Author's Note: This is just a heads up. I wanted you all to know the story is winding down. It should only take another one or two chaptersI'm thinking twookay, maybe threeto finish this. I will have more LOTR fiction at some point, but really have to concentrate on my POTC story when this one is finished.
Thanks again to all everyone who reviewed. Once again I am pressed for time and unable to respond to each review. I do want you all to know how much each one means to me. I am thrilled to hear from you and I save all my reviews. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and to give me feedback. It means everything.
Encroaching Darkness part 31
By Ecri
Orthanc's obsidian exterior reflected the starlight as well as any mirror, but even its dark façade could not begin to hint at the dark thoughts of the tower's chief inhabitant. Saruman cursed as his Palantir failed once again to show him anything of any merit about his quarry. His orcs, he knew, had not survived the attack, and those few who might have raced back to him with some report had either been too afraid to face him with such dire news, or had decided they would be better received in Mordor.
The White Wizard cursed his misfortune. Gandalf had likely set a spell to keep prying eyes away. He did not believe that the Grey Wizard had power enough in his own spells to affect him, but it was conceivable that the Witch, Galadriel, had added her own power to his. If they believed there was enough at stakewhat could be that important, he wondered.
They escorted an elf made human to Lothlorien in an attempt to reverse something they could not understand. What about that one elf was of any importance to the ruling elves of Middle-earth? What about that Ranger made these elves protective of him?
He knew Sauron had entertained the notion that this Estel might be Isildur's Heir, but he was convinced that the Dark Lord was mistaken. That line was broken and would not be remade. It was impossible. He would have seen something of it in the Palantir if it had been a possibility. No, he was certain it couldn't be so. The elves who seemed protective of him might be just that, but the cause of that protectiveness was more likely to be the soft hearted, overly sympathetic nature of that misguided race.
If Sauron chose to believe that an heir existed, Saruman saw no need to dissuade him. It would certainly benefit Saruman's plans if the Dark Lord were preoccupied with trying to find him.
Saruman regretted that he hadn't been able to capture a single elf for his own purposes, and he was most disappointed that Mirkwood's youngest Prince had not succumbed to the control he'd tried to exert over the nauseatingly fair creature. If there had just been fewer of the elves around he might have been able to succeed. He regretted that he hadn't taken the elf all those months ago when he'd first cast the spell sundering him from his elvishness. He'd been preoccupied with other things, and the spell had been a delicious diversion.
No matter. He would have to get along without a new elf for now. Eventually, that would change. He glanced at the Palantir, but decided against trying it again. There had to be other ways to learn what Gandalf and his friends–he scoffed at the very notion of the Istari making friends–had planned.
His gaze fell upon the older, darker books in his possession and he smiled. There would be something there. He was not finished yet.
King Thranduil watched Aglarelen as his eldest son held firmly to his youngest son's hand. Legolas' pain was considerable. You didn't need to be a healer to see that, but the young prince made no sound as Lord Elrond and Gandalf examined his wound and discussed what to do about it.
Exasperation and the innate desire every father has to end his child's pain shortened his temper. "Lord Elrond, you have been looking at that wound for quite some time! Remove it!" He glowered at the Imladris Lord hoping that would make whatever argument his words hadn't yet made.
Elrond looked at Thranduil in the eye. "I will remove the arrow, Thranduil. It's what we do afterward that we are debating."
"What do you mean?"
"The wound is grievousand hehe is human"
Thranduil's blood ran cold at what he was being told. He thought he had grown accustomed to his son'sbut he realized that he had assumed Legolas would recover with no ill effects and little effort. That his son could diehe had known the possibility existed since he had first learned of the alteration in his son, but he realized now that, though he had feared it, a part of him had never believed it could happen.
He glanced at Aglarelen and saw the words had the same effect on him. Aglarelen's face had gone noticeably paler, and his hands trembled slightly. Thranduil took a step closer to his son and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. Aglarelen did not look up, but he did bow his head slightly in acknowledgement of the touch.
He spoke to Elrond. "You must be able to heal him. You have the most experience dealing with humansyou can save him!"
Elrond shook his head. "I am sorry. It is a mortal wound."
Thranduil turned to face Galadriel. It was she and Celeborn whom they had traveled all this way to see. "Surely you can do something! If you could make him an elf again, Elrond could heal him then!"Galadriel and Celeborn exchanged glances. Galadriel spoke softly. "I know of no way to reverse this. I have heard naught in all my life of any such affliction or spell."
Thranduil's heart shattered in that moment. If there was truly no way to save himthe grief welled up from somewhere deep inside him, and he choked back a sob. "Is there nothing that can be done?"
