PART XIV

FAMILIAR FACES, STRANGER'S EYES

A traitor's voice

Aragorn was falling. Reality clashed with Legolas' dreams and he remembered every night that he had seen the man, just beyond his reach. He had thought every moment of the journey of how he might find his friend, but when it came to it he was unprepared. There were no thoughts in his mind as he rushed to the edge from where he had seen the man fall – limp hair fluttering in breeze. His mind seemed numb; bent on the sole purpose of discovery. For a moment it did not matter if he lived or died for he was without of the world; seconds poured past him like grains of rice.

In the theatrical spread of the clearing dust the man appeared thin and changed. But Legolas knew him; knew the pattern of his limbs as he brushed the air; recognised the slight moan as his body made its inevitable contact with the earth. .

The fall, as his own journey, seemed infinitesimal, as though they might be caught in the same moment forever. The man always just out of reach, the elf always chasing; seconds behind. He would chase forever, but what he feared most was that the man would soon go where he could not follow. Such was the fate of men.

They landed together despite the metres that still, after all this time, stood between them. Legolas' chest felt the same crush of the ground beneath, the same searing pain as sharp ribs gnawed at muscle and skin. So intense it was that it seemed he should fall beneath the weight of his shared anguish; his chest seemed shattered in grief and the pressure made it difficult to breathe. His knees shook beneath him, and he desired only to follow where his friend had gone ahead.

The deafening splinter of bones followed the crack of falling, as, out of the dust, stepped a troll, rock grey, and heavy. When he stepped it seemed as though the earth shook and the mountains of Mordor themselves might be moved. Beneath his foot the man seemed as though he would be crushed. Legolas covered his ears, shutting the sound out from his mind, the sound that tore his senses. In shreds he heard only the cries of death and his vision was blocked with the image of the fall and the foot that followed. His elvish hearing betrayed him and it was as though the bones cracked once again within his own chest. He believed that he would not breathe again. So fervent was this impression that the pressure of suffocation within his own chest surprised him, forcing the air from his lungs. Death did not come easily it told.

The troll did not step with his whole weight. Even so the sense of crushing pain was overpowering. The monstrous action of the grey beast was blinding, as though light had been stamped from the world with its step. So large was the creature that it blocked the sun. In his mind's eye Legolas saw the man as he lay; the eyes spread wide open with fear and shock, unable to move as the grey foot loomed toward him. Then he saw the light extinguished, the candle of hope destroyed and the grey eyes opened no more.

Legolas wished for silence and bowed his head in reverence to the overwhelming loss. He thought he might fall too under the oppression of the feeling. He had lost the hope of the world – wherefore now should he hope? Of all the land only he knew how great was the detriment to Middle Earth in the fall of this man.

Yet even in the back of his mind, preoccupied as he was, a voice behind him, newly loud, registered between his thoughts. The voices of the orcs blended with his despair, but this was a new voice; one that he did not associate so with the evils of Middle Earth.

'I swear to you I came alone… to bring more prisoners. These are they that I brought. See here an elf of the north. He is strong, strong even among the realms of men. He is surely worth more than the rest.'

Fight or Flight

Zimran spoke and Legolas world began anew – he was in it once more. He did not want to die even in this place, even with no hope. If he were to fade and end his life it should not be in Mordor, not at the hands of the orcs. To die here was never to know rest. Should his last sight of Middle Earth take the form of barren land that pierced the empty red sky and the air that tasted sour like evil?

The voice he heard was cold and empty, as he had always imagined it should be. The elf did not move, but stood for a moment in silent prayer for the struggle that he believed to be his ultimate end. Then, breathing heavily, he turned, his bow strung, awaiting the attack. Peering into the crowd, Zimran was gone. Hatred flickered through the elf's mind where pity no longer remained.

Then there was no time to think for he was surrounded by orcs and fair hair was pouring from under the cloth around his head. They stood confused by the slow unravelling of this person that they knew not. Most had not seen an elf before and did not recognise the fair features. Their minds were filled with hatred of the creature that they might once have been and that was all their minds told. They swarmed from either side closing in on the elf. Fear lit up his grey eyes and hatred too and the heat of a battle not begun. He would fight, he knew, until breath no longer left his body. He fought for the man he had loved.

