slowly raised a hand and pointed vaguely somewhere over Aragorn's shoulder.
Gimli and Aragorn both followed Legolas' pointed finger towards a large tree standing not far from where the elven prince lay, unsure of what he was trying to show them. Several dozen paces away, three of the battling cloaked men they had seen when first entering the clearing were still fighting, their swords clashing against each other with terrible ferocity. Two of them seemed to be ganged up against the other, trying to attack him at once from both sides. Though outnumbered and outmatched, the lone wraith continued to press at his opponents, slowly driving them back from where Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas were. The small mesh of other cloaked figures continued to dance and twirl around in their deadly ballet farther yet out towards the center of the clearing.
At first the man and dwarf thought perhaps Legolas was trying to warn them of the ones that had supposedly attacked him. The elf had by now lost the strength to keep his hand pointed in straight directiveness. His drooping finger was now merely hovering in the air over his chest, pointing in an lazy arch down towards the ground.
"Dart..." Legolas again whispered in a dying voice.
Aragorn again looked down at the lethargic elf in his arms. Legolas' brilliant blue eyes were slowly drifting shut. His head sluggishly lolled against Aragorn's shoulder and the hand that was trying to point with finally dropped back down to his side, as if he no longer had the strength to hold it up.
Aragorn felt a surge of helpless panic. What was wrong with him? What was he trying to tell them? He almost looked like he had been drugged... Drugged... Dart...
The two words swirled in the man's head like leaves caught in a summer storm, their meanings suddenly starting to form into one unnerving idea. And then he finally understood.
His head whipped around on his neck, straining to look over his shoulder. His eyes desperately scanned the area in which Legolas had been pointing moments before. He completely ignored the battling wraiths still fighting only twenty some feet away from him, his complete attention now tuned onto the task of finding what he was he was looking for.
Finally he saw it. There, sticking out from the thick bark of the nearby tree, Aragorn saw the faint outline of a slender object with a feather tuft at its protruding end. A dart.
"Gimli, watch over him," Aragorn said urgently as he eased Legolas' limp body back onto the ground and stood. Without question the dwarf moved to obey. The stout little miner leapt to his feet and stood close beside the elf, his ever-present ax lifted at the ready before his chest daring anyone to try and come near.
Aragorn rushed to the base of the nearby tree. Reaching out and grabbing hold of the slender thing, Aragorn had to pull back hard to free the embedded dart from the thick bark. It finally pulled free, pinched between Aragorn's two forefingers. A liquid residue on the tip of the dart immediately caught the ex-ranger's eye. He swiftly brought it under his nose and sniffed. A strong, acrid smell filled his nose.
Aragorn wrinkled his face in disgust and threw the dart into the bushes disdainfully.
"What is it?" Gimli called out over the background clamber of ringing swords filling the air all around them. None of the dueling wraiths still seemed to have noticed their presence.
"Dragon's Breath" the man said ominously, his features dark and unreadable. He quickly returned to Legolas' side and knelt beside the drugged elf. "It is an extremely strong sedative. It's usually used by kidnapers to subdue their victims and keep them under control..." Aragorn looked down at his friend. He could see that Legolas' eyes were glazed and unfocused, but that the elf still seemed to be stubbornly holding onto some small form of consciousness - at least for the moment. He hardly even seemed aware of what was going on around him.
The man bent low over the prostrate body of his friend and ran a hand down the length of the elf's arm. As he neared Legolas' bicep, he felt a tattered section of cloth rub up against the pads of his searching fingers. Pulling his hand away he saw a small rip in the elf's tunic. A shallow, but fresh scratch lay beneath, the edges of the hair-thin line still bleeding slightly. "He was only grazed," the man observed out loud under his breath, "If it had hit him head-on, he probably would have been unconscious before he even felt the sting of the dart..." He shook his head in agitated disgust. "It was lucky he managed to dodge it. Even with a controlled dose of Dragon's Breath, it's extremely dangerous to use. Too much and it could easily kill a person..."
Gimli's mouth dropped in aghast horror before twisting swiftly up into a snarl. "But why would these people ever want to attack Legolas? Why would they try to kidnap him?" he said, smoldering anger quickly rising in his voice. His ax obviously yearned to part some heads from their bodies in retribution for the attack made on his elven friend.
"I don't know," Aragorn said, shaking his head with a grim frown, "I don't know, but we have to get Legolas out of here. I don't know what these men want with him, but we need to get him to safety." He quickly reached down and began to gather the elf' limp body into his arms.
Legolas whimpered softly as he felt himself lifted up and cradled in Aragorn's arms. "Aragorn...?" he called out weakly in a slightly confused voice, as though he did not understand what was happening or knew who was trying to move him. His bleary, half-lidded eyes stared up, straining to see past the fuzzy haze clouding his vision.