Elrond opened his mouth to speak, but it was not his voice that Thranduil heard.
"There is! I can help him! Please let me!"
Thranduil turned to see Aragorn standing to Elrond's left flanked by Elladan and Elrohir. The King of Mirkwood saw Elrond shake his head and turn to face his sons."Estel, you do not know for certain if you can do this thing. You have not the training"
Aragorn shook off the words, interrupting his father in his impatience. "Ada, please, I know I can help him."
Thranduil stepped away from his sons reluctantly and confronted Elrond. "What is it he speaks of? What does he wish to do?"
Elrond shook his head. "He cannot. He is not trained. We do not even know if he possesses the talent."
"Is it something you can do?" Thranduil asked the Elf Lord.
Elrond shook his head. "I have tried it, but I have not had the success I thought I might."
"You do not know what you seek! I do! I saw it!" Aragorn's irritation and impatience were growing, but Elrond did not address it.
"So you say." Elrond stared at his son.
Thranduil wondered what the Lord of Imladris was thinking. A low moan from Legolas brought the immediate danger back to him. Without turning to see his sons, he closed his eyes. "Elrond, if there is any chance at all" He did not want to beg, but this was his son! His child! His Greenleaf! "Please"
Elrond looked to Gandalf who in turn looked to Aragorn. Rising from his seat by the fire, the Wizard stood in front of the Ranger. After a moment he narrowed his eyes as if searching for something. "What did you see, Estel? Why do you think you might help him where your father could not."
Aragorn looked unflinchingly at the Wizard. "I shared with Legolas something Lord Elrond did not. When I was afflicted, it was he who tried to help me. I got a glimpse of his mind" He stopped speaking and willed himself to speak in less hurried tones. "GandalfI cannot explain what I saw, what I know, but I can save him."
Thranduil watched Gandalf for any sign that he believed the man, and the King of Mirkwood could not have been more surprised by the Wizard's reaction. After several moments, the Grey Wizard smiled, nodded, and spoke. "I believe you can."
Gandalf had recast the warding spell to keep prying eyes from their midst when the fight was over. He couldn't spare the time, strength, and concentration to do so before then, and he could not dismiss the notion that their actions were not so private as they would wish.
He had been nearly to Aragorn's side, urged by Galadriel to help the Ranger when the fighting was at its worst, when he had seen the arrow. Looking back, he had to admit, he hadn't expected Legolas to do what he did. Not because Legolas wasn't brave or selfless enough, but merely because Gandalf hadn't been aware that the young prince was close enough, or fast enough, to do it.
Listening to Aragorn's pleas as he attempted to get Lord Elrond to understand him, Gandalf became certain that Aragorn had seen something that he himself had not. Aragorn's future, like everyone's, was impossible to predict. The hoped for outcome and the actuality might have little in common. Would Aragorn reclaim the throne of Gondor? Would he instead father the man who would do so? Would the ancient line end with him and thus destroy any chance upon Middle-earth for the return of the King?
He could not guess, nor could Lord Elrond, nor even Galadriel. Disheartening as that notion could be at times, it would certainly be heartening if Aragorn possessed the qualities of the King Gandalf suspected he could become.
The hands of a king are the hands of a healer. It was an old axiom. Were Aragorn's hands the hands of a healer? He had learned much from his father. Elrond had been almost as eager to teach as young Aragorn had been to learn. It was this one skill, however, that Elrond had not attempted to teach. Gandalf was aware of the reasoning. It was a skill generally thought impossible to teach. You were born with the ability or you were not. Testing the youth Aragorn had been on such a thing would have been impractical at best and deadly at worst. Certainly, had he failed, his faith in himself might well have been shattered.
The Wizard smiled. Faith. It was on faith that they would have to allow Aragorn this chance. Faith that he could do as he believed he could and Faith that Legolas was not yet past all hope.
When Elrond looked to him for some notion of how they should proceed, Gandalf rose and made his way to stand in front of Aragorn."What did you see, Estel? Why do you think you might help him where your father could not."
He listened carefully to the Ranger's words, and weighed them against what he knew. Smiling, he realized that Eru had blessed him yet again, and he offered a silent prayer of gratitude. For Aragorn to know so much, to be so sure
"I believe you can." Gandalf looked around at those surrounding Legolas. "We have little choice in the matter. The poison in Legolas' wound will take himand quickly. His only chance to survive is to restore his elven qualities, for the healing powers of an elf would not be as threatened by this as a human." The Wizard paused and looked at Galadriel. A faint nod and a fainter hint of smile from the Lady of Light told him that she quite agreed with him.
