Well, reviews were scanty for the third chapter at best, but I nevertheless labored long and hard to get this chapter out despite all odds… Maybe I should just take a hint from the bad feedback and just accept the fact that I can't write to save my life… But whatever the case, it looks like I lied when I said I'd be having shorter chapter from now on…Talk about famous last words! This chapter itself is a book! But don't get too excited, this was a fluke.
But before we get to the story, I wanted to acknowledge and thank those that did review my last chapter in what will be officially dubbed the 'LAXgirl Forum of Insanity and Discourse!'
So here we go:
Hermione Eveningfall: OK…somebody has some split personality issues… ^_^ Anyway, thanks. I do feel very special to be on anyone's favorite's list. You love me! You really love me!!! Good luck with "Hope has a Place" I'll be checking it out soon…
Shirehobbit2002@yahoo: Yeah, I know it's the same person as up top, but this one has only one personality for me to deal with… LOL I tried to get Toreingal's character as dislikable as possible. It looks like he won't be having thousands of fan followings as his hot stud muffin cousin!
Mystical Magic: Aaaa! Don't hurt me! See I got my lazy butt in gear and got you another chapter! And no…Toreingal is not evil.
Kaimelieamin: Yayness! A review! Thanks…I like how I describe Legolas' helplessness too…It just makes me want to give him a big hug…
Little Wing: *blushes profusely* Thanks… You're like the third person to say I've kept everyone in character… I don't go out of my way to do that but thanks for noticing!
OK, enough of that. Back to the story. But we can't forget that all important disclaimer! Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all related characters are not mine. Names, characters, places, and incidents, either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictionally without permission from whoever owns LOTR. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. (How's that for a disclaimer…?)
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Uneasiness gnawed at the back of Gimli's mind like an unreachable itch as he and his two companions guided their horses slowly through the forest of towering trees. The solid brown trunks of the looming giants stood like ancient pillars of stone; so great in girth that four men would have been needed to hug the monstrosities completely. Their leafy green umbrella tops disappeared into the sky overhead where each other's neighbor's branches merged into one to create a giant meshy green blanket.
An unnatural, suffocating silence surrounded the small band of weary travelers. Even Shadowfax and his elf-raised brethren seemed to sense something unnerving in the heavy damp air. Their sodden hoof falls on the thick earthy soil and an occasional nervous snort were the only sounds to break the still silence of the damp forest.
The fine drizzle that had fallen tirelessly for the past day and a half on the heads of the three riders had mysteriously tapered off almost immediately after them entering the lush green valley. The low sky remained overcast and gray hidden behind stagnant clouds heavily pregnant with rain. But no drops of water seemed to reach the ground.
"I don't like this place…" Toreingal muttered warily under his breath, breaking the tension. Scanning the surrounding tree with his sharp eyes as if looking for some hidden enemy, the elf fingered the hilt of the curved knife that hung from his waist nervously.
Venturing to speak further in the oppressive calm and quiet of the green forest, the elf said uneasily, "There is no sound here. No birds. No animals. Not even the sound of the wind blowing, though I can feel it on my face… And there is something strange about the trees. I cannot hear them speak or even whisper. There is something not right here…"
"While I do not share your elven ability to listen and converse with Nature and Her living creatures, I have noticed the same thing…" Gandalf agreed tightly, "There is something strange about this valley. And I fear I know who is responsible for it. It seems Eronel is not sleeping peacefully in her cave and still has some influence on the outside world, though I do not know to what extent. We should be very cautious from here on in while in this valley."
"Is that possible?" Gimli exclaimed in a hushed voice of amazement that nevertheless rang out like a crash through the abnormally silent forest, "Could this witch still have so much power after so many centuries?"
From somewhere ahead of the dwarf, there came a disdainful snort. From the head of the group, Toreingal swiveled in his saddle to look over his shoulder. Eyeing Gimli from the corner of his eye, the elf curled his lips distastefully at the dwarf and hissed, "Shows how much a dwarf would know… Elves do not diminish in power the older they get unlike some other, lesser races…" Here Legolas' cousin cast a condescending gaze down upon Gandalf and Gimli who seemed to have become representatives for their respective races. "Eronel is one of the Undying. Her powers - no matter how dark - would not have just faded away after a couple hundred years of isolation. No. Elves are not ones to suffer from the harsh grip of time's hands."
"Do not be so proud to state such thing, Toreingal," Gandalf chastened with a sharp glance from his ice blue eyes set beneath a pair of bushy white eyebrows wrinkled with age and wisdom, "For while Eronel may be locked away from the world, her power has most likely been festering and growing in the darkness. Who knows what power she might wield now…" Trailing off, the white wizard stared ahead into the layered walls of thick trees that faded away into a green and brown haze in the far distance.
