Terrors of Minas Morgul

Chapter 1

The Morgul Vale was a deep cleft in the dark cliffs of the Ephel Duath. A thin, overshadowed road ran here between jagged boulders and barren stone, a black stream rushing beside it through the valley's dark confines. Only gnarled, long-dead trees remained as a memory of a time long past, when the fortress inside the vale had been Minas Ithil, a glistening white jewel to rival its sister in the west. Now all that was left was death and decay.

Aragorn looked ahead with dread, at the dark stones that confined the road and stream, the shapeless vapor that seemed to hover over the fields of poison flowers in the distance. This foray had been a bad idea - even just venturing into the very beginning of the valley, to test the path and see how thoroughly it was guarded, was an invitation for disaster. Foreboding saturated the air like noxious fumes.

Some life and light had still remained in Ithilien, a little oasis of green in which the blossoms of spring flowers had maintained their steadfast fight against the foul presence of orcs and wild men that too often soiled the paths east of the Anduin.

They had seen evidence of the passing of these troops of orcs and Southrons on their journey up the river, had been hard pressed to find shelter for themselves and their horses, as their enemies walked past, the mere presence of these creatures a dark blemish on the wilting beauty of Ithilien. Strangely, Aragorn thought of Ecthelion and Denethor, of the struggle that awaited them, the power that was brewing here in the East. He wondered if the lords of Gondor were aware of the spreading shadow, of how much of their lands were in truth already lost.

Denethor might have reclaimed the eastern shore of Osgiliath and sent rangers to Ithilien to try and stem the flood of darkness that spilled over the Mountains of Shadow – but if they had had any success it was not visible. Darkness still crawled down the mountains, tainting, devouring, corrupting everything it touched. Ithilien's beauty was fading, Gondor's dusk was approaching.

The question was not of if, but merely of how long Gondor would be able to withstand the forces of Mordor. Would there be anything to stop this advance of Sauron, his corruption of Middle Earth?

If the foreboding Elrond had felt, the very rumors he had sent his sons to investigate held true, a vast strength of Sauron's evil lurked within this vale, within the looming walls of Minas Morgul.

His eyes fell on one of the old statues that still lined the path into the Morgul Valley, broken and soiled by Sauron's underlings, it was no more than a last bright splotch of light stone that was readily swallowed by black weed and thorns. It seemed a metaphor to the fate of Gondor and all the West; strangled, choked.

And if Gondor was already lost, what hope remained? The realms of the elves were already fading. He had seen more of the fair folk leave these shores than any man in Gondor had ever even glimpsed from afar, and his time amongst men had proven that the fair folk were passing into legend and myth already. And into disregard - the reaction of Captain Callon's sailors towards his brothers had shown that clearly. It was merely a matter of time before suspicion and superstition would turn into open hostility. Was that also Sauron's influence? Did his will reach this far? Was he driving a wedge between the first and second born children of Illuvatar, to prevent them from ever forming another alliance strong enough to withstand him? If yes, Aragorn realized glumly, his victory was close at hand.

The future would hold nothing but despair, darkness and dread. The kingdoms of Middle Earth would fall, the free people would be enslaved or forced to flee, to abandon their homes and the lands of their forebears. And those that could, would sail west to the Undying Lands.

Unbidden his gaze wandered to his brothers, tall and noble on their elven horses, their long black hair bound back in regal warrior braids. They would sail, his heart told him, and abandon Middle Earth to its fate. When Elrond left, so would they, their longing for peace and for their mother too strong to overcome. And Arwen, he realized would sail as well, should sail as well. How could he ever hope to sway her in that choice? Why should he? Why bind her to him and to a doomed existence shrouded in darkness when she could have eternal happiness at her family's side?

He could not do it. Should not even consider it. More than ever the desperate attempts at finding the right words to write to her seemed like a child's attempt to garner the attention of its betters. What was he but a remnant of a dying past, a man who lacked the courage to claim his birthright?

He loved her, of course. But all the more, he should let her go because of it.

Suddenly, the piercing cry of an eagle cut through the vale and in the next moment a stray beam of sunshine fell across their path, alighting upon the once bright stones of the bridge that spanned the Morgulduin, cutting through the dark clouds in the overcast sky and cutting through a despair that was darker still.

With a snort Elrohir's horse rode up next to his and his brother looked at him intently, scanning his expression, unease written across his fair features. "Some sorcery is at play here, Estel. The very air is a miasma of dread. We cannot take this path. We must turn back. Now."