He looked to Thranduil. "If Aragorn can do this, Legolas will survive. If he has not the skill we all hope he possesses" he paused and shook his head, a look of insurmountable grief on his face. "The Greenleaf will fall."Thranduil nodded, but appeared incapable of any other response.
Gandalf smiled reassuringly and turned to Aragorn. "There is no time to waste. I will keep your actions secret. None but those here will see or understand what you are doing. No observer, no matter how powerful, no matter how distant or how near, will see what you do. Whatever you intend, do it now."Aragorn nodded and dropped to his knees by Legolas' side.
Aragorn laid a hand upon his friend's brow, and took Legolas' slender hand in his own. Aglarelen looked into the Ranger's eyes, and seeming to find whatever he sought, nodded, and stepped aside, though he did not move far.
Aragorn knew it took effort for Aglarelen to remove himself from his brother's side, and he was grateful for the confidence in his own insistence that he could help. He leaned in closer to Legolas, and whispered his friend's name. Then, he closed his eyes, and searched for the connection they had made before.
Legolas had been surprised by the bite of the arrow. His only thought was that he was glad to have saved his friend. He listened to the arguments that raged on above him and around him with a strange, growing detachment that seemed to increase as the pain did. He felt his brother's hand in his own, and he tried to squeeze back reassuringly, but just then a wave of pain hit him and he clutched frantically at his brother, unable to breathe, unable to open his eyes. He felt himself curling inward, trying to hide his pain and yet also trying to ride it.
That he would die didn't seem to trouble him. He knew that it should, buthe felt numb. He felt nothing. His head felt as though it was no longer part of his body. As he lay there, with his eyes finally open, he tried to move, to join in the conversation he felt certain must be about him. He rolled slightly to his left, but could not remain in the position for longer than a moment. His brother leaned closer to him and spoke in a reassuring tone, but Legolas could not make out the words. Exhaustion, or perhaps the poison of the orc arrow, was taking him.
Lost in his thoughts, the real world seemed to slip from his grasp. He felt cold, alone, but oddly not the slightest bit concerned about his solitude. A fog came over his thoughts and he could see nothing from deep within its caress. He could no longer feel the touch of his brother's hand. The poison
"Legolas! Legolas can you hear me?"
The voice was familiar, soothing somehow.
"Aragorn?" He whispered the name, and raised his eyes. He waswhere was he? He stared in consternation at the walls that surrounded him. He had been in the forest, on the groundthere had been an arrowit was going to hit Aragornwhere was he?
Aragorn's voice came to him, and with it his numb certainty that he would die returned to him, only for him to scoff at himself for believing such a thing. Aragorn's voice kept repeating that he must live, that he would live. How could he not believe the words of this man, this Ranger who had come to be like a brother to him?
He was hurt. He had been hit by an orc arrow, but surely that was not what had caused this strangewhere was he? He could not understand! It felt as though something blocked his memory. Something made it difficult for him to organize his thoughts. Something hindered his recovery, and kept him from answering Aragorn.
Rage built inside him as he fought to speak, to call out to his friend and make Aragorn understand where he was, but he could not speak above a whisper. What devilry was this?
"Aragorn" He spoke softly, and he heard Aragorn stop calling to him. For a moment, he worried that Aragorn had left him, and the depth of his own despair surprised him. Then he heard his friend's voice, questioning, uncertain
"Legolas? Can you hear me?"
A pounding came like fists against a wall again and again. Feebly, Legolas turned his head hoping to see what was happening.
"Aragorn" The pounding ceased."LegolasI have found you. I have come to lead you home."
"Mirkwood?" His fuzzy mind could not comprehend what Aragorn meant. He knew he has guessed wrong when he heard amusement in his friend's voice.
"Nay, Legolas. Not Mirkwood. I am here to show you how to come back to usto come back to yourself."
Legolas' head was pounding and the muscles of his back throbbed. "You make no sense." His exasperation was as apparent as Aragorn's amusement.
"Legolas" Aragorn's voice was all seriousness now, and there was something compelling to it, something that drew Legolas to it as a moth to a flame. He was being drawn from the darkness towardshope. "The walls you see are some spell. They were put around the very heart of youof your elvishness. You alone can tear them down. You alone can restore yourself."
Legolas frowned. "What are you saying? I have not lost my elvishness at all? That cannot be so. I have" Legolas' strength was fading. It was getting quite difficult to speak. "I am gladthat Iwas able to saveyou, Aragorn."
"LEGOLAS!"
