See part one for disclaimer. Responses to reviews at end of chapter.
Author's Note: My muse keeps going and going, so I have this chapter to post. Consider it a bonus before the weekend starts. I'm hard at work on the next installment! Enjoy!
Encroaching Darkness Part 18
By Ecri
The Lady of the Golden Wood offered her grandson a small smile as he lifted his human brother into his strong, elven arms. She had told him he would not fail, knowing he would believe she had seen it some prophecy. She often used the belief of others in her foresight to influence them. It did Elrohir no harm to believe that he would succeed, and indeed might well save both his and Estel's life. Belief—faith—was often a more formidable weapon than a sword.
Galadriel watched Gandalf preparing to strike, but what she saw that the Wizard could not was Legolas' attempt to hinder Alatar. No. More than hindering the Blue Wizard, Legolas sought to take from Alatar the only weapon he could yet wield. Undoubtedly counting on the Power of the Three Rings to keep everyone else safe from possession should Alatar's spirit seek some other host, Legolas lunged for Aglarelen's sword, and, while Alatar tried desperately to force the sword point to take Aragorn's life, Legolas turned the blade on himself.
Galadriel knew her interference was needed. Holding aloft Nenya, though she was loathe to use it in case it might tempt her further with its power and turn her from the path she had chosen, she held her hand out towards Legolas. She saw the Power of Nenya, visible only as a growing light on her hand, and it did not surprise her when the glow doubled. Vilya and Nenya, side by side, protected their wearers and battled the fallen Maia.
**
Gandalf taunted Alatar hoping for nothing more than to enrage the Wizard. The First Blue Wizard had never possessed a great deal of patience, and Gandalf was certain his control would slip if he became distracted.
The Grey Wizard held Legolas' battered and bruised fëa within the palm of his hand, or at least, that was how he had explained it to the young prince. He could feel the soul tremble in exhaustion as he guarded it. Alatar controlled Legolas' body, but Gandalf had secreted Legolas' fëa away behind barriers that Alatar could not easily break. It was only by Legolas' will that Gandalf could do such a thing, for permission was necessary, as was trust. The young Woodelf had always trusted Gandalf explicitly, so that had not been an issue.
He maintained his hold on Legolas only through his proximity, however. He lacked the power to draw living soul from living flesh, and would not have done so in any case. Taking Legolas from his body would have done little but strengthen Alatar's hold.
Gandalf would have to evict the Blue Wizard from Legolas' body before he could restore body and spirit. For now, he held Legolas' soothing him with soft elvish words.
As the battle grew in intensity, he sometimes lost the concentration he needed to shield Legolas from the onslaught. In those moments, he heard the young prince cry out as though struck by some blow, and indeed, that was very like what was happening.
Gandalf had never before lamented his station content to be what he was, but now, he could not help but think the Power of the White Wizard would have been much better suited to cast Alatar out. If only Saruman were nearby!
Gandalf felt Alatar's hatred. He knew the Blue wanted to destroy him, but he could also sense that Alatar hated Legolas because he had killed Pallando.
This made sense, for the death of one Blue Wizard was likely to unhinge the other, though, from what Gandalf could tell, Alatar had been unhinged for years.
"Release your hold, Alatar, and your death will be swift!" Gandalf bellowed the words.
Alatar's laughter echoed through the cavern. "Do you think it that easy to make me surrender? I will torment this Not-Elf for the rest of my days, and I will use him to destroy everything in my path! He will become the instrument by which I destroy as many of the Firsborn as I may!"
Gandalf felt Legolas shiver at such words, but he could spare no thought to ease the fragile soul he sheltered. He had to do this, and it had to be now, but to properly destroy Alatar, he needed all of his strength. Forgive me, Legolas, but I must release you now. He must be destroyed, but he is stronger than he should be. I will need all that I possess—all that I am—to defeat him.
Once more, he felt Legolas' acceptance, though Legolas was unable to speak or even to think it. What communication the prince was still capable of was purely emotional.
Gathering his strength, Gandalf prepared for the final blow, hoping only that it was enough, and that Legolas would survive without his protection.