The elf contemplated the old man for a long moment before finally giving a small huff and turning his back on the wizard and dwarf, letting the strange stillness of the woods sting their ears once again. Maneuvering their quick and sure-footed horses over the sparse underbrush of the mossy forest floor, the small band penetrated farther into the valley of the trapped sorceress.
Alone in his thoughts as they delved deeper into the thick forest, Gimli sat atop his mount determined not to slip off the side of the monstrous beast and give the elf something more to jeer about him. Gimli hated ridding horses or anything else for that matter. The dwarf prided himself in his own two legs.
Keeping one hand on the pommel of the saddle to keep himself anchored to the moving animal's back. Gimli held the reigns loosely in his other gloved hand, unsure of how to exactly use them. Gimli's horse had long ago during the first few hours of the journey sensed the dwarf's lack of horsemanship and merely trotted on beside Gandalf's white stallion, Shadowfax.
Grumbling quietly to himself, Gimli simmered over how much he hated horseback riding. He hated the feeling of being precariously perched atop an animal five times his own size with the strength to throw him to the ground with a mere toss of its massive head.
Thinking of this, Gimli's thought obstinately, 'A dwarf should not have to subject himself to riding one of these beasts. Let Men and Elves use them, but not us Dwarves. Legs are the most reliable mode of transportation, I always say, especially a Dwarf's. But Legolas always knew how to handle these things whenever the situation called for it. That's why I always rode with him. It was like that elf could almost talk to them…"
A deep heaviness came upon Gimli's heart at these thoughts. For a moment he had almost forgotten about his quest and his guilt for his elvish friend. The dwarf hung his head solemnly, falling into memories of the once high-spirited elf.
But try as he might to remember the happier memories of Legolas' smiling face or one of his sarcastic comments about Dwarves that was always meant in jest and good humor, Gimli could now only see a once proud and fearless elf slowly dying, his skin as pale as snow and eyes filled with pain.
Gimli's thoughts wondered aimlessly in an endless sea of guilt at the thought of the fading warrior, all the while blaming himself for causing his friend so much pain and suffering. Surely he should have somehow sensed something evil on the blade of that dagger before he had given it to Legolas, but he hadn't. And now Legolas was to pay for his stupidity and foolishness.
But as Gimli sat wallowing in self-pity and guilt, he came to remember something Gandalf had said in passing. And though they had seemed like only empty words at the time they were spoken, they now seemed to be full of wisdom and knowledge beyond a simple dwarf's understanding.
'You are not to blame for this. You will be of no help to Legolas if you do not realize this soon. He does not blame you, so you should neither. There is a great friendship between you and he. And it is because of this, you were unable to not go to his aid…'
It suddenly occurred to Gimli that the white wizard might have understood more about the dwarf then what he really wanted to admit. Gimli now understood Gandalf's words when he had said he was not going to be able to help Legolas as long as he was still in the grips of guilt. Gimli knew he now had to reassess his position in this mission to save his friend's life. Was he to play the helpless victim or the one to actually save the elf?
Perhaps Gandalf had wanted Gimli to come to this simplistic yet profound conclusion himself, on his own terms and at his own time. Or perhaps, Gandalf had just known that stubborn dwarf was not going to listen to reason no matter how hard the wizard tried to hammer it into his thick little head.
'Well,' snorted the dwarf to himself, 'I'm not about to let that elf, Toreingal, think I'm nothing more then luggage on this mission. I promised Legolas I was going to bring him back his cure, and I'd give my father's mines away to Orcs before I let that conceded and pompous elf show me up!'
Filled with renewed purpose and energy, Gimli suddenly became aware of a distant bubbling noise like that of a small stream from somewhere in the distance to his right. Gandalf and Toreingal, who rode several paces in front of him, had also seemed to pick up on this welcome sound to their noise-starved ears. From where he sat, Gimli almost swore he actually saw Legolas' cousin's ears perk up at the soft sound.
"Running water…" Gandalf noted, not to the surprise of the other two who had come to such conclusions by themselves.
"We should follow it to its source," Toreingal suggested, as he wheeled his snorting gray mount around to face in the direction of the unseen moving water, "Lord Elrond said Eronel's cave was guarded by a waterfall. Thus we should seek out running streams instead of tramping through these woods needlessly as we are now."
"I suppose you thought of that all by yourself, didn't you, elf?" Gimli mocked at Toreingal, slowly returning to his normal proud self. "Well, if you keep coming up with such profound assessments like this, then you may prove yourself useful to this mission yet…"
Not giving the elf time to recover from this unexpected remark, Gimli tapped his stubby little legs against his horse's ribs. Surprised by the dwarf's sudden show of assertiveness, the chestnut colored mare whined softly and kicked off the ground, galloping away from the others in the direction of the gurgling brook as Gimli bounced recklessly in his saddle and became lost in the walls of surrounding trees.
