PART XV

In Mordor where the Shadows are

Feeling his presence, at present, unnecessary, if not unwelcome, Arun rose from the ground and stood a few feet back from the weeping elf. Turning his head away, as if to afford them a moment in privacy he began to survey the scene around them.

In the heat of the day the land became scorched. Already he was ready to retch at the nauseous odour of rotting and burning orc flesh. He had never before in his life been surrounded by so dense and putrid a smell. It wove through his nostrils and around his brain until it seemed he had become one with it. It was as though he had walked into his own nightmare. In every direction his path was strewn with the dark lifeless stains of orc carcasses. To him all appeared alike, no distinguishing features that he could cling to and pity. Intermittently he viewed the more hopeful figure of men, perhaps of Gondor, (he did not know) attending their sick and was reminded, despite the smell, that Mordor did not yet own all. Even here at the epicentre of the evil, good men still lived and fought for right. It gave him hope that was as welcome as each new breath.

Still, his heart was heavy as he realised that he and his brother might easily have become these men; broken to the point of desperation; perhaps gone beyond the point of no return. Some had not fought but merely stood to the side, staring in a wide-eyed stupor. Now they stood still, as if freedom had no meaning. Without their masters they were nothing. Perhaps they would die now there was no purpose; what was left if even slavery was no more. One who had fought looked up from the young boy he was tending and motioned him to approach. Arun was surprised from his reverie and headed toward him.

When he reached them the man bowed his head and sank at the knees of the youth. Arun stood in embarrassment at such a show and did not know where to look. He felt a tugging at his tunic his attention was once more drawn to the man at his feet.

'You have come to deliver us' the voice was weary but grateful beyond the point of joy. The voice resounded with praise and worship that Arun felt he could not deserve; after all he had not fought alone. In embarrassed silence Arun shuffled his feet against the hot, unforgiving dust until it swirled around him into the air. Some found its way into his mouth and he coughed noisily.

'How can we ever repay such bravery? Many were sore close to death and all believed that rescue was impossible. You have brought a miracle to the land of Mordor. Were you sent by the Valar?' The man, his lined face like veins of rock fixed with awe, looked upon the youth that stood above him as though he had just stepped from Valinor. This was too much for Arun and he knelt down beside the man in an attempt to remove some of their distance.

Arun's embarrassment became more acute and he wished he had not approached. He moved his eyes across the tiny collections of people attending their own. All seemed coated with a greyish hue. Most were bent over as though they had borne the burden of a lifetime's toil. When they perceived his eye upon them, their heads would fall and they seemed unable to give him an equal gaze. Many seemed to have been beaten and their arms were painted with pink tinged scars. A reflection of what lay deep beneath. The women were thin, their cheeks sallow. They hid behind they men and would not move forward even to afford a closer view of their saviours.

'Nay,' he replied earnestly. 'I was sent by no one, but came in search of the man who lies there yonder. Do not give special mention to me for you have liberated yourselves and we were merely the catalysts.' His face burned and he motioned to leave the man.

The man's voice stopped him as he began to turn.

'And who was he? ' The man inquired, 'the man for whom you have travelled so far and for whom you have taken such risk.

'Just a man' Arun mused, although himself he believed it to be far from the truth. He had been rendered wary by the elf's warning. 'A man of noble bearing, who inspired great love in his friends, so much so that they would travel to the ends of the Earth in order to find him.'

'Aye.' The man replied, nodding carefully, his eyes wistful as though remembering a time long past. He seemed calmer now and more serious,

'He was a good man I think. He faltered; the words seemed difficult to come.

'He stood out in this accursed place, where all appear so dejected and broken. He suffered, more than most and yet held his head higher and worked harder. He had a quiet strength about him that the orcs and corsairs feared, despite their authority over him. They knew he was different, I could see the fear in their eyes when they beheld him.'

Again he winced at his own recollections as the memories jarred anew in his mind, suppressed for so long.

'They beat him, until he could not stand and could not see.' His face contorted at the memory. It was of shadow and suffering like all memories of Mordor. '

Each time we thought he would not come back to us. Yet when they left him for dead, each time he would rise and begin his struggle anew. I would wish one day to know who he was, for I should say that his stature gave me hope when hope seemed impossible.'

He seemed to swallow a sob and then whispered softly, as though he spoke only to himself.

'It is strange.'

He bowed his head for a moment in respect. Arun tried to encourage him, amazed by this shared feeling of hope and love for this man who nobody knew.

'What is strange?' he coaxed softly.

