See part one for disclaimer.
Author's Note: This might have been posted a week sooner, but my ISP has given me distinct headaches lately, which, in a nutshell, caused the loss of a lot of my data. Too bad I never learned to curse in dwarvish! Anyway, on with the story. Please read and review.
Encroaching Darkness Part 10
By Ecri
The First stared in disbelief at the arrow that pierced his hand. It was of elvish design, of that he was certain. A glance at his brother revealed that The Second had also been pierced though his injury appeared much more serious. The elven arrow had struck his chest and The First could see the arrow's pointed tip protruding from his brother's back just above the left shoulder blade.
Angered and astonished by the attack—for surely his spell had worked its evil upon the elves who camped nearby—The First began to chant his spell again, this time funneling his power through his staff and aiming it at the elf. He could see the blonde creature freeing the human from his bonds, though its back was to him.
The First had spent much of himself on the previous spell. That one elf had managed to break the bonds of the ancient incantation was unthinkable, but the evidence of his eyes could not be denied. The First reached deep inside himself and drew what power he still possessed though little was left. Pointing his staff at the elf, he released it in a powerful blow and watched in satisfaction as the Firstborn fell.
**
Legolas' attempts to get his friend to leave went unheeded, and—still pleading with Aragorn to fight against the sorcery the Ithyn Luin had used—the prince turned towards the wizards to judge the proximity of the threat. It was at that precise moment that some foul spell worked the will of its master sending a bolt of blue lightning to engulf the prince even as another engulfed Aragorn.
Legolas felt the blow in a way he'd felt no other pain in his life. Crying out in surprise, he fell silent only when his breath was robbed by another strike. Glancing at Aragorn, he saw the man's form pulsing in time with the blue light from the other Istar's staff, which still engulfed him.
When the pain subsided, Legolas drew in a long painful breath and drew himself to his feet. His attention was on Aragorn. He could spare little thought for anything else.
Aragorn seemed encased in a pulsing blue glow, and, though Legolas could hear no cries from his friend, the man writhed in agony and his mouth was open in a silent scream. Either he makes no sound or the blue glow cuts me off from his cries, Legolas thought. Why, he wondered, have I not been similarly encased? Why am I able to stand now?
He noted the slight tremors that shook his frame even as they subsided. He felt no lasting ill effects from the attack, which surprised him to no end, but there was no time for surprise. He drew another arrow and aimed at the wizard whose staff still pointed at Estel. Letting it fly, he drew another before the bow string had stopped quivering from the release and followed it with yet another, his aim adjusting to his target's moves almost anticipating them before they occurred. Accurate to the last, Legolas struck the wizard in arm, chest, and stomach before he broke his attack. The Wizard's staff fell from his hand even as he whirled to face his attacker.
Legolas moved to the stone wall, seeking cover in the shadows and noticed for the first time that, though he was uncomfortable in the cave, it was not nearly the overwhelming strain that usually plagued him in small dark places. Was this another effect of his strange malady?
He shook his head as though to dislodge the thought. He was still not at home within the stone and rock walls. The difference was only that this time there was no sudden sundering from Iluvatar's Song as there usually was when he entered such a deep dark place. He could not be torn from something he no longer felt.
A small strange sound reached his ears and Legolas turned to see one of the Wizards facing him with a look of barely controlled rage upon his face.
Ducking behind a boulder as the Wizard aimed his reclaimed staff in his direction, Legolas realized too late that his human reflexes would not save him as his elven ones might have done as the blow struck his shoulder sending him down to the ground.
**
It was a fair day, golden in its light and life, but, belying such sights, the Lady of the Wood felt only discord and trepidation. Urging her horse to greater speeds and trusting her companions to keep up, Galadriel rode hard and fast towards a doom she sensed would end the Hope of Men, and thus the Hope of Middle-earth.
She had seen visions that made little sense even to one such as she, accustomed to interpreting the dreams of foresight and the images of her mirror. Knowing only that danger and darkness grew and sought to give Doom a foothold upon Arda, Galdriel spared no words to those who rode with her. Frustrating as they might have found it, Gandalf and Celeborn did her the courtesy of following her lead and not pressing her for information she did not possess.