Aragorn's voice pulled Legolas to him once more. Legolas wanted to put his hands over his ears, but he did not have the strength. "My friend, please, you speak so loudly!"Aragorn kept speaking. "My friend, your time has not yet come. You have a long road ahead of you. Do you remember your promise? You told me once that you would see me claim my birthright. I would have you by my side if ever I do. You cannot go before your promise is fulfilled. Come back to us, Legolas. You must come back to us."
Legolas did not understand his friend's words. "You say I alone can restore myself, but I see no way to accomplish this."
Aragorn's voice came back to him almost immediately. "Legolas, if I had great need of your help, could you come to me?"
Legolas surveyed the walls around him seeing no way to rip through them. Before he could say so, Aragorn's voice, more urgent, more desperate, came to him.
"Legolas! I need you, my friend, as does your father and your brother. If you do not return to us, I know not how long they will live. I know not how long I will care. Come, Legolas! You can tear down these walls! Help us! Help us to live!"
Legolas' heart skipped a beat. They were dying! His brother, his father, his dearest friend! The orcs must have been more numerous than he'd thought. He'd believed them to be all but defeated when he'd taken the arrow for Aragorn, but he had no recollection of where his father and brother had been. Perhaps they'd seen him fall and had run to his aid! Perhaps they had engaged the enemy half-mad with concern for him! What had he done?
He could not let them leave him now! He had to be with them. If their wounds were bad enough to take their lives, he would see them soon in Mandos' Hall, but if there be some way to spare them that, to help them cling to their lives in Middle-earth, perhaps they would yet be able to sail to the Undying Lands.
As for Aragorn, his friend had a destiny that could not be denied! He knew not how he knew, but he was certain that Aragorn, son of Arathorn would be the man who would reclaim Gondor. Aragorn could not be allowed to give up that claim. No, Aragorn's misguided loyalty had him casting aside the sacrifice Legolas had made on his behalf.The Prince could not allow that. He had to get to Aragorn! He had to reach his father and his brother. Without being aware that he had done anything, Legolas soon realized the walls, strong and obsidian, were shaking. Mildly at first, the tremors only increased. The more certain he became that he had to help his family, his friend, the more fiercely the world he occupied began to shake itself apart. He heard Aragorn's voice call to him again, and he replied hoping he could be heard.
Aglarelen stared at Aragorn. The human had gone as still as stone, and just as gray.
His brow was creased with concentration and his hands–one still on Legolas' brow and the other holding Legolas' hand–shook as though with overexertion or anticipation. Whatever the man was doing, it seemed to produce no change in Legolas.
The Crown Prince spared a glance at his father and was sorry he had. The fear on his father's face was a surprise, though it probably shouldn't have been. Legolas' passing had been something they had both feared when Mirkwood's Queen had departed her realm forever. Having won the battle to keep him safe and whole all this time made the thought of losing him all the worse.
Aglarelen placed his hope in Aragorn. He laughed wryly at that thought. All of his hope for his brother's life rested in this one man. This Ranger. This human child that Lord Elrond seemed to have named rightly. If Aragorn–if Estel managed this, he would offer his unfailing loyalty to the man.
He watched Aragorn unblinkingly as the human moved his head slightly closer to Legolas. The man's eyes were closed as though he looked inward, and his brow was furrowed in concentration. Aglarelen had never seen such a healing. He knew many healers could impart part of their own strength to those they tended, but this seemed to be more than that.
Much morebut would it be enough? Would this save his brother from the grievous wound? Would it somehow restore him to health and to himself? Aglarelen looked more closely at Leoglas. He stared at those unseeing eyes, the blond hair, every curve of his brother's face, as though afraid he might be robbed of the very memory of it. He recalled Legolas' anxiety and sorrow when he'd revealed that he could no longer recall their mother. Her face, her voice, her touch were to Legolas now no more than a vague dream.
Aglarelen had offered what he could, describing her to him, and trying to paint a picture with his words that would somehow help Legolas keep a picture of her in his heart. He knew he had not been entirely successful, but the attempt had brought the brothers even closer together–a feat he would have insisted was impossible.
Sorrow filled his heart at the thought of losing Legolas and he did the only thing left to him. His heart was filled with thoughts of Legolas as he pleaded with Eru to spare his brother.
Elrond gazed worriedly at his youngest son. Elladan and Elrohir flanked their father offering quiet strength and reassurance, for which Elrond was grateful beyond measure, but his fear or Aragorn did not lessen.
He knew Estel had to try this, but he worried just the same. Estel was young, untried and untested in these ways. If Legolas' emotions or his hurt overwhelmed Estel's limited control, both patient and healer would be lost. The thought struck Elrond in the heart. He could only imagine the pain the reality would inflict.