'I saw his fall. It felt as the end of all hope must. He must lie dead now, for none could survive such a fall. I know nothing of him and yet I feel his passing as though it were my father or brother. I do not comprehend it.'

Arun's heart was won and he turned back to inquire after the man who spoke with such warmth.

'What is your name?' he asked of the man.

The answer was strange and desperate. He mulled over the words as though they were new to his tongue, carefully considering his answer.

'It is many years now, or so I believe, since I saw beyond the gates of Mordor. I, when I was anybody was Eldacar of Gondor. The white city is now but a distant memory that soothed the hours of my sleep between the end of one hell and the beginning of the next.'

'Then we are kin by birth,' spoke Arun. 'I pity that you have not seen the white tower in all its glory for it is a sight that fills my heart with delight.' He recollected for a moment, and then added. 'I am Arun of Gondor.'

'Then brother, tell me, who is the man that accompanied you, for I have never seen his like before. He too is strong beyond mortal men, as the man you have come to find.'

'He is an elf of Mirkwood in the north.' Arun, so used to the presence of the elf now was surprised by the look of astonishment that was drawn across the man's face.It was not under many minutes that he could recover himself and continue his enquiry.

'Then how in the name of Iluvatar came he to be here, for so long as I have lived the Eldar have been represented as nothing more than an ancient memory, and they do not concern themselves with the trials of men. Yet now to see an elf so far from his home, and in the sole company of men, I can scarce believe it.'

'The man, I believe, was raised in Rivendell with the elves and therefore holds a special place between the two races. These two have known one another many years.'

'Then he must be great indeed, to have afforded the notice of the Eldar. For not lightly do the Eldar associate themselves with the dealings of men.'

'Aye,' agreed Arun, as he remembered his own surprise on finding himself in the company of an elf. 'There is a great love between the elf and the man and it is as though they are brothers or so the elf feels it to be. His passing signals a great grief to the elf and I do not know how he shall bear it.'

Eldacar turned to look at the stricken elf and shook his head, saying no more.

A cry for help

Again the oppression of spirits that accompanied the loss of this man that he did not know, threatened to overwhelm the young man. Overtaken by his the sense of loss, a voice emerged in the back of his mind; a voice he had not heard before.

Drawing his hands in front in prayer, he called out the words that he had never heard before. He called to the Valar, to Illuvatar, not to allow the passing of this man, who should not be lost to the world. He did not know why, but in this prayer he was more fervent that at any other time in his life. Tears, cold and stinging with salt clung to his cheeks in streams and he pleaded with the powers so distant from himself. The Valar did not concern themselves with the plight of men, and yet, somehow, he felt that his prayer would be answered. For many minutes he was lost in the maze of his own entreaty and was entirely taken over by it.

Around him those that remained had stopped their work and were watching him, wide eyed and fascinated. After five minutes he began to recognise his surroundings once more, and, feeling his hope fade once more, and the power of prayer empty from him, he made his way once more to where the elf rocked the body of his friend.

Don't Let go

Returning to Legolas' side, Arun noted with surprise that the chest of the man still rose and fell. Life still held on within the broken body, though it stood always on the brink.

'He lives yet?' He questioned more from surprise than with an answer in mind.

'Aye' murmured the elf, 'and yet with each passing moment he seems to fade and become weaker.' He continued. 'He is strong; too strong for his own good perhaps and the candle will not easily be snuffed. Yet I sense that his will is weak and he does not wish for life, neither does he know me, his companion and brother of so many years.'

Once more was the elf choked with grief, hiding his head within Aragorn's hair, so that the boy should not be exposed to his most fierce pain. He hoped that the youth should not seem him in his weakness, and with the revelation that his friend no longer knew him, Legolas did not know how he should face the world again with their questions and their sympathy.

'Go' he demanded voice muffled by his friend's hair and his own tears. 'There is nothing more for you to do here. Leave while you still may and let the Valar protect you so far that you might pass the black gate unnoticed.' He did not turn toward Arun even to bid him adieu, for his mind was no longer bent toward this world. So engrossed with his own grief he was that he could no longer consider the plight of others. His tear blurred eyes painted distorted pictures now.

'Nay' Arun was appalled and sickened by the sight of the forlorn elf who seemed to have lost his own will for life.

'I have followed you across Mordor, the dread land from whence no man has returned alive.' He was adamant and irate. He spoke in a new voice crisp like new snow and clipped with anger.