It was only when she pulled up short and they rode past her before bringing their own steeds around and returning to her side that she shared what little she could.
"There is a danger here we have not yet faced. The young ones battle alone." A shiver raced down her spine as her weary mind interpreted her visions. "There is naught we can do except to be there when the battle has ceasedto bury the dead."
Gandalf's brow creased at her words. "My Lady, do you know at least what threat this is? Of which young ones is it you speak?"
Galadriel shook her head and turned to face Gandalf though her eyes remained focused on something only she could see.
"That I cannot tell. The battle is fierce, but those engaged in it are shielded from my eyes. Perhaps it is by some spell" Her voice trailed off and she again urged her horse forward never seeing the fear in the eyes of her husband as he stared after her for a moment before following.
**
The Second saw his brother fall. He had used all his reserve power in trying to contain this last elf, and the cost had been great. The Second watched him crumble to the ground in a flutter of blue robes even as he realized the elfspell would not work. Why? He cursed in several languages, not the least of which was the Black Speech. Noticing the sound of the words had no impact on the fair golden creature who even now withstood his brother's attack, he came to a sudden realization. The creature was no elf.
That he appeared elvish at first glance was quite irrelevant. The creature's long golden hair and manner of dress, even his weapons, made him appear to be of the Woodland Realm. That the Black Speech caused no pain, however, and not an instant of hesitationthese things could only mean it was a second human before him and not an elf at all.
A cold grin passed over his face as he claimed his staff and held it as firmly as he could in an unsteady grip. Summoning his power, which was still formidable he aimed first at the first human. The original target must be held at all costs.
The words he used and the evil he conjured held the man in place. Dark images would haunt the man, robbing him of his will to do anything without the Istar's suggestion.
The Blue Wizard then struck the human-elf with energy from his staff reveling in the sight of the odd creature's fall. It was only when he sensed no movement from it that he turned back to his target. The man was wanted by Sauron himself and the Blue Wizard had no intention of failing. He had seen what awaited those who failed in the Dark Lord's bidding.
Mumbling again in the Black Speech, chanting in an increasingly quick cadence, The Second moved ever closer to the human, enjoying its pain and the dark fears his spell conjured within the man's mind.
It was as his mind was solely occupied by the torment he caused that he heard his fallen brother cry a word of warning. Too late he turned towards the danger, but had not even enough time to understand the threat before a blur of movement was upon him.
The blur became the human-elf and before the Wizard could utter a word against the attack, his staff clattered to the ground. Shock and surprise combined with the drain on power the Wizard had already suffered kept his options limited. He fought back weakly, batting away the surprisingly strong hands and rolling beneath the weight that pinned him to the ground.
The Istar sought a spell in his memory. He could not fail now, being so close to accomplishing his task! He would rise from this! He would save his brother and the Blue Wizards would return to their tasks of raising worshippers of Sauron in the lands most distant from these accursed elven realms!
His memory finally brought forth a spell that would command the creature, whatever it was, to do his bidding. Just as he opened his mouth to say the words, he felt the large elvish knife he had been avoiding as it plunged into his throat. A downward slash opened the wound, and, even as his blood seeped into the ground, the Wizard felt his life slip away. His last conscious thought was of his failure.
**
Legolas stared down at the Istar. Blood had spurted up from the wound painting his own face, hair, and clothes with macabre splashes of color. The blood did not stop, though the life it was meant to sustain had already fled this world. Legolas pushed himself away from the limp form, and would have wiped uselessly at the growing stains upon his hands, face, and clothes had not his thoughts turned immediately towards Aragorn.
He heard a distinct and familiar groan and raced to his friend's side. "Estel!" He searched Aragorn's face for some sign that he would wake. "Estel! Wake, my friend!"
When Aragorn did not wake, Legolas sighed in frustration. He glanced back at the dead Wizard. His stomach churned over what he had done, not only because the death had been sobut also because he had killed a Maia. Such a thing had to be a bad omen.
Turning to where he knew the other Wizard had fallen he was surprised to find it gone. Panic raced through him at the thought that this battle might not yet be over.