"It's ok, Legolas," the man said, trying to keep the elf quiet, "We're going to get you out of here. Just try and stay awake for me..."
But before Aragorn could move and lift the elven prince, a shrill scream suddenly pierced the air.
The man and dwarf's heads snapped around in alarm, instantly on guard, looking for the source of the sound.
Barely even twenty feet away the three wraiths still battled, only now one of the two fighting against the other seemed to have finally noticed Aragorn and Gimli's presence there beside the drugged elf. Another shrill cry rang out from under its hood, as though sending up an alarm. Its companion, pausing in its fight with the lone wraith turned its cowled head and looked in the man and dwarf's direction.
Aragorn and Gimli involuntarily cringed back at the sight of the faceless hole beneath the low grey hood now staring straight at them. A shiver of fear ran up both the hardened warrior's spine, chilling their blood.
The first wraith sent out a sharp cry - a guttural sound that may or may not have meant something in some foreign language. Holding his sword threateningly above his head, he lunged in Aragorn and Gimli's direction, trying to dive past the lone wraith that stood in his path.
"Nië!!" the outnumbered wraith screamed, lunging to cut off the advancement of the other on the man, dwarf, and elf.
Seizing the moment of the defending wraith's distracted attention, the second of the two wraiths leapt forward, swinging a wild attack with its sword. A cry of pain rang out. Across the outnumbered wraith's left arm was a deep horizontal slash. Blood poured from the wound, staining the cloaked man's sleeve a dark crimson. It grabbed its arms convulsively but then immediately moved to compensate for the lose of its one arm by redoubling the efforts of the right. He dove back at the advancing wraith, fighting with a mad, desperate type of fury. But the damage was done, and he was now badly injured besides just being outnumbered. His stamina was quickly beginning to bleed dry.
The first of the two offensive wraiths side-stepped the reckless attack of the one as his companion continued to pound at the wounded wraith, easily stealing its attention away from its companion. A frustrated cry went out from the one as he watched the advancing wraith slip past him and move towards where the drugged elven prince still lay helplessly on the ground, guarded only by his two friends.
Aragorn instinctively clutched the defenseless form of his friend tighter to his chest as he saw the advancing wraith glide towards them, sword drawn. His hand reached across his and Legolas' body and drew Andúril from its sheath with a long hiss of scrapping metal. He bought it down in a defensive posture in front of his chest, guarding the drugged elf in his arms.
Gimli's ax was raised, ready to meet the advancing phantom. A feral snarl was twisted across the dwarf's face beneath his furry red beard. His dark brown eyes blazed with righteous anger. Now he would finally get a chance to pay back these villains for their cowardly attack on his friend. Just let them try and get near Legolas...
But before Gimli's axe could avenge the attack on his friend, the sudden shouting of men sounded somewhere beyond the darkened tree line of the clearing, halting the advancing wraith dead in its tracks. Startled by the noise, both Aragorn and Gimli's heads snapped around just as the face of Faramir emerged from out of the darkened trees, followed closely by half a dozen men of the White Guard.
******
It was over. They had lost.
Two of his men were injured and the enemy had finally broken past the last of the elf's guard. It was over. Mortal men had also appeared, complicating the situation further. The elf could no longer be taken without devastating opposition. There was no other choice now but to retreat and plan a new strategy.
Battling off the last few attacks of his opponent, the leader of the first band of wraiths gave one final glance in the direction of the elf on the far end of the clearing. It took every bit of his will power to admit defeat and give the signal to retreat. "Darohed! Harennir fenth! [Retreat! Pull back!]" he cried out bitterly to his men.
As his men broke away from their opponents and fled into the gloomy shadows of the surrounding trees, the tall wraith turned back to his opponent. Catching the blade of his enemy against his own, the two stood face to face, separated only by the cross of their interlocked blades. "Nôrethir aïn gathúl, demo sae rothir talénthir ai, Elendwë... Elador nen... [You may have won this time, but you haven't seen the last of me, Elendwë... That is a promise...]" Without warning he then suddenly surged forward, pushing against their locked blades and knocking his opponent backwards onto the ground. Not wasting a moment, he turned and followed after his retreating men.
A hot burning rage rose on his chest as he disappeared back into the night like a ghostly shadow. They would not win. He would not let them. The elf would belong to the Brotherhood even if it meant he had to kill every single one of Elendwë and his men to get him. The One would be theirs...
*****
"Aragorn! Gimli! What happened?" Faramir exclaimed as he burst into the clearing and rushed to side of his king, "I heard fighting coming from the gardens and came to investigate. What happ - " But Aragorn's faithful Steward got no further than that in his line of questioning as he finally caught sight of the cloaked wraith standing barely ten feet away. A startled gasp escaped his lips. Several of the Guards he had brought with him also cringed back; several others drew their swords but made no sign of moving to actually use them on the ghostly phantom standing before them. Wether they were waiting for orders or too afraid to move was uncertain.