Left in his wake, Gandalf could only chuckle under his breathe as Toreingal sputtered for words beside him.
"Useful?…Profound assessments!?" the elf spat with rage, almost bristling around the edges with insult, "How dare that dwarf mock me…Of all the disrespect. I should--"
"-Hurry!" Gandalf's merry voice broke out clearly from a short distance away.
Chuckling to himself in amusement for Toreingal's enraged temper tantrum, the white wizard was already in pursuit of Gimli on the back of Shadowfax. "Come along, Toreingal!" he called over his shoulder laughingly, "Gimli is already far ahead of you! Don't just sit there like moss on the side of a tree! We have much to do!" Letting another laugh escape from his bearded lips, Gandalf and Shadowfax took off in the direction the dwarf had just disappeared.
"How my cousin survived so long a time around these people, I will never know," the elf hissed through gritted teeth as he spurred his horse after the two with a quick jab of his boots. Muttering curses about dwarfs and wizards, Toreingal slipped away from the path into the thicket of towering tree trunks and hurried after his quarry.
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Breaking out of the silent forest, Toreingal found himself again beside Gandalf and Gimli who sat atop their stopped mounts, looking out before them. The three stood in a treeless space of area several yards long that was covered in a thick carpet of lush green grass and a multitude of other plants. Running through this lush area, a quiet mountain spring several paces wide ran, gurgling lazily as the cold clear water fell and lapped over a shallow bed of slippery smooth rocks.
Shrouded in a thick gray mist in the east, one of the surrounding mountains of the river valley stood, its snowcapped peaks, which supplied the small stream with its melted snow and ice, scrapped the underside of the low heavy clouds overhead.
"Which way?" Gimli asked, tentatively directing his question to Gandalf to deliberately ignore the elf that had just joined them. Gimli could feel Toreingal's eyes boring into his back, but took no notice of him. In fact, the dwarf was now beginning to secretly enjoy playing with his friend's cousin solely out of spite.
The old man sat pondering the question thoughtfully for a brief space of time before finally saying, "I would turn our search first towards the east, since there we would find higher land closer to the stream's source near the base of the mountain. There we might find Eronel's waterfall."
Directing their horses heads east towards the great mountain of rock in the distance, the three moved along the side of the stream. As they rode on quickly to the accompanying soundtrack of the rushing brook, they could begin to notice a gradual change in the land. After a quarter of a mile or so, the banks of the stream began to become a noticeably steeper and rockier grade as more of the lusher river grass gave way to hardier plants more suitable to the quicker current of the stream the closer the three travelers came to its source.
After a mile and a half, the banks and surrounding land of the stream suddenly became more hilly and rocky, almost jutting straight upwards in small cliffs several feet high. Despite their sturdy nature and strength, the horses of the three began to show signs of struggle along the broken banks of the creek. The very air they breathed seemed to become noticeably closer and heavier the farther they pressed onward, as though weighted down with time and ancient secrets.
"The path is becoming more difficult and the horses are tired. We should leave them and go on by foot. We can move faster that way and allow the horses time to rest before our return journey. We will need all their speed," Toreingal said, suddenly pulling back his dapple-gray mount and stopping. Nimbly leaping from the back of his horse, the elf gently led the creature to a grassy area a short distance away from the edge of the now quickly moving stream whose rushing waters now foamed in a frothy soup around the partially submerged rocks embedded in its bottom. Willing the tired beast to stay with a tender hand on its long face, Toreingal dropped its reigns to the mossy forest floor, not needing to tie it up.
"I think we should keep moving but not without our horses," Gandalf cautioned under his breath, "I do not like the air around here. It is stagnant with ancient magic. We are getting very close to the one we seek…"
"Well, I for once agree with the elf," Gimli said as he slid from his saddle a bit too ungraceful in comparison with the display just given by his elven companion. Giving thanks for the solid, unmoving ground beneath his feet, the dwarf added, "I ache all over from ridding that creature so far without rest. I fear my legs will be bowed by the time we return to Rivendell. I need to stretch my muscles a bit and walk. I don't need any creature porting me around anymore."
Seeing dissention in the ranks no matter what he counseled, Gandalf huffed obstinately. Snorting softly, the white stallion beneath the wizard pawed the rocky soil beside the banks of the stream and hung its massive head towards the ground tiredly.