His urgency was palpable - and it was a wake up call amid the dark dreams of the enchanted valley. Aragorn nodded even as the wisps of the dark sense of despair began to clear from his mind, as the tendrils of ill intent loosened their hold. Now that Elrohir had spoken of it he could feel the presence of another will, could tell that the dark thoughts had not been his own, at least not entirely. There was still hope, for him, for Gondor, for Arwen. He only had to keep trusting to it.

Rebutted for now by the valley, yet not defeated, they turned their steeds around and rode back to the edges of the vale. The lingering light from the sun helped to dispel the last dredges of the Nazgûls' sorcery as the air ahead of them cleared in a fresh, vibrant breeze that sprang up suddenly, as if from a different world - one not corrupted by the darkness and poison of the Morgul Vale. Faint bird song drifted from some of the bramble bushes at the side of the road as they came close to the crossroads and more than ever, Ithilien seemed like a marvel of life, a determined haven fighting against the invading shadow of Mordor. A bastion of hope against the encroaching darkness.

They dismounted near the sheer wall that was the edge of the Mountains of Shadow, its steep, rocky cliffs an insurmountable obstacle on both sides of the cleft that formed the Morgul Vale. Aragorn looked up the steep, black slopes, foreboding though they were, with careful intent. Not least because it gave him something to do, something else to focus on besides the dark turns and troubled paths that his thoughts had walked in the vale. Better by far to set his mind to a new task - one of finding an alternative route.

If they could not take the path next to dark Morgulduin, they would have to climb the walls of the mountains and find a path that ran higher up. The ancient maps of Minas Tirith suggested it existed, a path of winding stone amid the ragged cliffs, from which, eventually the stair ran up to the path of Cirith Ungôl. He shuddered even thinking of the name, but at least that would not be their path.

No, they would be heading for Minas Morgul itself, he silently chided himself, as if that would prove any better.

"The path is guarded by more than just orcs," Elladan said, confirming Elrohir's earlier words and Aragorn's own feelings. The older twin looked troubled as he glanced back at the valley and absently reached for his side as if the injury there, inflicted by a Morgul blade, pained him still. He stopped the movement abruptly, however, when Elrohir caught sight of it. The younger twin's eyes narrowed in suspicion and Aragorn wondered if he had missed some exchange back on the path inside the Morgul Vale.

But Elrohir said nothing and so Aragorn spoke: "We should quest the mountain path, the old hidden escape from the city of Minas Ithil," he said, hoping to convince his brothers now. They had discussed their options, their best approaches on their way through Ithilien and he had told them then of the small perilous path that had been marked in the maps.

"Even if it still exists, the orcs will know of it."

Aragorn nodded. "Yes. But they might not guard it as closely as the main gate, and I see no other path for us to take, but through the very center of the Nazguls' awareness and the poisonous flowers of the vale." His brothers had wanted to try the road first, doubting that the influence of the ringwraiths would extend to the very edges of the valley. If not for the malice that hung over it, the winding, shadowed road might have provided cover enough to reach the outskirts of the old city unseen. But that approach had failed.

There was a beat of silence before Elladan eventually agreed, though he did not sound pleased. "It appears like the best option," he allowed and with no further delay, the elder twin turned, starting the process of gathering the most essential gear from his saddle packs and transferring them to a light pack instead. For all his hesitancy to agree he seemed ready to leave immediately. There was no trace of pain to his movements, but Aragorn noticed that Elrohir was watching his twin carefully regardless, barely veiled suspicion still in his eyes. And Aragorn thought that half the reason behind Elladan's fast approval of his suggested route was likely to evade that questing gaze.

He left his brothers to their silent quarrel and turned to his own horse, gathering the supplies he would need and speaking soft endearments to Domfast. It grieved him to leave his stallion behind, but in the company of the twins' own palfries he had a chance of avoiding detection and remaining safe until he and his brothers could return. In the increasingly orc-infested wilderness of Ithilien that hope seemed slim, but they had little choice.

The sun sank lower, its weak rays turning the pale blossoms of spring flowers at their feet a crimson orange, briefly setting the world alight with a cleansing flame. Elrohir still had not moved to pack, standing instead by Talagor's head and stroking his loyal companion. "I think we should rest here", he spoke up at last, "Wait out the night in relative safety – the cover of darkness will not avail us on this quest and the horses will be safer if they leave in the morning."

He very carefully did not look in Elladan's direction but Aragorn could see his oldest brother take offense and prepare to argue anyway – sometimes the sheer obstinacy of his brothers still surprised him. Before the older twin could voice exactly what was on his mind, Aragorn settled the argument: "I agree. Climbing to the hidden path will require light. And I could use a last good meal before we face the darkness of the Morgul Vale."