****
Aglarelen gaped at the sight of his brother in battle with Gandalf. His brain refused to make sense of it, and he called out to Legolas as he entered the cavern. "Legolas!"
His progress forward was stopped. Glancing to his right, he saw Lord Elrond holding him firm. He listened in horror as the Lord of Imladris explained what had happened to Legolas. He wished nothing more than to rush to his brother's side and somehow tear this depravity from him, but he faltered. He knew neither what he faced, nor how to counter it. He might well do more harm than good.
He turned his full attention towards Gandalf. The Grey Wanderer, eyes closed, hand raised, seemed to offer little opposition, but he saw Legolashe saw Alatarcringing as though struck. Could his brother survive this? He had to believe he could though he wished Legolas still possessed his elven healing ability. Aglarelen had no idea what sort of punishment a human body could take. He had seen Aragorn grievously injured in the past but he had always paid much more attention to his brother's hurts. Rarely was one sound when the other was not. Surely Legolas could not take now such abuse as he might have easily handled when he'd been an elf!
He listened with half an ear as Galadriel and Elrond discussed the Rings of Power. His eyes remained riveted to his brother. Each cry of surprise when Gandalf's blows found their mark, whether seen or unseen, seemed to make Legolasangrier.
He searched his mind for some way to help, but found none. Frustration took him, and, when he heard Legolas' voice, twisted by rage and pain and the possession of this fallen Maia, he was about to run to his aid when he realized that Aragorn meant to do the same. If he, an elf many centuries old, knew not how to help, how could an injured human child offer any aid?
He reached out to restrain the man not at all surprised that each of the others had done the same. It was only when the Ranger's knees buckled, and he began to fall that Aglarelen's attention, divided up to that moment, flew to this man his brother named friend.
Helping Lord Elrond and the others ease the man to the ground, he watched the Lord of Imladris seek some treatment that would aid his son.
He heard Elrohir, near hysteria, begging his father to tell him what was wrong, but Aglarelen stared at the Lady Galadriel
The soft tones of her voice delivered the harsh words and Aglarelen guessed at the pain Lord Elrond felt just to hear them. "He is dying." She touched his head where he'd been struck bringing it away with naught but flakes of dried blood upon it, but the implication was enough. A head injury could often be fatal with little indication as to how serious it was.
Aglarelen lost himself for a moment. His thoughts had turned to his brother and he wondered how he could tell Legolas that his dearest friend was dying. Then, realizing he might never have the chance to tell Legolas anything, he again found himself watching the Wizard Battle.
Alatar's scream had been the beginning of his attack, and now, Aglarelen saw the lithe form of his youngest, dearest sibling as it wrestled Gandalf to the ground. Half a battle of Wizards—magic to magic—and half a battle such as those engaged in by mortals—punching, throttling, and kicking—the fight seemed to honor no rules. Neither of the combatants seemed capable of going on much longer.
Aglarelen drew his sword. Something had to be done. He stepped closer to Gandalf and Legolas. He had to end this! He could not bring himself to hit either of them, however, and simply stood nearby, his sword hanging from his limp almost lifeless grasp.
Fear held him fast as he watched, wishing something could be done, but knowing that he himself did not have the power. Anguish tore at his heart and he called then to his brother allowing every emotion he held within him to spill forth into that word.
"Legolas!"
The battle before him seemed to freeze for a moment. In that moment, frozen in time, Aglarelen saw him! He saw Legolas! The eyes of his brother finally looked upon him, the blackness drifting away. He was tired and fearful, but there!
Aglarelen's heart leaped for joy, until Legolas' eyes slipped. With a rapidity that startled him, Legolas' eyes changed back. Black seemed to seep in from the side and soon, the lifeless, evil eyes glared at Aglarelen making Legolas' familiar face foreign. A noise grew low in his throat, and Legolas seemed to tear himself from Gandalf and throw himself at Aglarelen.
The Crown Prince was surprised, but did not do more than take a half step back. He would never have conceived of raising a hand against his brother. A moment later Aglarelen cursed his instincts as Legolas seized the sword from his brother's lax grip.
"Nooooo!" Aglarelen's cry echoed through the chamber.
