For Acacia, who's going to strangle me if I don't get back to a certain pair of Rangers soon. Enjoy!

Chapter Six: Guidance from Darkness

"There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."
– A Journey In The Dark, Book II

Aragorn had always wondered if his uncanny ability to read the minds and hearts of men were due rather to his upbringing by a certain pair of half-elf twins who had a penchant for swapping identities – and were so well-versed in it that their own father couldn't recognise them – than the ancient blood of Numenor in his veins. In any case, he was tired, injured, and his abilities, regardless of their origin, told him that his Steward was in worse condition (but was trying to hide it), and was currently torn by indecisiveness.

"Faramir, what's wrong?" he asked bluntly. He wished they had a bit of light, so he could assess his own injuries. At the moment, his body was simply hurting everywhere, even in places that really didn't have a right to hurt, and this was not very helpful information for a healer.

His companion didn't respond, but he heard the man shift uneasily. "Faramir, as your King I order you to speak your mind." Knowing the man, the Prince of Ithilien was trying to decide whether or not to tell Aragorn some terrible truth.

"Am I that easy to read?" Faramir asked in a half-hearted attempt to sidestep the question.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Now, what is it?"

"Aragorn, can you see me?"

The question puzzled him. "No, of course not. Why?"

More shifting. He could almost imagine Faramir sitting there, unconsciously biting his lip; his habit when he uneasy about something. "Aragorn, I do not know how to say this, but... My friend, I think you have gone blind."

What? "I don't understand, Faramir."

A sigh. "It's not completely dark. One wall is covered with moss – or something that looks like it - that gives out light. There is enough light for me to see you."

He blinked. For some reason his brain wasn't registering that statement. He held his hand in front of his face. He could hear his movements, could smell a faint odour of sweat from his hands, and felt his face when he brought the hand nearer, but his eyes only registered darkness.

Surely he jests?

That didn't make sense either. Why would Faramir pull such a prank? Aragorn wouldn't put it beyond his twin brothers, and maybe Legolas and Gimli in their more incorrigible days, but he himself had once agreed with Éomer that his Steward took life far too seriously.

"Perhaps it is only temporary, my liege," Faramir said calmly, though his voice sounded a trifle forced. A pounding headache had hatched in the King's head, but he ignored it, as he was still trying to grasp the notion that he was…

Blind.

The foster-son of Elrond had treated many ailments in his long life, and always he viewed any injuries he himself suffered as mild inconveniences that hindered him from his duty as a healer and a leader. Now the pain of his body paled in comparison with the new horror beginning to bloom in his heart.

He could not see!

Is it possible? He touched his eyes. He could feel his fingers, smell them, hear callused skin scrape against smooth facial skin. But he could not see anything.

"Elbereth," he breathed, and for some minutes all that could be heard in the cave was their breathing. Unfortunately, the fact that his sight didn't miraculously return told him that he was on his own for the moment.

It was far too soon for him to feel the full impact of this loss. He wasn't even sure he had accepted it yet. So, instead of dwelling on the issue and awaiting the onset of debilitating horror, he turned his mind to their present situation.

"We need to move," he said aloud. But to where? Safety, yes, they weren't safe there. But where was there? He quickly passed over that question, though, when his thoughts started down the path of wondering where they were, for this would inevitably lead to his need to know about the geographical features around them.

Which I can't see.

I'm blind!

"We need to move," he repeated, firmly putting a lid on that train of thought. He could just imagine Faramir's sympathetic look; a cynical part of his mind was kindly informing him that his words weren't exactly vindictive of how well he was coping. So they had to move. But how?

Just as this thought occurred to him, another deeply-ingrained fear re-emerged in his heart: he would have to depend on Faramir for sight.

He had long ago reasoned that this irrational fear originated from having grown up amongst elves; he had never considered himself good enough. No matter how many times his father, brothers, mother, Glorfindel, and Arwen assured him, there was always that deep dissatisfaction with his mortal abilities, and a bitterness at his weaknesses. It was irrational because it was based on his inability to be as good as elves, but as his father always told him, "A fish may envy the birds for the skies. But is not the sea just as wondrous?"

A slow rumble in the silent cave caught his ears. He turned his head towards the direction of the sound, ironically hoping that something would happen to distract his meandering mind.

"Something comes," he said, and sensed Faramir's blink of surprise. Knowing that it was somewhat childish, he nonetheless took some relief in knowing that his remining senses were still better than the other man's. "It is not safe to stay here."