'I have followed you based alone on your faith that you were to find your friend still alive and that we should attempt to rescue him or die in the attempt. We are here, and against every odd his chest still rises and falls and yet you would give up and send me away. To leave you to what end?

His indignation now reached its height. 'I am willing; would be honoured; to die alongside you in the attempt, but I shall never stand by and allow you to lose your life and his own, through such selfish grief.'

Here he stopped to recollect his thoughts and to breathe a calming breath. He inhaled deep, closing eyes as he tried to force his own anger from him.

'So close to Mandos hall's he lies, and yet I do not believe that his body will allow him to slip away so easily. You should give more credence to his loyalty than that'

These words came to him and yet he did not know from where. The rise and fall of the chest was gentler still, as though only the lap of a river against a bank of gentle grass. Despite this he felt certain that all hope should not yet be lost, that even the black gate should be overcome and the man should not die within the realm of shadow. He had now the elf's full attention. His grey eyes, shining like a calm lake with his tears. They brimmed with fear and astonishment at the anger and assurance of Arun's words.

His voice was shaky as he exerted himself to overcome his grief.

'Arun, son of Hellian, I fear you are wiser than your years should allow. I think you were born for another time than this. A time when darkness did not threaten so. You are right, I owe you and he more than to allow his life to end in the realm of Sauron the deceiver. Yet I do not know how I should move him, lest I shatter the remains of his bones, surely he cannot survive the long road even as far as the gate.'

Legolas plaintive response, echoed in the empty expanse of grey Mordor and gently faded into empty silence. His own heart beat loud within his chest. It seemed to him that Sauron himself might hear the desperate beat of his heart. Even his tears were silent now, the expanse of silence only deepening his sense of the impossible enormity of removing Aragorn from this place.

What came when I called

Legolas rose gently and with such solemnity that it seemed he held middle earth within his arms. It felt as though he did, for the object he carried was as important. He strained expecting to find the body heavy and a burden for his light frame. Instead he winced with the nothingness of it. So light was the body that it felt as though he lifted a mere child and so fragile it seemed as if he were made of glass. Life seemed to have drained and yet within the chest there appeared now and again the flutter of a fretful heartbeat. The soul still lingered.

Legolas walked slow, as though the slightest deviation of balance might cause the feeble flame in his arms to be extinguished. The man's limbs hung at odd angles and Legolas feared that should the man live he might be causing him more damage. But now was not the time for such thoughts and he curved his mind away from the wrecked body of his friend. Instead he focused on their means for escape, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of images that tried over and over to pierce his mind. There Estel was always falling. He blew on the wind as a feather. Again and again he heard… felt, the jolt that shook the earth as he landed. Each thought threw the elf with pain and each moment he believed he might fall to the earth under the intensity of his grief. The man weighed nothing but the guilt upon his shoulders pressed with the weight of a troll. He would stop, breathe deep, shun his grief and then, opening his eyes to face the world anew, begin again his slow dance across the dusty earth.

Arun did not follow, though it was he who had urged the elf to exertion. He stood, eyes wide and fixed on the inexorable sky, so wide and vacant. His mind had urged prayer, though never before had he felt called upon to do so. He did not understand his new interest in the vastness above him and yet in the back of his mind a blurred whisper strained to be heard. Weak it was, so much that he thought it might be only the shallow sigh of the wind. But the air of Mordor was relentless and scorching. No such temperate breezes squeezed through the tight unforgiving air. The sky was streaked red and dark with evil. It lay many miles off and yet seemed so oppressive that it might touch the very hairs on the head.

Legolas looked back and noted the boy preoccupied with the immense emptiness above him and wished for movement. Impatiently he tried to move Arun along.

'Hurry boy,' He whispered as though the very air that scorched their lungs might betray them. 'For the eye of Sauron rests already upon us. I can feel his firey glare chill me to the quick. Wherefore do you stand so fixed by the empty sky.'

Seemingly the words had no effect. It was as though the youth stood removed from the world where none might touch him. He had eyes only for that which stood above, eyeballs fixed so earnestly it seemed he did not blink. Dust stung them painfully, seeking out the exposed retina but he stood unmoved awaiting something. Death, Legolas thought bitterly that was all that might be gained in Mordor. Having spoken so only a moment ago, how could the boy have suddenly given up?

Heavy hearted, tears still flowing from his face like the branches of trees he moved first one foot and then the other, beginning his long trudge through the dust of Mordor.

So caught up he was within his own dreams he did not hear the faint sound of feathers and the friction of the wind. He did not see the growing dot in the sky that had answered the cry for Mercy upon hope.

End of part XV