At his side (he had not seen him before, so lost was he within his own thoughts) stood Arun, resolute in the face of what he believed to be his own death. If such was to be his end he reasoned, he would stand till the end by the elf that had saved him. Better to die by the hand of an orc than to live at their mercy. His sword was outstretched in his hand and his features spoke of manly nobility and pride. Teeth gritted, his cheeks were tense like the sword within his grasp' he was ready.

Between the two races both felt now a bond of comradeship and reliance that Legolas had felt only before with Estel, and he had Elvish blood. Grateful for the strong stand of the Arun he felt his strength and resolve increase. If such a youth, fresh from childhood should stand, tall and cold as Caradhras in the face of such an enemy then he should not fear them. It would an honour to face death beside him.

Pausing only to nod to Arun, the elf and the man leapt into battle alongside one another and awaited the end of time.

Will I live or die?

Swords slashed in a terrible rhythm, treacherous and regular. It was two against many. The orcs were plenty, though disorganised and their action inferior. Their faces blurred to one ugly mass before the elf and the man. Several had only one eye and their skin was ugly like a wound. Their scimitars were dripping and ugly, they reminded Arun of Saliva. Crash they sounded and there was no time for thought. Even breath barely found its own space between the heat, sweat or the spit of blood, in battle.

Still they stood though. Orcs fell like sand around them and their blood was black and dense. It stuck to their fingers and stained the elf and the man with the evil of the land. It slowed their fingers and caused their throats to retch. Like ants they came, more of them sticky with the blood of their kind too, as if the stench drew them close.

From the pits the slaves watched once again the new turn of events as their masters fell in the battle of light against the darkness. Black not red blood sank into the Earth now and a new light seemed to filter into the minds of the men. They were not far from despair and yet in that moment even those who had been ready to fall with weariness felt a new spring of strength well within them.

Realising that they were no longer under close scrutiny a cry, beginning with one young boy of Rohan, resounded through the group as they became roused. It was as the waking of a great beast, fierce and terrible. The cry throbbed and became the cry of war, as, taking shovels, or whatever it could lay its hand to, the beast leapt to life and began its march toward the dust of battle. When the downtrodden retaliate the result is fierce indeed. Their eyes were red with passion, their weapons (they held whatever they could) were held aloft in a rhythmic and triumphant dance.

The battlefield of black blood became shot through with fair hair and pale skin, diluting the evil of the scene. It seemed there were many as they flew across the battleground, faces flecked with anger. Their tools clanked as they hit orc scimitars hard or burrowed through tough skin. Many more lay dead now, of orc kind and of man.

Legolas, finding himself all of a sudden with a moment to consider looked with astonishment on the crowds that now came forth, seething with the anger of captivity. The torch of freedom and light now burned within them, and they hoped anew even in that dark place. Taking new heart the elf moved twice as quick as before, until the slice of his blade could scarce be seen as it tore through tough orc skin like silk.

Lost to the World

Zuliman knew when the time came to flee. He had built a life of flight. How, he reasoned, was a man to survive if he were bound to such a code of honour? What was the use of noble actions in such an age? He valued life and aimed to enjoy what he could of his own. Perhaps from this belief had been drawn his revulsion at the courage of th man named strength. In his understanding he simply did not comprehend a man who did not act upon selfish motives and was willing not only to suffer his own pain but would suffer on behalf of others. Instead he saw the man like a boulder in the road, a man who had looked through him as so much evil, refusing to have his will broken.

He saw the fall of row upon row of orcs, breaking like waves upon a beach. They would not live to see the end of battle. He saw the rise of the beast that the slaves had become and feared for their retribution, which would be bitter and cruel indeed. The dust in the air separated him from the action and he was not sorry for the curtain drawn between he and they. As always he felt superior to those who fought. He knew when a battle was lost and would not wait to discover how it felt to suffer defeat.