**
The camp had not been disturbed by any creature since his strange slumber, Elrond was sure, even though he knew not how he could be. He had felt his awareness ebb and flow for he knew not how long. At times, he'd been sure he was about to break free of the spell—for such even his bewildered mind was convinced held him in place—only to find himself plummeting inexorably down into darkness.
It was the heaviness of his limbs and the torpidity of his mind the elf lord found most frustrating. That he was aware of a danger, yet at times could not fathom what about danger' would require his immediate attention, only made his moments of near-lucidity that much less comprehensible to him.
Estelsomehow he was sure his youngest son was in danger. Somehow he was certain that the young human was no longer nearby. This likely meant that Legolas was no longer nearby. The two faced some enemy alone, injured, and unable to count on help from any elf with whom they traveled.
His thoughts were a jumble as racing images of Legolas and Aragorn injured and dying flashed through his mind though he could not determine if they were foresight, memory, or dream.
His tenuous hold on clear thought grew stronger for a moment, and Elrond found he was looking up at the night sky. His eyes were locked on the sight of Eärendil, and he took comfort from it. Ada, his mind whispered when his lips would not respond to his commands, Ada, I have need of your strength. Aragornhe is haunted by the enemy. He is "in danger."
That he had spoken the last words aloud surprised him, but not more than the sudden dissipation of the clouds that had threatened moments before to block the light of Eärendil. The star pulsed even as Elrond watched, and whether from the sight of it, the hope it gave to his heart, or from some physical property or spiritual manifestation he had yet to fathom, Elrond felt strength flow through him again.
As his mind cleared, he glanced around the campsite taking in the still forms of Glorfindel and the younger elves. Panic struck him when his eyes confirmed his heart's worry over Aragorn's safety. His pulse racing, it was several interminable minutes before he felt strong enough to move, and even then it was but a slight twitch of his hands.
His recovery, slow to the perceptions of his anguish, was in reality much more rapid than his descent into this strange oblivion. In a matter of minutes, he was able to bring himself into a seated position. Minutes later, he climbed unsteadily to his feet, though he stretched one arm out for balance while the other clutched his pounding head.
He stumbled first to his sons, his mind telling him it was because their small smattering of human blood made them the most likely to be able to rise and help him find Aragorn, though his heart knew he approached his twins with a father's worry.
Elladan and Elrohir moved fitfully as though struggling with some unseen assailant. It brought to Elrond's mind the rare moments they had been stricken with nightmares, though Estel had been the one most often plagued by such things.
The twins' struggles were small, to be sure, but it gave the elf lord some hope that they could yet defeat this spell as he had. Placing one hand tenderly on the forehead of each of his sons, Elrond sought to assure himself that they would be well.
Elrond stared down at his sons momentarily gripped by the desire to protect them, though he knew not what this spell might be doing to them. A father's heart warred within him. Should he stay with his twins, his first born children, or try to find Estel? Estel, his son by all but bloodhis own beloved brother's descendant was missing. Gone from their campsite, still troubled by injuries not yet healed, and facing some enemy with power enough to incapacitate elves.
His head throbbed and he wondered at the pain. Was it an aftereffect of the spell or something else entirely? Shaking off both the pain and the thoughts, his eyes were drawn again to Elladan and Elrohir. Their eyes were closed, and, as he watched, the youngest twin inhaled sharply as though seeing something in his dreams that startled him. Drawing closer to Elrohir, he strained his elvish senses past their limit hoping for some clue.
Elrohir turned but the movement was smallmore a twitch than a voluntary movementbut it wasn't until Elrond saw his son's hands that he realized Elrohir was having a much different experience than he had.
Elrohir's fists were clenched in fists so tightly that his limbs trembled with the effort. The skin, whitened by the elf's grip, showed a startling streak of blood where it seeped between his fingers as Elrohir's fingernails pierced his own palm.
Elrond frowned, his brow furrowed in worry, as he glanced then to Elladan. His eldest son was similarly afflicted, and Elrond, though he tried, could not wake them with words or with his desperate touch.