"So I am outvoted from all sides then?" Gandalf sighed as he slid from Shadowfax's broad back. Nuzzling the wizard's side tenderly, the white horse gave a low and pitiful whinny. "Fine then," he said, giving his steed's mighty neck an affectionate pat, "We will go on by foot…"
Leaving the horses in a small group in the grassy area, Gandalf turned and strode to where Gimli and Toreingal both stood looking up the bank where the path became narrower in the near distance and the trees' thick roots jutted out over the edge of the creek side, making a formidable obstacle course. Slabs and outcrops of slippery rocks also added to the obstruction of the path.
"What do you say now, Gandalf?" Toreingal sniped arrogantly as the three studied their next leg of the journey, "Would you still risk guiding our horses over this rough terrain?"
Biting back a quick-tempered comeback to the overly proud elf, Gandalf calmly replied to subtly agitate the warrior, "No. No I wouldn't, Toreingal. Now that I see it, I would have to agree with you. I doubt even Shadowfax could have covered this."
"Well, what are we wasting time here talking about horses we can't even use while Legolas is still waiting for us?" Gimli scoffed impatiently as he started up the side of the terraced stream, his pace brisk and undaunted as he scrambled up the first slop of rocks on his short little dwarf legs.
Come along then," the old man hastened to the elf as he followed the miner up the climbing creek banks, "The waterfall shouldn't be much further. I can hear the crashing of water nearby and the air is becoming thicker…We are very close now to the witch's cave…"
Grumbling again under his breath, Toreingal slung his bow over his shoulder and leapt after the wizard and dwarf.
~~~~~
It was a magical sight to behold. The clear blue water of the mountain spring sang musical notes as it tumbled gracefully over the eight foot drop of the small gray cliff face into a basin of water at its feet, forming a tranquil pond of shimmering cool water. Not more then twenty five feet across, the pool lapped its sandy banks gently where the water was so clear one could see straight down to its pebbly bottom. On the far end of the pool, the basin gave way to a sloping area where the water then spilled out down another small hill into a rushing stream.
Massive trees lined the majestic waterfall, their snaking gray roots weaving an intricate pattern along the mossy forest floor. A wispy mist hung low to the ground, giving the area a mysterious and unearthly ambiance.
"I was not expecting this witch's prison to be so beautiful," Toreingal whispered almost reverently as the three beheld the beauty and serenity of Eronel's lair, "Is this the right place?"
Do not be deceived by appearances," Gandalf said, "I can almost smell the magic in the air it is so thick. This is the place we seek. Do not let your guard down. For here in this seemingly peaceful place, we must be on our highest guard."
Striding closer to the shores of the silver pool at the base of the rushing waterfall, the white wizard leaned against his staff and bowed his head as if listening to the air around him. Toreingal and Gimli stood silently by as Gandalf mediated to himself. Finally, the old man raised his bearded face and said in a low voice, "Yes. This is the place. I can feel Eronel stretching her powers out to us. We must be quick. I do not like this place. No matter how beautiful a rose is, it still has thorn to prick unwary fingers. We must not be fooled by things here. Eronel is a trickstress and manipulator of the senses."
Looking towards the small waterfall whose waters splashed and fell innocently into the pool below, Gandalf directed, "Come, Toreingal. We must take water from the fall itself. That is where the magic is contained. I need the service of your nimble elf-feet to go over the slippery rocks to get it."
"And what am I to do then?" huffed the dwarf sorely, feeling once again like only baggage.
"I need your sharp dwarf-eyes to keep watch," Gandalf replied with biting sarcasm and a small smile, as he pulled from some hidden pocket in his flowing white robes a small empty vial corked with glass at the top. Turning his back on the short miner, the wizard bade Toreingal to follow him.
As the two made their way towards the base of the waterfall, Gimli snorted with wounded pride. So it seemed the elf was going to show him up after all. Their return trip was going to probably be filled with Toreingal's snide comments about how he was the one to actually retrieve the enchanted water instead of Gimli.
'Just as long as Legolas survives this whole mess, I guess I really won't care what the pointy-eared warg monger says,' Gimli scowled to himself.
Looking out over the serene and beautiful scene of the waterfall and silver pool, Gimli frowned. 'And just what exactly are my 'sharp dwarf eyes' suppose to be keeping watch for…" he thought despondently to himself, tapping the end of his ax in the earthy soil out of boredom.
Out of earshot of Gandalf and Toreingal who was currently in the process of skipping carefully from rock to rock along the base of the small waterfall into the silver pool below, Gimli again became aware of the uneasy silence of the encircling forest. A cool breeze kissed the dwarf's cheeks beneath his helmet as his heart thundered loudly in his ears in the stillness.