He felt Faramir nod, both at his suggestion and the silent plea he could not yet bring himself to voice. He remembered that his Steward could not stand unaided earlier, so getting up slowly and ignoring a twinge of pain in his legs, he helped Faramir up. The fact that Faramir needed his help made him feel profoundly better.

He blinked. I am really being childish now. His headache was getting progressively worse, though, so he decided that he would have to deal with his seething cauldron of emotions at a later date.

But the process of actually getting anywhere was extremely awkward; Faramir leaning most of his weight on him whilst gently guiding Aragorn with his body. The blow to his pride made him flush in frustration, and he blinked furiously, willing his eyes to see. But the darkness remained, and he focused all his thoughts on walking as his legs trembled traitorously beneath him. The weakness in his body surprised him, and his pride demanded that he at least stay on his feet, for at the moment that was all he was good for.

Focus on walking, he repeated to himself. Focus on putting on foot in front of the other.

They had been half-walking, half-staggering in a general direction for a while when Faramir tense, causing them to stop. Aragorn opened his mouth to say something, but Faramir shushed him.

What was happening? Were they being attacked? He ground his teeth in frustration. He hated this darkness!

"What is it?" he whispered tersely, straining his ears even when Faramir leant backwards, signaling him to step back.

Then he heard it.

In his youth, he had hunted often enough with his brothers in the woods of Rivendell. Though it was dangerous – and expressly forbidden by their father – at times they would hunt at night. In the darkness beneath the trees, they had had to rely heavily on sound to tell how far away and how large their prey was. In his darkness, Aragorn used those experiences to aid him in creating a mental picture of what was before them.

Even in his mind, it didn't look pleasant.

~*~

Despite the slight itching of her eyes that indicated her lack of rest over the past two days, the Queen of Gondor did not move from the balcony of the royal bedchamber, from which she could see most of the City. Sub-consciously she played with the green stone in her hand, drawing comfort from the jewel that was her husband's namesake.

"Ai, Estel, where have you got to now?" she whispered to the still night. She knew she should seek some rest, but the scent in the cool air told her that dawn was not far off. In any case, she doubted she could get any sleep that night.

Without realising it, her eyes turned towards Ephel Duath; she could not see the formidable mountain range, but she knew it was there. Something was afoot, and instinct told her that the ancient realm of Sauron had something to do with it. Her search of the ancient archives of Minas Tirith had been futile, as she did not even have an idea of what it was she was looking for. She soon gave up completely, and saw instead to the task of personally speaking to the families of the dead Guards. It had been a very trying day for the Queen, for coupled with her grief over the dead men and her anxiety over Legolas was a constant painful awareness of the absence of her beloved from her side. After dinner she had returned to the Citadel's main library, but again, she had found nothing.

She felt helpless.

Frustrated, she glanced up at distant Eärendil, a habit she had picked up from her father. Closing her eyes, she imagined she could see the Silmaril in its glory, shining with the light of the Trees on her grandfather's brow as a memory of the ancient times to the world below, but though mortality hadn't robbed her of her elven senses, she knew Vingilot was sailing far beyond earthly sight.

But in her mind she saw the Mariner suddenly look at her, and he smiled. A fleeting memory came to her then: sitting on her mother's lap, listening to the cool tinkling of water, under a clear night sky – and under that very same star –, her father telling her wondrous tales of the First Age and the history of their kindred.

She opened her eyes and glanced down at the Elessar, a clear green stone set in a silver brooch of an eagle with outstretched wings. It had belonged to her mother, who had given it to her, and she in turn had given it to Estel.

But I don't want a stone, I want my husband! She missed that comforting presence, the strength and love in his eyes every time they rested on her, the warmth of his embrace that lessened the weight of her years.

Being the daughter of Elrond meant that she had extensive training in schooling her features and composure to show only a calm indifference. In public, her pride maintained this mask, but now, with only the silent night to watch, she trembled.

"Yet I'm the Queen of Gondor, and my duty is to her people."

She sighed wearily. Hopefully the business of keeping the kingdom running would distract her during most of the day, for the nights were torturous enough. But that thought brought on a new set of problems: what would they tell the people?

Once again her eyes went to the mountain range that the darkness hid from her. Something was happening that she could not understand, and she knew it had something to do with the ancient stronghold of the Dark Lord.

And a memory of her father's stories?

She looked back up to the Star. I'm sorry Grandfather. I don't understand what you are trying to tell me.

