Morithawen was panicking. She was trapped beneath rock, dirt and dead horse. Actually, the dead horse was probably the only reason she was still alive. Kellan's body had shielded the worst of the rockfall and had pushed her back far enough to avoid the heaviest of the weight. She struggled frantically to free herself but found her arm, wedged under Kellan's neck and a few medium sized boulders, was stuck fast. Her legs were under the bulk of the horse's body and her torso was covered in a small mound of dirt and rock. Her shoulders and head were in a pocket free of anything larger than pebbles and dust but the dark was so complete that it suffocated her. Her mind retreated into the nightmare that hadn't haunted her dreams in over a century.
"Naneth! Ada!" she wailed as she felt anew the moment when her parents' spirits were pulled from Arda. She was completely and utterly alone. Or was she? A chill crept over her as whispers surrounded her, called to her. She felt cold fingers in her hair, on her face, brushing down her neck.
Free, beautiful
Free, leave the world
Free, mine to be, free...
"Ada? Naneth?" she sobbed. Could their spirits be waiting for her to join them before going to the Halls of Waiting? She reached out to towards the source of the verse, wanting desparately to follow her parents. But her hand felt as if it were plunged into ice and she jerked it back with a cry. She didn't like the cold. Her parents weren't cold. They were warm and loving. She needed to be held and touched and loved. She needed...
'Morithawen, hold onto the light.'
...Legolas. The world shifted and the nightmare changed. She was trapped in a crevice with at least one possessive spirit and the weight of a mountain pressing down on her legs. The situation wasn't much better than her previous nightmare but at least this was real. At least someone knew she was here. She fought back the panic and lay still, making her breathing shallow. She strained her ears and was able to make out the sound of rocks being displaced by frantic hands and faint voices before the Dead began another verse.
Come, be with me
Come, lover cold
Come, ever mine, come...
"Go kiss an orc. You'll not have me, even in death," she growled softly in the dark. The ghostly verses stopped then and she felt more than heard the angry wail of frustrated wraiths. It caused the mountain to tremble faintly, only obvious to her because of the press of it on her body and the finite settling of more weight on her legs. She grimaced as she felt something sharp dig into her ankle. At least she could still feel her ankle.
'Legolas, please hurry,' she sent urgently. She felt the brush of his mind against hers again, obviously relieved.
'As fast as elvishly possibly, sweet lover. How are you?'
'Trapped, cold...terrified,' she mindspoke, not even trying to hide the truth. She didn't mention the whole harassed by ghosts thing, though. No need to worry him further.
'Tell us if we make the rocks settle further or move.'
'It matters not. If I must stay here too long, I fear I will die of grief. Better that I die in your arms than in the dark silence with the Dead,' she answered, some of her fear and desparation creeping into her mindtone against her will. So much for not worrying him. There was no response from her betrothed this time and she knew she had either angered him or drove him to desparation with her declaration. From the heightened sound of rock against rock echoing through the pile of debris on top of her, it could have been either. She felt no more shifting in the rocks and hoped that meant that the rockfall was stable now and that moving it wouldn't cause more rock and earth to fall on herself or her rescuers. That was something she hadn't considered before. She cursed her selfishness and prayed that Gimli's experience in mining and caves would serve them well. Aragorn's quest was too important for him to become buried in a shower of loosened rock. She knew she should send Legolas and Aragorn away. Time was too short to waste rescuing her from her stupidity but she couldn't make herself send them away and she knew they would never leave her anyway, unless it was impossible to get her out safely.
Gimli tapped the rock in front of him with his axe and frowned. Then he moved back and nodded at Legolas. The elf wrapped his bloodied hands around the sharp edges of the boulder and tugged with all his might. There was a sound like distant thunder and the elf, the man and the dwarf back pedaled over the debris behind them as the rocks shuddered and slid down and towards them in the tunnel like a wave. The cry of pain that met their ears was clear and unmuffled by the rock wall. The carefully planned rockfall served to make the pile of rock collapse, mostly towards them and away from from Morithawen. Once the rock settled again, they all scrambled over them. Gimli held a torch aloft as they moved towards the blood colored bulk of Kellan's body. Legolas leapt over the horse and settled on his knees besides Morithawen, immediately cradling her head in his lap.