He glanced at Gandalf who stood near to Aragorn and Legolas, as though to offer aid if it prove necessary. Gandalf's concern was as apparent as Elrond's though the Grey Wizard's face seemed preoccupied. His concentration seemed focused on the two huddled at his feet. As Elrond watched Gandalf, he was surprised to see Galadriel and Celeborn join him. Celeborn's attention was focused on the pair as was Gandalf's, but Galadriel'e eyes scanned the skies around them. No, that wasn't so, Elrond realized as he took a step closer. Galadriel looked skyward, but her eyes were distant, glazed slightly as though she was searching for something that sought to remain hidden.
Elrond was about to join her, when Aragorn stirred. He hadn't moved in some minutes, and the suddenness of it surprised Elrond. It wasn't until he came to kneel by Aragorn's side thinking his son needed some assistance that he realized why Aragorn moved. Legolas had begun to tremble, very slightly, to be sure, but the effect was breaking Aragorn's concentration. "Estel?" He whispered the name, not wanting to startle Aragorn.
When the man did not respond, Elrond looked up at Gandalf. The Grey Wizard spared no time for an explanation. Instead he held his staff aloft speaking a spell in a tongue so ancient, Elrond himself had only a vague knowledge of it. Before he'd spoken half the spell, Galadriel joined him and the two spoke in unison, voices growing stronger and louder with each word they uttered.
Elrond looked to his son. Fine beads of perspiration had broken out on Aragorn's forehead, and his lips moved constantly and silently in a litany only he knew. Legolas' tremors increased and he was beginning to breathe erratically. Elrond turned back to his son and, as the Lord of Imladris watched, Aragorn's eyes fluttered open.
"Estel!" He placed a hand on his son's arm and Aragorn, utterly spent, offered a weary smile.
"Ada, it is not doneI must..." His words were softer than any whisper, and he fell forward in exhaustion before he could say more. Elrond's strong arms held his son and eased him to recline upon a cloak Elladan had set down without his father's awareness.
Elladan questioned his father. "Ada, is he well?"
Elrond placed his hand upon his youngest son's brow and in a moment nodded. "I do not know." He turned to Gandalf. "He said he was not done. If there is indeed more to do...
Thranduil had already reached his son's side and Aglarelen was next to him. "Help Legolas! Elrond, is there nothing you can do?"
Elrond looked at Legolas and, passing Aragorn to Elladan, he went to the young prince's side. His tremors were lessening, but his pallor was gray. He glanced grimly at Thranduil. "I will do what I can"
"Nay, Ada. I am well."
Elrond glanced behind him in surprise to see Aragorn struggling to sit up as Elldan tried to keep him still. He was about to tell Aragorn to be still, when he saw the look in his young son's eyes. Determination, yetsomething moreintangible, kinglyElrond's eyes locked with Aragorn's, but when he spoke his words were for Elladan. "Help Estel, Elladan. Bring him here."
Elladan did not hide his surprise, but did as he was told, and Elrond and Elladan soon had Aragorn positioned next to Legolas. Elrond did not let go of his son. He knew Aragorn's strength was waning. He would offer his own.
Saruman knew his spell was in danger of breaking. It was a minor thing that he did when casting each spell that caused it to resonate within him whenever its hold on Saruman's hapless victim was shattered or whenever the victim died.
He could tell the not-elf was struggling against the imprisonment of his soul, and the White Wizard could not help but wonder how the stupid creature had gotten that far. Elves were not bright. Oh, they had some skill, especially in forging blades, making music, and in some rudimentary healing techniques, but they could not compare to the might of the Istari. These Firstborn had taken a unique hold on Eru, and indeed on the Valar, because of their beauteous perfection, but in the end, their wills were weak.Saruman knew there was little to gain by keeping his spell intact, but he could not release this fairest of fair creatures without a fight. He had so longed to see its light shine within Orhanc's deepest dungeons. What an orc he might have made! What a fine experiment he could have begun!
Even with his hold on the elf breaking, he could not resist. He reached out, speaking the familiar words of the curse in the Black Speech. He could not see the wayward voyagers because of whatever warding spell the Grey Wizard had cast, but he could still touch the mind of the one would-be elf upon whom he still had a hold, however tenuous.
The White Wizard closed his eyes concentrating on the heart of the matter. He smiled, and it only made his haggard face seem older, crueler, but he felt his grip tightening upon the young Prince. A surge of pride washed over the Istar. He would taste at least this minor victory and then he would begin to work upon his next one.
To Be Continued