The Elf Lord turned then towards Aglarelen. The Crown Prince of Mirkwood was still as stone as the Lord of Imladris approached him, but after a very few moments, he tossed violently. His mouth opened as though to scream, but no sound came forth to echo through the forest. Elrond grasped the Prince's shoulders and shook him, calling out as he did, but there was naught that he could do.
He studied the fair golden-haired elf and searched for some sign that his experience could be altogether different from his own and that of his sons. After a few minutes Elrond determined that Aglarelen was much more still than his sons for much longer, though when he was able to move, it was often a sudden, even a violent action.
He moved then to Glorfindel's side. The healer in him gathered what information he could hoping for a way to save his family and friends, but Glorfindel's condition frustrated him. The elf was truly still as stone unmoving and unresponsive. His pulse was slow, and his breathing was slower. He did not move. No twitching. No violent motions. His eyes were closed as were the twins and the Prince.
Elrond sat heavily on the ground by the prone form of his long time friend. His head continued to throb and seemed to be getting worse. He would need to distract himself from the pain before he could hope to give aid to his companions.
His thoughts turned again to Estel. The human child—for child he was to the ancient elf lord who had breathed the air of Arda long before the man's ancestors had been conceived—had somehow become as important to Elrond as the children he and Celebrian had conceived. Thinking of him now facing alone that which might defeat him Elrond knew he could delay no longer. Decision made, he stood, moving slowly until his body became accustomed to the upright position. Then, he retrieved his weapons and started off in search the two friends.
**
Aragorn shied away from the sights and sounds that surged around him wishing only for a moment's peace. Sweat trickled painfully into one eye as he shook off the last vestiges of the nightmare he had been living. The images, sinister, ominous, and terrifying clung to him refusing to relinquish their hold even while his waking mind told him they were not real.
He had no clue how he had gotten here. He had no idea where he was, and his last memory, of sitting with Legolas by the campfire, seemed disconnected to this reality. He could make out only dark shapes and darker shapes in the absence of any real light, but he was grateful for that. At least he had not awakened in the pitch-black absence of all light.
He stopped his meandering thoughts. Was Legolas here? He seemed to recall hearing his friend calling his name, but nothing else. Was he wandering somewhere through this caliginous cavern? The very idea struck cold fear in Aragorn's heart, and he wondered if it was that icy terror that caused his eyes to lose focus.
What little he could make out of his surroundings seemed to shimmer and shift randomly.
He heard a soft moan to his left and inhaled sharply in recognition. He tried to call out to his friend, but was unable to say anything. Moaning himself, he tried to force his head to move so that he might locate his formerly elven friend.
The soft clamor of shifting stones brought his attention to a dark shape that slowly approached him. He knew he should be afraid, but he was not. The shape seemed familiar yet not familiar at the same time. In a moment he realized it was Legolas.
Wishing he could see the familiar soft glow of an elf merely so that he could see something, Aragorn tried to call out to his friend, though what sound he made was something less than coherent words.
Relief spread through the Ranger as Legolas reached his side and seemed to be able to see him enough to recognize him.
"Easy, mellonin, do not move until I have examined you." Legolas' whisper was soothing in tone even though it sounded more human than elvish.
Aragorn remained still as Legolas hands probed his body searching for broken bones or bleeding wounds. When he found nothing surprising, the Prince awkwardly draped Aragorn's arm across his shoulders and helped him to stand. "Come. We must find a way out."
**
Legolas allowed relief to flood through him as he realized Aragorn, though injured, was conscious and aware. He had wondered if he would need to carry his friend from the cavernsa task complicated by his own injuries and the fact that he had somehow become turned around and was no longer sure he could find his way out.
The Wizard's blast had stuck him soundly on the shoulder, and, though he knew it had been meant to hit him full in the chest, it did not relieve the tingling sensation or the horrifying few moments when he had felt it trying to devour his soul.
The other Wizard's blast had felt similar, though worse. This one seemed less intense than that, but its touch was less sinister. Whatever it was, he'd felt both touch his fëa—two icy grasping hands reaching into his soul intending to possess all that Legolas had left and bend him to their will—and it was not a touch he would ever welcome again.