"Is she conscious?" Aragorn asked. Legolas shook his head sadly and brushed dirt from her face. Her golden brown eyes were closed, a sign that all was not well with the elf maid. Aragorn sighed softly and surveyed the situation in the flickering light of Gimli's torch. It was obvious that the body of the horse would have to be moved before they could get the elf out of the passageway.
"Let's get Kellan moved so we can get her out of this hole. I don't trust the rocks to stay put long," Aragorn said quietly. Legolas nodded and very reluctantly moved, laying Mori's head gently on the ground. The two of them moved the horse enough to free Mori's legs and her arm and then Legolas gathered her body into his arms. Aragorn grabbed the saddlebags from the dead horse and gave the animal one last sorrow-filled glance before he hurried after Legolas back to the main path. To their dismay, the horses were both gone. Aragorn took the torch from Gimli and moved to check on Morithawen. He frowned in concern, but the sound of restless spirits began to murmur around them.
"We cannot stay here. As much as I want to tend to her now, we must get out of here first. Too much is at stake and we've lost so much time already," the man said quietly to Legolas. His voice was pained, but the look in Legolas' eyes said he agreed with him. That made him a little less guilty as turned and moved quickly forward. Legolas followed him at a swift clip, not hindered much by the weight of his betrothed, and Gimli brought up the rear. Aragorn soon led them out of the dark, narrow passage into a yawning cavern. One wall was carved out into a majestic, elaborate doorway. The other fell into a chasm that echoed darkly for miles beneath the mountain. Even with half of the floor missing there was plenty of stone underfoot and they moved towards the doorway.
"Who enters my domain?"
The booming voice echoed through the cavern, stopping them cold. Between the doorway and the four friends, a specter slowly appeared, a grim transparent form with wispy features and the clothed in shadows of noble armor with a kingly helm on his brow. Aragorn slowly drew Anduril from the scabbard at his hip and stepped towards the wraith.
"One who would have your allegience," he stated. Behind him, Legolas knelt slowly and laid Morithawen on the ground, standing again with his bow in his hand and an arrow noched.
"The dead do not suffer the living to pass. The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it."
Around the quartet, the dim light of Aragorn's torch flickered through an army of wraiths that seemed to appear from the walls, marching into a tight circle around them, rallying to their leader. Legolas noticed their ghost armor was a mix of rag tag and noble, their weapons swords, pikes, axes and picks. Their faces were a horror to behold, a series of decay and death evident in their unworldly flesh.
"The way is shut. Now you must die," the King of the Dead said menacingly. Aragorn dropped his torch and took up Anduril in both hands as Legolas let loose his arrow in automatic defense. The arrow passed right through the wraith and clattered to the stone floor many feet behind the ghost as he advanced on Aragorn. The arrow caused him no obvious pause, but when he lifted his sword against Anduril, the sound of metal on metal echoed through the cavern and Aragorn quickly disarmed the King of the Dead and moved Anduril so that it rested beneath the ghostly chin.
"That blade was Broken," the ghost gasped.
"It has been remade," he said, stepping back from the ghost and lowering his blade. He looked around at the other ghosts and addressed them.
"I am Isildur's Heir. Fight for me and I will hold your oaths fulfilled. What say you?" he asked, voice commanding a response. He whirled on the King and pointed the tip of Anduril in his direction.
"What say you?!"
"The Dead...do they follow?"
Legolas looked down to see Morithawen's eyes open, painfilled but alert. He was glad to see her awake, for they had passed from the Paths of the Dead some time ago, coming out from under the mountain into a rich land. They were mounted again. Thankfully the horses had made their way through the mountain unscathed and were waiting for them in the grassy lands beyond, drinking from the stream that flowed from the mountain. He was worried that the jostling of Arod hadn't woken her before. He held her against him, riding only with his knees to better secure her against the jolting rhythm of the gallop they were keeping. He was leaned forward over her as the wind whipped his braids back. A quick glance over his shoulder gave him an answer to Morithawen's question.
"The Dead are following. I see shapes of Men and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter thickets on a misty night. The Dead are following," he said. Morithawen sighed softly and kept her face forward. She had no wish to see the Dead. She saw Aragorn and Gimli on Brego, slowing as they mounted a grassy hill atop which was a stone, a perfectly rounded dark stone buried half in the soft ground and glinting in the moonlight.