Standing there, leaning idly against his useless ax like a prop as he listened to the intense sound of nothing, a cold wave of prickles suddenly crawled up the unsuspecting dwarf's neck. Gimli, at first instinctively froze in place, the unmistakable feeling of being watched clamping down on his mind and senses.
Gripping the handle of his ax securely, Gimli stilled his breath, trying to hear any sound from his unseen stalker. Willing his heart to stop beating so that he might better analyze the heavy damp air, the miner could not discern any sounds from around him that would alert him to any hidden presence.
Almost ready to lower his ax and blame his unfounded uneasiness on the stories told to him by Gandalf and Elrond of the entrapped evil sorceress, Gimli suddenly froze as he felt a shiver of cold again creep up his spine.
"Gimli…"
A soft plaintive voice whispered out from what seemed like a great distance. It was female and almost sad in tone as he speaker again called out to the startled dwarf by name only now more pleadingly and urgent.
"Gimli…"
Now frightened beyond all reasoning, the miner wheeled around thinking the voice had come from behind, but found only empty forest stretched out before him. Straining his yes to see anything, the dwarf called out in the strongest voice he could muster, "Who's there? Show yourself!"
"I am here…" whispered the soft and sad voice, which seemingly had now sounded from everywhere but nowhere at once.
Spinning around on his heels to find the mysterious speaker, confusion and extreme nervousness assailed Gimli as his searching eyes were again met with nothing but the strange waterfall and pool. "Where are you?" he shouted more demandingly, becoming frustrated by these frightening games of secrecy.
"Right here…" the feminine voice again riddled softly, her musical syllables flitting like butterflies between the dwarf's ears.
Pinpointing the elusive voice, the dwarf's head snapped down to the perfectly smooth glass-like surface of the silver pool. What Gimli saw shimmering on the mirror-like water startled a tiny gasp from his lips. There, reflected on the still surface of the mountain pond was the watery image of a porcelain-skinned woman. A cascade of pale blond hair, like that of the shade of frost-covered straw, flowed around her flawless oval face and down over his slender shoulders. But at the woman's collarbone, her image became wispy and faded away into nothing in the silvery water. Poking out from the waves of fair hair, a set of delicately pointed ears caught the dwarf's eyes. The mysterious woman was an Elf.
Staring dumbly at the ghostly apparition there on the water, Gimli's breath caught in his throat at the stunning beauty before him. For a minute, the dwarf thought he was looking down upon an image of his beautiful Lady of the Woods, Galadriel. But instead of the Elf-Lady's profoundly deep and ancient gray eyes that were filled with wisdom and immeasurable understanding of all things, a pair of sharp blue eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul attacked Gimli. Under their cold hard gaze, he felt suddenly naked and seized by their intense power. And he knew he was looking down onto the face of the ancient elven sorceress Eronel.
"What magic is this?" Gimli muttered to himself as he took a curious step closer to the pond's sandy edge, immediate fear and awe blinding him from any caution.
"I know why you have come, Gimli son of Gloin," Eronel's watery image whispered softly, "You have come a long way seeking salvation for the Elf prince, Legolas. You have come for the enchanted water…" The woman's voice sounded in Gimli's mind as though it echoed through his very skull. Startled by this, Gimli realized her voice did not come from her lips, even though they moved in sequence to her words, but were rather projected into his own thoughts and heard not by ears but by his soul.
"And how, may I ask, did the Lady come to know of my name and mission?" Gimli questioned with feigned politeness, feeling irrepressibly suspicious and uneasy towards the entrapped sorceress who had somehow projected her image into the waterfall's basin.
"I know many things…" Eronel answered almost indifferently to the question. The woman's voice was nevertheless sweet and soft to Gimli, as was her expression that seemed to milk pity from the dwarf's heart. But Gimli could almost swear he saw some unexplainable glint of mischief in the elf's piercing blue eyes as she continued on in her soft musical voice. "I also know that what you seek will not save the prince. The poison in his veins is more powerful then any magic that flows in this waterfall…"
"How do you know that? What lies are you trying to deceive me with?" Gimli demanded as he came directly up over the watery image of the witch. Every particle in the dwarf's being screamed caution as he noticed a strange glint in the elf's eyes, as though n inner fire was smoldering inside, waiting for its time to blaze forth and scorch everything in its path.
But the fleeting burst of light vanished quickly as Eronel answered in her fair voice, "As I have already told you, Master Dwarf, I see and know many things. Your friend's plight is not beyond my knowledge. Yes. The enchanted water will not save him. He will die… unless I go to him. I know you know who I am and of my past. Otherwise you would not have come to me. If you release me from my prison, I can save Lord Legolas' life. I am the only one that can purge the poison from his body."