He looked at Elrohir, who gave him a brief nod. "I will see what I can do about that meal." With a last quick glance at his twin Elrohir disappeared into the bushes, gone to catch them some conies or other game.

Aragorn busied himself with setting up camp. The brambles around them made for good enough firewood and soon a fire was merrily burning in the middle of their makeshift camp. He sat down with a sigh, finally turning to Elladan who still had not moved, silently glowering at both the camp and the spot where Elrohir had vanished into the underbrush. His oldest brother never had been very good at letting his "younger" siblings take charge, preferring instead to be the one who took care of things, who took care of them.

"Will you not join me?"

Elladan gave a sigh but finally accepted the inevitable and walked over stiffly to settle on the ground next to Aragorn. He avoided looking at him, however, glancing instead in the direction Elrohir had gone. He might have accepted the need for this rest but he still very much radiated annoyance at his twin's perceived hovering.

"He is allowed to worry, you know." Aragorn pointed out, adding with a small smile "It is not your right alone."

Elladan snorted, a sound somewhere between amusement and reluctant agreement. Some of the lingering stiffness finally seemed to leave him as he conceded: "I guess you are right. But to think that Elrohir claimed he had mastered subtle hovering." He chuckled slightly, the sound like music in the dark stillness of the approaching night.

Aragorn was glad to hear it, to be rid of another of the long shadows that the Morgul Vale seemed to cast. The dark shadow had affected his brothers as well. Outwardly, however, he feigned shocked surprise. "He did? He must have been delusional – neither one of you knows the meaning of subtle."

His brother shoved him playfully, but the mood around their fire had brightened. When Elrohir returned with three skinny rabbits, they prepared a fine stew, and soon the soft sounds of their talk and laughter mingled with the crackling of the fire, a last bright glimmer before the darkness that awaited them in the Morgul Vale.

-o0o-

The hidden path was every bit as treacherous as Estel's warning had made it out to be. Jagged rock cut into Elrohir's palm as he looked for another foothold and slowly made his way higher. Eventually, there should be a narrow, level path, but here, at its start, their route was little more than a ragged wall, nearly vertical, its outcroppings razor sharp.

Elrohir wondered how anyone could have thought this a feasible passage; Even if it had always been meant as a secret escape route, surely this was too dangerous an option? The wound in his chest, mostly healed, still strained against the unfamiliar pull on his arms, and he glanced up at Elladan worriedly, knowing that his twin's injury was bound to be more painful still. For all his stubborn twin's efforts to conceal it, he could tell that the cut from the Morgul blade still bothered him, could still feel the faint echo of pain radiating through their bond. It had seemed healed when they had reached the Anduin, and started their northward journey through Ithilien, yet as they drew closer to Minas Morgul a new shadow, a renewed pain had started to bother Elladan - not that he had openly admitted to it. But Elrohir knew, and he could not help but be concerned at the implications, at the danger they were so recklessly seeking in the Morgul Vale.

The fallow light of an overcast morning was all they had to guide them, and it did little to lighten their mood or pierce the gloom that seemed to ever hang over the valley. Above him Elladan suddenly tensed, then shouted: "Crebain!"

And with a sudden rush and the flapping of many wings a dark cloud of whirling feathers and sharp beaks rushed past overhead, flying low over the valley, crowded between the walls of the mountains on either side.

Elrohir held his breath, pressing himself flat against the stone wall, hoping that he and his brothers would escape the watchful gaze of the dark birds. They circled overhead for just a moment before passing on, not lingering, yet it was clear that there was nothing natural to their flight pattern. There was an eery intelligence in the birds' eyes, and a dark sense of purpose about their murder.

"They are being controlled." he shouted up to his brothers, as loudly as he dared, when the dark birds had passed, "sent to secure this road."

Ahead, Elladan quickened his pace as he scrambled up the steep mountain side and soon disappeared over a rocky edge. They had reached more level ground at last. Estel and he quickly joined their older brother. From up here, it was clear that this was indeed a path, roughly hewn from the mountain in a mixture of the fine craftsmanship of the Numenorians and the crude damage inflicted by orcs. The lord of the Morgul Vale had not been idle since he had claimed this fortress and there could now be no doubt - the orcs knew of this path.

Elrohir sat for a moment at the edge of the cliff, waiting for his shoulder to stop smarting and looking back over the path into Ithilien. Just next to him Elrohir saw a large metal ring, deeply embedded into the ancient rock, and another of equal make not too far from it. Old, rotten wood and fine debris still remained stuck to the first and it was clear what they must have been - foundations for a ladder that could be raised and lowered at will. The Numenoreans of old had never meant to climb this wall barehanded. And with good reason, Elrohir thought as he massaged his aching arms, critically mustering the superficial cuts on his palms. "First Minas Tirith, now Minas Morgul. Can there not be a way into these cities that does not involve scaling mountains?"