****
Legolas fought for control. He knew Alatar planned to kill—to use his body as the weapon. Just as the Wizard assumed Gandalf and the others would do naught if it meant harming him, so Alatar assumed that his powers would overwhelm Legolas. He could not allow it. It took all the strength he possessed to interfere, but he found he could sometimes affect Alatar's control of him. Forcing his arm to bend or a muscle to spasm, Legolas kept the Blue Wizard unsteady enough that Gandalf might be able to do something.
When Gandalf offered some respite, some moment behind whatever shields a Maia might erect against such attack, he had trusted to it. In truth, he had gained some measure of peace, of strength held there in Gandalf's hand. If Gandalf had not offered him such, he was certain he could not have stood against Alatar alone.
He sensed the arrival of others, and, somehow, whether through his own eyes or through some other sense, he knew his brother had come. His heart leaped in joy. Somehow, Aglarelen had freed himself from whatever unnatural state had claimed him. Might he hope the same for the others? He realized he could when he became aware of Elrohir as well. He would have sought Elladan, knowing the twins were never long parted from each other, but the presence of the Lady of the Golden Wood claimed his attention.
He knew her though he could not say how as they had never met before. He was struck by her loveliness, and felt her presence somehow give strength to his fight.
It was then that Gandalf spoke to him. . Forgive me, Legolas, but I must release you now. He must be destroyed, but he is stronger than he should be. I will need all that I possess—all that I am—to defeat him.
Legolas could not answer. Communication seemed out of his control, so, hoping he could reach the Istar in a more basic way, he forced himself to feel calm in a sea of anxiety. Acceptance radiated from him, as did trust. It was all that he could manage, but somehow it was enough. Gandalf's thanks came to him just a moment before he felt the barriers that sheltered him shatter.
Alatar was upon him instantly. His malice and hatred taunting Legolas' captive spirit, the Blue Wizard tormented him because his arrow had found its mark and ended Pallando's life. He called him a freak because of his oddness wrought by whatever had taken his elven nature and left him with a human yet elf-like existence. Legolas fought back. Reaching for whatever muscles or limbs he might wrench from Alatar's control, Legolas soon made it impossible for Alatar to do much but concentrate on holding his body.
A familiar sound came to him then, and somehow in that instant he again controlled his body. His head snapped up away from Gandalf and he beheld his brother. Aglarelen had called to him. Seeing his dear brother, sword in hand, unsure of his next move surprised Legolas. He had never known Aglarelen to be unsure of anything.
Alatar's presence came flooding back to him, and he knew he was again losing to the Wizard. Struggle as he might, he could not maintain his tenuous grip on himself. He felt his arms raise. He felt himself stumble to his feet and throw himself at Aglarelen. He felt cold steel in his hands as Alatar wrenched Aglarelen's sword from him. He heard his brother shout.
Unsure what Alatar planned, Legolas did not have to wait long to learn. Alatar's attention was riveted on two figures. Elrohir carried Aragorn and made his way towards the split in the cavern wall. In moments, Aragorn would be safe.
Alatar would not have that. Legolas felt the Wizard's rage at the sight of Aragorn nearing escape. With an evil cry, Alatar brought Aglarelen's sword up and rushed towards the human.
Legolas was frantic. His strength was waning, and he knew it. He felt Gandalf preparing to strike out at Alatar, and knew there would be little time. Gandalf's strength was growing as he channeled his powers through his staff. Legolas waited until the last moment, knowing that if he were to help his friend at all, he'd have to strike at the precise moment that Gandalf did. Pleading with Eru to grant him such precision, and to hinder any attempt Alatar might make to take possession of anyone else, Legolas contracted muscles, bent limbs, and in that identical instant when Mithrandir struck, Legolas managed to seize his brother's sword and turn it upon himself.
He barely felt the blade slice through muscle, just as he barely heard his brother's anguished cry. Alatar's evil flooded him. The Blue Wizard's anger would not be contained.
Not-elf! What have you done?
Legolas knew Alatar would have said more, but Gandalf's magic would not be denied. The last thing Legolas knew before he slipped into oblivion was the wailing of the Blue Wizard.