Gimli's eyes narrowed at the sorceress' entrancing face skeptically. "Do not take this Dwarf for a fool, witch," he growled from behind his furry red beard, "You are right in that I know who you are, Eronel. I know why you were imprisoned in your dark hole. Why should I believe or release you? You are nothing but a liar and murderer. You would bring only death and destruction to Middle-Earth."
There came again the same small kindling of fire in Eronel's cold blue eyes as from before, but again faded quickly away before Gimli could fully realize he had seen it. Sadly looking at the dwarf with imploring eyes, the elf replied softly, "I do not blame you for your distrust. My past is not the happiest or brightest of tales. But through the many centuries of my dark isolation, I have seen the evil of my ways and now seek for redemption. I want to right my past wrongs and do good. And I want to save the life of the one that is still suffering from my sins. Please believe me when I say I want to make amends…"
Eronel's heartfelt words struck a spot in the dwarf's heart that made him begin to wonder is she wasn't, in fact, telling the truth of her conversion. It hardly seemed to him that this delicate creature before him could have ever been as evil as Elrond or Gandalf had said. Moved by the sorrowful expression on the beautifully entrancing female elf's fair face, Gimli began to feel doubt growing in his mind about Eronel's evil nature.
"How am I to trust you?" he asked uncertainly, "What guarantee do I have your intentions are pure?"
"You must trust me just as Legolas trusts you to return to him with a cure," Eronel's voice whispered pleadingly from the pool's surface, "The magic water will not save Legolas' life, only I can. Would you deceive your friend's trust because you could not forgive me for my sins as he did for you? Please believe me…"
Gimli stood dumbstruck, unable to think of a response to Eronel's words that had struck him harder then a blow to the face. Torn between his brain that told him to not listen to the imprisoned witch and his heart that told him to heed her words, Gimli felt his head spinning with a million different thoughts and emotions. What should he do? Should he believe her that the water was not going to diffuse the poison in Legolas' veins? Or was she simply lying to be released as Gandalf and Elrond had warned him she would?
Staring into the witch's fathomless blue eyes that seemed to rake his very soul, Gimli struggled to find words and come to a decision. The world seemed to stop as the dwarf wrestled with himself and his own doubt. Dizzied by these weighty decisions and choices, Gimli closed his eyes tightly from the elf's piercing gaze.
'What do I do?' the dwarf's mind reeled, 'What if she's right and the magic water doesn't work? But what if she's lying? Can I really take either of these chances?'
But before Gimli could reach any conclusion in the storm of thoughts that thundered in his head, he suddenly felt a strong hand come down onto his shoulder from behind. Eyes snapping open, the startled miner whipped around in his heels, ax gripped tightly between both hands to face whatever enemy had snuck up behind him unawares.
But instead of some terrible enemy, Gimli found himself looking up into the gentle face of Gandalf. Behind the wizard stood Toreingal, looking rather impatient and antsy as he shifted between his two feet in the direction of the waiting horses they had left behind.
"Are you alright, Gimli?" the white wizard questioned with concern written in his ice blue eyes, "Toreingal and I returned from retrieving the water to find you staring into the water mumbling under your breath."
Shaking the fuzziness from his eyes, the dwarf brought a trembling hand to his head. It felt as though he had just woke from a daydream but was still in the lingering aftereffects of it. Suddenly remembering the ghostly face on the water, Gimli looked down quickly to the silver pool's edge. But nothing was there, save a gentle ripple along the surface of the pond.
"Did you see or hear anything?" he asked excitedly, still staring into the water's surface as if searching for anything to validate what he thought he had seen.
"Hear what?" Gandalf asked gently, cocking an eyebrow at the dwarf.
"What are you blabbering about, dwarf?" Legolas' cousin hissed with condescending eyes of impatience.
Not knowing if he should divulge the vision of the elf witch to his companions, Gimli stuttered quickly, "Nothing… Nothing at all. I'm fine. Never mind me. Just lost myself for a second… Did you get the water?" he asked hastily to change to the topic away from himself.
"We did," Toreingal interjected sharply, "And now that we have it, we should be on our way. We have wasted enough time on your daydreams. Legolas' time is running out as we speak." Turning on the heels of his light boots, the elf jogged nimbly off in the direction they had first reached the lush waterfall glade.
Giving Gimli one last questioning look of concern, Gandalf slowly turned to follow the elf. "Come along, Gimli," he called over his shoulder, "Toreingal is right. Legolas is waiting for us."
Frozen where he stood, Gimli looked after the retreating wizard before giving one last uncertain glance at the silver pool's empty surface, almost expecting to again see the Elf-Lady's beautiful face. Did he just imagine everything? Or did it really happen?
