Disclaimer: I don't own anything, that is not mine.
ZELINIA: Don't worry. I love Gandalf, too. :o))) Thanks for reviewing.
Elven Script: Thank you. I'm glad you loved Lith. It came to my mind quite suddenly, and I couldn't get rid of it anymore. As for your brother – well, I could lend you the creature for several days to check it out… :o)))
FaerlasI was ashamed of making you read the chapters and then review for several times. :o)) So this one I decided to edit myself. I know the idea is probably a bad one, but one day I'll have to work and I doubt that you'll be there to correct my blunders. :o) Anyway, I'm always awfully grateful to you. Thanks.
And greetings to Neniel Sildurien.
Chapter 14.
Chased.
"Legolas!"
The voice was disturbing. And disturbed.
"Legolas!"
He stirred and frowned in his sleep, trying to banish the troublesome call from the fields of dreamless drowse, along which he was roaming.
The same obstinate voice uttered a curse, becoming only if heard from the lips of a drunken orc. Something about lazy elves in general and him in particular. Legolas seriously intended to ignore the outrage in favour of sinking deeper into the state that was gratifying in its insouciance and lack of any worries, when a flood of glacial water assailed his sleep-warmed face to make him jump in his bed, his eyes snap open.
Gwirith was either frightened out of her wits, or equally angered – there were no other ways to explain a savage glare, she granted him with, and the sharp curves of her brows, divided with a deep anxious wrinkle.
"Move!" hissed she, throwing away an empty flask. Her cheeks were as bluish-pale as her slightly trembling hands, "Or should I slap you so that you finally woke up?"
"Are there any less violent means of forcing me awake in stock?" his crisp throat garbled the sounds.
Gwirith shook her head, the motion reminding of that usual for young and untamed horses, bridled against their will and ready to fight for their freedom.
"Jokes are over," said she bluntly, "He knows."
A short second of comprehension gave place to unwelcome startle, soon changing into cool determination. After all, it couldn't have lasted forever. Their hide-and-seek was doomed to turn into an open confrontation, sooner or later. It might have been strange, but the fact that it had finally happened set Legolas at ease. There was certainty in it. It occurred to him that Gwirith had been right, noting his reluctance to escape like a thief under cover of night. Now everything was different. Now it acquired a taste of fighting, not fleeing.
"How?" asked he with a wonderful feeling of perfect composure. The girl narrowed her eyes, probably to hide a shadow of surprise, having appeared there at his calm question. It almost made him smile in a sudden surge of pride. She could say nothing – it was her glance that flattered him.
"It's Saruman," Gwirith extended him his cloak. She sounded much softer; Legolas vaguely believed, that had he demonstrated any signs of consternation, he would have been in difficult straits, dealing with her cross outbreaks, "I knew I shouldn't have left him Palanthir. But Le…, but he never tried to use the stone, so I thought it wasn't worth worrying… Now it's too late…"
A desperate note flitted in her steady voice. All of a sudden she threw her arms around him, clasping at him so tightly that he sensed her nails even through the thick cloth of his outfit. Only now the elf noticed, how strong a shudder shook her seemingly unbreakable frame.
"Legolas, I'm so sorry… I… ," her whisper was hushed by his hand, gently covering her dry lips.
"There," Legolas carefully wiped away a tear, which had drawn a moist line on her cheek. Her upraised face shone with such deep bewilderment, that his heart shrank in pity and tenderness. He hadn't ceased dreaming about such a moment – the moment when she would break and search for his protection. He had imagined the sweet triumph with which he would accept her weakness and guard her. Yet now, when the longed-for chance befell his eager being, he felt nothing but pain at the sight of her pain, and anger at the one, who had caused her torment.
"Don't despair, meleth nin," his fingertips lightly slid down her hair, smoothing them, then ghosted against her mouth – just to efface the sadness from their dainty contour, "He could find out only what Saruman knows, couldn't he?"
She slowly nodded, still strained and ill at ease, but already comprehending his thought.
"He saw me. But it doesn't mean he understood what he saw. Besides, I'm of no use for him, am I? So we run only the risk we had run. The time has shortened, still we have some of it at our disposal."
Gwirith took a deep breath, gradually coming to herself. Her grasp slightly loosened, and the former resolute sparkle lit up her flustered appearance.
"You are right," muttered she with evenness, amazing for the one, who had endured such obvious panic, "We have our advantage. For now…"
Having steadfastly shaken his hands off her shoulders, she ran to the high lancet window, which opened the way to the marble balcony. Her glance raced along the blurred mud of the sky, feeling over the dregs of the evening clouds. Before the elf realized what she was looking for, her lips had parted, letting out the piercing scream, different from all the sounds he had ever heard. The echo caught up her call and scattered it in the air, viscid from the smoke of the fires, roaring somewhere at the foot of Orthanc. The short-lived silence was torn by another shriek, but this time it was not Gwirith, it had come from.