"The Stone of Erech," Morithawen breathed. She knew why they had come here. This stone had been placed here by Isildur himself, a thing of Numenor brought over the sea and placed as a remembrance. Here, beside this stone, Aragorn would bind the Army of the Dead to him until they had fulfilled their oath. Here, also, they could camp safely before they rode on to battle. Aragorn moved over to Arod's side and pulled her from Legolas' arms so that Legolas could dismount. Instead of giving her back, he moved to lay her down on the soft grass. Morithawen made no sound, but she was pale in the moonlight and her breathing was shallow. Aragorn smiled down at her and wiped the dust from her face with a damp cloth.
"Well, muinthel, this is a switch. It's usually you making sure I haven't smashed myself beyond all healing help," he said softly. Mori managed a grin.
"True that. Not to worry, Estel. I will survive to fight another day," she said quietly before she began to cough, triggered by the dust lingering in her throat. The fit lasted long enough to worry all her companions and Aragorn slid his arm behind her head and helped her drink from a waterskin. Once she had calmed, her eyes were closed against pain.
"Aiya, that hurts," she said brokenly.
"Your chest, muinthel?" Aragorn asked in concern.
"Yes, maybe a bruised rib. But it's my legs I'm worried about," she said quietly. Legolas, who was kneeling opposite Aragorn, pulled one of the knives from Morithawen's belt and swiftly cut the laces on her boots and then slit her leggings to mid thigh. Gimli, until this moment looking on in concern, made himself busy gathering firewood. The next several minutes were quiet, except for an occasional groan from Morithawen when Aragorn had to set a bone.
"The ankle's bad, mela-nin, and your right leg is pretty broken up. You won't be walking for a few days, at least until the bones are mostly healed," Legolas said softly as Aragorn began mixing an herbal poultice for the wound on her ankle. Something sharp had ripped a hole in the flesh and gouged the bone. Once that was packed and bandaged, they used some of Gimli's gathered firewood to make a splint. Aragorn was sure there were at least two breaks in her lower leg. He had set both of them. He thought there were numerous fractures as well. Luckily, the left leg had suffered little more than a few large bruises.
"Top it all off with a couple of bruised ribs, a sprained elbow and shoulder and you should be off your feet for a couple of weeks," Aragorn said with a wry smile. Morithawen shook her head and sighed, pushing herself up on her good arm. She recognized the determined look in his eyes and she needed to put an end to his current train of thought.
"And we all know that's not going to happen. I'm not staying here alone and you can't stay with me. Too much is at stake and we cannot afford any wasted time. More than I've already caused, anyway. A little pain will not kill me, Estel. As long as we have a horse to ride, I won't hold you up. Not anymore than our little glowing green army back there, anyway," she said, gesturing at the almost imperceptible gathering of barely there wisps of departed humanity. Aragorn grimaced and stood, glancing at the army himself.
"Will you be alright for a moment, Mori? I need to do this. I'll be back to help Legolas as soon as I can," he asked her in a pained voice. Said elf was currently digging through Aragorn's herb bag.
"Go, Estel. My aches can wait for another few moments. I trust Legolas with my heart and soul, I think I can trust his herbal potions as well," she said quietly. Aragorn nodded and moved off. She looked about and saw Gimli. She beckoned him.
"There is a copse of trees just there to the west, Master Dwarf. Can you find me a deadfall branch of seven or eight feet in length, slender and strong? Or if you must a sapling. Estel will have need of it in a moment," she said softly. Gimli nodded and moved off quickly. By the time Legolas had a mug of tea ready for her to drink, the dwarf was back. Legolas made her drink while Gimli set about stripping the branch of smaller branches and leaves.
"What is the branch for?" the elf asked curiously.
"Arwen's gift," she said softly. "In the saddlebags."
Legolas left the mug with her for a moment and went to Brego, opening the saddlebags and pulling out a length of black cloth. He unfolded it and looked at it for several heartbeats before moving swiftly to Gimli's side. Moments later, Gimli trotted off to stand beside Aragorn, the black banner held aloft on the newly stripped sapling. The silver device of the Kings of Gondor glinted faintly in the moonlight. Aragorn was delivering his speech to the Army of the Dead, promising them rest and peace in return for their loyalty in the fight against Sauron. The appearance of the banner created a stir in the ghostly ranks and she swore she heard a faint cheer ripple across the countryside. She felt a swell of pride for her foster brother that faded slowly along with her consciousness as the herbs in her tea kicked in.
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