Eärendil only twinkled, but the familiar starlight calmed the torrent within her. Ada, how I miss your presence now. If you are listening, please guide me to Estel. For all the bitterness of our parting, I know you love him too.

~*~

The creature had spotted them.

He could feel its dreadful gaze settle on them, and Faramir's gasp confirmed it. He felt as if cold water had been thrown at his face, and he found it extremely difficult to breathe, though nothing had touched him yet. He felt as if the creature could see him, could see his very soul, and in his current state he was helpless to fend it off.

Ironically, in hindsight, it was probably his blindness that saved them. Shaking off the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, he felt something hard knock against his elbow. Reaching down, his hand grasped the familiar hilt of Andúril.

What was it doing here? He felt a bit of confusion. Over the years he had grown so used to his sword that he no longer registered its weight- in fact he felt light and empty-handed without it strapped to him. Had he had it all along? The last time he remembered having it was… when he departed from Faramir's manor in Emyn Arnen. Had he drawn it when they were attacked? He was sure he would have, but he could remember scarce little of the attack itself. He couldn't even remember fighting, but surely he must have…

A sharp hiss brought his mind back to the situation at hand. The creature was quite far off, from the sound of it, yet it was large, and who knew how fast it could move. "Faramir, draw your sword!"

No answer. Aragorn shook him. "Faramir!" Nothing. The Prince of Ithilien seemed frozen, rooted into place. His hand went to the man's hand on his shoulder. They were cold as ice, and sweating. "Son of Denethor, answer me!" Putting to use something he had learned from Gimli, the King of the Reunited Kingdoms punched his Steward on the jaw.

He heard a sharp cry, and suddenly Faramir nearly pulled them both to the ground when he doubled over, violently coughing and wheezing. What had happened? No matter, the creature was coming closer. It was good enough that he got some response out of his companion. "Faramir, I know naught of what has happened, but draw your sword!"

"I- do not- have it, Aragorn," he said, the words gasped out between coughs.

"Then take Andúril!" Normally he disliked letting anyone else handle the prized heirloom of his predecessors, but they were definitely not under normal circumstances. He felt Faramir, who sounded as if he was being strangled, weakly reach over to his other side and drew the sword.

If he had been someone else watching from a safe vantage point, he would have found the image that the two of them made somewhat comical. As it was, it occurred to Aragorn's pounding mind that even with the sword they were in trouble. He was the most hale of them both, but even a stubborn son of Elrond knew that attempting to wield a sword when one could not see would probably end up with him decapitating Faramir instead, if not himself. Faramir, on the other hand, could see, but he could hardly move one step without Aragorn's assistance, much less effectively defend them against the creature.

It did not look good.

"Faramir, we cannot fight," he whispered. "We must run." Could they do even that?

"Aye." Fortunately the coughs seemed to be subsiding. "But I cannot find anywhere we can run to, lest it be back from where we came."

"Describe where we are." He studiously ignored the blow to his pride that the words caused.

"We are in the entrance of what looks to be a large cavern. Behind us is the tunnel that brought us here from the cave that we woke up in earlier. There may be side-tunnels that I did not see, for the light is dim and does not reach all parts of the tunnel."

The creature was minutes away from them, but it seemed to be taking its time. This greatly worried Aragorn, for the beast seemed confident that it already had its prey. Nodding to Faramir, he turned around and gathered his strength for a blind run down the tunnel whilst half-dragging, half-carrying his companion. But his first step chanced to be on a slippery slab of rock, and he felt his foot slip, sending him and Faramir flying. The tunnel was apparently uneven, for they rolled a bit before slamming into the smooth tunnel side-wall.

Or what had been a smooth tunnel wall. He heard a strange grating sound, and suddenly the wall disappeared behind him. Something slimy wrapped around his wrists and waist, and he felt himself being lifted into another enclosed, considerably damp tunnel.

Instinctively he tried to fend off what was holding him – which strangely felt like tentacles – but they only gripped harder. The squish-squish-squish sounds coming from them made such a din in the claustrophobic tunnel that he couldn't hear if he yelled out, or if Faramir was still with him.

A calmer part of his mind convinced him to force his body to relax, he realised that he was horizontal, and moving down the tunnel. The ceiling of rock scraped his nose and knees. He tried reaching out, and found only more tentacles. Now that he had stopped struggling, the tentacles loosened their grip slightly. And as no harm had come to him so far, he decided to trust fate a little and see where she would take him.