**
King Thranduil heard a cry familiar yet haunted. He need hear no words to know what had happened. There was little that could cause his eldest son such torment. Something had happened to his Greenleaf. A sudden dizziness came upon him and he put a hand to his head. His fingers rested then on cold metal and he pulled them away to stare as if puzzled at his hand. Raising his hands again he took hold of the circlet, symbol of his Kingship, and tore it from his head. He stared at it, glittering and beautiful in the sunlight and felt unable to comprehend why he held it.
Symbol of his Kingship? Now it meant naught to him! This had been thrust upon him at the end of the Last Great Alliance of Elves and Men when Oropher died a bitter death in the dark lands of Mordor! This had kept him from remaining at his son's side when his Sweet Greenleaf was most in need of his father's protection!
Thinking to cast it far from him, he took the circlet in one hand and moved as though to toss it through the boughs of the nearest tree. Just as he was about to release it, something stayed his hand.
Ada
Aglarelen! Aglarelen called out to him again, with tears in his voice to be sure, but he called. He lived, and perhaps he would be able to hold the tenuous threads of his brother's life together until Thranduil could reach them. Thranduil knew, in that unshakable way that any parent can know, that his youngest son was in mortal danger. Mortal danger. He would not give in to despair until he held them both again. Blinking away the moisture that brimmed in his elven eyes, he stared at his hand that now held the circlet of his Kingship. He could no more toss that away now than he could turn back to Mirkwood and forsake his sons. His sons. Aglarelen would make a fine King. If Legolas did not survive, Thranduil knew he would sail to the Undying Lands. He knew all his sons—Aglarelen, Oropherin, and Tarmathalion—would likely soon follow. It seemed that they all lived this life in Middle-earth for Legolas' sake. Without himhe broke off the thoughts as more tears threatened to fall from his eyes.
"Aglarelen must have this." Half in a daze of sorrow Thranduil whispered the words and slipped the circlet back onto his head though it felt odd and out of place as it never had before.
He leaned forward then over his horse's head and whispered softly in his ear. A few soft words in elvish, and the horse raced ahead leaving his companions behind. He had not spared a thought for any of them, so he did not see the small, knowing smile that graced the White Wizard's features.
**
Saruman watched the King, certain he had felt the tug of the sea. When he'd held the crown of Mirkwood in his slender hands whispering that his son must have it, Saruman had seen the confirmation of his soundly reasoned thoughts. Certainly this sudden strange behavior could be naught but that elvish affliction! Thranduil would leave. Mirkwood would crumble, and Saruman would use it as a base for his orcs and wargs to attack Lothlorien. The Golden Wood would fall to him, as would Rivendell, for Mirkwood's vastness could easily harbor enough orcs to put an end to both realms. He would begin the breeding as soon as Thranduil departed for the Grey Havens. No need to wait until he actually sailed. The ascension of Aglarelen as King would be the time.
With luck, Saruman thought he might be able to induce the sea longing in the next King, and perhaps in his brothers as well. Mirkwood would be leaderless all the sooner.
Saruman put on his most concerned expression and turned to the other elves. "Come! Your King rides on without us!" He took off at a gallop savoring the image he knew he projected to the backward Silvan elves of a Wizard wishing little more than to offer assistance. The image would be enough to draw away suspicion of his own motivations until such time as he held the power he would need.
That time would be soon, he thought, scoffing at the fool elves who believed a being as superior to them as he was would submit to their wishes. That he would hold himself akin to them when he was as far above them as they themselves were over the mindless slugs and worms that crawled through Middle-earth. He almost laughed out loud, but checked himself in time. He had enough discipline to keep from celebrating his victory here among the very beings he intended to crush.
**
Celeborn stood in the entry to the larger cavern seeing a sight he would not have expected had he stood there until the end of the Song. Gandalf threw some almighty power at Legolas Thranduilion, who seemed to be heaving a great sword into his own body while his brother looked on in horror.
Galadriel and Elrond stood very close then to Gandalf and the trio held aloft their hands light shining from their ring fingers and washing over the prone form of the fallen prince.
Aglarelen, being held back by the firm grip of Elrond's free hand, tried to wrench himself free and race to his fallen brother, while Elrohir carried an unconscious Estel.