Feeling some inner pull of doubt as he forced himself to turn his back on Eronel's cave, Gimli quickly walked in the direction his companions had just disappeared. As he trudged away into the ancient forest, Gimli could swear he felt a voice in the back of his mind, softly whispering after him.
"I will wait for you, Master Dwarf…I will wait for your return when you see the folly of you errand…"
And as Gimli lost sight of the waterfall and still pool of mountain water, he swore he could catch the faint whisper of a mirthful laugh carried on the chilly spring breeze until it faded from his ears and left only the dead silence of the forest to fill the empty air…
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The darkened elven city of Rivendell lay under a ghostly glow cast by the raising moon in the east. Few lights dotted the city's many streets or warmed any of the windows of the gracefully designed buildings. A tense stillness permeated the river valley as though fear of an oncoming threat had silenced all noise from its inhabitants.
But deep within the palace of Rivendell's king, there was no still tension, but rather a raging war. A great battle was taking place in one of the Elf-Lord's many guest rooms. It was a battle between life and death, light and darkness, hope and despair. But the battle for life was steadily losing its stronghold…
"Legolas, if you can hear me, you have to swallow these herbs," Aragorn called urgently to the thrashing elf held tightly in his arms. Burning with fever, the elf-prince showed no signs of acknowledging the Ranger's plea. Crying out weakly, Legolas writhed in agony as he clenched his throbbing left arm tightly, unaware of anything else but the excruciating pain that seared his veins and flesh.
"Can you hold him still, Aragorn?" Elrond said as he bent over Legolas' fever ridden body laying on the large bed of the room, "We must try to get some of this medicine in him to try to slow the poison or we may very well lose him tonight."
Sitting on the edge of the bed opposite Aragorn, the ancient elf-king gently cupped Legolas' chin in his hand and tipped the prince's head back. Forcefully prying open Legolas' mouth, Elrond quickly placed a single dried leaf under the archer's tongue. Holding the sick elf's mouth closed so he couldn't spit the bitter tasting herb out, Elrond and Aragorn waited anxiously to see what effects it would have as Legolas thrashed on the bed in a delirium of pain.
Moaning pitifully around the bitter plant in his mouth, Legolas struggled weakly in Aragorn's pinning grasp as the leaf slowly dissolved under his tongue. Sweat poured from the elf's burning forehead as the Ranger tried to keep him still. Eyes clenched tightly shut, the archer kicked his legs uselessly in the tangled mess of bed sheets that had become ensnared around his feet during his struggles. Keeping the distressed elf pinned tightly against his chest to keep him from convulsing right off the side of the bed, Aragorn could feel Legolas' heat pounding like a drum. The bluish coloring of Legolas' infected arm had now spread to the top of his shoulder, doubling his suffering.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Legolas' thrashing began to die away, leaving only an exhausted elf shivering in its wake. Panting weakly, the archer lay like a limp doll cradled in Aragorn's arms. Long strands of blond hair lay plastered against the sides of his pain crumpled face.
"What did you give him?" Aragorn asked Elrond as he laid his sick friend back down onto the bed and pulled one of the sheets over the elf's now stilled body.
"Athelas," the king answered tiredly, watching the Ranger move to gently wipe a damp cloth over Legolas' pale face and then place the rag over the elf's forehead in attempt to cool his raging fever. Hanging his head solemnly, Elrond said, "Aragorn, our medicine is beginning to have little effect against this poison. Before long, it will do nothing at all. If Gandalf and the others do not return soon, I fear Legolas will slip away from us."
"They will return in time," the dark haired man countered a little too quickly. But his words seemed hollow, even to his own ears.
Closing his eyes and shaking his head slowly, Elrond muttered wearily, "But what if they do not? I would give Legolas another day at most." Taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts, the ancient elf decided it was now time to voice the gnawing worry that had been festering in his troubled mind for some time now. "We must begin to prepare for the worst, Aragorn. My scouts have already reported movement from Kind Thranduil's armies in Mirkwood. They are already moving out to mount an attack on the Dwarves. War is upon us."
"We must keep hope, my Lord," the Ranger almost pleaded to Elrond, staring down onto Legolas who groaned softly under his breath as he rolled his head to the side in discomfort and fevered sickness. He then fell still and quiet. Eyes fluttering beneath partially opened eyelids, Legolas again gave a low whimper as though in the heat of some troubled dream.
"Yes, Aragorn, we must keep hope," the elf-king said sadly, standing to leave for the door, "But hope will not sustain us or Legolas much longer. Against this dark of a poison there is little room for hope…" With that, he turned and trudged to the door to find more medical herbs for the sick prince and softly shut the door behind him.
After Elrond had disappeared into the palace beyond, Aragorn could only look on silently as his dying friend tossed restlessly in a delirium of fever beside him. Reaching down to rewet the cloth on Legolas' forehead, Aragorn was startled when the elf suddenly began to mumble in his sleep.