Thus he was completely unprepared when he heard the grating of rock ahead of him, and suddenly he found that he was sitting on mud. Or at least, he hoped it was mud. Beside him he heard a soft grunt, and the sound of grating rock behind them. The squish-squish-squish sounds stopped.

"Faramir?"

"I am here." The man's voice sounded incredulous, disgusted, and confused. "What has just happened?"

"Tell me first if we are safe, and if standing is possible."

He heard his companion shift slightly, looking about. "I do not see an immediate danger, and there is ample room to stand. We're in another tunnel, twice larger than the last. This one has more of that light-giving moss, so I can see better. I think there is probably an underground spring somewhere, for the ground is wet and muddy. I can see a rock where it may be drier, and it's large enough for both of us to sit on it."

Aragorn nodded. A wet seat didn't particularly bother him, but Faramir had open wounds that were in danger of becoming infected. He got to his feet a little unsteadily, convinced that the throbbing in his head had struck up an Ent marching rhythm, and held out a hand to his companion. They had only taken a few steps when his leg (which he now suspected had some injury in it) hit hard rock. He let Faramir climb on first before clambering up himself.

The rock seemed to be strangely flat on the top, so they could sit in relative comfort. Now that their lives didn't appear to be in danger, for the moment at least, Aragorn turned his thoughts to where they were, how they got there, and most importantly, how they were to get out.

And what in Valinor were those tentacle-creatures?

"Faramir," he said. "Have you any idea where we are?"

He felt rather than heard the other shake his head. "There are many places we could be, for caves are possible almost anywhere, if one goes deep enough. But I remember that the first cave we woke in, the one where the tremors struck, was volcanic rock, whilst the last cave was predominantly crystal. This one seems be volcanic, with a hint of sedimentary."

The first cave… "Faramir, think you that those… creatures with tentacles moved us from the first cave to the second one?" Aragorn remembered the tremors, the falling rock, and bracing himself. His next memory had been of waking up in the second cave.

"Aye," the Prince of Ithilien's voice was thoughtful. "I remember one grabbing me before I became unconscious. Think you that they are how we came to be here?"

Aragorn was considering the same idea. "Perhaps," he said finally. "But not by themselves. We would not have been so ignorant as to stumble into a nest of them outside Emyn Arnen, and if they did, where are the others? Something attacked us, this I know for sure. But perhaps the tentacled ones brought us into the caves."

"Then they can take us out again," Faramir said. Aragorn only grimaced ruefully. Now that they had solved the mystery of how they had fallen unconscious in one cave and woke up in another, there was still the nagging question of why they were there in the first place. It could not be a random coincidence that the King of Gondor and his Steward were trapped in what looked to be an extensive cave system deep underground. In fact, if the choral voices of instinct and experience were to be heeded, they most likely had unpleasant times ahead of them.

Faramir cleared his throat, and Aragorn remembered something. "Faramir, what was that beast we faced in the last cave?" Not wishing to affront his companion's pride, he left unmentioned what had happened to the Prince.

He felt the son of Denethor shudder. "I do not rightly know. It was… It reminded me of the fire-drakes in the tales my mother used to tell me when I was young." Aragorn nodded; Elrond had had a great store of those also. "It wasn't hideous, exactly… It was as black as charcoal, yet between its scales I thought I could see red fire. It was like a large serpent, only with two legs. And when I saw its eyes… Aragorn, it was as if I could not remember how to move, how to breathe. I thought my heart had stopped beating. All I could see was the yellow flame in its eyes, and it- it consumed me."

Aragorn nodded somberly, laying a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. Faramir had become a friend and a trusted advisor over the years, though they tended to be quite formal towards one another. They were kindred spirits, in a way, for both were of Númenorean descent, and he knew that Faramir was a learned man as well as a good captain. Having fought against the shadow of Mordor all his life, it took a great deal to frighten the proud Prince to a point where he would openly confess it.

The whole thing made Aragorn uneasy. What had happened to them? Had they been taken captive? If so, what for? And why have they not met a sentient being who could conceivably have a motive for capturing them?

He let out a frustrated growl. There was no point in pursuing such questions until more information revealed itself to them. Looking for something to occupy him, he reached out to Faramir.

"My friend, let me check on your wounds." Just because he couldn't see, he reasoned, didn't mean he was no longer able to feel for injured muscle or open wounds (both of which he suspected Faramir had in quantity). But the Steward didn't answer. Reaching out further where the man had been last, Aragorn's hand encountered an arm, lower than where it should have been if Faramir was sitting.