"Jump," ordered his guide, as soon as the giant shadow settled at the crannied banisters, barely keeping its unsteady balance. The animal didn't object to being mounted in a hasty and violent way – infected by the anxiety of its rider, it was shivering, its agitated bawls abusing Legolas's sore ears. Gwirith leapt behind him, thrusting her heels into the scaly sides of Lith.
They were already leaving the might-have-been refuge, when she silently tapped him on the shoulder and nodded at something underneath their flying vessel as he turned his head to her challenge.
His rival had evidently considered Legolas a significant figure. The last time he had managed to witness the equal amount of orcs was probably that at the Helm's Deep.
Lith fluttered her wings, and the black throng disappeared, having merged with the gloom of the ground, mildly illuminated by the dots of reddish flame.
The girl leaned against him, her hands brushing against his chest to close around his forearms. As her warmth gently crept under his cloak, lulling the strain in his stone-heavy muscles, Legolas almost regretted that the flight couldn't last forever.
He had heard her hiss long before his eyes made out three black silhouettes on the horizon, which were approaching them with the fastness and resolve, leaving no doubts about their intentions. Lith was large and dangerous, but the creatures, consuming miles like mere inches towards the monster, made it look a whelp in comparison even with a wing of each of them.
"What should I do?" Legolas had to shout to overvoice the whistling of the raging wind.
"I don't know!"
The riders ahead exhaled dreary horror – their featureless helmets were dim, as if the spiky steel devoured the glimpses of sunlight instead of reflecting them.
"Can we fight them?" asked the elf, knowing beforehand that even be they armed – be they able to accept the battle with their weapon in their hands – there would be no chances not only to win – to wound any of their enemies… The respond of Gwirith testified that she shared his cheerless certainty:
"Still able to joke?"
Two more wingbeats… Two more wingbeats, and their flight will be over. The first of the nazguls raised his iron-wrapped hand…
"Hold on!" yelled the girl suddenly, "Down!"
With the last flash of his freezing reason Legolas noted the threefold angry howl, having broken out from their persecutors, when Lith dropped its wings and dashingly dove into the dark abyss below them. Gwirith uttered an exclamation of careless triumph.
The ground impended them sooner than the infuriated ring-wraiths had forced their too sluggish animals to maneuver and swoop after. Legolas's stomach dashed to his throat. Nauseating opalescent circles were blazing up in his eyes, obliterating all the clear lines of his surrounding. Everything seemed to turn into the grey medley of lacerated clouds, reeking fumes and biting wreaths of dust. His body was felt only there, where tenacious fingers of Gwirith were growing into his skin and nearly breaking his bones.
Lith accomplished a jerky turn, and the light suddenly went out, having contracted into a thin broken streak above their heads, while Legolas was practically shaken off the back of the monster. However, instead of enduring a long flight downwards and a neck-breaking collision with the ground, he got off with comparatively a gentle jolt and one or two bruises.
Rubbing his aching nape, he threw an angry stare at Lith, who appeared to have landed a step away from him.
The scenery around reminded of the passage at the approaches of Moria – with the only difference in the height of the austere cliffs and the wideness of the path itself. No wonder he hadn't held himself in the saddle. It must have taken a fabulous accuracy on the part of Lith not to crash against the rocks and slip into the tiny slit in almost a monolithic slab over them. Legolas was inclined to ascribe the success rather to incredible luck than to the smartness of the creature. Though Gwirith appeared to be of a different viewpoint…
With a joyful cheer she jumped off the monster and clasped the scaly neck in her arms, making Lith purr something low and pleased, as its sharp tongue at one go licked smooth a half of its owner's bronzed mane.
"My girl…," laughed Gwirith softly, trying to put her hair back into its shape.
"Why aren't they following us?" Legolas was worriedly studying the chink in the rocks, but no shadows flew past it and no snarling could be heard, though it would be natural and understandable. From what he knew about nazguls, they were not eager to relinquish their victims so easily.
"They drive grown-up beasts," explained the girl simply, "And Lith is no more than a cub. A female cub. What is possible for her is beyond their abilities. That's why I chose her when I had such a chance."
"Are we not flying again?" asked the elf, for she had gently stroke Lith under its chin and waved her hand, the gesture clearly stating her wish to let the animal go.
"We don't need to," her voice was toneless, as she condescended to turn her head and face him, "We are now just several miles away from our aim. No, it's not Mordor yet," a faint smile crossed her lips at seeing his frown, "At least, not the heart of it. It's only the environs of Cirith Ungol. Come, there is a long walk ahead."
Not waiting for his answer, she set to a swift walk along the passage. Lith snorted with resentment – the girl halted and gave it a wink, beckoning the creature to leave the stony trap.
There was no other choice but to follow his guide, although he cherished a vague desire to ask her how came that in her previous stories the way out had been in Mordor itself, and now it had shifted to Cirith Ungol for no apparent reason. But remembering the rebuke she hurled at him in Moria, when he dared call her words in question, he kept the urge to himself.