Elladan snorted, amused, as he helped Elrohir to his feet. "I recall the road into Minas Tirith being smooth and delightful. Come!"

They made their way further along the path, the going now much easier, but with the increase in comfort came an equal rise in danger. The orcs did not only know of this path, they patrolled it regularly. Frequently they had to escape the beasts' watchful eyes, or hide between crevices or boulders as the crebain swooped overhead once more. And over it all hung the air of decay, the feeling of the watchful gaze from the Nazgûl tower, still hidden in gloom. Before long, the strain was showing in them all, a constant need to be alert, to fight off the whispered doubts, the despair that would suffocate their spirits. Less intense than it had been on the main road below, yet just as terrible.

To Elrohir, the Nazgûls' presence was a constant pressure on his mind, an evil will testing his mental defenses, wearing his barriers thin, teasing, mocking. A terrifyingly familiar power that sought to invade his mind once more. Elrohir shook his head to clear his thoughts and focused instead on his brothers. Elladan was ahead of him, still leading them on, but his posture was stiff, an unnatural rigidity to his back as he led them over the treacherous path and around another bend. Estel behind him on the other hand was hunched over, his steps shambling, his face pale in the ashen light of the valley. He followed them silently and matched their pace, but there was something in his gaze, some dark thoughts he was contemplating and his eyes were not entirely on the path in front of him.

Elrohir hastened his steps, catching up to his twin. "We should rest."

Elladan shook his head. "No, we should press on. The sooner we reach the fortress the sooner we will find the information we have come here to gather."

Elrohir held his twin's gaze, irrationally hoping that Elladan would see reason, would understand the need for rest. He did not like the look in his brother's eyes, driven, haunted, and he knew that, for all his denials and evasions, the shadow of the valley was lying heavily on Elladan. Unbidden, his gaze flicked to the wound in Elladan's side, irrationally fearing the sight of blood, though he knew that physically the wound was healed, should be healed.

Elladan noticed. He turned around abruptly, breaking the connection, evading any further probing. When Elrohir reached out to hold him back his twin shook off his hand irritably. "Will you stop your fretting?" he snapped over his shoulder and stalked off, leaving Elrohir behind on the cold, barren path.

Estel caught up to him a moment later and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, nudging him along. "We had best not let him get too far ahead." There was a weariness to his younger brother's words, a hunch to his shoulders as he fought against the wind or the dark menace of the Nazgûls' aura, or both. Elrohir sighed. This foray was a very bad idea.

Turning to face Estel fully, Elrohir asked: "How are you holding up?"

Estel merely shrugged, waving off his concern. "I will be fine. And, truthfully, I too would prefer not to linger in this valley longer than necessary."

Elrohir's gaze traveled over the path ahead of them and the jagged black rock that lined the steep drop down into the vale. Ahead of them in the cleft between the mountains he could just see the pinnacle of the tower of Minas Morgul, its dome a sickly green that seemed to swallow the light rather than reflect it. It rose from a cloying cloud of mist that shrouded the entire lower path, the bottom of the valley in an impenetrable, foul-smelling fog.

For a moment Elrohir imagined he could see shapes in the fog, bodiless spirits and terrible wraiths, bound to Arda and doomed to eternal punishment. He shuddered, remembering the stories of the Houseless that would haunt the living, demanding justice for deeds done, cursed to forever prevail in the land between the realms of shadow and light, never to find peace. A gust of wind tore the shapes in the mist aside, dispelling the image - but the dread lingered. This was the realm of the Nazgûl and despair was their weapon. One that they wielded with cruel accuracy.

He had felt this dread before, in the touch of the palantir, the pursuit by the Nazgûl on the Anduin and the open sea, and before that, many years ago, when the Witch King himself had besieged their home. And he had experienced despair that was far more potent still.

Unconsciously, he grasped the hilt of his sword, his eyes still glued to the mist in the valley but his mind wandering onto dangerous paths. With considerable effort he dragged his thoughts back, tried to ignore the way in which the path in front of him seemed to shift, to overlay with bitter memories. The black rock of the Mountains of Shadow briefly appeared much lighter, the path wider, a well-traveled, worn track though the Misty Mountains - over Caradhras.

Estel's nudge on his shoulder came again, breaking the illusion and this time Elrohir was grateful to keep moving, to leave the haunting vision behind. They followed the rocky path around another corner and caught up to Elladan, who was impatiently waiting for them, waving them off to the side as soon as they rounded the bend, his own back pressed to the rockwall at the side of the path, tense.

