Aragorn awoke with a sudden start and found himself still in the oppressive darkness of the hidden corridor. He groped about blindly for the lamp. After a moment, his fingers grasped the cool metal handle and he relit the lamp, glad to have the light, as if it would chase away the horrific nightmare he had been having. He sat still for the moment, taking in the comforting light that chased away the shadows. When his racing heart finally began to beat normally once again, he stood. He did not know how long he had slept and he suddenly felt very aware of the precious little time that was allotted to him.
He began his journey again. Every so often after making a turn, he would come to flights of steps leading either up or down. Aragorn chose to follow the latest series of steps down into the darkness. The outside world was still wrapped in night, it being just an hour or two after midnight. Now Aragorn faced a fork in the path. He chose to head to the right.
Another long corridor faced him and he went steadily forward, cutting the darkness around him with the first light it had seen in long ages. At last the corridor came to an end. He was in a circular clearing that roughly resembled a room or storage area, though for what purpose, he could not say. There was nothing there to cut the emptiness. Aragorn sighed to himself. It was a dead end, probably made to confuse whatever enemies might happen upon the secret passages between the palace walls. For good measure though, Aragorn scanned the walls looking for the faintest sign of a door. There was none. He turned to head back into the corridor.
Without warning he felt his left foot snag upon something on the ground, almost throwing him off his feet. Quickly, he steadied himself and then squatted down to see what he had tripped upon. There was a rusty metal ring embedded into the floor. Interest flooded over the Gondorian. He pulled up on the ring, opening the door. Further darkness greeted him. Cautiously, he thrust the lamp through the opening. There was a storeroom here, small and cramped with barrels. He was above it, looking down into the middle of the room. The floor was not far. He could drop down and lift himself back into the room above in an instant if need called for it. He decided to chance it. Silently he eased himself into the room, like a thief in the night. He spent a few precious minutes ferreting through the store, taking what he could easily carry in the small bag he carried with him and would last him a few days, in case he was not able to return to the room soon. Then he quietly stole back out through the trapdoor, shutting it firmly behind him.
When he reached the fork once again, he decided to chance the left route. Another set of steps greeted him after a few moments. At the base he noticed a faint stirring in the air around him. He was coming to the wing of the palace. Suddenly the close walls fell away, leaving him in a wide, open space. There were slits in the walls here to let in air. These were to his right. To his left and close to the ground were iron grates like vents. Beyond that he could see the glimmer of torchlight. Now he heard voices speaking together in elvish. Aragorn extinguished his own lamp and as quietly as he could, he laid down upon the floor. He peered into the room beyond the grates.
He had found one of the king's prisons. Cells lined the wall beneath him and he could hear the muttering of Gimli. Aragorn smiled grimly. At least he knew where his companion was. But more interesting to him were the soft voices of the elves. He listened closely, at once glad that he had grown up in the house of Elrond, for Elvish was his second language because of that.
He strained his eyes to see where the voices were coming from. After a moment or two, he found them, vague black shapes in at back of the room, their backs to him. They were peering at something on a table before them.
"Your plan is working well," said one voice.
"Almost too well," said another.
"Did you doubt me?" asked a third voice.
"No," replied the second. "But I still fear failure."
"I will not fail," snorted the third voice, and Aragorn guessed that he must have been the leader. But leader of whom and what his plan was, Aragorn did not know. "Thranduil and his son are completely under my control. You saw how quickly they succumbed to the serum."
Aragorn's ears perked up.
"Aye, but still, that ranger remains on the loose. If he gets to either of them," the second voice started to protest. He was cut off by the first elf who had spoken.
"They will kill him. Do not doubt our father's abilities. No others could have discovered such a potent drug and its' uses."
"How long will the effects last?" asked the second elf. "How much longer must this charade continue for?"
"As long as they continue to receive the serum, the effects will last. As for us, we need only play this little game until the man and dwarf are executed. Then we make our move."
"Why not before? Why not strike tomorrow?" It was the doubtful voice of the second elf again.
The leader did not seem to be in good humor and growled his response back. "Because I am in charge. And because our little prince has only had one dose of the serum. He is of strong will and though has succumbed to my wishes thus far, I will not chance failure. Too long have I prepared for this. One hundred and fifty eight years I spent perfecting this serum. I will not risk failure by rushing into things now."
The second figure stepped back at the verbal lashing he had received. The leader pushed something into his hands.
"Now then, we are getting low on our main ingredient. Go to the cell to the left of the dwarf and fill this container. Be wary though!"
Aragorn shrank back a little into the shadows as far as he could go without losing sight of the approaching elf. The tops of the cells were solid metal and Aragorn could not see what it was that the cell contained. But after a moment he heard a low and menacing hiss as a long slender leg poked out from behind the bars.
Spiders! The realization hit Aragorn like a stone. They must be using spider venom to control the minds of Legolas and Thranduil! But what devilry is this? The spiders of Mirkwood are dark in color. That leg was the reddish color of dry clay.
After several slow minutes passed, the elf returned to his leader with the filled container in hand. The leader received it into his hands and immediately set to work mixing the venom with other ingredients that Aragorn could not see. What he did see answered one of the pressing questions plaguing his mind. A jug filled with wine was brought by one of the others and the prepared serum was emptied into it.
"Make sure that they drink only this wine," the leader instructed the other elves with him, and Aragorn now saw a fourth figure standing silently among them. "As for you," he said, turning to the silent one, "take these." From a jar, the leader extracted something Aragorn could not see. "These will ensure the clarity of your mind, as a precaution of course. We need you to remain unaffected."