Why neither had incapacitated him he could not tell, but his chief worry was that the missing Wizard might return with forces, orc or otherwise, to keep them captive. He had to get Aragorn out of the caverns, find out what was wrong with the others, and get them to a safe haven.
Safe haven. The words conjured images of Imladris in his mind, for nowhere in Middle-earth had he ever felt safer and more at ease than in the Last Homely House. Mirkwood would always be home to him for its trees whispered to him and he held each one dear. As comforting as that was, the growing shadow was not without its effects, and it was in Imladris, with its clear, sweet air, clean flowing rivers, and overall sense of peace that Legolas' mind would conjure when he needed rest and recovery.
Even during their journey to Lothlorien, in his mind, Legolas could only envision images of Lord Elrond's refuge as he'd never been to the Golden Wood.
The soft groans of his friend, all the sounds Aragorn had been able to make since he'd been released from that blue cocoon the Wizards had wrapped around him, told Legolas that Aragorn's injuries were not minor. True he'd felt only some minor bleeding and no broken bones, but what hurts the darkness hid from him he could not begin to guess. The purpose of the Wizards' curious blue sparks he could not begin to guess.
Moving gingerly through the caverns, Legolas tried not to cause any further distress or discomfort to his friend. His own breathing was becoming more and more labored, and the exhaustion he felt seemed to grow with every step.
Touching his head, Legolas was not surprised to find it still wet and tacky with dried and drying blood. His fall after the Wizard's last strike had rendered him unconscious for some time, and upon waking, he'd found his head bleeding severely.
He'd had precious little time, and even less light to examine himself or Aragorn. He'd tried to take a torch from the cavern with him, but it had not truly been a torch. There'd been a depression in the stone, like a bowl built into the wall, which held some small amount of liquid that had been set ablaze. He could no more bring that with him than he could fly up to the cavern ceiling and break through to the blue sky beyond it.
Now, with Aragorn unable to speak, but shivering uncontrollably, he wondered how he could get them out of this. His arrows were spent. He had his knives, but could not see far enough to be any threat to any who might attack, and if that attack was magical, he was sure he could not prevail.
He longed for a deep breath of cool, clean air, but the more he thought of it, the more shallowly he was able to inhale.
Aragron moaned as Legolas' grip on the Ranger's arm slipped. Legolas struggled for a hold, and might have been able to find one had his foot not instead found a deep depression in the stony ground. Legolas felt his ankle twist as he stepped involuntarily into the hole, and he heard a distinct crack as he and Aragorn went down.
**
To Be Continued
Strider's Girl: I'm glad you're enjoying it. Yes, the Blue Wizards are the ones that went missing. According to Unfinished Tales, part 4.II about the Istari, they were supposed to have passed into the east and never returned. It was unknown if they died, completed their tasks, or became servants of Saruron. I took some liberties with their whereabouts, but then that is the nature of fanfiction, isn't it?
Sirithliel: Such enthusiasm! I'm thrilled you like it! I'll try to update quicker next time, but my ISP has been causing all kinds of headaches for me.
Jazi: It sure does get confusing! I can't tell you how many times I almost referred to Legolas as an elf and had to stop myself! Umgo easy on the chocolate!
White Wolf1: I'm overjoyed that you liked that line! I was going for something creepy yet descriptive, so I'm pleased it worked! I, too, like to write cliffhangers and hate to read them! Sorry this took so long,
Gwyn: Sorry to keep you up so late! I'm glad you liked it well enough to stay awake for it, though!
Leggylover03: Sorry, Elrond and Galadriel haven't quite gotten there yet! Soon! I promise!
Catherinexxix: I'm glad you liked the description of the spell and how the elves fell under it! I enjoyed writing that. Yes, Gandalf, Celeborn, and Galadriel are racing to the rescue, but what will they find there when they arrive? (Evil laugh!)
Chloe Amethyst: Exactly what I was going for with the spell! I am soooo glad it worked. I see the elves as fairly powerful and adept at so much that I wanted to write them vulnerable to some sort of dark magic and I wanted to describe what it might feel like for a being who is accustomed to feeling in control to lose control. I'll try to post the next update in a more timely fashion!