Celeborn entered then, the other elves falling in behind him. He issued orders immediately, having Elrohir and Estel escorted from the cave. Returning his attention to his wife, he saw that she seemed both determined and saddened. He wanted to go to her, but knew he could ill afford to distract her attention from what magic she wielded.
Moving instead to Aglarelen, he took hold of the younger elf's arms, freeing Elrond's attentions from the Crown Prince. Elladan stood by him then, and Celeborn knew how hard it was for his grandson not to follow Estel and Elrohir, but he saw anguish in Elladan's eyes as the eldest twin glanced from Legolas, writhing in agony upon the ground, and Elrond holding Vilya aloft.
Celeborn passed Aglarelen to Elladan's care, catching his grandson's eyes. "Take the Crown Prince to our camp, my grandson. We will all join you both shortly." His slight emphasis of the word all seemed to allow Elladan to take a breath.
Elladan nodded once, and, with Haldir's help, wrestled the elf from the cavern and back the way Elrohir had gone with Estel.
Celeborn then turned his attention to his wife. Galadriel looked not in the slightest affected by her action. The power seemed neither to overwhelm nor to tempt her with promises of more. This was something that always worried her. Celeborn knew in his heart that she would never fall to evil, though it was a fear she claimed never to be without.
He stood nearby wondering what he could do, when the light abruptly stopped. He saw a dark, grey shapeless form hover above Legolas who remained motionless where he'd fallen, the great sword still in his hands, for he'd wrenched it free just as he'd fallen releasing a torrent of blood from the wound.
Gandalf raised his staff then to point at the formless thing, and in his voice was all the authority an Istar could contain. "Your time has ended, Alatar, though you seem unwilling to understand! Go! Go to the abyss, the empty, timeless place where you will await the end of the Song! Your powers have faded, and I command that you release the soul you seek to torment lest Eru himself descend to heap his wrath upon you! Go!"
With a final wave of the staff, the indistinct, pulsing entity dissipated like smoke in the wind.
Celeborn was at Legolas' side in an instant and was met an instant later by Gandalf, Galadriel, and Elrond. "I have sent Aglarelen away." He told them as he waited for one of them to tell him what had happened or at least to tell him that Legolas would be well. As he refused to believe his wife might fall to shadow, he also refused to consider the notion that the youngest Prince of Mirkwood might well have seen his last sunrise. The looks on the faces of those gathered around him spoke of different beliefs.
To Be Continued
Joee1: LOL! Then you should love this update. I think this is a record for me! I'm glad you're enjoying this!
Deana: Yes, it is a bit crowded out there. I hope this extra-quick update keeps you guys happy through the weekend!
Silvertoekee: I'm bringing them out of there soon. I promise. Plenty more action, angst, and H/C to come!
Strider's Girl: Dying and dead aren't always permanent conditions in fantasy fictionsespecially fanfiction! More soon!
Leggylover03: I'm working out the details of the healing. There's a lot of powerful beings gathered here, but my muse is being a little tight-lipped about which of them is going to come through for us. Maybe by the next chapter or the one after that!
Isadora2: I don't mind! I'm just happy the fic is getting so popular. Glad you like it!
Templa Otema: You're welcome for bringing Thranduil back. There will be more of him! I'm glad you said all that about Saruman! That's exactly what I was trying to do! Saruman does have a tendency to think of compassion as a weakness. When I write him I try to remember that line from LOTR about his mind being wheelsI forget the exact quote. Hee! Having the horse throw him! That's a nice idea. I'll have to remember thatvindictive horsesLOL!
Grumpy: Yes, Saruman is involved in a lot of this. As for Glorfindel and Elrohirmore on that soon. Aragorn is dying, but more on that later. (Your favorite Ranger is mine as well, but he's fair game to Saruman and Sauron!)
Cosmic Castaway: So you're camping outside, too? Next chapter soon, I promise!
Catherinexxix: Thanks! So you like the tender moments? Angst, etc. That's cool. I'm trying to keep the family dynamic in the forefront. I hope that's working. Gee! Your favorite fanfic! Thanks! More soon.