They failed to make a mere dozen of steps, when a gust of draught delivered a distant roar and barely discernible tread of thousand feet… Her sudden paleness couldn't escape his sharp attention, yet in a moment she smirked and found the strength for a bitter jest:
"Sorry, I was mistaken. There is a long run…"
They were too slow… Even as running, they couldn't stop the footfall behind them from getting deterrently audible. The hard breathing of Gwirith stated that she hadn't had much practice in racing for long distances. With each stride she was falling behind the elf, and he had to slacken his pace to back her up. If Legolas were alone, he would be much faster, but now… All that he could was to pray Varda to shorten their path.
He averted his glance only for a breath… When he looked at her again, her foot was already touching that accursed stone. Dumbfounded, the elf was too late to catch her… In the next instance the girl was rolling on the dusty ground, holding onto her ankle, the expression of surprise and offence in her wide-open eyes. She attempted to get up, but fell back with a brief outcry.
"I cannot," whispered she, shaking her head. Their gazes crossed – she stubbornly pursed her lips and pointed at the passage ahead, "Run. We're almost there. You'll see the dead-end – don't turn anywhere – the door would be right in front of you. Just push the wall, and it will open."
"But you…"
"Run!"
Without much thinking Legolas ignored her objections and quickly picked her up. She was still lightweight for him, notwithstanding his tiredness and her attempts to repulse him.
"Do you want them to overtake us?"
Her fist stood still a hair away from his chest.
"Then be still," muttered the elf, resuming his run.
He would have hit the wall, if she hadn't stopped him. The dead-end came so soon, that he hadn't managed even to get weary of his burden. He carefully restored Gwirith to the ground, allowing her to rest against his shoulder. The wall screeched under her push.
Eru…
A door grew out of nowhere. Not a door – a doorway, almost a mirror, framing the most gorgeous sight he had ever imagined. Crystal azure of the heaven, iridescent streams of the waterfall, the emerald crowns of trees, rippling in the wind…
"Go," rustled Gwirith, moving aside with difficulty. He made a step forward, enchanted by the beauty of the picture… Just one more inch to bring him home.
But he instantly started back from the welcome freedom… There was one thing he couldn't do.
"I won't leave you in here," said he resolutely, taking her hand in his, "Come with me."
Gwirith jerked her palm out of his grasp, looking at him with such rage and astonishment, as if he had offered her to kill herself.
"You don't understand what you are saying," she tried to go, yet her leg sank under her and she had to lean against the wall, "You have no idea, what you are saying…"
"Why? You saved me. How can I escape, knowing that you are in danger?"
"Go!" shouted she desperately, tears flowing down her face in an uncontrollable flood, "I don't want to see you anymore!"
But when he made a move, the girl suddenly leapt up, as though having forgotten about the stretched ankle.
"Stop! Don't do it…"
Not letting him have his say, she tilted her head, sending in the air the same scream, she had once used to beckon Lith.
A thin whiz swished the silence, which followed her call. Something hit Legolas in the chest, making him stagger. Losing his balance, he noticed the white feathers of an arrow, bright against the blackness of his cloak.
The step was committed.
The doorway swallowed him without any sounds.
A wave of acrid heat slashed Legolas against the face, scalding his cheeks and sinking its teeth into his eyes. The arrow-shaft was still protruding out of his chest – half-conscious, he gripped at the plumage and pulled it, wincing as the blood-stained point appeared before him. Blood rushed onto his cloak, and he clutched at the wound to stop it. All of a sudden, the sense of what had happened dawned upon him, emptying his mind from all the thoughts except one…
Gwirith…
The elf whipped around, but the wall behind him bore no slightest signs of having a secret door in it. Or that's what he could conclude from his feverish scrutiny.
She had committed a mistake. There probably had never been any way out of this world, and what they both had seen had been nothing, but a wicked illusion.
And they were trapped – both of them… Separated. And equally helpless against it…
In pain and anger he banged the hateful wall, almost willing to bawl with despair. His chest was growing numb, while the life was spilling out of it with each blow, he rained down on insensible rock, but he didn't notice it…
For she was there. And there were the orcs, which had gifted him with this wound. The outcome was evident.
How could he even think of leaving her!
A cold chuckle behind his back interrupted his mad and fruitless attempts to get out.
Slowly, as if poured over with icy water, Legolas turned around to see a fire-filled, painfully familiar opening and a tall figure of someone, who was acidly curving his thin lips at the frozen elf.
Black, soulless eyes sparkled on the elven-featured face of the stranger, and Legolas immediately recalled the day he had first met this man. It was the half-bred, who aroused that pitiful jealosy of his by sharing the company of Gwirith at the dinner in Hollin. It was the single one of all those men in the inn to watch the hiding elf, not his fair lady-companion, while they were moving along the hall to their temporal shelter… It was the one whom Gwirith allowed to touch her, showing no resistance…
"Mae govannen, gwador nin," the man in the opening grinned, and stepped aside to let in the prisoner, "Minno…" (Well met, my brother. Enter.)