The cloaked figure did not move, but merely stood there with its faceless black hole staring back at them silently from beneath its low grey hood. Behind it stood its identical companion. The one both had been fighting only moments before was now mysteriously gone, as if it had vanished.
"Legolas was attacked..." Aragorn said, his eyes not straying from the wraith standing there in front of him for one second.
"But not by us," interrupted a deep and heavily-accented voice from off to Aragorn's side.
Everyone's head snapped around to the source of this new voice. Gliding up to the group from the center of the clearing walked the tall hooded form of yet another wraith. Behind him two other cloaked figures followed. Behind them were no sign of the other cloaked phantoms they had been fighting.
From the safety of his friend's arms, Legolas cried out weakly in fear as he saw the approaching wraiths. He huddled closer to Aragorn, seeking protection from the faceless phantom.
"Just stay where you are!" Aragorn ordered, brandishing his sword at them threateningly. He protectively pulled Legolas closer to his chest, preparing to defend his friend with his life if the mysterious men should suddenly try and attack. Beside him, Gimli was also eyeing the five cloaked wraiths, as if trying to decide which empty hood to part from its body first.
"Peace," conceded the tall wraith quickly as he put his hands up in front of his chest in a sign of surrender, "We mean you or your friend no harm. We were trying to protect him from the ones you just saw us fighting. They wanted to kidnap him."
"That we already assumed..." Gimli growled under his breath. His axe remained raised and ready to inflict damage at the slightest sign of provocation from the group of cloaked men.
"Who are you?" Aragorn demanded, his sword trained unwaveringly on the cloaked figure before him.
A long moment of tense silence elapsed before the tall wraith slowly reached up to either side of the faceless black hole beneath its low grey hood. Gripping the cloth firmly in both hands, the mysterious stranger pulled back. As the hood slid away from over the wraith's head and fell back onto its shoulders, the mysterious face of the ghostly phantom was finally revealed. Aragorn and Gimli both gasped in surprise. Whatever they may have been expecting to find hiding underneath that hood was nothing they had actually expected.
Poking out from the sides of a flowing mane of braided, dark brown hair were a pair of delicately curved pointed ears. The mysterious wraith was an elf.
Illuminated in the pale silver moonlight shining overhead from the star-studded firmament above, the elf's beautiful facial features glowed an unearthly hue. Profoundly deep, ancient grey eyes stared back at Aragorn and Gimli, sparkling like pale diamonds in the nighttime light. Around him, the mysterious elf's cloaked companions were also dropping their hoods, revealing fair and beautiful faces of more Firstborn.
"My name is Elendwë," said the elf in his accented speech, "My companions and I have come on a mission of utmost importance from across the sea. We have come to protect and defend Legolas Thranduilion from enemies of the Valar that may wish him harm or try to stop him from fulfilling the prophecy foretold long before even the First Age of Middle-Earth..."
He took a tentative step towards where Legolas still lay helplessly in Aragorn's arms, staring up at him in waning consciousness. Legolas weakly tried to blink his eyes into focus, but found himself unable to break the hazy fog clouding his vision.
"What prophesy?" the drugged elf whispered in a distant, dying voice.
Elendwë gave no answer as he slowly glided past Gimli toward where Aragorn still knelt protectively holding the elven prince in his arms. The dwarf made no move to stop the mysterious elf from approaching his friend but continued to watch his every movement with a guarded wariness. The dark-haired elf slowly knelt beside Aragorn and stared down into Legolas' half-lidded eyes.
"All will be explained soon..." Elendwë said as he gently touched the side of Legolas' cheek with the back of his hand. "Just know that you are finally safe..."
Reassured by that small touch and knowing Gimli and Aragorn were now there to watch over him, Legolas could no longer find the energy needed to hold off the growing ring of darkness around the edges of his vision, and let himself finally slip into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.
*****
TBC
*****
Phew! Did everybody make it down to the bottom ok? I know I promised I would finally explain everything, but as you can see this chapter kind of went a little bit longer than expected - actually about 17 pages worth, so give yourself a cookie for actually surviving that!
I'm really sorry if there was any confusion towards the end when I kept calling our infamous cloaked guys "wraiths" after I already hinted that they weren't really wraiths at all. I just couldn't think of really any other word that would best describe what they looked like or had the same mysterious ambiance that the word "wraith" conveys.
Oh, and by the way, all the elvish in here was not real. It's just my own patented version of ancient Quenya.
Anyway, hope you guys liked it. And thanks to all my reviewers who make my day a little brighter! Don't forget to leave another... Please?
'Till next time!