"Faramir, are you well?" Trying to sound calm, and at the same time cursing his inability to see, he shuffled back to get closer to the Steward. The arm ended with a hand still clutching Andúril – which Aragorn had forgotten about, and he now quickly re-sheathed – thus confirming it was Faramir. But the man was sprawled on the rock now, and for no apparent reason. He gently shook him.

No response. "Faramir?" Quashing his own fear, his hand traveled up to his friend's face. Faramir's eyes were closed, his breathing short and quick, his skin too clammy. "Faramir, can you hear me?" His heart leapt to his throat at the thought of having missed a major injury on Faramir, and the man having collapsed because of it. He wanted to tear his useless eyes out!

"Son of Denethor, the White City is under attack! Arise, your King calls you!" Despite being weak and emotionally unstable, Aragorn reasoned that he was at least physically stronger than his friend. Calm. Perhaps his injuries just got the better of him. He has enough to have lost a lot of blood. Yes, no need to start imagining some internal injury that he had missed. Steeling his will, he brought down his mental safeguards and let loose the ancient power of Numenor within him, reaching out to Faramir and lending some of his own strength to the man's body.

He heard Faramir groan. He felt his companion's head turn, and somehow he knew that those eyes had opened, and the piercing blue-grey gaze, not unlike his own, was regarding him.

"Faramir?" he whispered. A chill crept up his spine.

"I ben deleb pada! Drego!"

Aragorn gasped, instinctively reaching for the hilt of Andúril, though more for comfort than any realistic intention of using it.

That voice had not been Faramir's.

"I esteg?" He shuddered, and not from cold.

"Edrem." Somehow, though he could not see, he knew those lips had twisted into a mirthless smile. "Cennin i beth en seger. Man cenithach?"

~*~

I ben deleb pada! Drego! – The abominable one walks! Flee!

I esteg? – Who are you? [literally: What are you called?]

Cennin i beth en seger. Man cenithach?. – I see the fields of blood. What will you see?

*Once again, many apologies for the appalling Sindarin, and a plea for someone who knows it better to kindly lend a helping hand. I have spent a good two hours trying to work a single sentence out, so please don't flame me! Sindarin is a beautiful language, but it is really difficult to get a grasp on.

Many thanks to Ardalambion and the Sindarin Dictionary Project.

Author's Note:

OK, another chappie to go and then it gets interesting. Though the next chapter is looking quite long at the moment, so maybe I'll cut it in half. It may also take longer to finish, because the Balrog of all schoolwork has caught up on me.

And I know I say this every chapter (and look forward to saying in many more chapters to come), but my heartfelt thanks for reading my story, and I'm truly grateful to those who found time to drop a review.

Response to Reviewers:

*please note that I list reviewers in order of when their review came in

Aria – heheheee, always love your comments! My more sadistic nature is suggesting that I drop a few more hints to torture you further, but we'll see… Merci beaucoup, et bon chance dans votre examen!

mageani – oh, you poor squashed thing you (gives big hug). Thank you for managing to gasp out a review, despite your indisposition. As for your question, well, because Legolas thought that he was relatively safe – after all, it was only from Emyn Arnen to Minas Tirith, and he had the King, Steward, and 2 dozen Guards for company – he had left his bow and arrows home. But he had brought his throwing knives (growing up in Mirkwood makes one a little paranoid of things that might go bump in the night) and these had not been touched (for a simple reason that's linked with why Aragorn still has Andúril). Thus when Ioreth removed his garments to tend to his injuries, she had given the knives to Gimli.

As for the posty thingy, I shall take the elven approach and say yes, and no.

And because I'm sadistic, I'll leave you to dwell on that ;-)

Acacia – to whom this chapter is for. Yes, more caves. In fact, I think you can be rest assured that the caves will be the main tourist attraction to this story. It's a pretty big cave system, after all. Yeah, I've started on HHGTTG (I'm actually a member of H2G2 on BBC.com) but I'm only on the first one. Hopefully it will get clearer soon, 'cuz at the moment I'm pretty bewildered.

xx embyr – ooo, a lurker! I'm one myself (blushes guiltily) and I owe quite a few people a good review for their stories. Glad you decided to make yourself known, and thank you so much for the kind words!

Hehehe, I can actually imagine Elrohir waving pom-poms in the background ^ ^. Quite frightening, really, but anything's possible!

And to Silian: if you're awaiting my e-mail, I'm really sorry! I don't really have an excuse, except that I'm an incredibly forgetful and lazy blob. I'll get to it right away!

Coming up next! A most hobbity accident…