In a moment of desperation he searched the Earth around him for anything that he might salvage to replenish his fortunes. He did not intend to leave alone. Turning backward he saw a hint of brown cloth peering up at him from close to his feet. Then bare feet and skin, tinged grey and dull red, came into view. This was followed by a fumbling motion, as the man, still blinded by cloth, tried to establish his location in the world.

Sador awoke and heard the clash of scimitars and swords but could not see to tell from whence the sound came. He tried to move and found his hands still bound tight and his blood fighting to move. 'Bellas' he called, the first word upon his lips that of his hope. In terror he realised once more that no reply was to come. The air was empty of friendly noise. In panic he feared that the clash of swords signalled the punishment of his friend and he attempted feebly to push himself from the earth.

His breath was cut short as he felt sharp fingernails dig themselves into his shoulder. They were strong and hard and he moaned as his skin dented under the pressure. 'Bell…' he called but could not finish the word before foul tasting fingers clamped themselves around his mouth and he wished to spit them out.

A voice, as foul as the fingers, was in his ear and resonating inside his head.

'Do not move so fast my friend, for I have plans for us beyond this land.'

Dragging Sador from the ground and wincing at the smell of cold blood on his tunic, Zuliman caught hold of the bonds around the man's hands. With no consideration for his broken state or his sluggish, reluctant steps, Zuliman hauled the man behind him and without looking behind him. Both disappeared into the distance as the battle reached its climax.

False Dawn

The dust began to clear. Suddenly Legolas could see. There was a light growing in the spaces between the orcs. The onslaught of new bodies had stopped and the dozen that were left seemed to flee before his eyes. Like insects they crawled away, trailing their sticky blood behind them, searching for the deep places of the Earth. Raising his eyes to the heavens a moment he thanked Elbereth for deliverance as his field of vision opened up further as though grey clouds had parted. The fighting died down and the men gradually turned from the sword to a search for their sick and dead.

Immediately his thoughts returned to Estel who lay below, untouched by the battle that had been fought and won for him above. Perhaps he had already gone. Panic at this thought sliced through Legolas. The fear of battle and the wish for self-preservation had temporarily emptied his mind of Estel's condition. He did not wish to turn, fearing he might swoon at the renewed sight of the ruined body of his friend. His head hurt and the crushing weight of evil filtered through his breath and seeped into his body and mind, sinking him into despair. He did not feel the dribble of blood that trickled slowly across his forehead. Once more he forgot himself.

Arun stood, an island surrounded by a sea of orc bodies. He turned to view the dread sight of the elf, his head bent, despairing, walking to the edge of a gaping hole. Perhaps he should leave the elf to mourn his dead. Turning his back he craved the sun. The sky was grey and sombre as though it too mourned the passing of so many. Men moved in clumps trying to discover whether their comrades yet walked upon the Earth.

The calm was surreal and to Arun it felt wrong. Something was amiss. Mordor never stood so still or in such harmony.

His answer was quick and devastating. He heard a footfall behind himself and in a moment grey hands, rough and thick looped their way around his mouth, cutting off his breath. He struggled against them but found that such action was futile, the hands only

Legolas, too preoccupied did not hear the sound of Arun's capture. He was in a land beyond Mordor, trying to search the realms of the dead for his friend; dreading that he would find him there, hoping that he would not. When the hands clamped themselves around his wrists and around his mouth it was completely unexpected. The shock jolted through him as though he stood at the epicentre of an earthquake so sudden it was. It knocked the breath from him and he fought for another, so firmly did they hand take hold. Falling vividly back to earth his thin frame seemed in danger of being entirely crushed by such a weight as was behind him.

At once alert he struggled, thrashing in their tight grip. He was strong beyond human strength and was causing his captors some trouble. Wrenching his head up, he noted that there was another orc ahead. This one had wide eyes, black and deep they reminded the elf of the pit in which his friend lay. Nuth's grim teeth were bared in a wide, threatening grin. They were black as his blood.