Slurred like a drunkard's, Legolas' words seeped over his bloodless white lips barely louder then a whisper. Bending low over the stricken warrior, Aragorn discerned only part of the faint and frightened murmurs of his feverish friend.
"No…The dark figure…It is coming for me…Somebody…Please help me…I don't want to die…"
Fading away in his throat, Legolas' unconscious ramblings became a soft and muffled whimper of pain and torment. Feverously tossing his head from side to side atop the sweat dampened pillow, Legolas cringed into a shivering ball as Aragorn tried to place a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. Moaning weakly, he elf held his infected blue arm in pain.
"Shhh…" soothed Aragorn softly, deeply pained by his friend's inability to escape his misery even in his sleep. Pacing the damp cloth back across Legolas' burning hot brow, he gently took his companion's hand into his own reassuringly. Ice cold were the elf's once strong and warm slender hands.
"Rest, my friend," he whispered into the prince's delicately pointed ear in the Elvish tongue, "I am here. I won't let anything take you from us…"
Perhaps unconsciously hearing the man's words, Legolas gave a final uncertain whimper of pain and fell silent and still, falling away into deeper and darker dreams. Heaving a heavy sigh of weariness, Aragorn hung his head tiredly over the dying warrior.
"Please don't give up yet, Legolas," he begged quietly to his friend's unconscious form, "Too much is at stake for you to give up hope. Please hold on a little longer. You must fight this dark poison as long as you can. Gimli and your cousin, Toreingal, will return soon, and then all will be well again…"
Gently resting Legolas' hand back over the elf's chest, Araorn pushed back from the bed and fell into a nearby wooden chair positioned close beside the prince's bed. Leaning forward in his seat, the Ranger dropped his head into his hands in exhaustion from the last few days' stress, feeling drained and empty with grief for his suffering friend. Staring blankly down at the wooden floorboards of the room, the man listened silently to Legolas' unsteady breathing as it whistled softly between the elf's lips.
Shutting his eyes against the world, Aragorn let the hypnotic rhythm of Legolas' breathing lull him into a distant state of mind. Leaning back in his seat so that his head hung over the back of the chair, the man became aware of the still quiet of the night that seeped in through a nearby open window of the room.
How alone he suddenly felt in that darkened room, waiting helplessly to see what lay in Legolas' dim future. Sinking lower in his seat, Araorn prepared for his lonesome vigil awake at his friend's side should Legolas require any aid during the course of the long dark night. Unwilling to leave his companion's side with no one else there to calm or comfort Legolas in his suffering, the faithful man unselfishly took up his post.
Sitting there in the silence behind a gloomy curtain of darkness that draped the room like a tapestry, Aragorn waited as the elf's chest slowly rose and fell beneath the thin coverlet of the bed. Assessing that the Athelas had finally taken its full effect against the dark poison in the warrior's veins, the trained healer was at least momentarily contented that Legolas' breathing now seemed steadier and deeper then before.
But Elrond's words remained in his mind like salt in an open wound. The plant was not having as much effect against Eronel's poison as it had only a day before. It was now taking much longer for the plant to show any signs of relieving the sick elf from his throes of pain. The evil venom was quickly becoming stronger and overtaking the valiant warrior prince of Mirkwood.
As the Ranger thought of this, he became aware of a deepening gloom descending around him. Turning in the chair, Aragorn saw through one of the room's windows the last fleeting glimpse of the pale moon outside disappear behind a dark cloud in the sky. Looking back to the barely distinguishable outline of Legolas laying on the bed behind a wall of inky darkness, he had to wonder if light would ever come again. Because it suddenly seemed to him that hope had become lost in the darkness and was never to be seen again…
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"Oh yes… My time is quickly nearing… There now only remains one more step in my plan. And then I shall be free to cover Middle-Earth in such a shadow of darkness that even the blackest of nights will seem like day to those that quake under my power. My revenge against the Dwarves and Elves will soon be complete."
"For it is now my turn to make my move in this game of chess. And my dearest fool, Prince Legolas, you shall be the first to be moved and sacrificed on this battlefield of pawns…"
Dark laughter then rang out, chilling the very air it moved through. And thus, Eronel began to stretch her potent mind and deadly will from deep within her lonely prison of darkness and hate, preparing to move her pawn into place on the playing board checkered with the crimson of spilt blood and the blackness of despair….
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There you go. Like it? Hate it? Just couldn't care much either way it I actually continued with this literary monstrosity that even my mother couldn't love? Whatever category you fall into, give yourself two brownie points for actually surviving that chapter!
Signing out
-LAXgirl