"Orcs," he explained, "a camp of some sort. It blocks the entire path."

Elrohir grasped his sword again. "How many?"

He saw a glimmer of hesitation in his twin's eyes. Something in the way Elladan held his sword belied that he was eager for a fight, eager to send the creatures of Melkor back to their master, but he reigned in the demons of hatred and shook his head. "Too many to fight without raising an alarm. We will need another route"

Knowing what his brother was suggesting, Elrohir stepped back a fraction, looking at the wall of the path critically. The wall on their right was climbable, if barely so, and it might be their only option. The same steep cliff lined the path here that had marked their initial ascent onto the hidden route.

He sighed, resigning himself to more climbing. "Up, would be best I think."

Elladan nodded, having clearly come to the same conclusion. In a much appreciated gesture of goodwill he reached out a hand to lie on Elrohir's shoulder and said: "And once we pass this encampment and find someplace safe, we can stop to rest." He turned to Estel. "Ready?"

Estel nodded and adjusted his pack, the weariness from earlier was still in his gaze, but as was typical for him, he soldiered on regardless, ignoring any impediment unless forced to admit to it. Elrohir smiled ruefully as he figured that it was probably him and Elladan that had taught him that particular trait.

They climbed high above the path, clinging to the walls like spiders as the wind tore at their cloaks and hair. It carried the foul stench of decay, of the poisonous Morgul flowers and of the smoldering fire in the orc camp below; A roaring beast of flame, with something that did not bear closer inspection roasting over it. Orc voices carried up to them, a mixture of harsh guttural commands and an ear-piercing rhythmic wailing - their mockery of music and song. Hatred for the vile beasts stirred in Elrohir, resting uneasily in his soul after the vision of the Redhorn pass, ready to pounce, but he reigned in his rage. They were here to observe, to scout – not to get themselves killed. He concentrated on his handholds instead, focused on setting one foot in front of the other, shuffling ever sideways along the barren wall of rock.

At least it was easy to find those handholds and to get a good grip on protruding stones. The whole rock wall was marked with sharp, cutting edges, deep wounds inflicted by the shifting of mountains long ago.

Slowly, they passed over the encampment of orcs and then left it behind as they passed around a bend and out of sight. But they remained above the path, still holding to the outcroppings of rough stone in the dark wall, lest they run into an orc patrol on the narrow road below.

A platform, not too far ahead and above them caught Elrohir's attention - a possible place to rest. But even as he started to speak, to garner his brothers' attention, another patrol of orcs crossed the path beneath them.

The beasts' guttural voices uttered foul curses in the black tongue as they picked their way between fallen boulders and over uneven ground. They appeared single-minded, disinterested in the task, not expecting to ever actually find something on their way, merely plodding on through the gloom.

Until they stopped.

And sniffed the air.

Elrohir's heart beat faster, suddenly acutely aware of how vulnerable their position truly was. The ground was still far below them, the orc encampment with its dozens of guards well within earshot, if these orcs below them so much as looked up…

His thoughts broke off as Estel suddenly slid downward in a shower of small stones and broken debris, uttering a silent, heartfelt curse. His little brother scrabbled ineffectively at the stone wall, desperately trying to find a new handhold, ever sliding lower. Elrohir flung his own arm out, stretching as far as he could and luckily, mercifully, caught Estel's hand. The added weight of his brother almost cost him his own perch on the wall and the sharp shard of stone he was holding onto cut mercilessly into his fingers, but he had caught Estel.

And alerted the orcs to their presence.

-o0o-

tbc...

A/N: ah, I have missed these three, their ongoing adventure and, most of all, those cliffhangers :D Welcome to part 3 of this trilogy about the events of TA2980 (one of those years were everything happened - we'll even get a mention of Gollum). I hope you liked the first chapter and are as excited to see where this is going as I am. If so, please let me know.

mostly based on this line: "[...] perils on the dark confines of Mordor, where Sauron now dwelt again and was busy with evil." (The Return of the King, LoTR Appendix A, Annals of the Kings and Rulers: Here Follows a Part of The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen) - I take on the confines to mean the Morgul Vale.
with undertones of this discussion: "If man must needs walk in sight of the Black Gate, or tread the deadly flowers of Morgul Vale, then perils he will have." (The Fellowship of the Ring, The council of Elrond), suggesting that Aragorn had been in the Morgul Vale before.

And Faramir's description of the Morgul Valley: "It is a place of sleepless malice, full of lidless eyes." (The Two Towers, The Forbidden Pool)