'Ahh..' his voice was full of satisfaction and whatever delight an orc might feel.

'What a pretty toy for my boys to play with.'

A ball of spittle rolled from his mouth as he thirsted for the destruction of so valuable a captive. Legolas, unable to speak, gazed in horror as the thin drip charted its journey across the sharp chin. The endless wait as it noiselessly hit the ground. He is salivating for my blood, he thought.

Final Mercy

He braced himself for the end. He truly believed that he should follow his friend to the abyss. The hands pressed life from his body; perhaps, he thought, my ribs will snap beneath the pressure. Suffocation seemed a mercy rather than prolonged exposure to the menace of the orcs. They would not allow death without a struggle.

It did not come.

He did not hear the struggle behind him for his mind has been too full of the enormity of a life about to be extinguished. But he felt the release of the fingers that had held him tight. He noted the slow flow of his blood as it slid once more into his fingers.

Turning he saw Zimran on his knees. The hilt of an orcish dagger protruded from his chest and warm blood slid noiselessly from his tunic. The elf found himself once more unable to move. The shock was to new, too original. He had believed the man utterly lost, had learned not to pity. But he had not expected this sacrifice from one so cruel. His world once more seemed lopsided; reality a distant uncertainty.

Arun, released too, waded through the waves of the dead, knelt at the side of the man who had betrayed them and wept. He wept for the betrayal that had been. He wept for the waste of the good soul that might have been.

No orcs now remained alive he was sure of that. Reaching out he took the end of the cloth that had bound Zimran's face in his hand and drew it back revealing a mouth, grim, but now unlined by the malice it had worn so long. A finger of blood dribbled from the corner

Arun was about to reach out and close the man's eyes when the lips, now blue, quivered with breath. In surprise he stumbled backward. Legolas moved forward to view the man.

Seeing the eyes ajar slightly and the shiver of a last breath, the elf spoke.

'Why?' he asked, 'after all, did you return? It was great folly my friend.'

'I remembered mercy.' Zimran turned his eyes toward the elf and whispered the words before breaking into another spluttered breath.

Eyes tortured, pain evident, he turned to Arun.

'Please' he rasped. Arun looked questioningly at the elf? He had no idea what the man should be asking for. All along he had suspected the man, who had in turn betrayed them. Now he had saved them Arun knew not how to react.'

'You cannot ask it of so young a warrior,' he claimed. 'Yet you have given mercy to us even so, thus I shall now give it to you. Leaning forward gently he removed the orcish dagger from the man's side allowing the blood of his death to flow. Then, turning, he walked once more toward the edge of the hole and began to climb in.

A stranger's eyes

Reaching the bottom of the pit he looked upon his friend, and he felt the sting of salt tears upon the torn skin of his face. Like rain they would not stop. In that dreadful moment, the one which he had played so many times in his head, life seemed to have forsaken the place.

The man's limbs lay strewn at odd angles. Skin flayed open like the petals of a rose; feet, swollen and broken. Within the man's chest Legolas could feel the fragments of his bone, that were no longer connected. His skin was thin and grey and he seemed old before his time. His chest was scarred as the bark of a tree. His body was surrounded by the dank smell of the drug that had been poured down his throat and Legolas thought he might vomit at the reek of it. A black line of the stuff was painted down Estel's chin and dripped across his chest, mapping the extent of his destruction.

In the awful sound of his sorrow Legolas did not hear the shuddering breath that squeezed itself reluctantly between the lips of Estel. He did not hear that breath, but he heard the next. Within seconds he was by the side of his friend.

Finally, in his arms, Legolas held his friend, as though through the strength of his grasp alone he could avert the fall into darkness. Binding them tight around Aragorn's chest he whispered, using the high tongue, "I will not allow you to die alone."

A last ebb of life seemed to flow through Aragorn and his eyes opened momentarily but what followed broke Legolas heart more thoroughly than the loss of his friend could ever have done.

'I am here Estel,' he whispered, 'It is I, Legolas, I have come to take you home now.' The eyes wandered but did not focus. Instead they were wide with fear and sorrow. They flinched at the sight of the elf above and with the fear the man's body began to convulse and through his rasped breath he tried to cry out in agony.

Estel did not know him. The recognition tore through Legolas as though he had been split by an orcish scimitar. It was as though a part of him died there with his friend. His struggle had been in vain for Estel did not know him, worse he feared the sight of him. Hugging the man closer he prayed for the eyes to close once more and relieve him from the painful sight.

Finally, they did. The breaths became shallower and it seemed as though the life would ebb away.

Countless grief

Arun was silent in the steps he took toward the grieving else. He did not wish to break the reverent silence, which seemed surround the scene now. It was almost magical in its solemnity and he did not want to break the spell that held them so bound. So still they were he thought for an instant that both had died.

Then the silence was broken by the gentle rattle of the man's breath as it fought to surface and the sob, so angry, of the elf's grief.

Arun sidled up next to Legolas and knelt gently down at the side of the weeping elf and outstretched his arm until the tips of his fingers touched those of his friend. The elf appeared pale and frightened. His golden hair was flecked with dust like stars and his cheeks shone even in the bleak mist of sand. His eyes seemed heavy, so much so that it seemed a burden to open them and the grey iris beneath so blurred that the colour was hidden. As Arun approached he did not even raised his head, but sat still as a sleeping bird. The only sound he registered was the gentle trickle of his own tears, as they sunk into the dust as his feet, running past him and disappearing as the seconds through which he sat. Their passing unnerved him as he realised how quick life changed and so much might disappear, lost in evil. Arun did not speak at once for no words were necessary and partaking in the dreadful display grief before him he wept a moment too.

Looking into the man's face a moment, the man that he had travelled so long to save, he tried to imagine how it must once have appeared. Even now, thin and wasted and flowing warm with his own blood he could see the lines of nobility and courage etched into the worn skin. The face was grim and yet beyond the rough aspect of the ranger Arun could see that there had been so much more to this man. There was kindness, compassion and love and in his air altogether he held a certain presence, which caught the imagination of all who met him. He had been built for a nobler life than this. In that second he too, although he did not know the man, was overwhelmed with the sense of loss for the Earth at this man's passing. It was almost too great to comprehend what his death might mean.

Finally breaking the wordless void, he spoke softly and in awe.

'Who was this man, that his passing brings such grief to the Earth? I feel it around me in every particle, even the air mourns his passing.'

Legolas sighed but did not look up.

Arun was not deterred and whispered.

'How long have you known him?'

This time the elf seemed to awake from his reverie and considered the question. His thoughts were slow and it seemed that he looked across his entire life in that moment. Exerting himself finally, he answered.

'I have known him for nigh fifty years. Nothing in the reckoning of an elf, who does not count the passing of the days.' He mused, as though his answer were to no particular person. 'And yet since I have known him I have counted the days, for it as though I had never lived and not known him. To live now without him by my side I cannot now imagine for he has become a brother to me like no other before.'

Arun heard only as far as fifty, but his mouth lay wide open in astonishment. He could barely comprehend what he had heard.

'But surely…' he found the power of speech at last. 'Surely this man cannot be over fifty years old, for though his face tells the tales of many years in aspect he is young and the years do not tell upon him as upon other men.'

Legolas did not answer but returned his gaze to the body of his friend, forcing his own strength into the cold limbs. Arun began to speak in awe.

'But then he must be…'

'Hush' Legolas' head jerked upward at sound of so dreadful and secret a statement. 'for we still lie deep in the land of the enemy. It would not do to have him know who lay in his midst, though he lies at the very gate of Mandos halls. It is enough to know that he is my brother and that middle Earth should be a sadder place without his presence.' This exertion over he returned his gaze to the body of his friend and would not be further distracted.

In the cold peace of the battle worn ground he began gently to sing in the High tongue as he forgot once more his surroundings and strove to provide for his friend the only comfort he knew how to give. He sang to Elbereth.

END OF PART XIV